by Jane Goodger
Mitch gave her a long, level look. “Not yet. Haven’t been cursed with that particular emotion.”
“No?” Genny said, feeling a silly surge of happiness that he’d admitted to never being in love. A surge that was just as quickly replaced with disappointment when she realized that meant he didn’t love her, either. Which was a silly thought and useless. What would be the point of either of them loving the other when they would say good-bye in a matter of two weeks?
Mitch had booked passage on the steamship Oceanic, which would reach London on July nineteenth, weather permitting. They would depart New York on the eleventh, only five days away. Mitch explained he would purchase her a first class ticket and that she and her maid would be two floors above where he would be sharing a room with three other men in third class. It would be difficult, he said, for them to see one another, for third class passengers weren’t allowed on the first class deck and first class passengers would never venture to third.
Which meant she really only had five days to spend with Mitch. What would be the point of letting her heart do what it so desperately wanted to do? Not that she’d been very good at stopping it. Genny had never been in love and couldn’t recall her parents together. She had vague memories of laughter, of her mother playing a piano and her father singing by her side. But she’d been so young, she didn’t think of them as a couple in love; rather they were her parents who loved her.
What did one feel like when one was in love? If it was this silly, spoony feeling she got whenever Mitch walked into a room, then perhaps, yes, she was in love. She didn’t want to think about saying good-bye, knowing she would likely never see him again.
Mitch walked over to a window that overlooked the back garden. It was raining, the wind making the drops splatter against the pane, disrupting the smooth rivulets that streamed down to the sill. His face held the shadows of those drops. “Love isn’t always a gift,” he said finally.
“I suppose it can hurt. When someone dies or leaves.”
“Yes, like that.”
Madeline returned, stopping at the entrance and looking at the two of them curiously, noting they were on opposite sides of the room. “Have you two been quarreling? I’ll have none of that. We’ve too much work to do.”
“Oh, no,” Genny said. “We’re simply getting philosophical about the meaning of life.”
Mitch looked at her curiously, wondering why she hadn’t said what they were really talking about. He’d been so wrapped up in his own troubling emotions, he really hadn’t thought about her. He knew she was likely developing a crush on him, but he figured it was something fleeting, as fleeting as their time together. Now he wondered if she was feeling as torn as he was about saying good-bye. And he was torn. He’d die before saying anything aloud, but he was at least man enough to admit to himself that he loved her. God, he loved her so damn much it hurt just to be in the same room with her and not be able to tell her, to show her. It was futile and maybe that’s what hurt the most. He’d never be able to tell her how much he loved her, never be able to show her. Never hold her all night, feel her move against him. Never hear her come, never know what it was like to slide inside her and find heaven on earth.
Never marry her. Never see what their children would look like.
Damn, it hurt. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Love, a blessing? Hardly. It was a curse and one he wished he had the strength to vanquish. Lord knew he’d tried. He’d tried to stay away, but apparently he was a weaker man than he’d thought. He’d hear her laugh and be pulled into the room where she was, and he’d be tickled about something that he’d hadn’t thought was even funny. Until now.
“I think she’s worn out. I was going to start our dance lessons today, but I guess we’re both done in. Genny, why don’t you walk over to that couch and take a seat.” He gave her a wink so that she knew she should act like a lady.
She lifted her chin slightly, then moved over to the settee as if gliding upon the carpet. With a graceful turn, she slowly lowered herself onto the seat, gently clasping her hands in front of her and smiling just enough to look pleasant.
“Oh, brava,” Madeline said, clapping. “A wonderful performance, Miss Hayes. Mitch, I swear, you missed your calling. To have produced a performance like that in such a short time.” Madeline walked over to her son and kissed each cheek. “All of this makes me wish I could still be in the theater, but alas, I fear that ship has long since sailed. Do you know I actually found a whisker on my chin the other day? A whisker! It’s a curse to grow old.”
“You’re not old, Mother.”
“I’m nearly fifty.”
