“I’ve no doubt he deserved it,” her sister continued. “You’d never have thrown your water in his face unless he’d gravely insulted you.”
As the meaning of her words sank in, she blinked. Of course with the flurry of whispers following her ignominious departure and her family’s slightly delayed retreat from Lady Erroll’s, the real matter that should command Genevieve’s attention were the implications of her behavior last evening. And yet, it wasn’t. Instead, she was distracted by a rake who’d witnessed that humiliation. What had Cedric, a man so coolly elegant and in possession of his every emotion, thought of such a display? She gave her head a disgusted shake.
“Did he?” her sister asked, pulling her back to the moment. “Deserve it, that is.”
She tightened her mouth. “He most assuredly did.” Genevieve curled her fingers hard about the leather book in her hands. Her nails left crescent marks on the soft leather. “Father will never see it that way.” She was unable to keep the bitterness from tingeing her words. Her parents had as much faith in her virtue and honor as the rest of Society.
“No he won’t,” her sister said quietly. “He wants us to make a match.”
Both their parents did. Perhaps with an equal intensity.
She furrowed her brow, staring with concern at Gillian. Would her younger sister, with her desire to please all, compromise her own happiness? Surely with her romantic spirit, she’d not allow their father to so influence her. “You will make a match,” Genevieve said and claiming her sister’s hand, she gave her fingers a slight squeeze. She, on the other hand, would not. Ever. One scandal could mayhap be forgiven by an old reprobate in desperate need of a bride…such as Father’s friend, Lord Tremaine, but never two scandals. She steeled her jaw. She’d see her father in hell before she allowed him to bind her to that ancient lord.
Her sister’s face pulled. “I do not want just any gentleman.” Which their parents had, by the few events Genevieve attended the past fortnight, diligently thrust in their youngest daughter’s way. “Nor am I concerned about my marital state.” A slight, reproachful frown formed on Gillian’s usually smiling lips. “I am here because…” She darted her gaze about and then scooted closer. “I overheard Father whispering to Mother.”
Genevieve’s heart skipped a beat. “They are sending me away,” she breathed. Where that thought had once roused terror and agony, now a giddy lightness filled her chest; a desperate hungering to put this place behind her and carve out a quiet, albeit lonely, existence for herself in the country. There would be no caring husband and no loving, chubby-cheeked babes. A vise squeezed about her heart.
“Sending you away?” Her sister cocked her head as though that very thing hadn’t been done five years earlier. “No. They are talking about you marrying.”
She fanned the pages of her sketchpad. “Do you mean they are talking about me not ever marrying?” What gentleman would want a perfectly scandalous lady, nearly on the shelf, for his wife? Feeling Gillian’s gaze trained on her face, she made herself go still. And her uncooperative heart again faltered. “What is it?”
“Father wishes you to wed Lord Tremaine.”
Some of the tension eased from Genevieve’s shoulders and she leaned over to pat her sister’s fingers. “I know.”
The other-worldly, beautiful young woman opposite her shot her eyebrows to her hairline. “You know?” Incredulity underscored those two words. “And you are not horrified.”
“Father shared his intentions when I arrived in London.” She’d allowed herself to forget the old widower would be coming to town to size her up; had allowed herself to be distracted from the possibility of even seeing him. Now it all mattered not. For the horror to dog her since she’d fled Lady Erroll’s, a little thrill of triumph increased her heart’s beating.
Gillian searched Genevieve’s face. “And you did not tell me?”
At the wounded glimmer in Gillian’s expressive eyes, guilt swiftly doused all that previous, unholy enjoyment. “Oh, Gillian,” she said softly.
“I am your sister and you act as though I am a stranger,” she said faintly, accusatory. “And I know it is wrong and petty of me to speak of our relationship even now, but I wish to be your friend. I hate seeing you alone and you are so determined to be alone.”
