Thus, Lenora entered into the noble cause of dissolving the scales from her bosom friend’s eyes, by endeavoring to show the Honorable Mr. Ginsham in his best light. Selflessly placing her immediate enjoyment behind the cause of her friend, Lenora strove tirelessly at every opportunity to enhance Ginsham’s romantic qualities, and to diminish the impact of such vulgarities as fortune, title, and excellent health, of which he was so unhappily possessed. In addition, Mr. Barnabus, whose attractions far exceeded Mr. Ginsham’s, must be cast into the shade whenever the two gentlemen were in Elvira’s company together—which was more often than not—and Lenora required all her ingenuity to accomplish this without offending her poor victim. Such machinations were exhausting, but Lenora, committed to effacing herself for the greater good, was undeterred, even successfully recruiting her mother’s genius without harboring suspicion—which would sadly have necessitated an explanation of her motives.
For this cause, Mrs. Breckinridge was made to yield to her daughter’s entreaties to chaperone Lenora, Elvira, Tom, Miss Marshall, Mr. Ginsham, and the indispensable Mr. Barnabus, to the opera, taking Lady Cammerby’s box at the dear woman’s insistence, as she had caught a chill and was laid up in bed, for fear of being carried off by the putrid throat. The young people were in high spirits, every one eager to impress the others with their refinement. The music was, thankfully, exquisite, and at the interval, the gentlemen, ready to stretch their legs, expressed their willingness to take the young ladies for refreshment. Mrs. Breckinridge readily agreed, declining to join them on the grounds that she wished to let the last aria ring in her mind without their endless babble and chatter. Grinning at this, the noisy group left her to the relative peace of the box, and after procuring lemonade for their companions, Tom drew Miss Marshall away to a window, while Ginsham and Barnabus hastened to expound upon the artistic merits of the performers.
“Catalani may not be much to look at, but her technique cannot be matched,” insisted Ginsham.
“I w-will allow her technique to b-be s-superior, but M-mombelli’s voice holds s-such ethereal beauty that it cap-ptivates the soul!”
Elvira’s eyes shone as she gazed with adoration upon Barnabus. “I cannot agree more, sir. Such a voice attests to an inner purity that is far more compelling than technique.”
“What is technique but the expert guidance of natural talent?” proposed Lenora, perceiving her protegee on unsteady ground.
“Exactly, Miss Breckinridge,” cried Ginsham, eager to recover his position. “Without pure, natural talent, technique is mere posturing. But Catalani marries the two for a truly glorious result.”
Elvira gazed at him with new respect, but Barnabus crossed his arms over his chest. “Glory b-belongs to heaven, and M-mombelli’s voice is that of an-n angel.”
Elvira’s eyes flew back to him, her attention arrested by that last, evocative word, and Ginsham rather desperately burst out, “Pure and innocent, I’ll allow, but a mere whisper to Catalani’s power—” He faltered under Elvira’s look of outrage.
Lenora gritted her teeth, resolved. “Do not angels speak with trumpets as well as with whispers? Perhaps both orders of angels are represented here.” All eyes turned to her and she added, “One may be stately, while the other is fragile, but you must own both to be inspiring.”
She had the satisfaction of watching Elvira’s assimilation of her metaphor, and her subsequent, and very thoughtful, sideways glance at Mr. Ginsham.
Meanwhile, Genevieve, glad for a respite from her beloved but energetic offspring and their friends, placidly gazed out at the milling throng in the pit, grateful that dear Amelia had placed her box at their disposal. She glanced over the occupants of the other boxes, raising a hand to some few acquaintances and wondering idly if any would come to visit her. However, when the curtain behind her did part, serenity all but deserted her as Lord Montrose entered.
Concealing her discomfort under a mask of indifference, she regarded him coolly, waiting for him to make known his intentions, for though fairly confident that he did not mean to accost her physically in the broad public view, she knew full well that the majority of her box was in shadow, and could not be seen from the other boxes, or the pit.
