by Diane Gaston
She turned back to him. ‘You are paying their debts?’
He glanced away. ‘It is a trifle to me, but will mean a great deal to them and to their families.’
She took his arm again. ‘How did you find out they were in the workhouse? Did they tell you? Or did someone else tell you.’
He turned the curricle on to the next street. ‘Someone told me. One of the other soldiers I help.’
‘Other soldiers? What other soldiers?’
The soldiers should thank Dell for this. If Dell had not taken Ross to the hospital to see those wounded men from his regiment, he never would have sent baskets of food to their families. He never would have created a system where several needy families received food from him on a regular basis. Enough to keep them, their wives and children in good health.
‘There are several soldiers and their families who I help.’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘I simply went to the workhouse and asked if there were any soldiers there. I gathered their names and the amounts of their debts and today I return to pay them and secure their release.’
She lay her head against his shoulder. ‘How good of you, Ross. How very good of you.’
* * *
After Ross brought her home, Genna could not get out of her mind how wonderful this man was. To her and to others. He was giving her the best chance for her to achieve her desire to support herself with her art. How could she ever repay him?
‘Lady Tinmore wishes to see you,’ the footman attending the hall told her.
How could she repay her sister? Look what Lorene had done for her, misguided as it was. She must become a success. What other choice did she have than to give them what they desired for her?
‘Will I find her in her sitting room?’ she asked him.
‘I believe so, miss.’
Genna hurried up to her bedchamber where she removed her hat, gloves and redingote. She looked at her fingers. All the paint had not washed off them. She scrubbed them some more at her basin without complete success, gave up and hurried to Lorene’s sitting room.
She knocked and entered without waiting for an invitation. ‘I am back. You wanted to see me?’
Lorene sat at her pianoforte, but Genna had not heard her playing. She looked up at Genna with an expression of disapproval. ‘We had a fitting scheduled this afternoon. Did you not remember?’
Genna placed her hand over her mouth. ‘I completely forgot.’ She had been so enthralled with painting that everything else dropped out of her mind. ‘Lorene, I am so sorry.’
The fitting was for their new ball gowns, the ones they were to wear to the Duke and Duchess of Kessington’s ball.
‘I sent word that we would come tomorrow.’
‘What time?’ Genna asked.
‘Morning.’
Excellent! She would not have to miss her art lesson.
She did not want to tell Lorene about her lessons, afraid Lorene would somehow stop them.
‘I promise I will be ready tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Will Tess come?’
‘Tess and Lady Northdon,’ Lorene responded.
Nancy, Tess’s former maid turned modiste, had come up with an idea for their gowns to complement one another, so when they stood together, they would make one pretty picture.
‘I will not fail you tomorrow,’ Genna vowed.
She turned to go, but Lorene stopped her.
‘Will you attend the rout with me tonight?’ There was an edge to Lorene’s voice that made Genna pause.
‘Is Tess not going?’ Genna asked over her shoulder.
‘No,’ Lorene said. ‘They did not receive an invitation.’
It was shameful how often Tess’s husband’s family was shunned by the ton. If Tess was not attending this rout, then who would Lorene talk to? Tinmore would leave her for the card room.
Genna turned back to her sister and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Of course I will attend with you. It should be very enjoyable.’
* * *
Dell walked through the crush of guests at the rout and kicked himself for attending. Why had he come?
He knew why. He suspected Lord Tinmore would receive an invitation and Dell wanted a moment with Lorene to see how she was faring.
The last time he’d seen her—at that ghastly dinner party with the Duke and Duchess—she’d looked even more beaten down than usual. Not that he’d believed Tinmore beat her—God knew what he would do if he discovered her husband was beating her. It was bad enough to witness Tinmore slashing at her spirit.
He was concerned because they were cousins—was that not so? Distant cousins, though. They shared a great-great-grandfather. That made them family and he had no one else but the Summerfield sisters.
If only he’d known their plight perhaps he could have convinced his father to allow them to stay at Summerfield House. Then Lorene would not have needed to marry Tinmore for his money. His father might have helped them instead.
Foolish notion. His father would never have listened to his younger son. Had his brother Reginald spoken it would have been a different matter, but Dell could not see either his father or his brother taking pity on the scandalous Summerfield sisters.
He heard a grating voice. ‘Duke! How good to see you!’ It was Tinmore greeting Ross’s father. ‘Do you play cards tonight?’
Tinmore was abandoning her again. Did the man not realise he left her adrift like a ship without a rudder? Someone must guide her, protect her from those pirates who delighted in attacking the vulnerable.
He found her in the crowd. Standing with her was her sister, a young woman made of sterner stuff than Lorene.
‘Good evening, ladies.’ Dell bowed.
Lorene lowered her gaze. ‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Lord Penford!’ Genna responded. ‘At last we see a friendly face. I was beginning to think that no one would know us here.’
Though he suspected several of the guests had been introduced to these two ladies before. ‘I am happy to be of service. Would you like some refreshment?’
‘Would you get us whatever is in those wine glasses we keep seeing the servants carry?’ she asked.