She started. Since her return, she’d mourned the loss of her friendship with Gillian and lamented the loss of her brighter, more cheerful, self. Was her solitary state something she’d imposed upon herself as a means of protection? “You are right,” she said quietly and surprise lit her sister’s face. She hugged her sketchpad close, finding comfort in its solid, reassuring presence. It had been there when not even her family had. “I have spent so many years alone, Gillian,” she said, needing her sister to understand. “Grandfather—”
“Was cold and miserable?”
“No,” she said with an automaticity born of truth. That was how Society saw the old Earl of Hawkridge. That was how even Genevieve herself had. Those opinions had been fabricated by a girl’s fears of the austere, stately earl. “Grandfather has a clever wit and a dry humor,” she said, defending the man because it was important Gillian knew that, of their miserable family, Grandfather never was, nor ever had been, the problem member. “He is old, though.” She could not keep the sadness from creeping in. “He spends much of his days resting or sleeping. But when I was there, he was more a friend to me.” Unable to meet the other woman’s probing stare, Genevieve dropped her gaze to her knees. “But I no longer know how to be around company.”
“Bah, you were always cheerful and witty.”
Her sister’s unintended slight, earned a sharp bark of laughter. Goodness how she’d missed her raw honesty and innocent sincerity. But then her mirth died. “I will try to be more a friend to you.” To go back to the way they’d been when they were sisters, crafting ways to drive their parents mad.
Gillian narrowed her eyes. “And you’ll not keep secrets from me?”
She opened her mouth, but then followed the pointed stare to the book clenched in her fingers. Cedric. “There are no secrets.” I am a liar. There was a kiss that seared my soul and burns on my mouth even still. But there would never be anything more. Rakes did not rush to take brides and certainly not ruined ones. Not that Genevieve wished to be his bride. Except…what would it be like wed to a man such as Cedric? Her parents’ union had been coolly formal, with barely a smile between the couple and certainly never laughter. Marriage to Cedric would, no doubt, be thrilling and filled with passion. Butterflies danced wildly in her belly at the forbidden prospect.
“I daresay I would rather see you wed to a charming gentleman like the Marquess of St. Albans than Lord Tremaine,” her sister said jerking her back from such fanciful and, more, dangerous musings.
If Genevieve was of the marrying sort, she would most assuredly choose Cedric over an old widower, trying to beget heirs on her like a broodmare. With a man such as Cedric as her husband, there would at least exist laughter and desire in a marriage. A thrill fluttered in her belly. “Yes, well, neither is truly an option.” There were none.
A knock sounded at the door and, as one, they looked to the front.
Delores peeked her head inside. Light streamed into the nursery. “Lady Genny?” Her gaze landed on the sisters stuck in the corner. “Oh, there you are, miss.” A look of pity flashed on her face.
The time had come.
“His Lordship has requested your presence in his office.”
Even as she’d been expecting it, her stomach dipped. Mustering a smile for her sister’s benefit, she shoved to her feet. “Delores,” she said as she walked over and gave her sketchpad to the young maid. “Will you deliver this to my rooms?” The young maid nodded and then rushed off.
Genevieve stared after her a moment. It had been inevitable. Of course, all great shows of disobedience were met with a stern lecture. This, however, was no mere disobedience. This was another great scandal when she’d been so thoroughly warn
ed. The floorboards groaned, indicating her sister had moved, and she cast a look sideways to Gillian.
“Perhaps if you speak to him,” Gillian said hopefully, with every word demonstrating the extent of her innocence. “If you explain how His Grace offended you, then he’ll be understanding.”
Many words had been leveled at the Marquess of Ellsworth: pompous, arrogant, respectable. Among them, however, understanding had never been one of them.
“I will speak to him,” she promised.
Her younger sister held out her elbow. “Would you like me to accompany you?”
“No,” she said, gentling that refusal with another smile. “I’ll visit after my meeting. I promise,” she added, when Gillian still hesitated. The last place she’d have the innocent, still-hopeful young woman was outside Father’s office while he delivered a dressing down like she was a recalcitrant child. She sank her teeth into her lower lip…or worse, a harlot who’d visited shame upon the family once more.
