Genevieve smiled behind her teacup. “I have often wondered if it has been callous of me to attempt to leave Bertram behind, one memory at a time, but I see now that it is completely sensible.”
“Do not let anyone persuade you otherwise, Genevieve, including yourself. What good is it to cling to shadows?”
“None whatsoever.” Genevieve sipped her tea reflectively, darting a glance at her wise companion. “But when the shadows cling to you, what then? There can be real horrors in the darkness, you know.”
Lady Wraglain eyed her shrewdly. “I knew there was more to your supposed indisposition than Amelia would say. He’s come back to haunt you, eh? Some ghost of Bertram’s past has been threatening you?”
“Yes,” admitted Genevieve, recognizing the her companion was not to be deceived. “Lord Montrose has discovered me here, and has made himself mightily disagreeable. Do you know him, Caroline?”
Her friend snorted. “Only a bowing acquaintance, I’m happy to say. Wraglain took care of that.”
“Bertram was not so wise.” Genevieve considered the depths of her teacup. “Nor was he so considerate. But Lord Montrose took little enough notice of me as Bertram’s wife, and after Bertram’s death, I had not expected to see him again. But he has inserted himself into my life quite unavoidably, and though my instinct has been to repel him, I do not know if I ought to persevere.” She looked up at her companion. “If I force his eye from myself, I fear it will too naturally alight on Lenora.”
“It’s like that, is it? Then you are in a hobble.” She sipped her tea meditatively. “Wraglain was wont to call Lord Montrose the most persistent scoundrel ever to blight the world. I knew Bertram was in his toils, but he’s had many victims over the years, and he’s as clingy as a limpet, if half of what I’ve heard is true.” She gestured with her teacup toward Genevieve. “I can tell you that he is more likely to move heaven and earth to break you, than to accept defeat, much less let his interest waver.”
Genevieve took another sip of her tea. “Yes, I expect you are right. Why are some men so perverse as to take rejection for a challenge?” She knit her brows at a sudden, disconcerting thought, and set her cup and saucer down in disgust. “If I had had my wits about me on our first meeting, I should have flirted madly with him, then I would only have had to endure a fortnight’s gallantry before he’d have bored of me. But now—” She sighed in annoyance. “And I cannot even take comfort in fobbing responsibility for the whole onto Bertram, for I cannot deceive myself that my stupidity has not lent enough weight to the present circumstance as to be entirely blameless.”
With a darkling look at her friend, she added, “Whether or not I shall be liberated by the acceptance of my regret remains to be seen.”
A day or two later, she sat considering this problem, among others, as she mended a torn flounce on one of Lenora’s gowns—a green silk that was apt to fray—when Sir Joshua was announced. He paused on the threshold and glanced about, as if to discover anyone else hiding in the corners of the room.
“I did not expect to find you alone, ma’am,” he said.
Suddenly aware of a heightened sensation throughout her limbs, Genevieve set aside her mending, clasping her hands together to hide her disquiet, and smiling politely. “I cannot understand how that is so, sir, for Cottam must have known there is no one else in the house. Your sister has gone on an errand, and Tom has taken Lenora with some friends to Astley’s Amphitheater.”
Advancing into the room, he said, “But Miss Breckinridge has seen the horses already, has she not?”
Wondering how he should be aware of such a fact, she answered, “But that was merely The Flying Wardrobe and Various Acts, and Tom discovered yesterday that there is a new show. You could not imagine that they would forego such a high treat as The Blood Red Knight!”
“Certainly not,” he said, his brows going up. “I am only astonished that you did not wish to see it as well.”
“I should have,” she said, inviting him with a gesture to sit, “except that I find myself sadly out of twig, and find I have no taste for amusements just now.”
“I had heard that you were unwell, but I suspect that I have been misinformed.” He had been watching her as she spoke, a little crease forming between his brows. “You will allow me to say that I perceive you in good health, but perhaps you are not quite in spirits.”
