Genie’s Scandalous Spinster’s Society

by Charlotte Stone

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  CHAPTER SIX

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  The weather was warm so the women took the barouche, which would usually have been left solely for visits to parks, but with their large number and lack of a roof, the vehicle fit perfectly for the occasion.

  They’d driven to the other side of the village and through a sheep field and around a large rocky hill before approaching the first house on their visit.

  As the barouche came to a stop outside the first home Maura had suggested, one word came to mind.

  “It’s large,” Genie whispered. The Tudor home sat like a large tower with arched windows and doors. It was masculine and definitely not Genie. “I was thinking of something much smaller.”

  Maura smiled from the seat across from her. “Remember, you’re not actually buying the house. We’re simply seeing what aspects you like and which you don’t.”

  Aunt Tilda, who was a gorgeous voluptuous woman, cut in. “And if you change your mind about the exterior, the owner may give you a fair price.”

  “Well, let’s go see.”

  The women climbed out and Aunt Tilda opened the door for them.

  Inside, Genie was captivated by the stone staircase and the iron baluster’s woven design. She’d barely taken a step before she found herself enchanted. The walls were covered in a silk cream fabric and with a pink and blue pattern stitched throughout. It was like the home of a princess from a fairytale.

  Genie walked up the stairs, finding the steps smaller and to her liking and touched the wall. “This is magical.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lorena said. “I wonder how Emmett would feel about moving here.”

  “There’s no need for Emmett to move unless you plan to burn down his country house as well,” Aunt Tilda said with a grin, knowing her niece hadn’t actually burned the house down.

  Everyone laughed.

  Lorena glared mockingly.

  Genie continued up the stairs and down the short corridor of the second floor. She found a drawing room, two bedchambers, and a boudoir. The staircase curved its way up to the next floor and Genie found one large bedchamber with a man’s cabinet on one side and a ladies’ boudoir on the other. The bedchamber had a wall of windows that oversaw the river that flowed through the village. Genie watched a pair of ducks float by and caught sight of a woodcock near a tree.

  The noise of everyone else as they ventured the halls faded and Genie played in her own mind, which was something she often did as an only child.

  She imagined herself in the Grimm Brother’s tale of Rapunzel that was printed last year. She pictured Francis climbing the tower to save her, though she’d rather it not be by her hair if she could help it. He could use the tree that leaned against the house.

  “Like what you see?”

  The deep voice startled her and she quickly turned around to see Morris standing by the open door. The room was so large that even he seemed small from so far away but then he started toward her and Genie remembered that there was nothing small about the duke. Morris was one of the taller Men of Nashwood, which was saying much, since they were all taller than average.

  His blue-green eyes were warm as he approached but there was a serious set to his jaw.

  She smiled at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was a few homes over and saw the barouche outside. I knew it was you and the women and thought I should see what you were up to.”

  Genie sighed. Morris was not only one of the taller men but also one of the stricter.

  “You’re supposed to be in mourning,” he told her. “Not parading around the country.”

  She crossed her arms. “Well, mourning in the traditional sense didn’t suit me so I’ve decided to do it my own way.”

  Morris moved to the window, leaned against the wall, and glanced out. “And how would that be?”

  “I’m looking for a home that I might purchase.”

  He looked at her. “Why so quickly? Is something wrong in London?”

  She shook her head. “No, I simply wish to be on my own.”

  “I thought your cousin was allowing you use of Buckley’s dowager house.”

  “He has but it’s surrounded by trees and doesn’t allow nearly enough light in.” And in the last few years, the trees had all but consumed the sides of the house, making it impossible to leave through the back entrance toward the gardens.

  “Why were the trees allowed to grow so close to the house?”

  “My grandmother suspected my father built the house so close to the trees to avoid seeing her.” It was good to know that Genie hadn’t been the only one her father disliked.

  “I can understand that.”

  He turned fully toward her, and his heavy eyes swept her. “A woman as beautiful and as passionate as you was not meant to be alone.”

  Genie’s cheeks stung and she found herself unable to look away from Morris as she tried to remember if he’d ever paid her such a compliment before. Surely, he had, hadn’t he?

  He continued to speak as he held her eyes. “A woman as gorgeous as you deserves a man, at her side, in her bed.”

  Genie stared at him as warmth settled into her blood. His words had touched her like a caress and he still stood at least four feet away from her. What was Morris saying to her? Did he wish to be the man in her bed? Surely, she was wrong. She wrapped her arms around herself. “That’s inappropriate.”

  His smile was like another touch, inflaming her. Then he moved.

  Genie backed away.