Her guest paused at the threshold to afford her a bow. “Mrs. B, again we are thrown together. It is the hand of Fate; there can be no other explanation.”
“I have been used to consider the practice of shortening surnames to mere initials vulgar in conversation, my lord, and the vehicle of contempt.” She swept a disdainful gaze over him. “But if you insist upon it, I shall not scruple to call you Lord M.”
He smiled appreciatively and disposed himself in the seat next to her, leaning toward her over the chair arm. “Your readiness to address me so discreetly excites the imagination, madam.”
Astonishment held her frozen for an instant as his meaning registered in her brain but, rejecting the impulse to jump up from her chair and flee the box, she kept her features impassive, eyeing him with bored contempt. “Only in the basest imagination could one find gratification in the degradation of one’s character, my lord.”
He chuckled. “Bertram’s widow, so high flown! I trust you know not what you say, for surely your experience has taught you that the height of one’s character has nothing to do with gratification.”
“It is not surprising that one who finds enjoyment only in the disgrace of another’s situation should feel thus. Let me assure you that I know exactly what I say, and will thank you to leave this box immediately.”
He pulled back, lifting his quizzing glass and considering her through it. “You seem ignorant of the already disgraceful state of your situation, ma’am. It is well within my power, I assure you, to either elevate it or to degrade it further, according to my satisfaction with your wishes.”
“You mistake, my lord,” she answered, gazing unperturbed at his ridiculously magnified eye while inwardly she seethed. “My situation is not in the least disgraceful, and I have no interest in your satisfaction. If I had possessed any notion you were laboring under such a delusion, I should have employed less subtle measures to convince you, for you are sadly unresponsive to gentle hints.”
“I can be very responsive,” he let his gaze slide down her face to her bosom, which rose and fell more quickly than she would have wished, “under the right inducements.”
“Someone, I am sure, somewhere, pines to provide you with such inducements, my lord,” she returned sweetly. “May I encourage you to leave off this empty hope with me and find her, or him, without further waste of time?”
His eyes snapped back to her face, and he tapped his mouth thoughtfully with his glass. “It is a wonder that Bertram ever tired of you, my dear Genevieve.”
“An observant man would discover no mystery in that, my lord,” she said silkily. “When one is routinely bled, one not surprisingly finds oneself easily tired by otherwise desirable interests.”
The tell-tale sounds of a noisy young party returning brought him to his feet, but his eyes did not leave her face, an unsettling smile twisting on his lips. “I regret even more strongly that I have for so long grossly underestimated your worth, Mrs. Breckinridge.” He gracefully bowed. “Until we meet again.”
He quit the box in two strides, and then the young people returned, chatting animatedly as they settled again in their seats, and none seeming to notice the silence of their chaperone as the lights were dimmed and the orchestra struck up for the second act.
It was not to be supposed that the state of Genevieve’s mind should admit of her attending to the music, but while she could not afterward give her opinion as to its excellence, its subconscious effects were felt in the rapidity with which her emotions were set in order. Her foremost sensation was indignation that he should offer her such an affront, but this was closely seconded by apprehension, for she hardly knew what he meant by it. That he could be truly attracted to h
er, even in so vulgar a manner, was a notion that she quickly dismissed, for she cherished no illusions regarding her personal charms. She allowed herself to be a good-looking woman, but a matron, and a widow, and far removed from the vivacity and daring that had given her success in her youth. No, Lord Montrose had another reason for his attentions. That he had followed her snub with a threat supported the notion that he believed her to be an easy prey, as her husband had been, and that he desired merely to show his power. But she could not be satisfied with this explanation, any more than the other, for there was something in his manner that made her very much afraid.
Her fear did not stem from money, for she and Tom between them had paid all Bertram’s outstanding debts, and neither she nor Tom were in any way addicted to gaming; Lord Montrose could neither purchase nor induce them to create a debt for him to hold, which had been his chief method of enslaving Bertram. But Genevieve had a weakness that had never plagued her husband, and which Lord Montrose, if he was not already aware of it, could guess with little trouble: Genevieve loved her children, and would protect them at any cost.
