by Jane Goodger
Mitch just chuckled and shook his head. “I’m counting on getting a nice return on my investment, Madame, and sure as sure, love’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Perhaps I am wrong,” she said with a shrug. “My husband, God rest his soul, was a gambler. A bad one.” She gave him another long assessing look, as if she could see into his heart and watch it lurch crazily each time he glanced at Genny. “If I were you, I’d stay away from the cards.”
Genny loved dresses. She loved silk and light wools and crinolines and bustles and hats and gloves and lace and everything that went into looking like a lady. It was almost as if she was born to wear such lovely creations as Madame Brunelle was designing. She even loved the corsets that made the dresses look perfect. It was only at night when she was finally alone, that she thought about her old life: the struggles, the hunger. And she thought about what a miracle it had been that she’d found Mitch, who had brought her to this world she was coming to believe she was born to. It was almost as if she had memories of balls and elegance locked away inside her, though that was impossible. Perhaps her mother had told her stories when she was very young, stories she couldn’t recall but were buried in her mind. As each day passed, she grew more and more excited about meeting her grandparents. The only thing that darkened her thoughts was the thought of a tall man with piercing blue eyes.
In the days that followed, Mitch kept his distance, allowing Genny and his mother free rein with colors and fabrics. Genny made nearly a daily trek to The House of Brunelle, returning exhausted but utterly happy. If she could have swum in the clothes, she would have done so. And the shoes and the hats and everything else that went along with being a lady. It would not be a complete wardrobe—they’d decided a riding habit was not necessary—but would contain all the basics of what a young British lady should have. Most important was the ball gown, the dress Genny would be wearing when she was introduced into British society. Though Mitch had been absent from most of the fittings, Genny insisted that he be on hand to see this particular gown.
He sat outside the fitting room waiting for Madame to reveal what she called her most beautiful creation. He could hear the murmur of voices in the next room as Genny was put into the dress, and he again was reminded that Genny would require some sort of lady’s maid to accompany her.
“Mon dieu, Mr. Campbell,” Madame said, opening the door to allow him in, “you must force this girl to eat more.”
She backed away with a flourish, revealing Genny standing on a small platform, staring at her reflection in a mirror with an expression something between disbelief and awe. Mitch thanked God she hadn’t seen the look on his face when he’d first walked in, because he was fairly certain every emotion he’d been bottling up inside for the past few weeks would have shown clearly on his face.
She wore a spectacular gown of deep green with cream lace accenting a tiered skirt and a dark brown velvet underskirt. Mitch wouldn’t have thought to put the two colors together, but the results were stunning. Tiny seed pearls decorated the bodice, which exposed the smooth expanse of her chest, just hinting at her décolletage. Holy God, she was beautiful.
Just before she looked through the mirror at him, he schooled his features, trying hard to make certain she didn’t see the raw need in his eyes. He chuckled and said, “She’s gained a few pounds since I found her.” It might have come out hoarser than he’d intended, but he silently congratulated himself on how calm he sounded. Not like a man who felt he was standing on the edge of a cliff with a strong wind at his back buffeting him.
“I wasn’t a very good hunter, you see. My father did most of the hunting and I did the cooking.”
“Hunting!”
Genny grinned. “I was rather good at catching snakes.”
“I think this is something that should be kept to yourself,” Madame said, walking briskly over to her and putting a final pin into a delicate cap sleeve. “Ah, c’est manifique, no? So beautiful. What do you think, Monsieur?”
Genny turned to show Mitch the dress and she saw he wore the same uninterested look she’d seen for days. All she could think about was that kiss outside Delmonico’s, but apparently he had forgotten all about it. Men were strange creatures, Madeline had told her, able to find pleasure without feeling emotion. Mitch had seemed to have emotion that night, but perhaps in her inexperience she’d confused lust with something more. He had apparently forgotten all about it, but Genny couldn’t stop thinking about how his tongue had moved against hers, how his hands had captured her head as he drew her against him, how long and strong he’d felt pressed up against her. She couldn’t stop herself from looking at his lips, which only produced a frown from him. It was almost as if he were angry all the time. If he hadn’t been so attentive during her lessons on comportment, she would have thought him completely uninterested in her. Genny didn’t understand how he could so quickly forget a kiss that had been so devastating to her.
