The Marrying Season (39 page)

“Lady Genevieve!” Elora exclaimed in shocked tones. Genevieve could see that Elora was genuinely surprised to see her, but in the next instant a calculating expression crept over Elora’s face, and she went on, “Whatever are you doing here? I am so surprised to see you. And all alone.” She made a great show of glancing around.

“Yes,” Genevieve said acidly. “I am sure it is a great surprise to you.”

“She isn’t alone,” Nell piped up. “We’re all here.” She gestured toward her sister beside her.

Lady Dursbury, registering the presence of the other Thorwood women for the first time, looked taken aback. “Oh. My. I see.” She paused, then cleared her throat delicately. “My dear Genevieve, I must say . . . well, this is hardly the place to take a child. Indeed, a lady should not really be in such a place.”

“And yet here you are,” Genevieve retorted. She was beginning to understand what her brother meant when he said his blood was up. She could feel the unspent energy humming through her as she faced Elora, and she was suddenly sharper, brighter, more keenly aware of everything around her. She was, she realized, eager to do battle with her enemy. She smiled fiercely, and Lady Dursbury blinked, taking an unconscious step backward.

“That’s entirely different,” Elora replied, stammering a bit before she recovered her poise. “You are but a young woman, only newly married, whereas I am a widow and—”

“I realize that you are much older than we are,” Genevieve agreed pleasantly. “Still, I think a lady’s reputation is easily damaged no matter what her age. Don’t you?”

Elora let out a little titter and glanced at the men on either side of her. “But, my dear, I have gentlemen escorting me, whereas you do not.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Lady Dursbury,” a pleasant male voice said, and everyone turned to see
Myles standing a few feet away from them. His mother was beside him, smiling sweetly, and on the other side of her was Lord Morecombe.

Elora made a strangled noise. “Sir Myles.”

“Good afternoon,” Myles replied, strolling over to stand by Genevieve. “Genevieve, love, I was afraid for a moment that we had lost the rest of you. It is a terrible crush, isn’t it?” He looked toward Lady Dursbury and her party. “I see a great number of people had the same idea as we did today.”

“Yes, quite right,” one of the other men said. “Devilish crowded.” He glanced around him. “Have to be sure to leave before dark, of course, not the thing for the ladies then.”

“Well, if you will excuse us,” Sir Myles began, looping an arm around Nell and starting to move away.

“No, not just yet,” Genevieve said. “I have something to say to Lady Dursbury.”

“You do?” Myles cast a wary glance at his wife.

“Yes. I do.” She stepped forward, her pale blue eyes intent on the other woman’s face. “I know what mischief you have been up to, Elora. I know what you thought to do today to me, not caring what might happen to an innocent young girl. And I know you arranged for that scene in the library so you could keep Dursbury from marrying me.”

“Genevieve! Whatever are you saying?” Lady Dursbury’s lower lip trembled artfully.

“I am saying that you are a conniving, wicked wretch of a woman. I don’t care that you managed to break my
engagement; it was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I thank God every day that I am married to the best man in this city and not your hidebound prig of a stepson!”

Genevieve heard a stifled laugh from Elora’s group, and behind her a little grunt of surprise from Myles, but she ignored them both. She was in full sail now, and she was not about to stop until she was done with Lady Dursbury.

“But you tried to cast a taint on my reputation, which touches on my husband’s name as well, by spreading vicious lies about me to
The Onlooker
. And I will not stand for that. Nor am I the only one you have harmed. You have had Miss Halford spied on for years. And you have fed that scandal sheet on-dits about the members of the
ton
for months.”

Iona gasped, and one of the men exclaimed, “I say!”

“I am also aware
why
you tried to ruin my reputation. You wanted me out of the way so you could have a clear path to Sir Myles. You wanted to have an affair with him. Admittedly, one can hardly blame you for that desire. However, I can and I do blame you for all the despicable things you have done in pursuit of him.”

“As if I would need tricks to take him from you!” Elora spat back, her face contorted with fury. “He may be under your spell now. But you won’t have him for long. He will soon tire of a cold fish like you. He’ll want someone warm, someone who knows how to treat a man.”