She felt little anxiety over Tom’s safety, his feelings being very strongly expressed against every vice that had possessed his father. Lord Montrose may try his hand at seducing Tom into low company, or into gaming hells, or to strong drink, but she would hold herself exceedingly shocked if he succeeded at all. But Lenora’s safety was an entirely different matter. Lenora, having no experience outside their restricted country circle, could not be depended upon to recognize a dangerous man when she saw him, especially one with such a gentlemanlike appearance, and so well-versed in the arts of flirtation. And to complicate matters further, Lenora, as borne out by her reaction to her mother’s warning, had entered into that stage in her development when everything dangerous is alluring, and every warning becomes a challenge.
No, Lord Montrose must not be allowed to meet Lenora, for having already tested her curiosity, Genevieve had no doubt that no sooner met than he would swiftly dominate the girl’s imagination. Once part of her acquaintance, Lord Montrose would flirt so skillfully with Lenora as to convince her that only such a girl as she could catch him, while preserving an uncertainty of her power over him, leading her along until she was so firmly under his spell that what good sense she did have would be supplanted by the romantic notion of enslaving a Bad Man.
She could not even be sure that he knew of Lenora’s existence, but while they were in London, Genevieve could place no dependence on Lenora’s never exciting the notice of such a resourceful man as Lord Montrose. Though he did not move in the same circles as they did under Lady Cammerby’s aegis, Genevieve was forever meeting him, in the park, at the theater or opera, on the street. She could fairly fob him off, but only with the force of ingenuity, and Lenora was not proof against his style. It was true that under the strictures of London society it would be difficult for him to force an introduction onto Lenora in any but the most extreme situation, but Genevieve had no doubt Lord Montrose could readily contrive such a circumstance.
Yet, they could not quit London. Besides giving rise to undesirable gossip, to leave precipitously in the middle of the season would not only make Lenora feel excessively ill-used, which could bring on an even more unpleasant situation at Branwell, but would be an act of cowardice likely to entice Lord Montrose into following them. What better evidence of his power could she give him than a show of fear? No, he must be dealt with, at the very least until Lenora could be made to understand her danger, and be trusted to comport herself sensibly.
How to accomplish this, Genevieve little knew, for Lord Montrose had made it plain to her that he had no intention of discontinuing his attentions, however little she welcomed them. He thought, perhaps, to wear her down, to flatter her into submission to his whim, and while she was resolved never to submit to such a man, in any way, she could also foresee much unpleasantness ahead.
Strangely, this thought served to revive her, for she, of all females, was inured to unpleasantness. Alone she may be, fearful and uncertain she may be, but of one thing she was sure: persistent, indeed, would be the man who could succeed in such tactics against the widow of Bertram Breckinridge, and he should find himself forced to endure every bit as much unpleasantness as would she.
C
As it transpired, Mrs. Breckinridge was not immediately called upon to test her resolve, for Tom proved a ready replacement to herself as chaperone, suddenly anxious as he was to be in Lenora’s company. Where Lenora went, Elvira was sure to go, and there needed very little coaxing to ensure that the lovely Miss Marshall would attend them. And Mr. Ginsham, having recognized in Mr. Barnabus a veritable snake in the bosom, found a most suitable alternative to him in Tom—toward whom Elvira cherished only sisterly feelings—and the two were soon found to be almost daily together, concocting schemes for the young ladies’ entertainment.
