The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  Genie felt herself smile in return, hard-pressed to remain unaffected. Huntingdon seemed different these past couple days. Lighthearted. Happy. Playful. Not so serious. More like the boy she’d remembered than the hard, quick-tempered man she didn’t.

  Indeed, there had been so many moments of unexpected thoughtfulness these past two days, she’d wondered if perhaps he’d been telling the truth in the conservatory. Had she misjudged him? Had he truly been trying to do the right thing? The timing was just so suspicious.

  What if he wasn’t trying to avoid scandal? What if that strange episode with the carriage was the cause of his sudden change of heart? She couldn’t get that incident out of her mind. Clearly, he’d feared an accident. Considering their long delay and the death of his father and brother in similar circumstances, she couldn’t blame him for being worried. It was the magnitude of his worry that surprised her. He’d feared for her. Which meant he cared for her. Undeniably, from that moment on he’d behaved quite differently, seducing her with kindness.

  She almost wished that he would go back to being angry and severe; it was far easier to hate him that way.

  Huntingdon took Caro’s hand and lifted it to his mouth. “I’m delighted that you were able to join us on such short notice. As you can see, it’s a small celebration. I regret that Lord Castleton was unable to come, but I hope you and Lady Castleton will stay for the hunt.”

  “We’d be delighted,” Caro answered on behalf of both women. “My husband is in Scotland, and he will be very disappointed to have missed meeting Genie, whom he’s heard so much about.” Caro looked about the room, her eyes narrowed slightly. “I was hoping that Lizzie might be here?” she asked gently.

  Genie felt a sharp pang of sadness and shook her head.

  Huntingdon slipped his hand around her waist. “The duchess and I hope to travel to Thornbury soon, and celebrate with her family at that time,” he explained for her.

  “Oh, I see,” Caro said, though it was clear that she didn’t.

  The absence of her family was the most obvious indication that everything might not be as wonderful as it seemed. Huntingdon had of course written to her father with the news of their impending nuptials, but he hadn’t pushed the matter of her family’s attendance—somehow understanding that she wasn’t ready to see them. She wasn’t, but not for the reason he thought. It wasn’t shame preventing her from reuniting with her family; she didn’t want to have to lie to them again.

  As for Lizzie, the mystery surrounding her had still not been explained to Genie’s satisfaction. Unable to confront Fanny, who’d left soon after Huntingdon did for Donnington, Caro, on that afternoon at Hawkesbury House, had provided only the barest hint of what had happened to Lizzie. Immensely popular during her season in London with Fanny, Lizzie had nonetheless returned to Thornbury, never to be heard from again. As to why, Genie still did not know. She needed to speak with Fanny, but since Genie’s arrival, Fanny had gone out of her way to avoid being alone with her. Apparently, breaking off the engagement with Edmund had not softened Fanny’s opinion of her any. Genie couldn’t blame her.

  Caro reluctantly moved on and Genie felt Huntingdon tense at her side as the next group of well-wishers approached.

  “So,” Percy drawled. “What other secrets have you been hiding, Mrs. Preston? Or should I say, Miss Prescott?”

  Genie fought to control her expression, but she knew she must have paled, because she felt Huntingdon’s hand tighten protectively at her waist.

  “Actually, it’s Your Grace,” Huntingdon corrected, his voice edged with steel.

  Percy sneered. “Of course, how remiss of me, ‘Your Grace’.”

  “Naughty scamp,” Lady Davenport chided, swatting Huntingdon with her fan. “Keeping all of us in the dark about the identity of your bride. Not that you fooled me. Didn’t I tell you these two were in love, Nigel.”

  “That you did, dumpling.” Lord Davenport swatted at Huntingdon, who, prepared this time, braced himself before he was knocked over. “You can’t hide anything from my Hyacinth,” Lord Davenport boomed, chest puffed out with pride. “Not to say that she hasn’t been extremely put out, old boy. Keeping such details to yourself. It’s not the thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Not the thing at all.”