“You don’t look a day over forty,” Mitch said grandly. The truth was, his mother did look young for her age, but that was likely because she knew how to apply makeup artfully.
Madeline waved a dismissive hand at her son, but she was clearly glad to hear his flattery.
“Are you certain you want to put off the dance lessons?” Madeline asked. “That only leaves four days until you depart, and that’s hardly enough time.”
“It’ll have to do, Mother. She’s exhausted and her leg’s been bothering her a bit today. Probably the rain.”
Genny looked up, no doubt surprised that he’d noticed. He noticed everything, from her flushed cheeks to the slightest wince when she stood too quickly.
“I have the most delightful news,” Madeline said. “I’ve found you a maid.”
Mitch loved his mother, but he also knew her well enough to know that the slight tingling of unease he was feeling was completely justified. “Where did you find her, Mother?”
“Oh, stop looking at me like that. Do you really think I’d hire one of my girls to be her maid? Really, Mitchell, have more faith in your dear mother.”
“I apologize,” Mitch said, not meaning a single syllable. “Who is she?”
“She works at the Niblo in the costume department.” Madeline threw up a hand to stop him from protesting. “She’s a genius with hair, she can dress Miss Hayes in a trice, and she’s an aspiring actress.”
Mitch had to admit the girl sounded as if she could do the job, at least until Genny’s grandparents got her a real lady’s maid. But something about his mother’s demeanor was still making him nervous. “There’s more. Tell me, Mother.”
“You can imagine a young girl doesn’t want to be away from home. She is doing me a huge favor. She wants one hundred dollars.”
Mitch felt a slight sick twist in his stomach. When he returned to New York, he’d be dead broke at this rate. “One hundred. For a maid? That’s more than a year’s salary.”
“For a woman pretending to be a maid. That’s much more difficult to find.”
“Then I’ll just hire a real maid,” Mitch said.
“I don’t need a maid,” Genny said.
“Yes, you do,” Mitch and his mother said in unison.
“Darling, you’d never find a real maid on such short notice, not one willing to move to England, for goodness’ sake. Tillie is perfect. She knows it’s a short-term role and she’s excited about seeing London. She has an adventurous spirit and is perfect to play the part.”
Mitch took a deep breath. “It’s not a part, Mother, it’s a job.”
Madeline waved her hand as if it didn’t matter, and Mitch was starting to believe it wouldn’t.
“I’ll introduce you to her tomorrow. She wants half now and half when she’s in England. And you have to pay her passage, of course.”
“I know.” Mitch wasn’t much a praying man, but he was starting to pray that Genny’s grandparents were very grateful to see their granddaughter delivered safe and sound.
Mitch sat at the piano, pounding out a polka as Madeline attempted to teach Genny the basics of the dance. As a child, he’d often played the piano while his mother’s friends danced, so even though he hadn’t played in years, his skills came back quickly.
The two women stumbled across the makeshift dance floor, Genny’s face full of determinat
ion, Madeline’s full of amusement. Finally, Madeline stopped, her face a bit red.
“It’s no use, Mitchell. I don’t know how to lead and I’m already tired. I’m not used to this type of activity, you know. I’ve become a lady of leisure. You’re going to have to take over. I don’t understand why you didn’t dance in the first place.”
Mitch folded his arms over his chest and looked at his mother skeptically. “Because I’m a better piano player,” Mitch said. Though it was a true statement, it was nowhere near the real reason he’d sat behind the piano rather than dance. His mother was either completely oblivious to his feelings toward Genny or, worse, was trying to foster them. Either way, it would be painful to dance with Genny, knowing he would never truly have the privilege. That would go to men with “lord” before their names. And that’s the way it should be, he reminded himself brutally.
“Shoo. I’ll play,” Madeline said, waving her hands at him.
Mitch reluctantly stood and stared at Genny, who looked at him expectantly. God help him, he just couldn’t stop his heart from picking up a beat every time he looked at her. What would it be like to hold her in his arms?
