by Candace Camp
“Of course.” Lady Rawdon nodded.
“But that is just the point,” Genevieve burst out, dashing the tears from her cheeks and glaring at Myles. “No man will marry me now.”
Myles crossed to Genevieve and went down on a knee beside her. “You’re wrong, Genny. I will.”
Five
What?” Genevieve jumped to her feet, staring at him.
“I am asking you to marry me,” Myles told her, annoyance tingeing his voice.
“Don’t be a fool, Myles!” Scarlet flamed in Genevieve’s cheeks. She was suddenly, acutely aware of how she must look—Myles’s jacket thrown over her torn dress, her hair straggling down about her face like a slattern’s. She was receiving her second proposal of marriage; the first one had been rather colorless, but this one was even worse. “I’m not marrying you.”
Myles gaped at her. “Well, if that isn’t just like you! I am trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.”
“You were willing enough to take it before,” he shot back, his own color rising.
“Of course you are going to throw that weakness up at me.”
“Good gad, Genevieve—you are the most contrary creature I have ever had the misfortune to know. Are you actually lumping me in with Dursbury and Langdon? Am I so bad that you would rather spend the rest of your days stuck away in Northumberland than be my wife?”
“Genevieve,” the dowager countess said sharply, rising to her feet. “Hold your tongue. For heaven’s sake, think before you speak.” She went to her granddaughter and took her arm, but Genevieve twisted away.
“No! I can’t. I won’t.” Tears started in Genevieve’s eyes, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, smothering the wail that threatened to rise from her throat. Turning, she fled the room.
Behind her, she heard her grandmother say, “She is distraught, Sir Myles. Please do not take her words to heart. I will talk to her; Genevieve will come around.”
Genevieve could not hold back her sobs as she ran up the stairs to her room.
His anger carried Myles all the way back to the Morecombes’ house before he even realized where he was walking. The lights no longer burned on the outside of the graceful white building, so the party must have ended after the drama in the library. There remained, however, a warm glow through the windows of the front room. Myles hesitated for a moment, then trotted up the steps to the front door and tapped on it lightly.
A surprised footman opened the door. “Sir!” He recovered quickly and added, “Lord and Lady Morecombe are in the anteroom, sir.”
Gabriel lounged in the comfortable chair by the window, his wife sitting on his lap, her legs draped over the arm of the chair. They were deep in conversation and looked up in surprise when Myles walked in the room.
“Myles!” The couple smiled with no apparent embarrassment at being caught in such a pose, and Thea jumped up, coming toward him with outstretched hands. “What a dreadful thing! We heard what happened. Is Lady Genevieve all right?”
“It has not weakened her spine,” Myles replied, taking Thea’s hand and making his bow. “Nor sweetened her tongue.”
“I am so sorry that it happened here. I had meant it to be a party to honor them.” She sighed. “And then to have that odious man—”
“Which odious man, love?” her husband asked Thea as she took a seat on the stool beside his chair. “Langdon or her fiancé?”
“Either. Both. They deserve whatever Alec does to them . . . though it will create a worse scandal, of course.”
“My wife is a bloodthirsty wench.” Gabriel grinned. “No one touches her or hers, and apparently Lady Genevieve has somehow become one of her flock.”
“She is Damaris’s sister-in-law,” Thea said simply. “Anyway, I liked Lady Genevieve when we talked at the wedding. It just takes her a bit to warm up to one. I think she is rather shy.”
“Shy?” Gabriel repeated sardonically.
“Yes. Oh, don’t look at me that way. You don’t know what it’s like—either one of you.” Thea turned to include Myles in her accusation. “You’re handsome and charming and everyone wants to be with you. You don’t understand how lonely one can feel.”
Gabriel picked up Thea’s hand and kissed it, and they smiled at each other in a way that dismissed the rest of the world. Gabriel pulled his gaze away from Thea and turned back to Myles. “Sit down, Myles, sit down.” Gabriel gestured toward the chair across from him. “Care for a brandy?”
“No. I’m fine. That’s not why I came.”
Myles’s friends looked at him, waiting, he knew, for an explanation of exactly why he had come. Myles could not help but wonder the same thing himself.
“I asked Genevieve to marry me,” he blurted out.
For a long moment the two continued to stare at him in silence. Then Gabriel stood up, saying, “Well, I’m going to have a drink.” He crossed to the cabinet and filled two glasses, carrying them back and handing one to Myles without asking.
“You and Genevieve are going to be married?” Thea asked. “That’s—”
“Mad,” her husband stuck in.
“Unexpected,” Thea corrected, shooting her husband a stern look. “But we are very happy for you.”
“She turned me down,” Myles continued.
“The devil!” Gabriel and Thea gaped at him. Gabriel’s face turned wary. “Is this one of your jests?”
“No, I assure you. I asked her to marry me, and she jumped to her feet, looking as though I’d tossed a dead squirrel in her lap, and declared that I was a fool and she wouldn’t marry me. Then she ran out of the room.” Myles paused and stared down at his drink, bemused. “She’d rather be ruined, apparently.”
“Myles, I’m sure that’s not true,” Thea protested. “She had a difficult evening, you must remember.”
Gabriel chuckled. “You clearly don’t know Genevieve. She is always that way. Well, the sharp words are just like her. I can’t say I’ve ever seen her be that . . . dramatic.”
“It is an effect I seem to have on her,” Myles explained.
