The performance of the orchestra being exquisite, Genevieve, a true lover of music, sat throughout with her eyes closed, drinking in the sounds which reverberated pleasingly around her, and quite losing herself. When the last strains subsided, and the audience erupted in applause, she awoke from her blissful reverie feeling renewed, and, turning to her host to expostulate on her enjoyment—and to express her profound thanks for his kind invitation—she was disconcerted to find him regarding her with a secret smile on his lips.
Understandably, her former consternation returned, with questions as to his intentions flitting through her mind, but she was given little opportunity to ruminate upon them, as the group rose to leave the box to partake of supper during the interval, and the discussion that ensued, regarding the talent of Mrs. Bland in the sonata, engaged her interest. They ate finely sliced ham and roasted chicken, and a salad they dressed themselves, all the while comfortably conversing about London and its virtues and vices, upon which topic all were versed. Thus, the supper hour flew delightfully by, and when they had finished, they re-entered the Rotunda for the second half of the concert, which was equally good as the first.
By the close of the concert, Genevieve had again forgotten her anxieties, and the circumstance of Colonel Bunding’s offering her his arm while Lenora walked with Sir Joshua, Sir David and Lady Cammerby bringing up the rear, served to keep her at ease as the whole of the party set off to wander the many walks until the fireworks at midnight. They went first to the Dark Walk, and immediately Lenora demanded to know the history of its name.
“The Dark Walks were purposely unlit to provide romance for those who craved it,” offered Sir David. “But, as you can imagine, they very often, especially in the deeper hours of the night, were misused.”
“There was a time when these walks became so dangerous to virtue that they were blocked off,” confided Sir Joshua.
Sir David laughed. “Much good it did them! There was such a hue and cry over it that the very next season the blockades were torn down again.”
“But was nothing done to—to protect—virtue?” cried Lenora, shocked by this misuse of romance.
“Vauxhall enjoyed an unsavory reputation for several years, my dear,” said Lady Cammerby, “but by the time your mama and I were your age, the proprietors had managed to subdue most of the rumors through better management.”
“They could hardly manage the whole place, though, Miss Breckinridge,” added Colonel Bunding, “so do not you let just any man lead you down the Dark Walks, even today.” He accented his speech with a squint-eyed look at Sir Joshua, who merely smiled, while the other gentleman laughed.
Genevieve, noting Lenora’s blushes and confusion with her own share of discomfort, was relieved to hear the bell announcing the unveiling of the Grand Cascade, and she suggested they all go to see it.
“The Cascade has seen better days, I’m afraid,” said Colonel Bunding. “It has lost nearly all its charm, with the spouts of tin so dented and dull, and the figures continually being handled by every curious urchin—they resemble mud men more than sylvan characters! It is a shame, but it is rumored they plan to tear it down and build a theater of some sort on the site.”
With expressions of outraged dismay, Genevieve still insisted upon seeing it, and they joined the crowd already gathered just as the curtains were drawn away. The sight was not as dismal as the colonel had painted it, which went some way toward mollifying Genevieve’s disappointment, but still melancholy enough that the elder members of the group joined in remembrances and lamentations over the spectacle that was lost, and in attempting to describe its past glories to Miss Breckinridge, until the curtains were once more drawn closed.
In an attempt to distract their depressed spirits, Sir Joshua led them to the Hermitage, which was still in good repair, and they were able to put aside their sorrow to admire the skill which had crafted it. The cutaway scene of the Hermit studying his tomes by candlelight in the close little room could not excite their attention long, however, and they were soon on their way again toward the firework tower at the south end of the walk.
Here a large crowd had gathered in expectation of the Ascent of Madame Saqui, and Genevieve gazed with wonder at the height of the tower, some seventy feet above, to which was attached a sturdy rope that inclined toward the ground for upwards of three hundred feet.
Lenora’s feelings exactly matched her mother’s, as she exclaimed, “She will never walk up that rope! She could not!”
“Ah, but she will, Miss Breckinridge,” replied Sir David sagely. “And she will walk back down again, and as quick and as sure as a monkey!”
“But it seems we are far too early to be waiting about here to see her,” said Colonel Bunding, consulting his watch. “It lacks over an hour to midnight. What are we to do with ourselves?”
This produced a murmur of opinions, but Lenora’s ardent wish to explore the smaller paths among the trees became the general resolution of the party, and they all turned down the walk to find an opening. This proved more difficult than they had anticipated, for the press of the crowd around the tower and rope, being composed of several ungenteel and even rowdy persons, pushed and swayed rather than part for the ladies and their escorts, and it was some trouble to work their way with any degree of comfort away from the crowd.
At this moment Genevieve distinctly heard her name called, not only once, but twice, and with her Christian name. She turned quickly to look in the direction that she had heard it, only to be met with the sight of heads and bodies of persons whom she had no acquaintance with. In some puzzlement, she turned forward again to follow her party, and was dismayed to find that she had become entirely separated from them in the crowd.