  He stopped, his smile wider. His teeth were perfect.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious, Genevieve?”

  Genevieve. He was the only person she knew who called her by her full name and always managed to make it already more romantic than it was.

  “I’m in love with Francis.”

  He took another confident step toward her. “I can make you forget Francis in no time.”

  She stilled, frozen by the audacity of his words and the promise that laid under it. She knew about Morris’ sports, a hunter of beasts and women, one falling at the power of his rifle and the other by his eyes. His eyes were so beautiful. Had Genie ever truly noticed his eyes?

  He closed in on her and placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Wouldn’t you enjoy that, Genie? To have a man who thinks of you just as much as you think of him?”

  “I don’t think about you.” At least she hadn’t until just now.

  He smiled. “I can change that.”

  His arrogance was alluring.

  “Francis is your friend.” It was an attempt to speak to his conscious.

  “Francis should have married you by now. This will be his loss.”

  Genie frowned, since she had nothing to say to that.

  “Do you like the house?” he asked, catching her off guard.

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  He leaned toward her and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Marry me and it’s yours.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I own the house, Genevieve. Marry me and everything I own is yours, though we could never live here.”

  She hadn’t realized his lands stretched so far but now that she thought of it, the house did have similarities to the castle. A stroke of his thumb brought her mind back to the house's owner.

  “You get distracted easily,” he told her. “Probably why you find yourself in so much trouble.”

  Genie laughed. “Is this your way of trying to control me? Seduction?”

  “I thought I’d give it a go.”

  “It won’t work,” she told him, gaining her confidence and clarity. “Even if we married, you would never be able to control me.”

  He was still grinning, still touching her. His gaze fell to her lips. “Perhaps not b
ut I could always keep you very busy.”

  Her smile fell. “One can’t stay abed forever.”

  He chuckled darkly as though he knew a secret she didn’t. He released her chin but Genie still felt the impression of his fingers and wondered when it would leave her.

  He started from the room. “Enjoy touring the village. I actually came over to invite you all for a hunt at the end of Assize-week. I’ll see you later.”

  He left and Genie leaned into the wall and tried to understand what had occurred. Was Morris playing a game or did he truly want her? He seemed confident that he could steer her heart from Francis, which she knew was an impossible feat, yet at the same time, she was interested in Morris’ methods of trying.

  She touched her cheek and shook her head, trying to clear her mind of Morris and think of Francis. What color were Francis’ eyes again? “Oh, dear,” she whispered to herself.

  What was happening?

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  CHAPTER SEVEN

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  Francis looked up from his cards the moment Morris walked into the parlor and stood. “Might I speak to you for a moment?”

  The conversations around them went on, everyone but Emmett oblivious to what Francis wished to say to him.

  The Duke of Cort motioned with his head for Francis to follow him into the corridor and began speaking before Francis could say a word. “This is about Genevieve, isn’t it?”

  Their feet against the marble floors sounded loud to Francis and he feared being overheard. “Let us speak outside.”

  Morris started them through the back of the house and into the gardens that seemed nearly endless. The sun was setting behind the tall hedges and, more than anything, Francis wished he was on the back of his horse, riding away with Genie at his back, leaving their troubles behind. It was a shame the amount of power that rested in the pound; money always won the day. They wouldn’t get far without it.

  “I’m in love with her,” Francis told him.

  Morris sighed. “That’s no secret, Francis, so if you’ve brought me out here with the intention of stopping me from asking for Genevieve’s hand, you better have a good reason for why you’ve yet to ask her.”

  Francis looked over at him. “Have you touched her?”

  “Define touch.”

  He tightened his fist.

  Morris looked down at Francis’ hands and then at his face. “Planning to use those on me? That’s not going to stop me from courting Genevieve.”

  “Couldn’t you just leave her alone for the sake of our friendship?”

  Morris narrowed his eyes. “Friendship? Is that what this is? You suffer in silence and you wish everyone to simply act as though we don’t see it? Is that friendship to you?”

  Francis looked away and shook his head as he relaxed his hands. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” he told him. “I don’t understand. If it were anyone else with a problem, you’d have worked endlessly to solve it.”

  “My issue is different.”

  “No, your issue is your pride.”

  Francis glared at him but, since Morris was right, he said nothing. He knew his issue to be pride but there was more to it. “I don’t wish to make the mistakes of my father.”

  “Then how about you start by confiding in your friends? There are nine men in this house who would all lay down their life for yours, yet you’ve kept most of us in the dark on what is happening.” Morris shook his head. “You’ve changed. I can’t remember when it happened but it was around the time of your father’s last visit to Oxford.”

