“I believe he might show his face. He needs to meet the citizens of Baltimore, after all. What better opportunity?”
“That’s true,” Genny said, and lapsed once again into silence. Their hired carriage left them on the northeast corner of the street and Genny helped her father to descend. Mr. McElhaney, the master of ceremonies, met them at the door of the Assembly Room, remarked on the dank weather, on Mr. Paxton’s seemingly fine health, on the bloom in Genny’s cheeks, and then moved them through as another party arrived.
“Phew,” Genny said behind her hand. “He always says the same things, doesn’t he? I remember the identical conversation three years ago.”
She slipped off her velvet cloak, handing it to a footman, and turned to do a small pirouette in front of her father. James Paxton’s eyes nearly crossed. He swallowed. He closed his eyes, but the vision was stamped into his brain.
Oh, God, who had done this to his daughter? He wanted to remove her instantly, take her home, rip off that awful thing she was wearing, and make a fire with it, but—oh, God, white velvet bows. Too many to count before becoming ill.
It was too late.
“Why, good evening, Mr. Paxton. And Eugenia. How delightful. And how very—ah, interesting you look. Such an endless array of white velvet bows. Excuse me, please.”
All that was from Mrs. Lavinia Warfield, wife of the very wealthy and influential Mr. Paul Warfield. James watched her hurry away from them, saw the excited malice in her small eyes, and knew for certain it was too late.
Oh, God. What to do?
“How oddly she behaved, Father,” Genny said as she self-consciously fingered one of the bows.
“Yes,” James said, trying to stifle the curses that were bubbling up in his mouth. He sighed again. At least Genny had the loveliest hair imaginable. She’d managed to braid it loosely and had wrapped it about the top of her head in a thick coronet, leaving tendrils to snake down the sides of her face and the back of her neck. Beautiful hair, just like her mother’s. If only she had her mother’s sense of style, her taste in clothing. If only people would just look at her from the neck up.
He had no time to run, no time to adjust his thinking into a sound strategy, no time to tell his daughter that she looked dreadful. They were quickly surrounded by the Murrays, the Pringles, the Winchesters, and the Gaithers. The men were honestly glad to see him; the women, unfortunately, were delighted to see Genny, but not because they wanted to renew any friendships. It had gotten around that Genny wasn’t keeping to her woman’s place, and the ladies of Baltimore were fully prepared to take revenge.
And Genny, with the awful gown, had given them a wonderful, not-to-be-missed opportunity.
Seven
“My lord? Baron Sherard?”
Alec turned to smile at the beautiful woman at his left elbow. “Yes, I’m Baron Sherard,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
“Ah, how gallant of you, sir. Mr. Daniel Raymond has told everyone about you and, well, you may call me the advance guard, if you wish.”
“Truth be told, I’d rather call you something else. What is your name, ma’am?”
“Laura. Laura Salmon. A poor widow. My dear husband exported to the Caribbean, flour primarily. I have heard that you wish to remain and buy the Paxton shipyard. An excellent idea. You could carry my flour for me. I own Salmon’s Mill on the Patapsco, you know, just two miles southeast of the city.”
“I see. Call me Alec. Would you like to waltz with me?”
Alec hadn’t expected a negative answer and indeed, he didn’t get one, not from this exquisite piece of femininity who was flirting madly with him. The very beautiful Laura laughed up at him and quickly placed her hand on his arm. Her eyes sparkled. She moistened her lips with her tongue. He had the feeling she also wanted to moisten his lips with her tongue. “Oh, yes, I should love that.”