A woman of strong resolution, Genevieve pushed forward through the press, excusing herself politely but firmly to those who would not move and whom she was obliged to put out of her way with rude force. She fairly quickly came to the edge of the crowd, and the side of the walk, but still could not glimpse her companions ahead. Knowing their destination to be the wooded paths, she hastened to the first opening she saw and plunged down it, uncomfortably aware of a small feeling of panic that had begun to stir in her breast. The darkness of the wood after the dazzling brightness of the walk she had just left caused her to slow her pace as her eyes adjusted, and shapes seemed to shift just outside her vision. She knew these paths were undesirable for unaccompanied young females, and hoped only that her age and experience would give any young buck pause in the contemplation of trickery.
She remained unmolested as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, however, and hurried down the path, until she was very deep into the wood, looking anxiously down several side paths as she went, until at last she thought she descried her party at the end of one of them. With a rush of relief, she turned down this lane, but quickly discovered the group at the end were none of her own, and she fled down a branching path to avoid meeting them. Her heart was beating dreadfully, and she had just determined upon returning to the tower to await their return, when a man’s voice uttered her name behind her. She whirled about with the hopeful expectation of being greeted by Sir Joshua, but the man who stepped from the shadows was the last one she wanted to meet, here or anywhere, without protection.
“What luck to find you here, and quite alone, Mrs. B.”
Her fingers clutched at her skirts as she backed away a few steps. “I am not alone, my lord.” His eyes mocked her and she stood still, cursing herself for betraying fear to him. Straightening, she assumed a look of unconcern that she hoped would be matched by her voice. “Such a lovely evening for a stroll, is it not? My party is just ahead, so you must excuse me if I am uncivil. I do not wish to be separated from them. Good night.”
She turned and had taken a step, but he grasped her arm, halting her where she stood. “Alas, you are already separated from them, I perceive. What a pity.” He tutted, his eyes roving over her face
as his grip stayed firm. “Allow me to bear you company awhile. I would not have you wander this place without protection. One never knows what kind of scoundrel one may meet in the dark.”
“No, one does not, my lord,” she said, with a pointed look at his hand on her arm. When he did not remove it, she added, endeavoring to keep her voice steady, “Your kind offer of protection is entirely unnecessary. My friends are just beyond that shrubbery—”
“No, my dear Genevieve, the truth is that they passed by here several minutes ago, and seemed distressingly unconcerned for your whereabouts. Are you certain they miss you?” She pulled against his hold, but he drew her closer to him. “They did not appear anxious for a third, as cozy as they were.”
“A third, my lord?” She stopped struggling. “Were there only two?”
“Only two, and such a pretty couple they were.”
She pulled against him again, to no avail. “Then they were not my party. I most sincerely wish to rejoin my friends, and desire you to allow me to go in search of them.”
“Not your party, Genevieve?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head indulgently. “If that was not your daughter with old Sir Joshua Stiles, then I am the Duke of Wellington.”
She stiffened, staring wide-eyed at him. “What do you know of my daughter?”
She could smell the sour of wine on his breath as he chuckled unpleasantly. “What need I know of her, but that she is quite alone in a dark wood with a very experienced man?” Genevieve’s face paled, and he narrowed his eyes contemplatively. “The more I consider it, the more I feel it would be a shame to interrupt their tete-a-tete, don’t you agree?”
“I do not, sir, and trust that your understanding of the situation is imperfect,” she said, putting up her hand to pry at the fingers on her arm. “I beg you will release me so that I may rejoin them.”
His grip did not loosen. “But you protest too much, ma’am. What mother leaves her daughter unsupervised in such a place, unless she means to snare a fortune for her? Come, your purposes will be better served by your leaving them to themselves.”
His insinuations both unnerved and infuriated her. Through clenched teeth, she said, “I am no more after Sir Joshua’s fortune than you are after mine! Let me go.”
“I will restore you to the care of your friends all in good time,” he said, his eyes glittering, “but this night, this place should not be wasted.”
Renewing her efforts to disengage herself, she cried, “It is already wasted, my lord, as is your time and mine. You will do me the honor of believing me when I say that I do not wish your company, now or ever.”
She wrenched free of him at last and took to her heels down the path, but he too quickly caught her, grasping her by the waist and pulling her against his chest. “But you must satisfy me, Genevieve,” he whispered in her ear, his sour breath hot on her neck. “Why pursue Sir Joshua’s fortune when mine is yours for the taking? I lay it at your feet, along with my heart.”
“If you are in earnest, my lord, then you surely intend to offer me your name as well, or is that assuming too much?” she spat.
“What good would my name do to a woman of your resource? I offer you all my worldly goods, my body and soul. What more could you want?”
“Dignity, my lord!” She pried at his arms around her waist, but they were like bands of iron. “And freedom!”
With a quick movement, he twisted her in his arms until they were chest to chest. “But you are too wild to be let free, Genevieve.”
“Unhand me this moment,” she hissed, pushing with her forearms against his chest.
“It is not to be thought of. So long have I wished for this, with you here in my arms, and no one to come between us. No, I do not think I will let you go.”
She raised a hand, striking it hard against his cheek, but he only smiled, a gleam in his eyes that sickened her with fear. “My, how your eyes burn when you are angry.”