“The polka simply requires you to keep up with your partner,” Mitch explained. “It’s one and two and one and two.” He demonstrated by taking a step with his left foot, then bringing his right foot even with the left, and taking another step with his right.
“See? It’s almost like skipping.”
Genny watched, a small furrow between her brows. She looked positively adorable as she gazed up at him as if he’d just shown her something terribly complicated. She wore one of her simplest new gowns, a high-necked soft blue muslin that fastened up the front with mother-of-pearl buttons. Madame Brunelle was a genius, for even this simple and chaste creation showed off Genny’s figure to perfection, making her waist seem even tinier and her small breasts somehow larger. He tried not to let his thoughts go in that particular direction, but it was nearly impossible, especially when he laid his hand at her waist and instructed her to place her left hand on his shoulder.
“Go on and play, Mother.”
What Madeline lacked in skill, she made up with enthusiasm, and the two were soon dancing across the large living room where they’d pushed aside the furniture to create a makeshift dance floor. Genny stumbled, his firm hand on her back keeping her steady, but before long, she was dancing rather than being dragged around the floor.
“Oh, this is fun,” she exclaimed, bouncing along with him as if she’d been dancing all her life. He twirled around the floor, and she kept up with him easily, her right hand gripping his tightly. And then she started laughing, so hard, she could no longer continue to dance. He couldn’t help it; he started laughing too, even though he didn’t know why the two of them were laughing like a couple of people gone mad. Madeline sat back with a bemused expression as Genny wiped at a tear, still trying to control her mirth.
“A much better reason to cry,” Mitch said softly, dropping his hands. “What did you find so funny?”
“It wasn’t that something was amusing. It’s difficult to explain. I’ve never danced in my life and there I was, dancing across the floor as if it were nothing. It just made me so happy it bubbled out as laughter.”
“All the dances won’t be nearly as easy,” Mitch said.
“The waltz is next, I think,” Madeline said. “Coming from America, she can decline to dance the quadrille or some of the more complex dances; no one will think badly of her if she doesn’t know them. But she must know the waltz and perhaps a reel. A schottische?”
“Not a schottische. It’s too complicated. If we have time and she’s mastered the others, we can move on to that.”
“Oh, posh. Look how quickly she took to the polka.”
Genny adored the waltz. She’d never felt so feminine in her life as she did in Mitch’s arms as they moved around the small dance floor. The way he made her go in the direction he wanted by applying the slightest amount of pressure to the small of her back was thrilling.
“When you waltz, you are expected to have some sort of conversation,” Madeline called out. “Something to draw a man’s interest. I played a part once where I had to speak dialogue the entire time I was dancing. Do you remember that, Mitchell? He was just twelve years old and I made him practice and practice so that I could get my lines in before the song ended.”
Mitch smiled at his mother while continuing to lead Genny around. “I remember how frustrated you were. ‘Mr. Browne, please tell me how you like our fair town?’”
Madeline laughed, and ceased playing, shaking her hands out as if they were sore. Mitch stopped dancing and immediately dropped his hands and stepped back.
“You remember that play?” Madeline asked.
“I do believe I could recite not only your lines but Mr. Browne’s as well. Perhaps Genny could memorize a play to help her along.” He gave her a wink, but that did nothing to allay a new worry. She moved off the dance floor and sat down, twisting her hands together. She was going to have to talk to these men while she danced? Wasn’t dancing difficult enough? Now she’d have to be interesting and witty. What on earth should she say to them?
“What sorts of things does one talk about?” she asked Madeline.
“Ask them about themselves. Men adore discussing anything that has to do with their lives. Watch.” Madeline moved in front of Mitch. “Tell me about your country home, Lord Campbell.”
Mitch smiled slightly. “Why, it’s ten million acres of the finest farmland in the world,” Mitch said grandly, putting on a cultured English accent. “My home, or should I say, my palace, has five hundred bedrooms and my stable houses one hundred of the finest steeds in all of Britain.”