  He was surprised Morris recalled the exact moment when his life had altered forever.

  Francis sighed and wondered what greater harm could come from confessing his problems to Morris. None, he figured. “All right, I’ll tell you but it’s best we return to the parlor so that I only have to say it once.”

  Morris grabbed Francis’ shoulder. “Whatever it is, we’ll solve it together. It’s part of our pact.”

  Francis smiled, recalling their endless list of rules. Francis had broken more than a few since the night of his father’s visit, keeping secrets, lying to his friends.

  It was time to let it all out.

  They returned to the parlor. Francis stood by the door and Morris stayed at his side.

  “Francis has something to say,” Morris announced to the room.

  The music from the pianoforte stopped; the men ceased their activities and turned to look at him.

  Hugh asked, “Is this about Genie?”

  Francis nodded.

  Frank, who was Calvin’s older brother, said, “It’s about time.”

  Francis sighed and tried to think of where to begin. “Five years ago, my father approached me about an issue that would ruin my family. He was facing debtor’s prison and there was only one man who had the funds to save him.”

  “Buckley,” Hugh guessed.

  Francis nodded.

  “Are you sure none of us could have lent you the money at the time?” Morris asked.

  Francis sighed. “My father owed a hundred thousand pounds.”

  Someone cursed.

  Frank asked, “Is that amount of debt even possible? Surely, men would have stopped lending your father money long before the amount grew to such a sum.”

  “It’s possible,” Francis asked. “My father owed a series of men from many countries and Buckley wouldn’t lend him the money because of his age. Instead, he placed the debt in my hands.”

  Morris frowned. “And Buckley had that sort of coin to lend?”

  Francis sighed. “He cleared the debt, so he must have.” He turned to the others. “In exchange for the money, I was forced to agree to not ask for Evie’s hand until the debt was paid. If I even give her a hint of my affection, we’ll both lose everything. Her father threatened to cut her off and take everything that wasn’t attached to my title. Any coin I earned thereafter would continue to go toward the debt. I’d have died before then.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?” Calvin asked.

  “I didn’t wish to risk Genie finding out the truth, and I did not wish to further embarrass my father.”

  “I always liked your father but this does make me see him differently,” Morris told him. “He asked you for too much.”

  “He told me not to do it if Buckley’s price was too high. I made the choice and I’d do it again. My mother and father were happy and I couldn’t do that to her or Lorena.”

  “Surely, you realize we’d never have let you suffer,” Frank told him. “Though even with all our efforts together, a sum that large would take years to pay but there would have been no need for you to wait for Genie.”

  “There was the possibility of Lorena losing my mother’s house as well,” Francis told him. “Though it was willed to my mother at the time, it was still at my father’s say-so, and since it’s truly my father who owned the house, Buckley’s new heir could fight to take it. I wouldn’t do that to Lorena.”

  “Archie knows about the will?” Morris asked.

  “He spoke to me about it,” Francis told him. “He expects the debt to be paid and will hold me to the contract, as is his right.”

  “Damn.” Calvin went to the sideboard and poured a drink.

  “I want to see that contract,” Morris said.

  “As do I,” Frank cut in. If Morris was the wealthiest titled gentleman, Franklin was his landed gentry equivalent.

  Francis nodded. “I’ll see that you both receive copies but, until further notice, I need this information to stay in this room. Lorena can never know and neither can Genie.”

  “You’re right.” Hugh leaned back in his chair. “Genie would choose you over air if she could.”

  “I’d do the same for her,” Francis told him.

  Hugh grinned.

>   William, who’d been sitting at the piano, cut in. “And I understand that you don’t wish to make the same mistakes as your father but if you’re no longer averse to the idea, I’d be willing to make some investments for you.” Will’s travels for the military had allowed him to meet men in the import industry and, as far as Francis knew, he’d been very successful at it.

  Francis, however, was wary of pouring money anywhere where there would be a great risk of loss that, in the end, would leave him in a worse position than where he’d started. Yet in the last two years, Will had made investments for others in their group, which had all been successful. Would Francis fail at such a venture?

  “Though there is always a risk, you’re not your father,” Will told him. “And as your friend, I wouldn’t invest your money in anything that my own money doesn’t go into.”

  Francis nodded. These men were more than his friends. They were his family and proved so often. He sighed and nodded at Will in confirmation. “I’d like to see what you would advise.”

  Will grinned,

  “We’ll find a way out of this,” Morris promised. “And see that you marry Genie while you still have all your teeth.”

  Francis smiled. He hoped so.

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  CHAPTER EIGHT