Without the benefit of her sister’s unwavering support, Genevieve made her way through the corridors. This moment was remarkably like another. And mayhap, if she were fortunate, like that long ago night, she’d be sent away.
But then what? a silent voice needled. Did she truly wish to be a relative forever dependent upon the charity of her family?
A short while later, she found herself seated at the foot of her father’s desk while he scribbled away at those very important ledgers that commanded more attention than his daughter ever had. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. No, the only notice he’d paid her had been when she’d brought shame to his name and title. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. And who she might wed. Why, when the then recent Duke of Aumere had set his cap upon her for that too-brief a time, she’d brought pride. That fleeting emotion had been quickly replaced with his furious disdain. All the old annoyances boiled to the surface and threatened to spill over. She fisted her hands on her lap. “You wished to see me,” she said tightly.
His hand slid and left a sloppy, inky trail from the jerkiness of that movement. She took a perverse delight in unsettling him. Prepared for his blustery show of disapproval, she was taken aback as he dropped his pen and reclined in his seat. He wiped a tired hand over his face; defeated, when he was usually only condemning. “My hopes for you were great, Genevieve,” he said quietly, as though he spoke to himself. “Your entry into Society was a wondrous one.” He shook his head sadly.
Perhaps she should feel something at that parental disappointment, but how could she feel anything but this frustration running through her at the blame forever heaped on her shoulders? Filled with a restive energy, Genevieve leaned forward. “What Aumere did five years ago, the lies he spread, marks him as a cad. And you, as my father, should see that,” she said quietly.
The marquess wrinkled his nose. Was it the sincerity of the words on her lips that earned his distaste? Or her blatant challenging of him? When he still said nothing, she settled her palms on his desk. “Just as what happened last evening was not my fault,” she said calmly. Surely he saw that?
He held her gaze. “It is never your fault,” he said tiredly.
In her defense, it hadn’t been. Either time, where Aumere was concerned. He was a gentleman who’d seen her as less than a person; a material object there to suit his whims and fancies. For the shock and scandal she’d caused, she would never make apologies for last night. Not to that man.
“Tremaine will marry you.”
Lost in her own musings, it took a moment for Father’s words to penetrate. She frowned. “Father?” she asked, incredulity lacing her question. What gentleman would marry a notoriously whispered about lady? A desperate one. An ancient one without heirs. Disgust scraped along her spine. At her father for dare suggesting it and the old lord willing to do it.
Her father gestured to the pages in front of him and, wordlessly, she followed his motioning to those pages he’d been so enrapt in. “Following our return last evening, I met with the earl.” His lips pulled. “He was not at all pleased about another scandal being attached to your name, but for our friendship, he will overlook it.”
So that was why Father had not summoned her posthaste for his verbal dressing down. He’d had matters of business to attend with his ancient friend. “Are you mad?” The question tumbled from her lips, before she could call it back.
Not that she wished to. For even with the narrowing of her father’s eyes and the rage flashing in their depths, an unholy fury licked away at her senses. “He is seventy if he is a day, and you’d marry me off to mitigate a scandal?” She continued, not allowing him the opportunity to speak. “I am no longer the scared child you sent away, blindly obedient.” She jutted her chin. “I did nothing wrong and will not rush off and marry an old lord to appease you.” Or anyone. The decisions she made would be strictly with her own happiness and future in mind. No one else’s.
The leather groaned in protest as her father leaned forward. “You would reject his offer?” Shock coated his words. “When I’ve already assured him you would be agreeable to the match?” His mottled cheeks and furious eyes hinted at the thin thread of control he possessed.
Genevieve drew in a steadying breath and swallowed down a string of curses. Neither of her parents had appreciated or welcomed shows of spirit or temper. It was one of the reasons they’d so favored Gillian. Mayhap her father could be reasoned with. “I am…” Nauseous. “Grateful for the earl’s offer, however, we would not suit.” The least reason of which had to do with the fact that he was the same age as her own father and more to do with the domineering tendencies he’d exhibited with his daughters at their family’s picnics over the years. Those young women, nearly her age, were shadows of people and that is what she would become if she bound herself to that old lord.