‘My pleasure.’ He bowed and went in search of a footman carrying a tray.
When he returned, Lorene was conversing with the Duchess of Archester, but she accepted the wine with a fleeting smile. He bowed to her again.
Genna stood close to him. ‘I hope you are speaking to me, Lord Penford.’
‘Why should I not?’ he asked.
She gave him a knowing look. ‘Because of the betrothal.’
He met her gaze. ‘I am not fond of keeping secrets. No good comes of it.’
She lowered her gaze for a moment, then raised her chin. ‘Have you no secrets?’ she asked.
He resisted the impulse to glance at her sister. ‘I have your secret,’ he said. ‘I gave my word to keep it.’
She placed her hand on his wrist. ‘I thank you for it, I really do. I know you do not approve.’
He lifted one shoulder. ‘It is between you and Ross, ultimately.’
She glanced over to her sister. ‘I know it will affect others, but Ross will make certain everything concludes well.’
‘I hope so.’ But he could not keep the scepticism from his voice.
She glanced around the room. ‘I never know what to do in these entertainments. Everyone seems to stand around and talk and take some refreshment.’
‘One is supposed to mingle,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘You make it sound very easy, but there are few people who wish to mingle with Lorene and me. That is why I am here. To be certain she is not alone.’
Lorene was one of the most alone people Dell had ever known. ‘That is kind of you.’
She sighed and tapped her foot. ‘She will never know what a sacrifice it is! I have yet to devise a way to make a rout enjoyable.’ She watched a young man approach. ‘But I shall try.’
It was Baron Holdsworth’s younger son. ‘Good evening, Lord Penford.’ He tossed a shy glance to Genna. ‘Miss Summerfield.’
She gave the young man a big smile. ‘Hello, Mr Holdsworth! How good to see you. I was just trying to make Lord Penford explain to me how one should act at a rout. Do you know?’
He looked stricken. ‘Why—why—you merely talk to people.’
‘Ah.’ She shot a mischievous glance to Dell. ‘How lucky I am, then. I will talk to you.’
Dell took a step back, intending to leave Genna with Holdsworth, an obvious admirer. He slid a glance to Lorene, who was still conversing with the Duchess of Archester. He slipped away.
Better not to be seen paying too much attention to the Summerfield sisters. All he needed—all Lorene needed—was to be talked about because he paid too much attention to her.
He had just found another footman with a tray of wine, when the Duchess of Kessington, Ross’s stepmother, sidled up to him.
‘I see she is here with her sister,’ the Duchess said in scathing tones.
Dell knew precisely whom she was talking about. ‘Who with what sister?’
‘You know who I mean. Those odious Summerfields.’ She glanced towards Genna.
Dell took a sip of his wine. ‘You forget, Duchess, that I am a Summerfield.’
‘But you are not one of those Summerfields,’ she protested. ‘You have a title and property.’
He’d trade it all to have his family back.
She leaned towards his ear. ‘What are we to do about this betrothal?’
‘What can be done of it?’ he countered. ‘Ross made his decision.’
‘He cannot marry her!’ she said in an agitated whisper. ‘She is entirely unsuitable. Why, her mother is still living in Brussels with the man she ran away with years ago. And her father—’
He held up a hand. ‘I have heard the gossip.’
‘Even Lord Tinmore cannot put enough shine on her,’ the Duchess went on. ‘Why, the girl received no offers last Season. She was not even admitted to Almack’s, you know.’
‘Many young ladies have Seasons without offers. Many do not attend Almack’s.’
She sniffed. ‘Obviously she was waiting for a duke’s son.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘I hope I can rely on you to do what you can.’
He faced her. ‘Duchess, recall the lady you are discussing is my relation.’
She lifted her nose. ‘A distant relation. You cannot credit it.’
But he did credit it. He held on to that distant family connection much more firmly than he would have imagined he could. ‘In any event, the matter is between Ross and Miss Summerfield. I will not interfere.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I see I cannot rely on you. I must act alone to prevent this ghastly mistake.’
She turned with a swish of her skirts and strode away, joining another group with a cordial smile and ingratiating manners.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
During the next week, Genna had lessons with Vespery almost every day and when she was not at the easel in Vespery’s studio, she snatched time to read the da Vinci book Ross gave her. Vespery said she was progressing very quickly, but not quickly enough for her. She had only half a year to prepare to be a working artist. Painting still life—vases of flowers, food, cloth of various textures—like Vespery had her doing was not going to earn her money. She needed to paint portraits and she needed to be good at it.
She sighed. Patience was not one of her virtues!
Genna paced the floor of her bedchamber. There would be no lesson today, no outing with Ross. She sat at the desk in her room and pulled out her latest sketchbook from the drawer.
If she could not paint, she could at least draw.
The pencil in her hand made some sweeping curves on the page, but, before she knew it, she was making a sketch of Ross, how he appeared when his face was in repose. For practice, she told herself. For when she would paint his portrait.