  “Just look at them,” Lady Davenport cooed with her husband as if Huntingdon and Genie weren’t standing right there. “Have you ever seen a more handsome couple? And so in love!” Genie’s cheeks burned, but Lady Davenport went on, oblivious to the discomfort she was causing. “They can’t keep their eyes off each other. Oh, to be young again,” she said with a long, dramatic sigh. “I remember there was a time when you couldn’t keep your eyes off me,” she said to her husband with a playful pout.

  Lord Davenport took her plump hand and brought it to his mouth. “I still can’t, pet. You’re still the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Davenport chided, but she blushed like a schoolgirl receiving her first compliment. She turned back to Huntingdon and said starchily, “So what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

  “Yes,” Percy interjected snidely. “We can’t wait to hear the details of how this great romance developed across two continents. Why did you say nothing before of Miss Prescott’s identity as Mrs. Preston at Lady Hawkesbury’s ball? It’s all tantalizingly mysterious.”

  “Nothing mysterious,” Huntingdon said offhandedly, as if the question didn’t bother him. “We knew the interest the ton would take in our marriage, we hoped to have some time to ourselves before the vultures began to circle.” He stared at Percy, leaving no doubt for whom the emphasis was meant.

  Despite the none-too-subtle warning, Percy did not back down. “Hmm, sounds reasonable. But why do I have a sneaking suspicion that you are hiding something?”

  Genie was shocked to hear the new dowager duchess intercede. “Why Percy, you dreadful boy,” she said loud enough for everyone around to hear. “You always were such a quarrelsome child. Always trying to stir up trouble. I would have thought you were too old for such nonsense. My son had fond memories of our sojourn in Gloucestershire, and Mrs. Preston in particular, so it was only natural when she returned to England after the death of her husband for him to renew their acquaintance.”

  Genie knew her eyes must be as round as saucers. Even Huntingdon looked surprised. She couldn’t believe it. The Duchess of Huntingdon had just come to her defense.

  Lady Davenport finally seemed to comprehend that Percy was being rude. “Come along, Percy. You’ve made quite enough of a nuisance of yourself for one day.”

  “That’s right, son,” Lord Davenport guffawed. “Save some for tomorrow.”

  Red-faced and furious, Percy moved away. Genie relaxed, suddenly very conscious of the firm hand around her waist and the warmth of the powerful body pressed so close to her side.

  Huntingdon leaned down. “Stay away from Percy,” he warned, sending shivers down her neck with the soft tingle of his breath.

  Genie nodded, ignoring his high-handed command, for once they were in agreement. Lord Percival Davenport was like an asp, coiled and waiting to spring.

  But rather than just issue the order (as he usually did), Huntingdon surprised her by explaining further. “I’d hoped to curtail his interest in you at the Hawkesbury ball, which is why I ignored his snide remarks.”

  Genie’s eyes widened. So that was why he’d not defended her.

  “You see what he’s like,” Huntingdon continued. “Since we were children he’s had an unreasonable hatred of me. When I became duke, even more so.”

  “He envies you.”

  Huntingdon looked at her hard. “Maybe. In any event, now that he knows you’re the girl from my past, I’m afraid his suspicious appetite has been whet. He’ll be insatiable, looking for anything to hurt me.” He took her chin in his hand, and drew her gaze to his. “Including using you.”

  Her heart clutched at the huskiness in his voice. She was powerless to resist
the blue sea of his eyes, stormy with emotion born of concern. When he allowed her a glimpse of what lay buried beneath the wall of reserve, it made her wonder whether it was possible to forget.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised—and meant it.

  A shiver of apprehension slid down her neck. Whether a premonition of disaster or merely a response to the tone of his voice she didn’t know. But one thing was for certain: The fact that her plans overlapped with Percy’s bothered her. It smacked of cruelty. But she was different from Percy. Her revenge was justified. Wasn’t it?

  She squared her shoulders, subtly shifting her body away from Huntingdon. It was too late for second thoughts. The letter was posted this morning. All that remained was to see whether the recipient took the bait.