They made a striking couple, the English baron looking like a prince from a fairy tale and the divine Laura like a princess, in her snow-white gown and glittering array of diamonds. When the dance ended, Laura introduced Alec to many of the local gentlemen, then stood back, wisely, and watched him charm the lot of them. Soon other gentlemen joined the group. Goodness, Laura thought, watching him laugh, watching the way he tilted his head so intently when another was speaking, he was beautiful. She loved the way he used his hands when he talked. And his body—no Englishman, or any other male she’d ever known, had looked like he did—not an ungraceful bone in his body, nor a patch of fat anywhere, not even a whisper. She added to herself that she couldn’t be completely certain of that just yet. She could practically feel his warm flesh beneath her searching fingers, his tongue against her lips. She shuddered delicately and decided then and there that she would invite him to be her lover. His golden body would look marvelous stretched over her very pale one, his golden-blond hair contrasting exquisitely with her glossy black hair. Both of them had blue eyes, but hers were dark, dark as midnight, as one of the young puppies who adored her had once said, while the baron’s were bright as a summer sky, vivid, alive. He didn’t appear to be conceited about his spectacular looks. She found herself praying he wasn’t. In her experience, though, men who were at all handsome expected women to do everything for them, just because they deigned to be with them.
They were selfish lovers. Would Alec Carrick be a selfish lover? Laura couldn’t wait to find out. Thank the merciful heavens that her very old, very miserly husband had passed to his new reward the previous spring, leaving her all of his old reward.
The orchestra began another waltz. She watched the gentlemen disperse to find their partners for the dance. Alec, she saw, feeling a wave of disappointment, walked over to speak to James Paxton, who was sitting with some other older men.
Laura looked out onto the smallish dance floor as she tapped her foot to the waltz rhythm. Oh, dear, there was that dreadful Genny Paxton, and Oliver Gwenn—of all things—had asked her to waltz with him.
Laura shuddered just looking at her. The girl looked altogether dreadful. Who had made that gown for her? And why had Oliver asked her to dance? Or had he? Oliver Gwenn was Laura’s current lover and she wouldn’t tolerate another female poaching on her preserves, even though Oliver was a very unripe specimen on those preserves.
The music finally came to an end. Couples strolled off the floor, Genny Paxton and Oliver Gwenn included. Laura waited for Oliver to politely yet firmly detach himself from that god-awful apparition. He didn’t. He lingered.
The Baltimore Assembly Room reminded Alec of Almack’s in London, except for the fact that there were no patronesses sitting on their power, ruling the ton with iron-gloved fists from the large, cold building on King Street. This assembly room was also large, high-ceilinged, square, and airless, since no windows were open. The orchestra was mounted on a dais at the east end of the room. There was an adjoining room with a long table holding a punch bowl and plates heaped with cakes and candies. The punch reminded him of the very weak orgeat at Almack’s. At least, unlike at Almack’s, the cakes were fresh and tasty, not stale bread and butter.
Alec found that he couldn’t take his eyes off Genny. It was so appalling a sight that he felt mesmerized. The first time he’d seen the gown she was wearing he’d nearly choked on his punch. She didn’t realize that she looked a mess, bless her styleless eyes. But all the ladies did, and many of the gentlemen. The ladies—young and old alike—made it open season on Genny Paxton.
The gentlemen, he noted, had eyed her, more or less shrugged to each other as if to say: What do you expect? She doesn’t know how to be a lady. He saw her now in conversation with a young man whose name, if Alec recalled aright, was Oliver Gwenn. He had also danced the last waltz with her. He looked young; perhaps he and Genny had been childhood friends. That better be the case. Alec hadn’t as yet spoken to Genny. He made his way over to her and the young man.
“Good evening, Genny.”
“Oh, Alec. Hello, what a surprise.”
She stepped back, allowing him and Oliver Gwenn to chat a bit. She thought it rather gracious of her.
“Genny tells me,” Oliver said, “that you are considering staying in Baltimore and going into business with her and her father.”
“It is more than a remote possibility. Have you and Genny known each other long?”
“Since we were both in leading strings,” Oliver said, smiling at her.
Genny fingered a white velvet bow. She felt heated in the close room. She also felt a good deal of tension. She didn’t understand why the ladies were treating her like a pariah. It made no sense to her. Nor was she imagining it. And now here was Alec, looking as magnificent as a god, making all the ladies salivate with lust. When he finally turned to ask her to dance, Genny wasn’t paying him any heed. Her attention had been caught by Laura Salmon, who was waving an imperious hand toward Oliver.