This happy circumstance left Mrs. Breckinridge with a choice hitherto unavailable to her: that of becoming inaccessible to Lord Montrose. Tom proved equal to almost every outing Lenora wished for—with the notable exception of the occasional, but essential, shopping expedition—and these, in addition to attending an evening at Almack’s here and there, Mrs. Breckinridge did not grudge. Indeed, she had discovered, after the bustle of the previous several weeks, that she required these periods of respite, having become aware of a growing fatigue occasioned by her unaccustomed pace in town. Lady Wraglain commented upon it one day—“my dear you look worn to a frazzle”—and Genevieve, in a blinding flash of brilliance, seized the opportunity to retire for a time behind the imminently useful screen of ill-health.
Lady Cammerby, while entering fully into her dear friend’s desire to rest herself, could not feel that a withdrawal at this time was necessary, or prudent.
“I cannot conceive of what you hope to accomplish by shutting yourself up in this house,” she said rather pettishly one day, after Genevieve had declined yet another invitation. “For anyone can see that you are in the best of health, though you profess to be out of sorts.”
“Exactly, my dear Amelia,” replied Genevieve placidly, setting another stitch in the petticoat she was mending. “If I were to show myself about, no one would be in the least deceived, and I should get no rest at all!”
Lady Cammerby pursed her lips at that, and plumped herself into a chair, pouting, “And while you sit here, heedlessly sewing, Lenora gambols about town, free to catch any rascal’s eye!”
“But she is not free! Do not forget that Tom is constantly her escort, Amelia, and has a very good sense of his duty.”
Tom’s credit was swept away like a fly. “His eye is all for that Marshall chit, and while she is by, I should be very surprised if he has one thought for his sister.”
“Dear me, Amelia! Do you think me so irresponsible as to entrust my only daughter to such a niffy-naffy creature? Tom may appear to be serving his own interests, but he takes good care to protect Lenora, either by himself or through the services of Mr. Barnabus, or another of his friends.”
“Very well, if that is the case,” said Lady Cammerby, gamely pursuing, “you need not sacrifice your own enjoyment, if Lenora is so well disposed.”
Genevieve took her friend’s hand with a smile. “But I do not sacrifice enjoyment, my dear friend! I am not such a fidgety one as I used to be, always game for entertainment. I have been used these many years to live quietly, remember, and there are times when I feel nothing is better than solitude. I assure you that it is a passing sensation, however, so you need not fear it will last long.”
Her ladyship was still uneasy, but showed her good-will by unashamedly perjuring her soul to create or support any rumor that may forward Genevieve’s interests and keep her peace. Lady Wraglain, however, was not to be fobbed off, stating pithily, “You never could tell a fib, Amelia, but I could, and I shan’t scruple to do so if it’s what Genevieve needs, but I can’t render her
assistance if I’m not put in possession of the facts.”
Lady Wraglain still had full access to the house, for she had made both ladies in Hill Street acquainted with a movement to ameliorate the circumstances of female prisoners, and this pursuit, being as it was indispensible to the comfort of others, could not be laid aside for the frivolous purpose of ill-health. Indeed, Genevieve had no wish to discontinue their meetings, for though she had been obliged to leave the funding of such an operation to others, she wished nothing more than to be useful, and share her skill in the needle arts, which could provide the prisoners with much-needed income and occupation in their many idle hours.
Having little desire to share her many worries, however, Genevieve bent all her attention upon this project whenever her friend came to call, but Caroline, being both sensible and wise, merely bided her time until she felt it was expedient to give her friend a hint.
“It was never like you to hide yourself away, Genevieve,” she said one day over tea.
Genevieve hesitated before replying, “It is not hiding to forego a few trifling events.”
Caroline, who took her tea with copious amounts of sugar and milk, observed blandly, “Those who forego life’s enjoyable trifles will soon find themselves with more regret than is reasonable.”
“And what would you say is a reasonable amount of regret, Caroline?” asked Genevieve, regarding the half-empty sugar bowl with awe, bordering on respect.
“Only what is entirely of one’s own making, my dear. We spend our lives being acted upon, and all too often feeling such helplessness in the consequences, when in reality, one has only to determine one’s own actions, and accept those consequences. All else may be disregarded.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “The resultant reduction in regret is enormously liberating.”
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