“You would not suit?” Her father slashed the air with his hand. “You’ll have a title and respectability. What more do you require than that?”
There was a finality there that fanned her annoyance. Happiness be damned, he’d base his assurances on nothing more than his expectations that his daughters were both broodmares there to be auctioned off to the most respectable and highest bidder. She narrowed her eyes. “You did not even speak to me about what I wished—?”
His patience snapped in the form of a furious fist pounding the surface. “What you wish?” The papers leapt with the force of his movements and she jumped in time to them. “What you wish was forfeited five years ago, Genevieve.”
She continued, tenacious. “Allow me the funds you’ve settled on me when I reach my majority. I will leave you and Mother and you’ll not have to be constantly reminded of me.” And more, she could be free of him.
“The whispers will remain,” he shot back. “Nor would I be so imprudent as to give a young chit who has demonstrated such ill-judgment time and time again access to a single farthing.” The finality in his words reached up to his eyes and spoke of a man who’d run out of patience. Whether she was truly to blame or not, mattered not at all. It only mattered how it affected his name.
She set her jaw. “I am not marrying him.”
Her quiet pronouncement echoed around the office with the same force as if she’d screamed it from her lungs.
“Very well,” her father said, sitting back in his chair. He picked up his pen and proceeded to scribble onto the pages of his ledger.
Befuddlement creased her brow. “Very well?” Surely he’d not capitulate so easily? As long as she remembered, the Marquess of Ellsworth had been wholly unyielding and certainly never one to show weakness before his daughters.
“I cannot allow two of my daughters to remain without a single prospect.” Her father didn’t deign to pick his head up, but devoted his attention to the book before him. “I expect Tremaine will prefer your sister, anyway.”
A loud buzzing filled her ears. “What?” her question came as though down a long hall. Surely he’d not said… Surely she’d imagined…?
The marquess briefly glance
d up. “The truth is, Tremaine never truly wanted you,” he said, raking an icy stare over her. Did he believe to hurt her with that admission? “He asked for your sister, but I expected she could make an advantageous match of her own. Where you…?” He gave his head a shake and diverted his attention to that page.
She shot to her feet. “No,” she gasped and again planted her hands on his desk. “What manner of father are you?” She’d sooner see her father dead than allow him to marry off her sister to that doddering lord.
He scoffed and at last looked up. “I’m not in a mood for your displays of emotion. One of you will marry.”
Moments ago, she’d lied to herself. There was someone whose happiness she’d put before her own—Gillian. His threat hung on the air between them. And she wanted to lash out at him. To spit in his face, and then send him and his prospective match to the devil where he could burn for being a faithless sire.
I cannot do this… Except, meeting her father’s ruthless stare confirmed his resolve—he’d see one of his daughters married. “Please do not do this.” She curled her toes into the soles of her slippers. “Send me back to Grandfather,” she beseeched, hating that she’d been reduced to a desperate, pleading girl, as much as she hated the world in which women’s happiness mattered not at all amidst their cruel, contrived Society. “Gillian will find a proper husband. A man worthy of her.”
Her father stared at her for a long while, saying nothing, and hope stirred in her breast; hope that he’d let her go and she could carry on sketching and gardening without fear of recrimination or worry over what anyone said. But then, he sank back in his seat once more. “You’ll not be able to remain hidden with your miserable grandfather forever.” Miserable. The earl, even with his gruff edge, was warmer and more of a father than this man had ever been.
“But—”
“Tremaine will arrive later today to formally request your hand. Do I have your acceptance?”
Tell him no. Tell him he can go to the devil… She pressed her eyes closed. Ultimately, would Gillian have the same strength to reject their father’s efforts? A slow, painful acceptance settled around her belly.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 43