“Oliver,” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Does Laura wish to speak to you?”
To her further confusion, Oliver flushed, making him look singularly unattractive. He mumbled something and ambled off toward Laura.
“Whatever is the matter with him?”
“Goodness, you’re naive.” Alec laughed. “Come along, Genny, let’s cut ourselves a wide swath on the dance floor.”
“All right. Alec, I haven’t danced in three years. I fear I trod on Oliver’s toes and will step on yours as well.”
“If you do, I’ll be stoic, or whine just a bit.”
He put his arm around her, quite properly at her middle back, and Genny felt more than a dollop of pleasure at that hand of his touching her. The pleasure was insidious and deep and it was spreading throughout her body. She looked up at his impossibly handsome face and frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, her voice sharp. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”
“I trust you didn’t do that on purpose?”
She gave him an impish grin and just shook her head. “Not I, sir. Well, what do you think of the ball? Have you met most of our leading citizens? Listened to all of Mr. Raymond’s nonsense? Drooled on most of their wives’ collective hands? Let them drool over yours? Accepted a dozen assignations?”
“You’re endlessly impertinent, Genny. Yes, I’ve met so many people my head is spinning.” With those words, he whirled her about in a wide circle and she laughed with the excitement of it.
“Oh, you’re excellent.”
“Thank you. Now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but—”
“I always distrust people who begin like that. There is always a but.”
“Genny—” He drew a deep breath. “Where did you get that gown?”
“Why, from one of the best mantuamakers in all of Baltimore.”
“That can’t be true. Look around you. Do you see any other lady dressed in such a very loud shade of blue satin? Do you see any other lady sporting so many white velvet bows and so many yards of flounces?”
Genny felt a knot of hurt, then more than a moment’s uncertainty. “There are quite a few bows on the gown. I was thinking that, but Miss Mary Abercrombie assured me that it was just the thing and I was being silly.”
“Mary Abercrombie?”
“Yes, there are two Miss Abercrombies. And it is one of the best, Alec. The gown—it truly looks not too well?”
The look in her eyes nearly stopped him. He’d never seen such vulnerability in her before and he didn’t like what it did to him. But this couldn’t continue. “I’m sorry, Genny, but it is an abomination. Is she making other things for you?”
The look of vulnerability was gone, replaced by a flat, nearly opaque blanking of expression. “Yes, several more gowns. I didn’t have many, you know, and all of them are quite old and out of date.”
How to proceed? He decided to say nothing more for the moment. He didn’t want to hurt her any more, nor did he want to make her angry with him. He whirled her about again and was pleased to hear her laugh.
“Have people been kind to you?”
She cocked her head at him. “Polite enough, I suppose. Most of them are acquaintances or friends of my father.”
“How are the ladies treating you?”
She lowered her head. “They are coldly polite, if you know what I mean. I don’t understand why. It’s true that my father and I haven’t been in society for over a year now, but they seem quite pleased to see him.”
“Shall I tell you why?”
He got a sour look at that. “You, a stranger? An Englishman? You want to tell me—”
“Yes. Listen to me, Genny. I won’t lie to you. You are doing a man’s job at the shipyard. You have offended all the ladies by straying outside a lady’s defined confines. You have offended and threatened all the gentlemen by aping their dress and dipping your fingers in their pots. Now you are gowned like a”—he shuddered as he took a full look at her—“like a dowd with no style, no taste. They are simply getting their revenge on you, and you’ve made it exquisitely easy.”
Genny said quite calmly, “Are you through with your truths, Baron?”
“Yes, I am, and I’m sorry to make you feel bad, but, Genny—Ouch. You did that on purpose.”
She came down on his foot again, denied herself the pleasure of sending her fist into his belly, and stomped off the dance floor, leaving Baron Sherard standing alone, staring after her and feeling like a fool. If, Alec thought at that moment, he had his hands on her and they were alone, he would jerk up that miserable gown and send the flat of his hand to her bottom. His hand clenched at the thought. She would have a very nice bottom, smooth, and round. He shook his head at himself. Slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if being stranded by his partner were an accepted course of events, Alec strolled from the dance floor to find himself once again in Laura Salmon’s net.