Genny knew she was all spoony when she was around him, and though she tried not to be, she couldn’t help it. Every time she was near him, she felt strange, as if her skin were fizzy. One time, as he was walking toward the breakfast table, she’d felt such a wave of desire, she’d almost gasped aloud. Just from looking at him!
When she’d first met him, she’d thought Mitch looked like every other man she’d ever seen—big and hairy and a little scary. But now, she couldn’t help noticing how blue his eyes were, how thick and wavy his hair was, how the strong line of his jaw looked so much better when he’d just shaved. When she saw him standing next to other men, it was impossible not to notice how much more, well, manly he was compared to everyone else.
“She looks fine,” Mitch said, giving her a cursory glance.
“Fine? Fine? Monsieur, when a woman this beautiful is standing before you wearing so magnificent a dress, you do not say she looks fine. Mon dieu.”
Mitch swiped a hand through his hair and glared at Madame, who had the oddest smile on her lips. “Pretty. She looks pretty. Too pretty, if you ask me.”
“A bit better, sir, but still a dismal attempt at flattery.”
Too pretty. Why, that was the nicest thing Mitch had ever said to her, though Genny wasn’t quite certain what he’d meant.
“She will certainly attract a great deal of male attention,” Madame said thoughtfully. “Ah, I wish I could be there to witness it. The men will be in a frenzy to meet her, to dance with her. To marry.”
“I sure hope so,” Mitch said, though by his expression it didn’t look as if the thought pleased him.
Madame chuckled. “I think he will be jealous of all that male attention. What do you think, Miss Hayes?”
“I won’t be there to witness it,” Mitch said, turning abruptly and walking from the room, not looking back even when Madame let out a light-hearted laugh.
Madame fussed with the dress a bit more before saying, “I think your Mr. Campbell will not like seeing any man dance with you.”
Genny furrowed her brow. She hadn’t really thought about the dancing part of a ball, and now a small bit of panic flooded her. “I don’t know how to dance, so he’ll hardly have a chance to see me dance at all. Even if he were to stay on for a while.”
“Oh, he will,” Madame said knowingly. “But Miss Hayes, this is a terrible oversight. You must know at least some dances. The waltz, the polka, non?”
Genny shook her head. “Not one.”
“Mr. Campbell,” Madame Brunelle called out. “I need your assistance.”
Mitch returned, looking as though he wished he were anywhere else but where he was.
“You need to hire a dance instructor. It is a terrible oversight. Miss Hayes does not know how to dance. Standing at a ball wearing this,” she said, indicating the dress, “is all well and good, but it is made for dancing.” She instructed Genny to turn. “You see? The movement? The beauty. Mon Dieu, this dress was made for the ballroom. It would be tragic if she could not dance.”
“I’m not going to
hire a dance instructor,” Mitch said, sounding almost angry.
“It’s all right,” Genny said. “The expense. I am so indebted already to Mr. Campbell. I could never expect him to spend even more money on a dance instructor.”
Mitch muttered beneath his breath. “I don’t need to hire a dance instructor because I can teach her to dance.”
“Monsieur, while I think this is very generous of you, perhaps you don’t realize the intricacy of some dances. She won’t be attending a country dance, but a ball in London. You will arrive while the Season is still in full swing, will you not?”
“I know how to dance,” Mitch said. “My mother was an actress. She had to dance all the time and I was her partner. Hell, I probably could have made a living teaching debutantes to dance. I can teach Miss Hayes enough to get by.”
