A Perfect Secret (3 page)

Papa strode to her swiftly. “No, Jenny. You cannot place yourself in his hands. ”

As the full consequences of his past sins boiled up inside her, she whirled to him and demanded, “What will happen to Mama if you face trial?”

Papa blanched and took a step backward. “Why do you think I kept silent all these years? Do you think I want my crime to put her into an early grave?”

“Then keep her safe.”

“I will not let you sacrifice yourself.”

She clutched at his hands. “Do not, I pray you, risk death or transportation. Mama needs you here, alive and well.”

He shook his head. “I forbid you to do this.”

Fury that his past had forced her into such a terrible quandary rose up and nearly strangled her. “I forbid you to do anything that will kill Mama,” she shot back.

He staggered back under the force of her words.

She turned to Wickburgh who watched the exchange in cold amusement. “Again I ask you; do you swear that this will be the last demand you make upon my father for your silence?”

“Yes. I give you my word as a gentleman.”

Finding strength in her decision, she stood. “Not acceptable. I will hold this letter in my hand while the ceremony takes place, and then I will burn it myself.”

Wickburgh sputtered. “How dare you imply that my word isn’t good enough!”

“You’re a blackmailer. I have no reason to trust your word.”

His face darkened and his eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. He drew near enough to touch her and hissed in her ear, “I always keep my promise. You will soon learn that.” A smile grotesquely twisted his mouth. “I look forward to breaking that annoyingly willful spirit.”

Cold fear bolted down her spine and chilled her blood. But she refused to reveal her fear. Instead, she stuck out her chin.

Louder, he said, “Very well, you will hold the letter, and the moment the wedding is finalized, you may keep it or burn it or whatever you wish. I will say nothing of this to anyone. And you will be mine.”

“Then we have an agreement.” Her heart shriveled.

“Do not do this, daughter, I pray you,” Papa said.

She stood resolute and spoke with a calm she didn’t feel. “You have taken care of me all my life. It’s time I take care of you and Mama.”

His expression crumpled. Tears filled his eyes and he looked away, but his hand gripped hers. “You’ve always taken care of us, of the servants, the tenants ….” he smiled briefly, “every fallen sparrow. But this … I fear you will rue this day.”

She feared the same, but this was her moment to take care of them in the best possible way. “If you and Mama are safe, it will be worth it.”

The door opened all the way and Mama stepped in, removing her bonnet and gloves, her color better than Genevieve had seen in weeks. “I had the loveliest chat with—oh, forgive me, I didn’t realize you had company.” She smiled at Wickburgh and dropped into a curtsy. Several strands of Mama’s auburn hair the same shade as Genevieve’s had escaped her chignon. Ringlets framed her face, making her look years younger. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

Wickburgh bowed. “Madam.”

Genevieve squared her shoulders. She would do this. For Mama. “You aren’t interrupting, Mama. May I present Lord Wickburgh, my intended.”

Mama’s smile faded and she blinked. “Pardon me?”

Wickburgh donned a smooth smile and crossed the room to bow over Mama’s hand. Genevieve’s flesh turned cold at the sight of that creature touching her sweet mother. “I know this seems rather sudden, Mrs. Marshall, but your daughter has graciously agreed to be my bride, with Captain Marshall’s consent, of course.”

Mama shot a bewildered look at Genevieve, no doubt wondering what had happened to the understanding with Christian.

Steeling herself, Genevieve smiled and looked up adoringly at Wickburgh, praying it appeared genuine to Mama. “Lord Wickburgh has made me an offer I cannot refuse, Mama. I have agreed to wed him.”

Mama opened her mouth and blinked. “I see.” She shot another inquiring look at Papa.

He also had a carefully arranged expression as he nodded. “We are just finalizing the agreement. I’ll have my solicitor send the marriage settlement papers to you.”

Wickburgh gestured to the door. “Come. We shall marry at once.”

The blood rushed out of Genevieve’s face and she broke out into a cold sweat. “Now? But we need to have the banns read—”

“I have a special license.” Wickburgh pulled a paper from his pocket and showed it to her.