This expression of genuine solicitude brought a rosy color to her cheeks. “I see that you are not to be deceived, sir,” she said composedly. “The truth of the matter is that I am in hiding.”
“You shock me, ma’am. I had not suspected cowardice in one so intrepid as yourself.”
“That is only because you do not know me well, sir. I am not in the least brave, I assure you.”
He shook his head gravely. “That, if you will pardon my saying so, is a bouncer.”
She laughed. “Again, you give more credit than what is due. I own I can be valiant in a pinch, to be sure. But show me the means of escape from any distasteful situation, and you may depend upon my availing myself of it without compunction.”
“Do not we all?” he said, his lips turning up in a fleeting smile, but at that moment, Cottam brought in a tray with wine and two glasses, depositing it on a side table before discreetly withdrawing.
After his offer of a glass to Genevieve had been refused, Sir Joshua refreshed himself and leaned back in his chair. “May I inquire what distasteful situation it is from which you wish to escape?”
Lamenting that she had not been more guarded, she delayed her answer, taking up her mending again while searching for an excuse. “Merely, I find London society somewhat more tiresome than I had supposed.”
“You cannot imagine my relief to find that your ailment is not physical, ma’am, but I do not apprehend as yet why it should confine you to the house.”
She chuckled, inwardly delighted that he seemed to care so much that she had sequestered herself. “I perfectly recall referring to the effects of intoxication at Amelia’s ball, if you do not, sir, and your unfeeling references to my robust health are excessively painful to me. I should think that one who has had the good sense to succumb to exhaustion during the dissipation of a London season would be treated with more sympathy, even by you.”
This brought an actual smile to his face as he sipped his wine. “Believe that I am merely glad that Miss Breckinridge is in no danger of catching your disease.” She looked up sharply at this, and he added, “It would be a shame to end the enjoyment of her first season in such a shocking way. And so, you need have no scruple in relinquishing your duties as chaperone to poor Tom.”
“None, sir,” she said, a little shaken that he had had occasion to observe this circumstance, but she continued in a light enough tone, “And he should consider you a great gudgeon to think him thus, for, owing to the timely introduction of Miss Marshall to our midst, Tom has found escorting Lenora an admirable means to his own end.”
“Any young man would find satisfaction in the escort of not one, but two agreeable young ladies, even if one is his sister. Lenora is a charming companion in her own right.”
She agreed with some asperity, bending her head to set two or three stitches in the torn flounce. Conscious of a desire to turn the conversation away from her daughter, she said rather suddenly, “You were kind to take an interest in Branwell Wednesday last, sir. Redeeming the farm, and thus our livelihood, has been Tom’s life’s work since his father died.”
After a slight pause, Sir Joshua accepted her thanks with a nod. “His knowledge is impressive, and I saw the effects of his practice, though superficially. But surely, he has not spent so long at it. He must have been still a child when his father passed.”
“He was but thirteen, but was as determined then as he is now to put things to rights,” she answered, taking to the subject with enthusiasm. “He was my shadow as I met with our land ag
ent and our lawyer, and so grew up learning management. As soon as he could, he took the whole out of my hands, and by the time he comes of age, we shall be able to hold our heads up again, all through his endeavors.”
His brow lifted. “As one whom you have justly claimed does not know you well, I nevertheless would be surprised to discover that you have not always held your head up, ma’am.”
She smiled. “You are right. I fear I have a terrible lack of pride, sir.”
“I would say, rather, that you have an incredible degree of resilience,” he answered, with his sincere smile.
She looked at him, pleasure at odds with the wariness in her mind. “My, Sir Joshua, but you have a disconcerting habit of coming out suddenly with very pretty compliments. I am never certain how to take them.”
“I would be honored if you took them at face value, ma’am.”
She bowed over her work to hide the color rising in her face, and after some more desultory talk, he rose and took his leave, leaving her to consider the very inexplicable emotions she had experienced during the visit. That she had pleasure in his company, she could not deny. Their conversation was never stilted, and the discomfort of their first interactions had been replaced by an easy understanding, not disagreeably spiced with satire. She had an uneasy feeling that she rather liked Sir Joshua, a discovery that was all the more disturbing because of the emotion that crept over her when he so much as mentioned Lenora’s virtues—an emotion that was distressingly like jealousy.