Genny smiled uncertainly. Mitch was making the offer, but he did it in the same way a man agrees to share his meal when he really doesn’t want to. “You don’t have to. Certainly my grandparents will—”
“I said I’d teach you and I will. Don’t want some stranger teaching you anyway. Likely to do it wrong.”
“Well, that’s lovely,” Genny said.
Madame gave Mitch a look Genny couldn’t understand. It seemed to be pity.
Chapter 8
“We can’t give the girl a lifetime of polishing in two weeks, Mitchell,” Madeline said, looking exhausted, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of showing Genny how to walk across the room. Used to the forest and trails, Genny had a tendency to walk, well, like a man, Madeline explained.
“I suppose I walk like my father.”
“Yes, and that is all well and good when you are in the woods, but you are headed to London, where you will be expected to know how to walk like a lady.”
Genny gave Mitch, who was looking as if he was trying not to smile, a desperate look.
“Hell, if they can’t accept her the way she is, they have no business inviting her in the first place.”
Genny stood, hands on hips, and walked over to him, all thoughts of grace far from her mind. “You listen here. You’re the one who thought I could use some polishing, and you were right. I want my grandparents to be proud of me, not horrified. Do you remember when I climbed up onto that train? Remember how you said I had to learn how to do all manner of things so I wouldn’t be immediately marked as something other than a lady?”
Genny walked over to a settee and slumped down onto it, completely unaware that slumping was completely off limits to a lady. Madeline looked pointedly at Genny, then looked at her son and shook her head. She threw up her hands. “It’s impossible.”
“No, it isn’t. She’s smart. She can do this.” Mitch turned to Genny, smiling the way a man smiles at a man holding a gun on him. “Darlin’, see the way you’re sitting there right now?”
Genny looked down at herself, seeing nothing wrong. Her skirts were covering her ankles.
“You’re slumping, dear,” Madeline said. “Ladies never slump.”
Genny immediately straightened, forcing a chuckle from Mitch. “You have to admit she’s trying,” he said.
“Yes, I try but it’s so much to remember. And I can’t even walk yet!” Another chuckle from the maddening man. “Stop laughing. I’d like to see you try to walk like a lady and sit like a lady and eat like one. It’s more difficult than you think, especially when I’m used to trudging around a forest.”
Mitch only grinned at her, then said to his mother, “Should I show her?”
Madeline shrugged, and before Genny’s eyes, Mitch changed. It was purely the most amazing thing Genny had ever seen in her life. Mitch was gone, replaced by . . . someone else altogether. His chin went up, his back became rigid, his eyes frosty. He walked to the tea set that Madeline had been trying to show her how to use (apparently pouring tea properly was the mark of a true lady) and expertly poured a small cup of tea before delicately lifting it up to his lips. “Nothing better than a fine cup of tea,” he said in a rather high-pitched feminine voice.
Madeline clapped, delighted by her son’s performance, and Genny sat there, mouth open. How on earth had Mitch, with all his masculinity, managed to be more of a lady than she was? If he’d been wearing a dress she would have thought him a rather ugly woman.
In seconds, Mitch was back, laughing, his blue eyes crinkled. “See darlin’? It’s just acting, just pretend. Now, pretend you’re a lady and eventually, it’ll be second nature. Ladies don’t laugh out loud or show strong emotion or let people know what they’re thinking. Pretend you’re a statue that can move.”
Genny frowned. “That’s horrible. If that’s what it takes to be a lady, then I’m not so certain I want to be one anymore.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Mitch said, again sounding slightly angry.
“If it weren’t for my grandparents, I wouldn’t care. But I do care what they think of me. How could I not? And to be honest, I care what they think about my father. They’ll blame him, you know, if I come up short. In a way, they’ll be right. He never thought I’d end up going back to England. Learning all this stuff about walking and talking like a lady didn’t make much sense in that cabin we were living in. But now . . . now I have to learn. I have to. I love my father and he wanted me to go to England. And I want them to be proud of me, to not have a single bad thought about the man who took their daughter away from them. Can you understand that?”