  Her confrontation with Fanny had been put off for too long. Genie could handle the barely concealed venomous glances, but she needed to find out what Fanny’s anger had to do with Lizzie.

  Genie had kept her eye on Fanny during the long wedding breakfast, waiting for an opportunity. It wouldn’t be too long, if the amount of champagne Fanny had consumed was any indication. When Fanny excused herself, Genie followed her and waited for her on a chaise in her bedchamber. Yet another of the incredible improvements made to Donnington were that many of the bedchambers were connected to a bathing room with hot and cold baths and Bramah water closets.

  Fanny’s surprise upon seeing Genie was not of the pleasant persuasion.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Genie smiled at the frowning girl, ignoring her rudeness. “I believe it’s time we spoke.”

  Fanny lifted her chin defiantly. “Is that an order, Your Grace?”

  Her question took Genie aback. She was a duchess. She took precedence over just about everyone, including Fanny. Genie could order her if she wanted to. How strange.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s a request. We were close as sisters once, now that we are sisters I should like to be friends again.”

  Fanny made a small sound through her nose. “I hardly think that is likely.”

  The girl was trying her patience. “What did I do to earn your contempt, Fanny? And what does it have to do with Lizzie?”

  “So you do remember that you have a sister.”

  “Of course I do,” Genie exclaimed, shocked. “How could you say such a thing? Lizzie and I were as close as any sisters could be.”

  “And yet you left without as much as a by-your-leave. Without explanation.”

  Memories of that painful time assailed her. She hated thinking about the days before she’d left for America. How weak she’d felt. How helpless. How impossibly hurt. Genie stood and walked to the window. “I had no choice,” she said dully, feeling her throat tighten. “It was partly for Lizzie that I left.”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Fanny sputtered, aghast.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder why—after all that had happened—your mother agreed to sponsor Lizzie for a season?”

  Fanny blanched, the red blush of anger slowly dissipating from her cheeks. “I never thought…”

  “Didn’t you?” Genie prodded gently. “Didn’t you think it odd that she would bestow such largess upon my sister and brother?”

  Fanny shook her head. “It wasn’t until much later that I found out what role my mother had played in your disappearance. I was never told the details. I thought it was for me that she brought Lizzie to London, though I suppose I did wonder about your brother getting the parsonage at Ashby. I should have known.” She paused, having obvious difficulty in assimilating this new information into the pile of blame that she’d heaped at Genie’s feet. Having a fair share of the Hastings pride, she refused to back down and pressed on. “What my mother did was abominable. But still, you could have confided in Lizzie.”

  Genie thought back, trying to remember what had been going on in her mind at the time. She hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. “I didn’t want to put Lizzie in a difficult position with my parents. It was better if she knew nothing. Then she wouldn’t be forced to lie.”

  “But don’t you see? Lizzie was already involved. When you left, she blamed herself for what had happened to you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Of course Lizzie was not to blame. How could she think such a thing?”

  “It’s not such an absurdity. For a time, I blamed myself as well. If you recall we helped you and my brother meet in private, we encouraged you in a situation we knew was wrong. When you vanished under a cloud of suspicion, Lizzie felt like she’d let you down. She took your disgrace as hard as if it had been her own.”

  Genie recalled how involved the young girls had been, how excited they’d been to be part of the intrigue. “We never should have involved either one of you. I’m sorry. I never thought… Perhaps I should have told Lizzie. But believe me, Fanny, I never meant to hurt her.”

  “Well, you did.”

  Proud and stubborn, Genie thought, amending her previous description of Hastings character traits. “Tell me what happened in London,” Genie urged. “Caro said Lizzie had a very successful season but never returned. Did you two have a falling out?”

  “Of course not. I begged her to come year after year, but she refused.” Fanny stopped, weighing how much to tell her.

  “Please, Fanny, I need to know.”