She had to admit, she missed Ross as much as the painting lessons. He stayed during most of her lessons, always ready to assist, to bring them food, to shop for supplies. He professed to find the process interesting, but he must become bored some of the time. When Vespery left her to paint, Ross talked with her. Or rather she talked with him, telling him all the inconsequential details of her unvaried life at Summerfield House. She told him about the governess who’d taught her to draw and paint in watercolours. What a talented woman that governess was, nurturing Lorene’s love of piano, as well.
Until their father, who’d stopped paying the woman, forced her to find employment elsewhere. She was their last governess. After that, Tess and Lorene took over teaching Genna mathematics, and French and history and such. Genna and Lorene tended to their talents on their own.
Ross listened to her tell all this nonsense. She wished he would tell more about himself, but he did not. There was so much she wished to know about him.
Tonight was the night of the Kessington ball, the night their betrothal would be announced and more people deceived by the secret they kept. The announcement would not be applauded, she suspected. Who would think it a good idea for a duke’s heir to marry one of the scandalous Summerfields?
Tinmore had insisted she stay home this day, to be rested and ready for the ball. Her maid would be coming in at any time to help her dress. She’d refused a hairdresser this time, setting off a tirade from Tinmore, but his tirades had become a mere annoyance now that he had no power over her.
Her maid Hallie entered the room, carrying her ball gown. ‘Are you ready to dress, miss?’
‘I am indeed.’ She closed her sketchbook and put it away.
She promised herself she would not worry about her appearance. She would wear her hair in her favourite way, high on her head with curls cascading. Her dress was lovely, a blush so pale it was almost white. It matched Lorene’s and Tess’s and even Lady Northdon’s, Tess’s mother-in-law. Genna’s was designed to shine the brightest. She was eager for the scandalous Summerfield sisters and the notorious Lady Northdon to be seen together as the very height of fashion.
While Hattie was putting the last pins in her hair, there was a knock at the door.
A footman handed Hattie a package. She brought it to Genna. ‘This came for you.’
First she read the card. ‘It is from Lord Rossdale.’
Genna unwrapped the paper to discover a velvet-covered box. She opened it.
‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed.
It was a pendant and earrings. The pendant was a lovely opal surrounded by diamonds set in gold and on a gold chain. The earrings were matching opals.
It would go perfectly with her gown.
‘But how did he know?’ she said aloud.
‘Do you wear them tonight?’ Hattie asked without enthusiasm.
‘Of course I will!’ Genna cried.
With a gift such as this, who could ever guess their betrothal was a sham? She must remember, though, that such a gift must be returned when their charade was over.
* * *
When Lord Tinmore’s carriage pulled up to the Kessington town house, Tess, her husband and his parents were waiting for them on the pavement.
Tess hurried up to Genna and Lorene as they were assisted from the carriage. ‘We saw you coming and Lady Northdon said we should wait. We can be announced at the same time and walk in together!’
Genna gave her sister a buss on the cheek. She said hello to Lady Northdon. ‘It is a wonderful idea.’
‘Let us give them a spectacle, no?’ Lady Northdon said in her French accent.
Lord Tinmore g
rimaced when he greeted Lord Northdon, who looked no happier, but Lord Northdon’s expression changed to completely besotted when his wife took his arm. Lord and Lady Northdon might defy Genna’s disbelief in happy marriages, except for the fact that the Northdons had been miserable together until very recently. Who knew how long this period of marital bliss would last?
They all walked into the house and were attended by footmen in the magnificent marbled hall whose vaulted ceiling rose over two floors high. Other guests were queued on the double stairway of white marble with its gilt-and-crystal bannisters. It struck Genna that the design of this stairway mimicked the one at Carlton House. Or was it the other way around? Surely this house had been built first. It was a majestic sight, one Genna tried to commit to memory. What a lovely painting it would make with all the ladies in their colourful finery gracing the stairs like scattered jewels.
‘Come. Hurry,’ Tinmore snapped. ‘There are enough people ahead of us as it is.’
They hurried to their place on the stairs. Genna looked down and noticed that each step was made of one complete piece of marble.
Her sister Tess stood beside her. ‘Do you realise that all this will be yours some day?’
‘I cannot think that,’ Genna said honestly.
* * *
A quarter of an hour later they reached the ballroom door.
The butler announced, ‘Lord and Lady Tinmore and Miss Summerfield.’
Tinmore marched ahead, but Genna and Lorene held back until Lord and Lady Northdon and Mr and Mrs Glenville were announced. The four ladies crossed over the wide threshold together as heads turned towards them and a murmur went through the crowd already assembled in the ball room, a room even bigger than the ones they had been before.
A frisson of excitement rushed up Genna’s spine. They presented a lovely picture, each dressed in a shade of pink, Genna’s the palest, Lady Northdon’s the richest. Their gowns were not identically styled, but the fabric was the same, net over fine muslin so that their skirts floated around them.
Genna leaned to Tess. ‘Tell Nancy her styles have triumphed.’
‘How gratifying it is,’ Tess responded. ‘Because you know half these guests were certain we would not come off so well.’