Then his lips were on hers, trapping the scream that rose to her mouth, and a shudder of revulsion took the strength from her body. He held her tighter as she shivered in shock, pressing hot kisses down her neck, but when his mouth wandered toward her décolletage, her senses reasserted themselves, and she screamed.
Instantly, he pressed a hand against her mouth, his eyes sparking. “None of that, my love. You ruin the mood.”
Beating at his head with her freed hand, she scratched and clawed to no avail, for he merely chuckled and resumed his exploration of her neckline, and she had begun to give herself up for lost when a sudden rush of footsteps sounded very near at hand, followed by a violent exclamation. Lord Montrose’s hold on her loosened as he turned to confront the intruder, and the next thing she knew, he had been yanked away from her and felled by a thundering blow to his jaw. Blinking, she stared at his inanimate form on the ground for some seconds before her eyes traveled up the form of her rescuer, who stood over him, the most terrible expression of hatred on his countenance she had ever seen.
“Sir Joshua!”
He turned to her, his expression melting into something so like possessive concern that she thought her heart would burst. In two steps he was by her side, his arms reaching for her. “Genevieve! Are you hurt?”
“Oh!” was all she managed to say before she was enveloped in his embrace, and she found herself, for the first time in nearly twenty years, with a manly chest upon which to cast her troubles. Clutching at the lapels of his coat, she burst into tears.
After some time, she became aware that Sir Joshua was stroking her hair and murmuring soothing words, and that she would like to stay in his arms forever. He must love her, his look had said it all, and here she was, secure in his embrace, even in this—oh, this was a public place, and no matter how he felt about her, they ought not to be standing so long in such an attitude.
Reluctantly, but firmly, she pushed away from him, fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief. He produced his first, and she took it with a trembling hand. “Oh, I am much obliged to you, sir! You must believe that it was my furthest intention to become a watering pot!”
“I am fully prepared to believe everything you say, ma’am, but I should be a brute indeed to fault you for giving way to emotion after such an affront.”
She involuntarily shuddered, wiping at her eyes with the handkerchief. “You are too kind. And—and so timely!” She wrung the handkerchief. “I had been searching for you—all of you—and had nearly given you up, but you—you have a habit of appearing when you are needed!”
He bowed, but his look had become grave, and she felt as if the night had grown suddenly chilly. Putting her arms around herself, she looked at the ground, the hope that had bloomed at his first look wilting beneath such solemnity. That look! Had she imagined it? His manner now could never have produced such a look, and how could he have altered so quickly from tenderness to this?
She had misconstrued his actions, she must have. Rather than acting out of care for her, he had come to her aid out of concern for Lenora, properly unwilling to allow the mother of his love to come to harm. Any gentleman would have comforted her, even taken her into his arms as he had done, from sheer embarrassment at her explosion of emotion. No, he had not been tender, as she had at first believed, but merely kind to her in an impossible situation.
A moan from the ground caused her to start from her reflections. “Oh, he seems to be coming to.”
Sir Joshua cast a disdainful look behind at the body on the ground, then guided her away, down the path. “We need no longer be concerned with him, ma’am.” They walked to a wider path, turning out of sight of the recumbent Lord Montrose. “You ought not to have left our party.”
As sensitive as her feelings were at that moment, this unjust remonstrance stung. “I did not leave of my own volition, sir. I was detained by the crowd, and by the time I had reached the path, you were all gone from sight.” She put up h
er chin. “If you had not gone on ahead into the wood, I may have caught you up.”
“We did not go on ahead into the wood, ma’am. How could you think we should go on without you, and you nowhere in sight?”
“But you were ahead of me, he told me—” She stopped, comprehending too late the extent of Lord Montrose’s deception.
Sir Joshua’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Your naivete regarding Lord Montrose is a constant source of wonder to me.”
“I have mentioned many times that I know full well what that man is capable of, sir!”
He rounded on her. “Then when will you understand that by furthering your acquaintance you deepen your danger—Tom’s danger—Lenora’s danger?”
“I have never sought his company!”
“But when he forces it upon you, you welcome it!”
“On the contrary, sir, I am no more than civil to him, and most often less!” she cried.
He stepped closer to her, bending to look directly into her face. “I know that I engaged to stay out of your way, but I repent it. Someone must convince you that a man such as Montrose must not be encouraged, in any way.”
She pushed her face closer to his. “A man such as Montrose needs no encouragement, sir! Here I prove my superior knowledge of him! I tell you he would seek me out the more if I fled from him, and that is the only reason I have not.”
“With the outcome that he accosted you at the first opportunity,” he returned, “and in the worst place. How was this more desirable than the alternative?”
“There was no alternative!” she cried, turning from him in frustration. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily to compose herself. “Perhaps I was foolish to proceed as I have done. I see now that I grossly misjudged his intentions toward me, in my anxiety for Tom and Lenora. I flattered myself that I knew how to handle him, hoping only to keep him distracted until we were gone from London, and could be forgotten, little suspecting that he would seriously propose—that he could have the effrontery to—” She could not bring herself to finish the statement.
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