by Jane Goodger
“I rather think she’s wonderful.”
Anne turned her head slowly to look at her husband, annoyed that when he did speak, it was usually to contradict her. They sat together, as they did most evenings, in the blue parlor. It wasn’t that they enjoyed one another’s company; they did not. It was more of a habit, something they did mostly because the old duke had done so. “Then you are blind. It will take months to bring her up to snuff. I’m sending my regrets to the Medfords. Clearly, she’s not ready for the ball. She told me today she only knows three dances. Three!”
“But I imagine she does those three famously.”
Anne closed her eyes, trying to gain control of her emotions. Her granddaughter was nothing like she’d expected. It was cruel of God to create a child who looked so much like Mary only to have her be so completely unpolished. Mary might not have been an obedient daughter, she might have been foolish enough to marry the wrong sort of man, but she had always been the epitome of a fine English girl. Genevieve didn’t seem to know the first thing about how to act properly. She had been completely Americanized. It was dreadful, but in time perhaps Genevieve could be molded into the woman she should have been.
“You’ve always been so blind, Glaston. And weak. If you’d stopped Mary from eloping, none of this would have happened. Mary might be alive today.”
She was gratified to see her words had hit their mark. “She died in childbirth,” he said, the pain of his guilt clear in his voice.
“It doesn’t matter—”
She stopped, interrupted by the sight of her granddaughter entering the room on the arm of her fiancé.
“Who let you in?” Anne asked, feeling her face flush from impotent rage.
“I did. We’re leaving. Tonight.” Genevieve didn’t seem to know that she was supposed to be meek. Her granddaughter lifted her chin, resembling Mary so much at that moment, Anne felt like screaming at the unfairness of life. She took a calming breath and forced a smile.
“I see. I suppose it’s not unexpected.”
“You lied to me, Your Grace. He came every day to see me. You told me he’d left.”
“Every day?” Anne asked. “I don’t think so. And we were informed that he had left. I do apologize for the misunderstanding.”
“The only misunderstanding, ma’am, was Genny, here, thinking you have her best interests at heart.”
Anne gave the American her coldest smile. “Very well. Before you rush off, Mr. Campbell, could you spare a moment please? Out on the veranda will do.”
The two young people exchanged a look. “All right,” Mr. Campbell said, with a confidence that Anne found exceedingly irritating. He turned to Genevieve. “I’ll be right back.” The way her granddaughter looked at the man, as if he could stop the earth on its axis, was sickening.
Anne, her back ramrod straight, her emotions in turmoil, walked through the French doors to the small veranda that overlooked the side garden. When the two were alone, Anne turned to the young man, trying to maintain her composure. Everything about him was abhorrent to her, from his American accent to his working-man’s clothes. He was so far beneath what Genevieve should have, it was unimaginable that they should marry.
How could Genevieve be so blind? She could almost understand Mary running off with James; they’d known each other since they were children. But this man, he hadn’t even met Genevieve until a handful of weeks ago.
Ever since she’d heard his story, something hadn’t rung true. Why would a man go out of his way to escort a girl he didn’t know all the way across the country? It made no sense. And when things made no sense, it meant there had to be another, better explanation. Anne was quite certain she’d solved the puzzle of Mr. Campbell.
The American leaned negligently against the railing in a way that made her want to grind her teeth together. “Are you truly in love with my granddaughter, Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes, I am.” How convincing he sounded.
“That is unfortunate for you. But it should be comforting to know that love is a fleeting emotion. Once you’re back in New York, you’ll soon forget all about Genevieve.”
He straightened off the railing, but if he thought to intimidate her, he was sorely mistaken. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll be leaving here tonight without her. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t forget her anytime soon.”
Her nostrils flared at his coarse language. “You will. And she will forget you. We’ve already heard from several families with eligible sons. She’ll be married within the year. There’s no reason she cannot marry as befitting her station. Mr. Campbell, look around you. Could you ever give Genevieve the kind of life she deserves?” She looked him up and down. “Of course you cannot.”
Mr. Campbell shook his head, looking at her with what almost seemed to be pity. “I can’t give her a mansion, no. But I can make her happy. I’m as sure of that as I’m sure you’re a conniving old biddy.”
Anne smiled, ignoring his insult. “I wonder,” she said, “what your real reason is for wanting to marry Genevieve. I do hope you’re not under the misapprehension that we will give her money. We will not. She has nothing, Mr. Campbell. I can’t help but think that a young man who drops everything to escort a girl to England is after something more than, let us say, special privileges. You didn’t love her when you met her, yet you left your position, spent hundreds of dollars of your own money, and for what? Because you are a kind and good man?”
When she saw him dip his head and his cheeks redden, she knew she had him pegged correctly.
“Ten thousand pounds.”
His head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“I’ll give you ten thousand pounds tonight if you leave and never return. You have to promise only one thing: no one must ever know the circumstances of her journey here, nor how she was living in America. Her chances of a good marriage depend upon it. If word got out that she spent days alone with a cowboy”—she held up a hand to stop him from explaining that he was not a cowboy—“she would be ruined. In your world, appearances are not important, but here they are everything. No man would want her and no family would accept her. I just wanted you to understand the importance of this.”