She was at her charming best, alone with him. He decided that he wanted her and smiled his acceptance when she invited him to dine with her the following evening. Then other ladies and gentlemen joined them.
It wasn’t Laura who started it, but she certainly gave it her best when it came her turn.
“Would you just look at Genny Paxton. I’ve never seen such a fright in my whole life.” This was from a squint-eyed young lady who was not only overweight but blessed with a doughy complexion.
“Yes, how could her dear father—my father thinks the world of Mr. Paxton—allow her to show herself like that?”
“Gentlemen don’t understand fashion,” Laura said, smiling at Mrs. Walters, the wife of a very rich ironmonger.
Alec said easily, “I understand that Miss Paxton obtained the gown from a leading mantuamaker in Baltimore.”
“Impossible.”
“Absurd.”
“No, from a Miss Abercrombie. She told me so herself.”
Laura was shaking her head, but there was a frown pucking her brow. “But Abigail Abercrombie makes all my gowns. She wouldn’t ever make such a garment.”
Something was wrong here. Abigail? No, Genny had called her Mary.
“It’s obvious that Miss Paxton made the gown herself and is now telling tales about it to everyone!”
“She is desperate for a husband, I hear,” Laura said, “what with the shipyard doing not at all well. Our English lord perhaps will save her and her father.” She gave a very seductive smile to Alec, one that wasn’t lost on any female in the group.
“Well,” Miss Poerson actually sniffed, “she won’t get one looking like that. She’s insufferable, what with all her silly airs, pretending she’s better than all of us.”
“Her gown was made by Miss Abercrombie,” Alec said. “Miss Mary Abercrombie.”
That drew all the female eyes. “Mary. Oh, goodness, how awful.”
“Miss Paxton was so ignorant to let Mary touch her, even get near her?” Miss Poerson laughed and laughed.
“She�
��s pathetic,” Laura said. “Both Miss Abercrombie and Miss Paxton. Have a bit of charity for Miss Paxton. How would you like to be in her position, looking as she does? And not even aware that she went to the wrong sister and ended up looking like a—a—” Laura fanned her hands in front of her, unable to find the proper word.
“I saw her dancing with Oliver,” said Mrs. Mayer, a glint of malice in her eyes as she gave Laura a sloe-eyed look. “He didn’t seem to mind her lacks.”
“He was just being nice. They’ve known each other forever, after all.”
“Close to forever,” said a very thin woman with a mustache over her upper lip. “How could she find a husband? Why, she must be at least twenty-five.”
“She’s twenty-three,” Alec said.
“She doesn’t look it,” Laura said, saw that Alec was looking a bit stiff, and immediately retired from the fray. This gentleman was not a gossip. “Would you dance with me again, Baron?”
Alec nodded and led her to the dance floor. Later, he accepted James Paxton’s invitation to return to their home for some refreshments following the ball.
Once inside, Genny removed her cloak and handed it to Moses.
“Oh, my,” Moses said, looking down at his young mistress. “You is the prettiest young lady I ever saw.”
Genny suspected him of irony, but saw none in his dark eyes. Her one ally, and he hadn’t been around when she’d needed him. Once in the parlor, Alec said to Genny, without preamble, “Did you say your mantuamaker was a Miss Mary Abercrombie?”
“You’ve already said quite enough, Alec.”
“No,” James said, sitting forward in his chair, “not enough has been said. Answer him, Genny.”
“Yes.”
“Well, my dear Miss Paxton, you evidently attached yourself to the wrong Abercrombie. According to Mrs. Salmon—”
Genny snorted at the name but Alec ignored her.
“Mrs. Salmon says it’s Miss Abigail Abercrombie who is the competent one. You, my dear, got affixed to the wrong rigging.”
Genny sat down. Now she remembered. It was Miss Abigail. “Oh, no,” she said and groaned.
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