  Fanny sighed—swayed if not convinced—then explained. “Despite the whispers about your disappearance, Lizzie was extremely popular that first season. She had many offers, but refused every one of them. Her heart was never in it. She changed after you left, she became sad and depressed. She said she would not be happy until you had returned and she could be assured that you were well. So she has lived in Thornbury ever since, rarely venturing out into society. And you,” she accused, her voice increasing in intensity. “You could have freed her from the guilt years ago. But you never returned. You didn’t even have the decency to write. Not one letter to tell her that you’d married and were well, living in America.”

  Genie fought back the denial that sprang to her lips. Fanny couldn’t know the truth. Instead, she shook her head regretfully. She couldn’t believe that her vivacious, sweet sister could have shut herself off from society all because of her mistakes. Lizzie had looked up to Genie, but she’d also been very protective of her older, “greener” sister. Perhaps Genie should have guessed that Lizzie would feel some responsibility for what had happened, but she hadn’t. “Poor, dear Lizzie.”

  “Yes, poor Lizzie,” Fanny retorted. “Like Edmund, another casualty of your thoughtlessness. Why, Genie? Why did you not write to her?”

  Genie opened her mouth to defend herself, but quickly slammed it shut again. Better if Fanny continued to think the worst of her. But she couldn’t just say nothing. “I was ashamed.”

  “Of what had happened with Huntingdon?”

  “Yes.” Amongst other things.

  Fanny grimaced. “He behaved horribly. I told him he’d made a mistake, was acting like the worst blackguard, but he wasn’t ready to hear it. He regretted his conduct almost instantly, but it was already too late. You’d disappeared. He loved you, Genie, but you never came back. My mother said you swore to return after we left for London, but you didn’t.”

  She’d wanted to. But circumstances had conspired against her. But Genie couldn’t tell her any of that.

  When Genie did not explain, Fanny continued. “Any sympathy I had for you fled when I saw how you’d abandoned Lizzie, your family, and now Edmund. You’ve changed, Genie. The girl I remember loved her family. She would have written. She would have let her family know that she was alive. How could you treat them so cruelly? Lizzie’s thrown her life away because of you.”

  Guilt tore at Genie’s conscience. Somehow she would make it up to Lizzie.

  Hands on her hips, Fanny stared at her, waiting.

  Genie hated that Fanny thought so horribly of her. It pained her not to explain, remaining silent after such an onslaught was near impossible. But she did. The
re was nothing that she could say to Fanny that would explain why she’d cut herself off from her family. Shame, poverty, fear. Reasons that required far more of an explanation than she could give.

  Disgusted, Fanny turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Furious, Fanny practically sprinted down the hallways to return to the drawing room. Who was that woman? Certainly not the girl she remembered. How could Genie just sit there with that hard, expressionless look on her face and say absolutely nothing? Fanny turned the corner and nearly slammed right into Hawk.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he laughed, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. “What’s all the hurry about?” When he caught sight of the expression on her face, he sobered. “What’s wrong, Fanny? Has something happened?”

  Concern for her on Hawk’s face buoyed her lagging spirits. She almost smiled before remembering the reason for her anger. Her gaze narrowed. “It’s Genie.”

  He paled, any concern for Fanny vanishing in an instant. “Genie? Did something happen? Is she hurt?” He looked over Fanny’s shoulder, ready to vault over her if necessary. Disappointment burned in Fanny’s chest. Genie. Always Genie.

  “Nothing is wrong with Genie,” she said, her voice tight. “We had an argument, that’s all. She’s changed so much I barely know her anymore.”

  Hawk sighed with relief, and then studied her no doubt petulant pout. A strange look crossed his face. Like he wanted to say something. “Be kind to her, Fanny. Things were difficult for her after she left Thornbury.”

  Fanny seethed with jealousy. She couldn’t help it. “How can you defend her after what she did to you?”

  Hawk sighed and tucked Fanny’s hand into the crook of his arm to take her back to the party. “I was not without blame in what happened,” he said.

  Fanny didn’t believe that for one instant. Hawk was kind, loyal, and above all—a gentleman. “Genie acted cruelly and selfishly.” When it looked like he wanted to argue, she stopped him. “It’s not only you, but Lizzie and Fitz too. I fear what she might do to my brother, he cares for her deeply.”