“He won’t want you,” Genevieve said bluntly. “You could never give him what I can: I love Myles. And that
is something you are incapable of. Let me make it clear to you, Elora.” Genevieve stalked forward, her finger stabbing the air in front of her. “You will never have my husband. No matter what you do or how much you scheme or how hard you try to blacken my name. I will not go running off to the country to lick my wounds and leave you in possession of the field. Myles is mine!” She stopped inches away from Lady Dursbury, looming over her, her eyes shooting pale fire. “And you know what they say about Staffords, don’t you? We never give up what is ours.”

For a long moment, the two women stared at each other, silence reverberating in the air.

Then Gabriel said, “Good gad, Thea will be furious she missed this.”

Myles began to laugh, and Nell and his mother joined in, and even Amelia’s eyes were dancing with amusement. Elora let out a strangled cry and leapt at Genevieve, her fingers raking out like claws at Genevieve’s face. Genevieve flung up her left arm, deflecting the attack, and her right fist lashed out, hitting the other woman squarely on the cheek.

Elora stumbled back with a shriek, clutching at her face, and one of the men in her party caught her, and the others formed a circle around her, hustling her away. For a moment, Iona stood gazing after Lady Dursbury and the others. She looked at Genevieve, then gave her a slight nod and hurried after her group.

“A flush hit,” Myles remarked, grinning, as he came up and curled his arm around Genevieve. “Now you have defeated all the Dursburys.”

Genevieve grimaced at him. “You needn’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“How can I not?” He laughed and turned toward the others. “As we are already here, shall we look around a bit?”

The others readily agreed, and Lord Morecombe offered his arm to Lady Julia. They set off, with Genevieve and Myles lagging behind the rest.

“Well, my dear, that was interesting entertainment you provided,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, then tucking it into his arm.

“I may have gotten a bit carried away,” Genevieve admitted somewhat shamefacedly. “Did I embarrass you?”

He laughed. “How could I be embarrassed by that defense? I shall not have to worry about fending off unwanted advances now.” He was silent for a moment, then said, his voice lower and suddenly serious, “Did you mean it?”

“Of course.” Genevieve glanced at him.

“I mean, the part where you said you loved me.”

Genevieve was surprised to see the faint look of trepidation in his eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly, and glanced away, her stomach fluttering. “You needn’t worry; I shan’t make a cake of myself. I know you married me because of your sense of honor and duty. Because of your loyalty to my brother.”

“Genevieve.” Myles stopped and turned her to face him. “I did not marry you because of Alec. And I certainly did not do it because I’m a gentleman. I did it because . . . when I looked at you, I knew I would do anything to take that sad look from your face. A man doesn’t do that out
of pity or loyalty or anything else. I love you, Genevieve. I think I have deep down for years. Why else would I have kept hanging about? Why else would I have put up with that damn cat?”

Laughter gurgled up out of her throat. “Myles . . . be serious.”

“I have never been more serious.” He took her hands in his. “I hated it every time you talked about us not being tied to each other. I couldn’t bear it that you didn’t want me in your bed every night. Why do you think I waged that damned silly war with you? I wanted—so badly—to have you
choose
me. To believe that it wasn’t merely desperation that brought you to marry me. I wanted you to tell me that you didn’t want some cold, loveless marriage of convenience any more than I did. I wanted to know . . . that you loved me.”

“I do. Oh, Myles, I do love you. And I have never been more grateful for anything than I am for that awful debacle at the Morecombes’ party. Because without it, I wouldn’t have you.” She wound her arms around his neck, gazing up at him.

“You’d best have a care,” he warned her, smiling. “Everyone is looking at us.”

“Then let’s give them something to see.” Genevieve stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him.

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THE MARRYING SEASON
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W
ell?” Mrs. Cliffe demanded. “What’s
happened? Did Lord Morecombe come? Don’t just sit there, girl. Stand up and see what’s going on.”

Thea was happy to oblige. She popped to her feet, but too many people were between her and the door to see anything. All of the guests were shifting toward the front of the room, their faces turned toward the door.

“I think he must be here,” Thea told her companion. “But I cannot see.”