“I understand. And you should understand that I’ve no interest in your money.”
“Have you told anyone about her history?”
“No, ma’am.” He smiled, and something about that smile made her blood run cold.
Her eyes sharpened. “You hesitated.”
“There may have been an article in the newspaper. My mother talked to a reporter the day before we left. I didn’t think any harm could come of it, especially since the article wouldn’t run until after she’d left.”
The duchess felt herself grow pale. “What newspaper?”
“The New York Times. To be honest, the reporter said he was from a small newspaper. I have no idea how the story ended up in the Times.”
“Oh my God.” She staggered slightly.
“It came today. I had no idea the hotel would carry American newspapers. Fascinating reading, by the way.” He opened his jacket and removed a folded newspaper. “Would you care to take a gander?”
Anne took the newspaper, feeling numb, and let out a small sound of dismay at what she saw—the perfect likeness of her granddaughter on the front page beneath the headline: Duke of Glastonbury’s Long Lost Granddaughter Found.
“Oh my God.”
“You want to read it now or save it for later?” Mr. Campbell asked, all affability.
Anne moved blindly into the parlor, her eyes scanning the article. With every word she read, her dread only grew. “She’s ruined.” It was over. Genevieve would not save them, could not replace Mary. And it was obvious her daughter and that scoundrel she’d married had spent every dime of Mary’s sizeable inheritance. Why else would he have left what had been a rather opulent home in Philadelphia to live in the wilderness? In a shack. She shuddered just thinking of it. The cad had likely gambled the fortune away.
And Anne had had such hopes that Genevieve could somehow turn back the hands of time. How foolish her hopes seemed now.
Given what the article contained, Anne knew she was being almost eerily calm. The article detailed Genevieve’s trip from a one-room shack in California, where she’d lived alone of all things, to New York in the company of a single man. It mattered not that they were now engaged. Just the fact that a newspaper article had been written at all was scandal enough, but that it contained such a disgraceful story and that it was entirely true . . . There was no hope for Genevieve now. No man would want her; no family would welcome her.
And this man, whose mother was apparently an actress (that was, perhaps, the worst revelation found in the article), had the audacity to claim he could make Genevieve happy.
“It certainly is detailed,” she said, throwing the offending article to the side.
“What’s this?” the duke asked, picking up the newspaper. He scanned the headlines, stiffening when he saw the likeness of Genevieve. “Oh, good God.”
Anne waited, livid beyond reason. The joy she’d felt when she’d heard that her granddaughter was not only alive but coming to live with her was replaced by utter desolation.
“Our granddaughter certainly has lived an interesting life,” the duke said, winning a scathing look of derision from his wife.
“I think it’s past time we left,” Mitch said. “We’ll go as soon as Tillie is finished packing.”
The duchess sat, her legs suddenly unable to hold her, and she turned her head until her eyes rested on the newspaper and the damning article. A wash of humiliation made her almost ill.
“Genevieve, you are no longer part of this family.”
“Anne, no,” Glastonbury said, finally getting his gumption up. How charming.
“You have no say in this. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened. She is ruined and this article has humiliated us all. She is a whore, just like her mother.”
Anne should have known her granddaughter, hoyden that she was, would object.
“How dare you speak ill of my mother! At least she was married to a man she loved. I feel sorry for you. For both of you.”
Genny had never in her life been angrier at another person, and to think this anger was directed at her grandmother, a woman she’d dreamed of meeting for so long. What a horrid, horrid person she was.
“Miss Hayes, you’re all packed,” Tillie said, still in character.
“Tillie, call me Genny. We’re leaving.”
Tillie looked slightly confused, then gave a little whoop. “Can’t get out of this stuck-up place fast enough,” she said, smiling.
The three of them turned to go, Genny holding Mitch’s arm like a lifeline.
“Genevieve, wait.”
Genny looked back, surprised to see her grandfather coming toward her.
“Yes?” Beside her, Mitch squeezed her hand, giving her courage.
“Wait, Genevieve, please. I . . .”
To Genny’s surprise, the old man’s eyes teared up.
“I made a terrible mistake with my daughter. She left and I never saw her again. You have my blessings. Someday I hope to see you again. Perhaps I can come to America?”
“For goodness’ sake, Glaston, get a backbone,” the duchess sneered.
The duke nodded. “Yes, dear, you are correct. Now if you would be quiet so I might say good-bye to my granddaughter, it would be greatly appreciated.” He turned back to Genny. “Let me call the carriage. At least let me do that. Your trunks won’t fit in a cab at any rate.”
“Thank you.”
Her grandmother stood and picked up the newspaper again. “You cannot think to allow them to use our carriage after this,” she said, slapping one hand against the paper. “If someone sees, it will be interpreted as approval of her behavior. Which I certainly do not.”
The duke ignored the old woman and gave instructions to a footman who hovered outside the door to fetch the carriage and have another sent round for Genny’s trunks.
“Is the article that bad?” Genny asked her grandmother.