Meanwhile, Tom had enjoyed the outing to Astley’s prodigiously, their party was so well-suited, and perfectly balanced with the last-minute addition of Mr. Barnabus to its ranks. The journey to the theater was accomplished in Lady Cammerby's barouche, with Ginsham driving his curricle. There was some commotion at the start of the expedition in regard to which lady Mr. Ginsham should have the honor to drive, both Elvira and Lenora expressing themselves willing to ride in the less dashing barouche, wherin Barnabus should be seated. But Lenora having the fortune to truthfully declare herself able to abide the forward seat without motion sickness, and Miss Marshall already comfortably ensconced beside Tom in the back, Elvira gave in with a good grace, and was handed by a beaming Ginsham into his vehicle.
Upon arrival at the theater, another disturbance was avoided by the happy chance of the couples entering their row exactly so as to place Elvira between Ginsham and Barnabus, with Lenora next, leaving Tom very satisfactorily placed beside Miss Marshall. Their enjoyment of the spectacle was then so complete as to suspend all considerations of a competetive nature until they rose from their seats. But as they approached the vehicles once more, Elvira took firm hold of Mr. Barnabus's arm, guiding him inexorably toward the barouche, and compelling him by an unceasing dialogue to follow her into it.
When Ginsham was made to understand that Miss Chuddsley should not prefer to ride with him back to Hill Street, his expression fell so ludicrously that Lenora felt it incumbent upon her to rescue the shattered remains of his hope if she could. Leaning out of the barouche, she whispered in Tom's ear, and after a brief conference, he turned to suggest to Ginsham that he ride with the others and give Tom the chance to drive Miss Marshall in the curricle.
"For you know," Tom said, with every evidence of conviction, "you've been dangling the promise of letting me drive your chestnuts these two weeks and more. I've begun to wonder if you'll ever come up to snuff!"
Brightening, Ginsham good-naturedly assented, taking his seat beside Lenora while Tom handed Miss Marshall into the curricle. But the drive was not to be as refreshing to his spirits as Lenora had hoped, for Elvira kept up a continual flow of conversation with Mr. Barnabus, only occasionally allowing a comment from the other occupants of the barouche, and scarcely otherwise acknowledging them at all.
When the two parties drew up to Elvira's Aunt's house, and the gentlemen alighted to wish Miss Chuddsley good day, it was with some surprise that Tom, who had spent a most pleasant quarter of an hour in Miss Marshall's company, perceived that Ginsham had fallen into a fit of the sullens. Indeed, Ginsham parted so grimly with each of the young ladies on their doorsteps, and most bitterly with Barny, that Tom felt impelled to take him in hand, dragging him forcibly to the Green Man, where, at a table in the corner, and with a glass of daffy before each of them, he encouraged the young man to unburden his soul.
Ginsham stared at his glass for some time before growling, “I should never have introduced him to her.”
Tom waited for further elucidation, but getting none, he pressed gently, “Introduced who to whom, my dear boy?”
“Him. Barny.” The name was little more than a snarl. “I was a gudgeon to let him meet her, and now she’s forgotten me completely.”
“Who, Miss Chuddsley?” Tom laughed and took a swallow of his blue ruin. “You are a gudgeon. She hasn’t forgotten you! What gammon! It’s not forgetting you that drives her to accept every invitation you throw at her.”
Ginsham banged his fist on the table. “It is when she thinks he’ll be there! Whenever I leave him out, or he doesn’t come, she’s moped to death, like I’m a dead bore. The only thing that’ll animate her is to talk about him! How I met him, what he was like in school, what dashed plans he has for the future!” He gripped his glass so tightly that Tom felt some anxiety. But the fit passed, his shoulders sagged, and he looked up at Tom in flat despair. “It’s no use. He’s taken my place in her affections, Tom.”