“My goodness, Lord Campbell. How on earth do you manage such an estate? Quite impressive.”
“I daresay, I cannot do it alone. My one thousand servants do help out a bit.”
Madeline dissolved into laughter, clearly delighted with her son’s banter. Genny laughed too, but she was not finding their play nearly as amusing as they did. The closer she got to actually making the trip to England, the more nervous she felt. Lately, she would lie in bed at night and try to recall anything her mother had said about her life before America, but all Genny had were vague memories of stories that might not even be true.
As a child, Genny had adored tales of princesses, and her mother would indulge her nearly every night. It was one of the few strong memories she had of her mother, of those drowsy moments before sleep when her mother would read to her or make up stories as she went. The made-up ones had been her favorites, for she liked to think they weren’t just stories, but adventures that had actually happened. She knew that sometimes her mother would talk about people she’d known, as well as her parents, but now Genny couldn’t separate the stories from the true tales of her mother’s youth. All she did remember was that her grandparents lived on a large estate in Cumberland with a big lake where black swans swam during the summer. She remembered this only because her mother had been afraid of the swans and Genny had thought a black swan was such an exotic creature. All the swans she had ever seen had been white as snow. After her mother had died, Genny had tried to get her father to tell her more about England, but the conversations always left him so sad, she stopped asking after a time.
Genny could hardly bring herself to smile; their banter only showcased how little she knew of what was to be her new life. She walked over to one of the couches pushed up against the wall and sat, chin on her hands, the fun of dancing suddenly gone. It was almost as if the realization of why she was learning to dance suddenly hit her. It wasn’t for fun, it was so that she would not embarrass herself or her grandparents when she was living in England. Though Genny knew and accepted the why of it, she was suddenly and inexplicably sad. For the first time, she wished her father hadn’t made her promise to go home to England. Home was her little cabin, not some palace in England, not with two people she had never met whom she migh
t not even like. She knew Mitch was exaggerating, but just how much she didn’t know.
“Does everyone in England have more than one home?” she asked.
“Only the men you’ll be meeting,” Mitch said, sounding far too jovial to Genny’s ears.
Madeline walked over to where Genny sat and dropped down next to her. “A lady doesn’t rest her chin on her hands,” Madeline said gently, making Genny feel even more miserable.
“I know it’s a wonderful thing that my grandparents want to see me. And I know my father did the right thing making me go to England, but it’s all getting a bit overwhelming.” She looked down at her dress and lifted the material slightly. “This doesn’t feel as if it’s mine. I feel like I’m a little girl playing dress up.”
“Oh, posh,” Madeline said. “In no time you’ll feel completely yourself.”
Genny forced a smile. “I know I sound ungrateful, but I’m not. I truly appreciate everything that you both are doing to help me.” She did sound ungrateful, she realized. Here she was, wearing a pretty dress Mitch had purchased for her, practicing dancing, learning comportment, and all she could do was complain. Genny gave herself a strong mental shake. “From now on, I shall take this as the adventure it is. I shall charm everyone I meet in England.”
“Including all those lords?” Madeline said, obviously teasing her.
“Why, especially the lords. If I’m to marry a prince, I shall have to charm them, won’t I?” Genny looked up at Mitch, hoping she might see some sign that the idea of her marrying a prince was disagreeable to him, but he was smiling down at her as if he thought it the best of ideas.
“Are we done with our dance lesson for the day?”
“I know I’m done,” Madeline said, rubbing the knuckles of her right hand. “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to your new maid, Tillie. You two will get along famously, I’m sure.”
Chapter 9
The next day after breakfast, Tillie arrived, smiling brightly as she walked into the main parlor, as if she were walking into a party being held in her honor. She had the blondest hair Genny had ever seen in her life, like sheep’s wool, though her brows were considerably darker. Oddly, she wore a shapeless dull brown dress, which didn’t seem to match the rest of her at all, for even at first glance she seemed far livelier than the clothing she had on.