The elder Mrs. Cliffe grimaced and brought her cane down with an irritated thump. “Never mind. She’ll bring him over to introduce him to me—Maribel won’t be able to resist tweaking my nose with it. Sit down, and we’ll pretend we didn’t even notice. Always better to look like you don’t care, I say.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Thea retook her seat. She wondered what it said about her that she found herself in sympathy with this crotchety old woman.

“Tell me about this silly live Nativity that Maribel says you’re planning for Christmas Eve.”

“I think it will be quite affecting, ma’am. St. Thomas Church in Holstead-on-Leach did it last year, and I believe it was very successful.”

“Quite chilly, I’d say,” Mrs. Cliffe snorted. “Hope you know what you’re in for, letting my granddaughter play Mary. Course, you had no choice there. Maribel would have hounded you to your deathbed if her eldest weren’t chosen.”

Thea decided it was probably better not to comment on that. Instead, she launched into a description of their efforts to mount the production, knowing that the mishaps that occurred at each rehearsal would arouse Mrs. Cliffe’s prickly sense of humor. As Thea talked, she kept an eye on the room in front of her. The guests, after the initial movement forward, began to part down the middle like water before the prow of a ship, and before long Thea could see the younger Mrs. Cliffe moving slowly through the room beside a tall, dark-haired man. Two other men were with him, but Thea noticed only the one to whom Mrs. Cliffe clung.

His hair was thick and black, swept back from a sculpted face. His brows were as black as his hair, sharp slashes over large, intense dark eyes. He was, as gossip had rumored him, sinfully handsome, and his black jacket and breeches were elegantly tailored to fit his muscular frame. His pristine white neckcloth was tied simply and held in place by a sapphire stickpin; he wore no other adornment save a gold signet ring on his right hand. Tall and broad-shouldered, he walked with the confident
stride of one who was accustomed to being the center of attention.

Gabriel Morecombe. Thea’s heart thudded so hard she feared it might leap right out of her chest. The blood seemed to rush from her extremities to her center, leaving her face pale. She tried frantically to pull her thoughts together, to have a smooth, polite greeting ready. The group moved slowly, Mrs. Cliffe stopping to introduce her prize to each guest. Beside Thea, Mrs. Cliffe’s mother-in-law rumbled with a low laugh.

“Wants him to get a long look at all four of the girls—and Meg’s just sixteen. Poor little sparrows; she’s got their heads stuffed full of nonsense about catching a peacock.”

Lord Morecombe looked, Thea thought, rather glassy-eyed. No doubt he was stunned by the succession of simpering Cliffe daughters—not to mention every other halfway marriageable female in the room. The thought made Thea chuckle, and it eased her nerves a bit. But then Mrs. Cliffe pivoted and led him toward where Thea sat, the other two men trailing along behind.

“Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Robert Cliffe, my husband’s mother. Mother Cliffe, this is my honored guest, Lord Morecombe. And his friends, Sir Myles Thorwood and Mr. Alan Carmichael.” Thea noticed that her cousin Ian had apparently not joined the group.

Gabriel stepped forward and executed a formal bow to the old lady. “My pleasure, madam, though surely you must have married very young indeed to be the Squire’s mother.”

Mrs. Cliffe let out a short crack of laughter. “Ah, you’re a smooth-talking devil as well as a handsome one.”

“Mother!” The young Mrs. Cliffe’s face flooded with color. She rushed on, “And this is another of our lovely young ladies, Miss Bainbridge.”

Thea rose on somewhat shaky legs. “My lord.”

Lord Morecombe turned to her, his eyes moving over her without interest. “Miss Dandridge.” He sketched a polite bow before moving on with Mrs. Cliffe.

Morecombe’s two companions bowed to her in turn, greeting her by the same name. Thea nodded to them instinctively, not really hearing them, aware of nothing but the hard, cold knot forming in her chest.

Gabriel Morecombe had not remembered her.

M
rs. Howard!”

Damaris whirled and looked back, her heart sinking. It was Lord Rawdon. She could not ignore him, but talking to him was the last thing she wanted right now. She tried to summon up a smile.