“No,” Mitch answered. “It’s actually one of the best things I’ve ever read.”
Her grandmother let out an odd sound, then seemed to lose her bluster all at once. “It doesn’t matter. Leave. You’re ruined. This article made it a certainty.”
Genny furrowed her brow. “The article appeared in the Times?” she asked, walking over to where the newspaper lay. “Oh, and my picture, too. They drew it from my portrait.”
“A wonderful likeness,” her grandmother said, sitting. “I had such high hopes for you.”
“As I had for you,” Genny said softly. “I thought you might even like me a bit.”
Her grandmother, face completely devoid of expression, said, “You may leave,” as if her permission was necessary.
“Your carriage is ready, miss,” the footman said.
Genny looked around for her grandfather, but he had disappeared. “Good-bye, Your Grace.”
The duchess stared straight ahead, silent.
Despite everything, Genny felt sad about leaving her grandparents in such a manner, but what choice did she have?
“Let’s go, Genny,” Mitch said softly, holding out his arm to her before she walked out of the parlor and down the long hall to the entryway and the front door. Behind them Tillie was fairly skipping.
Mr. Blackwell was there, as dignified as ever, and when they approached, he pulled the door open.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwell,” Genny said, then whispered, “Your name was never mentioned.”
She was about to walk through the door when she heard her grandfather calling out to her. When he reached them, he was slightly out of breath.
“Good-bye, Genevieve,” he said. “Try not to judge either of us too harshly. Losing your mother was difficult. For us both.”
Genny smiled sadly and embraced her grandfather, something he obviously wasn’t used to, for he stiffened and patted her back a few times before stepping back. “Here,” he said, taking her hand and pressing something into it. “A wedding gift.”
“Thank you,” Genny said, then turned and walked out the door to the waiting carriage.
When they were in the carriage, Genny began laughing so hard that Mitch became concerned. “What a strange journey this has been,” she said.
He grunted in agreement. “What did your grandfather give you?”
Genny held it up in the glow of a passing gaslight. “Money. Quite a bit of it, actually.” She handed it to Mitch, who let out a whistle as he began counting.
“There’s a thousand pounds here.”
“Truly?” Genny asked, and clapped her hands together. “We can use this toward your studio.”
Mitch smiled. “That and first class passage on the ship. I’m already thinking about that bed you had.”
“The beds are larger in first class, I expect,” she said, her voice low, and just the way she said it, just the way she meant it, made him instantly hard.
“Definitely first class.”
Chapter 15
The ship was still within sight of Liverpool and Genny and Mitch were in bed, naked, and feeling quite pleased with themselves.
Genny stretched out on top of Mitch, drowsy and completely sated. The things he’d done . . . with his hands, his fingers. His wonderfully talented tongue. He had brought her to a place she hadn’t imagined, where wave after wave of ecstasy engulfed her body in the throes of such complete pleasure, she finally understood why the French called it la petite morte.
She kissed his jaw, loving the way his chest vibrated when he moaned in appreciation. “Am I too heavy for you?” she asked, for her entire body was on him, a human blanket.
“I never want you to move,” he said.
“We shall starve.”
“There is that. I suppose I
can let you up briefly, to eat and such.”
She giggled and kissed him. Lord, she could kiss him for hours and hours and never get tired of it. If they never left their stateroom, that would be perfectly fine with Genny. Considering what they’d paid for the suite, they might as well stay inside. In bed.
Tillie had been given her own room in first class on the other side of the ship, no longer needing to pretend she was a maid and glad of it. Genny and Mitch, of course, told everyone they were married, because nothing wags more than the tongues on a ship. Mitch had purchased a simple gold band for Genny to wear, promising a much lovelier ring when they were Mrs. and Mr. Mitchell Campbell in fact.
She looked at it now, liking the way it felt, foreign and yet perfect. “Mrs. Mitchell Campbell,” she said. “I do believe I shall like that.”
“I do believe I shall like it too,” Mitch said, kissing her deeply. Genny let out an irritated sigh, and Mitch turned his head so he could better see her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m famished.”
“Ah.”
“Which means I’m going to have to get up, get dressed. I suppose we should unpack. We’ll be on this ship for days and days.”
“Not just yet,” Mitch said, moving his hips. Genny’s eyes widened, and she smiled.
“No,” she said, her lips against his. “Not just yet.”
When Genny got out of bed some time later, her limbs strangely loose, she walked over to her trunks, unabashedly naked, and started to unpack.
“Darlin’, if you don’t get some clothes on, I’m afraid you’re never going to eat.”
She turned back to him and smiled. “As wonderful as that sounds, if I don’t eat soon, I will perish.” Mitch turned on the bed so that his head was at the foot, his chin propped up on one fist as he watched Genny go through her trunks in search of something to wear. A short time later, wearing one of her simpler gowns, she came back to the bed and sat, laying one hand on his bum.
“You’re very pretty,” she said, making him laugh.
“Men aren’t pretty. They’re handsome.”
“This part of you is pretty,” she said and leaned over to kiss one firm buttock.