“It ain’t so, Greg,” said Tom, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’re exaggerating, I’m sure of it! You can’t refine too much upon a few trifles.”
“They’re not trifles, I tell you!” cried the afflicted young man. “She never so much as looks at me anymore!”
Tom took a sterner tone. “Nonsense, man! Why, she rode in your curricle today, and I know for a fact she looked at you! Didn’t seem a bit unsatisfied with the circumstance, either. You’ve just let yourself become blue-devilled.”
“She seemed a little too satisfied on the ride home with Barny,” muttered Ginsham in a recalcitrant tone.
“Dash it, she can't always be with you!” A new notion bloomed in Tom’s brain. “Perhaps she doesn’t know her own mind, yet, Greg. Perhaps she’s just being prudent, and spreading a little canvas.”
Ginsham’s bleak eyes lit with fire. “She knows her mind. Her canvas is all at Barny’s feet! She hangs on his every word, she dotes on his every whim! Before I was such a clunch as to introduce him to her, I flattered myself that she was in a fair way to becoming attached to me, but no more! Now, I don’t hold a candle to him, and I don’t know why!”
Drawing his brows together, Tom bent his mind to the problem, cogitating some minutes before saying cryptically, “I’d not think it of Elvira, but it is her first season, and all the ton parties may have gone to her head.” In response to Ginsham’s grim stare, he explained, “That is, and I hate to mention it, Greg, but does Barny stand to inherit a higher title than you do, or a bigger fortune?”
Ginsham instantly leapt to his feet. “I’ll not hear you impugn her character, Tom! She’s the sweetest girl that ever breathed, and as innocent as a babe! There’s not a mercenary bone in her body, and if you dare to think it again, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t!”
“Oh, take a damper, Galahad! I know better than you Miss Chuddsley’s innocent. She’s like a sister to me, and I tell you I wouldn’t put it past either Lenora or Elvira to go swoony over a fortune. It’s just the sort of gooseish thing those girls would do.”
“I tell you, it’s not!”
Tom pushed Ginsham’s glass deliberately toward him. “You don’t have sisters, you clodpole, so don’t go standing there telling me what girls will or will not do! If they read it in a novel, then it’s the very thing they’ll be itching to do next, and that’s the whole truth.”
“But it’s not that,” persisted Ginsham, who had sat down and recruited himself
at his glass. “She knows he’s a third son, and she knows dashed well he don't have a fortune. I can’t understand it, Tom! For all he's a right one, he’s as boring as a bluestocking when he starts prosing on about the law, and I thought nothing of introducing him to her, but I was dead wrong!”
Tom’s eyes narrowed and he stared into space for some minutes. “Shame I wasn’t here when you met Elvira. Is she the first female you’ve tried to fix your interest with?”
Ginsham glared at him. “Yes, but if you think I muffed it, you’d be advised to think better of it before I plant you a facer, Tom.”
“No need to get nasty, I’m only trying to help. I’m sure things were going swimmingly before Barny came along, so it must be all on him,” said Tom, kindly. “Not sure what there is to do.”
Ginsham tossed off his drink, banging the glass back onto the table. “Your solicitude overwhelms me, Mr. Breckinridge.”
Tom laughed, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Take heart, my friend. You will rise again.”
“I don’t want to rise again. I want Miss Chuddsley.” He stood then, with alarming decision. “There’s only one course left to me. I will challenge Barnabus.”
“Ho, there, sir, gently, gently.” Tom pressed his honorable friend back into his seat. “Barny ain’t done anything wrong. You can’t go challenging him or your case will be worse, my boy, for as sure as check, no matter how quiet we try to make it, the ladies always hear about a duel.” He called for another drink for his friend and waited while he tossed it down. “Now, listen to me, Greg, old boy. I’ve just had the devil of an idea. But I’d do better to run it past Lenora to make sure of it. If you promise not to challenge Barny, not only will I engage to find out just what maggot has got into Elvira’s brain, but I will pledge myself to promote your cause with her.”
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