Mitch’s gaze softened, and his mother let out a sound of commiseration. “Of course I understand. Now, let’s take one thing at a time. Let’s practice sitting.”
“Sitting?” Genny repeated, and nearly burst out laughing. “I don’t sit correctly?”
“Not hardly.” Mitch thought on it for a while, then said, “Pretend there’s a string attached to the very top of your head. The other end of the string goes through a pulley, and I’m holding it. Now, if I were to let go of that string, you’d plop right down on that couch. Just like you did a minute ago. But if I were to gently lower you, you’d go down slow and graceful. That’s what you need to do. Pretend I’m holding that string and letting you fall slowly.”
“Mitch, you are a genius,” Madeline said. “I see you have this well in hand. If you don’t mind, I have to go over my accounts to see how much longer I can remain closed. I’ve started getting some letters from my regular clients and they are quite losing their patience with me.”
After Madeline left, Genny stood, then slowly sat, wobbling only a little and clutching the edge of the couch to steady herself.
“Again. And this time when you sit, put your hands like this in your lap.” Mitch held his hands together to show her.
Genny stood, then sat, this time without the wobble. “Again.” And again and again until Genny could feel her thighs start to ache from all the sitting and standing.
Throughout the afternoon, she practiced walking and sitting, all under the watchful and thoughtful gaze of Mitch. He was patient with her, and the two of them fell into laughter more than one time when he turned into Lady Mitchell and showed her how it was done.
“Pretend everyone you meet is part of the audience and you have to trick them into believing you are a lady. If you never break character, you will never be found out.”
“I think I shall very much like it when I finally get to go into my room so I can relax my spine. Not that these corsets allow for much bending of the back. Do you know, when I first wore one, the one that goes with that blue gown? I wondered how on earth I’d be able to start a fire. And then it occurred to me that I probably won’t have to start a fire ever again.”
Suddenly, Genny felt like crying. It was all too much and she missed home. She missed her father and the way he’d smell of the outdoors when he’d come back from hunting. She missed the warmth of the cabin when the fire was high, the way her muscles felt after she’d chopped some wood, the sense of satisfaction she got when she not only hunted for her meal, but returned, prepared it, and ate it. She missed her father’s
twinkling eyes and the rare times when he’d talk about her mother. She missed the smell of the pines and the sound of the owls hooting mournfully at night.
Genny looked down at her pretty gown, realizing how ungrateful she would sound if she told anyone about her thoughts. Here she was in an exciting city getting ready to travel across the ocean to meet her duke and duchess grandparents, and all she could think about was how she’d likely never eat another bit of dried venison. At least not from a deer that her father had killed.
“Hey, darlin’, what’s wrong?”
She wasn’t crying, but Genny suspected her eyes were getting a bit misty. Then, dash it all, her eyes welled up and suddenly she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked, real concern in his voice now, and he took a tentative step toward her as if he wasn’t certain whether he should embrace her or not. Genny solved that dilemma by launching herself toward him. He held his arms out for a moment before she finally felt them wrap around her, and nothing had ever felt so wonderful and safe in her life.
“I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired and I started thinking about Yosemite and my father and everything I’ll never do again. And I’m wondering if all this is pointless, if they’ll take one look at me and send me packing.”
Mitch smoothed a hand up and down her back. “Part of me hopes they do,” he said so quietly, Genny wasn’t certain whether she’d heard him right.
She pulled back. “What do you mean?”
Mitch dropped his arms and stepped away, and the loss of his warmth, even though she wasn’t cold, was stunning. “It’s just that we don’t know what kind of people they are other than the fact they wouldn’t let your mother marry the man she loved. Just makes me think. Your mother must have either been very brave or very stupid to do what she did. Love can make a person do things they oughtn’t.”
“I don’t think she was stupid, just in love. Have you ever done anything stupid for love?”