Papa took it from Wickburgh and read it. His jaw hardened and he nodded. “It’s genuine.” He met her gaze with tortured eyes. “Jenny … are you sure about this?”

She kissed his cheek, although she couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “Yes, Papa.”

He cleared his throat and pressed a kiss to her brow.

Wickburgh made an impatient sound. “Come, come. The vicar is due to arrive at my house at precisely three o’clock, which is …” he took out his pocket watch and looked at it, “in less than an hour.”

Heaven help her. She turned to Wickburgh and tried to look patient and reasonable when she really wanted to plot his demise. She folded together shaking hands. “I need time to pack my things.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Take only what you need for overnight. The rest can be sent later.”

Overnight. She’d be spending the night with this man. As his wife. She swallowed hard to keep her stomach in place. But there was nothing to do but go through with it.

Mama made a strangled noise. “This is very sudden, Jenny. Perhaps you ought to take more time to consider.” She drew Genevieve off to the side and lowered her voice. “Have you and Mr. Amesbury quarreled?”

“No, Mama. I’ve simply decided that Mr. Amesbury is a nice boy, but I need a man, a strong man, with title and connections. And Lord Wickburgh and I are well suited. It’s all been decided. Why don’t you go lie down and rest? I’ll ring for your maid and order some tea brought up to you. Then I’ll change and prepare myself and we’ll all go to the wedding.” She put her arm around Mama and herded her out of the room.

Outside the door, Mama turned to her and put an arm on her. “What is really going on?  How could you have changed your mind so quickly? And marry today?”

“No reason to wait when one knows one is making the right decision. And I’ve never wanted a grand wedding, so much work and such a fuss. It’s all arranged. All we need to do is arrive at the right place and at the right time. Oh, dear, I must hurry and pack.” Genevieve ushered her mother to her room, called for her mother’s maid and some tea, and escaped to her own room before her mother asked her more questions she couldn’t truthfully answer, not the least of which was why Genevieve was babbling.

Inside her room, Genevieve drew a breath. After ringing for her lady’s maid to help her pack, she paused, holding a pen poised over paper. As the enormity of the situation rushed over her, she set down her head and wept hot tears of anger, sorrow, regret. Her future stretched out before her, a bleak, hopeless landscape without joy or love or Christian. She’d never again feel his gentle hand on her cheek, his soft lips pressed against hers. She’d never again watch in speechless amazement as he painted a breathtaking work of art, or hear the passion with which he played the pianoforte. She’d never again hear the sound of his voice or see the tenderness in his beautiful crystal blue eyes.

But she had to do this. She must.

Pulling herself together, she took up pen and paper and wrote the cruelest letter of her life. To Christian. A letter designed to break his heart.

CHAPTER 3

Christian lowered his fencing blade and offered a hand to his opponent. “Good match.”

His opponent grinned ruefully and shook his hand. “To you, as well. One of these days I’m going to best you.”

“I look forward to a rematch.”

Honestly, he’d rather fence against someone who provided true sport but Jared was off sailing the seven seas and Cole had taken his new bride to France for an extended honeymoon now that he’d stopped playing whatever game it was that he’d been playing with her. Christian would have to wait to prove to himself—and them—that he’d become an accomplished fencer, perhaps even surpassing their skills. Perhaps it was silly that he was still trying to prove himself. All of his brothers had left home to seek their own adventures and Christian had been left to take care of his parents, unable to prove anything to them. However, he’d vowed years ago to watch over home and hearth while his brothers had gone away to war and glory, a vow he’d worked hard to honor.

Of course, now that he had Genevieve in his life, besting his brothers didn’t seem as important as it had. Neither did seeking adventure in parts unknown. Marrying her would launch him on the grandest and most meaningful adventure ever. Just the idea that someone loved him so much, flaws and all, was enough to make him want to thank God for his mercy. Perhaps he’d finally atoned for his role in Jason’s death, and for the way the family had broken.

As Christian donned his waistcoat and frockcoat, he glanced at the clock. He still had time to bathe and change before paying a call upon Captain Marshall to ask for Genevieve’s hand in marriage. Surely if Captain Marshall found Christian unsuitable, he would have discouraged Christian during one of the many times he’d called upon Genevieve over the last few weeks since their courtship began.

He rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for his horse to be brought around front. As his horse arrived, Christian paid the lad a vail, and mounted his horse. Whistling as he rode, Christian nodded and tipped his hat to passers by along the cobbled street.

What a wonderful time to be alive! When he brought Father to Bath in the hopes that his health would improve by the healing waters, Christian hadn’t dreamed he’d find his future bride here. True, he didn’t expect to find a woman he planned to marry for several years yet. He was still considered young to be marrying, but his heart would burst if he had to wait any longer. By the end of the summer, they’d be blissfully wedded. Then he could take her to Italy, where he’d always wanted to go and paint. Cole would be home soon and he and his wife could take over Father’s care. Christian would finally be free to pursue his own happiness.

Still whistling, he arrived at the home he’d let for the summer, handed his horse to the care of a footman, and took the front steps two at a time. Inside the house, he glanced at a silver tray containing today’s mail, probably more invitations to local soirees and balls. But as he passed, one on top addressed in graceful feminine handwriting to
The Honorable Christian Amesbury
caught his attention.

He paused. That appeared to be Genevieve’s handwriting. Grinning, he tore open the seal and read a letter from his beloved.

Mr. Amesbury,

He blinked. When did they revert back to such formality?

It grieves me to inform you
… the rest of words swam before his eyes in disjointed confusion,
don’t suit ... fickle heart ... another man ... friend of my father ... viscount ...
As Christian read, his joy evaporated. This couldn’t be real.

Carefully, he re-read the letter in abject disbelief. Somehow, a letter from another woman meant for different man had arrived in his hands by mistake. A terrible, horrible, tragic mistake. His lungs froze and his hands shook. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this. And by letter?

No. He would not believe that the woman who’d been so tender and passionate in his arms mere hours ago was now marrying another.

Christian flew out the front door, down the steps and through the streets of Bath. Dodging pedestrians, carriages and horses, benches and streetlamps that leaped in his path, Christian raced to the Marshall’s home, determined to discover the truth. He arrived breathless at the front door.

Captain Marshall’s butler, familiar to Christian after so many calls to the family over the summer, greeted him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Amesbury, but the family is away.”

Christian hesitated at the door. “Is it true? She’s marrying another man?”

His posture stiff, he gave a curt nod. “It appears so, sir.”

No. It can’t be. Something had gone horribly wrong. She wouldn’t do this.

Through his disbelief, he managed, “Who?’

“Lord Wickburgh.”

“Wickburgh?” The man was a reptile, cold and calculating, not to mention old enough to be Genevieve’s father. And Christian didn’t like the way the man watched her, like he was about to pounce and devour her. She would never marry a man like that. What the devil was happening?

The butler lost his proper reserve and let his misgivings show. “It is taking place now.”

“Now?” Christian repeated, aghast. She’d thrown him over mere minutes before wedding another man? Everything about this was wrong. “Where?”

As the butler gave the house number, Christian scanned the street for a hackney. Finding none, he sprinted down the steps toward his new destination. Everything around him faded into a shapeless blur. Urgency pushed him onward when his lungs burned. Still, he ran.

As he rounded a corner, a stately home came into view. Odd, but he half expected such a villain as Wickburgh to live in some dark and ominous-looking dwelling filled with evidence of the man’s depravity.

After racing up the front steps, Christian hammered on the door. Without waiting to be admitted, he threw open the door and pushed his way past the startled butler heading toward him.

“Genevieve!” His voice echoed in the foyer.

“Stop!” exclaimed the indignant servant hurrying toward him. “You can’t come in here. There’s a wedding taking place.”

“Not if I can stop it. Genevieve!” He followed voices to a nearby drawing room and burst in.

Lord Wickburgh stood next to a bishop, his sharp features twisted in anger. “Amesbury? How dare you? Get out!”

“Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“Nothing, yet.” A smile carved his mouth and a malicious glint glimmered in his eyes.

Christian took a menacing step toward the man. “Touch her and I swear I’ll kill you.”