“She will feel differently when she has had time to calm down,” Thea told Myles.
“That is what her grandmother said. The countess told me to return tomorrow afternoon and talk to Genevieve again. She assured me Genevieve would change her mind once she thought it over. What she meant was that she would bully and badger the poor woman until she accepts me. I have never known the countess not to have her way, so I have little doubt but that Genevieve will give in.”
“Do you mean you still intend to marry her?” Gabriel asked, his eyebrows rising.
“I offered for her, Gabe. I can hardly take that back.”
“You can if she refused you,” Gabriel pointed out.
“Yes, I suppose I could without damaging my reputation. But I don’t think I would like myself very much. Genevieve’s reputation is ruined. You know what kind of a future she faces—she’ll retire to that great cold pile of stones in Northumberland. Or perhaps she will live in Bath, running errands for her grandmother and her cronies. No advantageous marriage; no children. No home of her own.”
“She will hate it,” Thea agreed in a heartfelt voice.
“She looked so . . . shattered. I couldn’t bear it.” Myles grimaced and took a drink. “And then she threw my offer back in my face.” He went on somewhat plaintively, “In some circles I am considered quite a catch.”
“Oh, Myles . . .” Thea smiled and reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “Your pride is wounded. Of course it would be. But think how Lady Genevieve must feel. She is a very proud woman, and she was humiliated in front of the whole ton tonight. We all know that you are one of the most eligible bachelors in town . . . especially now that Gabriel is taken.” She cast a twinkling glance at her husband. “Genevieve knows it, too; she didn’t turn you down because she thought you unworthy.”
“Perhaps not unworthy. But I am not the man Genevieve wants; that is clear
from her original choice of a fiancé. I am no pattern card of respectability like Dursbury. No earl—indeed, not even a baron. A Stafford aims higher than a Thorwood.”
“Not in this instance,” Thea assured him. “Your offer hurts her pride, but not in the way you think. Some people can bear almost anything besides pity. Genevieve knew you asked her because you felt sorry for her, because you’re kind. Not because you want to marry her.”
“Well, I don’t,” Myles responded frankly. “I mean—she is not the woman I would have chosen.”
“She knows you did it because you are a gentleman. Because you’re kind. And perhaps, a little, because you are her brother’s friend. Not the sort of reasons a woman wants to hear.”
“It would have been silly to pretend it was a love match. It isn’t as if Genevieve is a romantic woman.”
“Does such a woman really exist?” Thea asked lightly. “You might be surprised. The Staffords are . . . guarded, but I think it is because they know how easily they can be wounded.”
“Thea has a soft spot for the Staffords,” Gabriel said drily. “If Alec had eyes for anyone but his wife, I believe I would be jealous.”
Thea rolled her eyes at Gabriel, but the smile on her face as she looked at him would erase even the most jealous man’s doubts. “Well, that is the entirety of my lecture. I am sure the two of you would like a more private discussion, so I will retire now.” She rose, saying to Myles, “Don’t worry. I have every confidence it will work out exactly as it should.”
The two men watched her leave, then Gabriel turned to his friend, giving him a long, considering look. “My wife, you must remember, is the daughter of a vicar. She has a tendency to view people in the best light.”
“Most of the time, I share that view.” Myles smiled wryly. “When it comes to Genevieve, however . . .”
“Myles.” Gabriel leaned forward, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “Have a care. I know Genevieve’s future is bleak. But there is no reason you should sacrifice your future in order to save hers.”
“It is scarcely as if Genevieve is a horror,” Myles replied, nettled. “She would do her utmost to be a good wife, and Genevieve usually succeeds at whatever she strives for. She is lovely to look at. She’s witty. I am never bored around her.”
“No, I imagine not.” Gabriel smiled. “Don’t fire up. I am not Genevieve’s enemy. I understand her reasons for disliking me, and, God knows, they are justified. She is loyal to Rawdon, and I wronged him. And you are right. She is beautiful and intelligent and well brought up. The very picture of a lady. She would be a perfect wife for some man. But I cannot help but wonder if you are that man. Will she make you happy?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Myles sighed and sat back in his chair. “I have always had this vague notion that I would marry for love, as my parents did. That there would be a young lady who made me smile every time she walked into the room, the way my father did when he saw my mother. The way you look at Thea. Or Alec does Damaris. The thing is, I have never found that girl. After all these years, I have to wonder whether I ever will. Genevieve is right in saying I am not a serious man. I enjoy life; I don’t suffer and brood. I cannot imagine being as Alec was about Jocelyn—either in loving her or in losing her. The way he is about Damaris; he was wild the night he thought he had lost her. I am not sure I would even wish to love like that. It seems a bloody uncomfortable way to live, frankly.”
Gabriel chuckled. “I suspect it is. But love doesn’t have to strike a man the way it did Alec. It can be . . . something that slips up on you, and then one day you realize that your whole world has changed.”
“Well, it has never tapped me on the shoulder.” Myles smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure it ever would. Still, one has to marry.”
“But Genevieve Stafford?” Gabriel burst out, but stopped short as Myles stiffened, his usually warm brown eyes icing over. “What I mean is that every time I see the two of you together, you are squabbling about something.”
Myles chuckled. “I am used to squabbling. Your forget; I grew up with five sisters.”
“Then why are you worried about it?” Gabriel asked. “I know you, Myles, and you didn’t come here because a girl turned you down. That would only make you more determined to win her.”
“You could be right.” Myles’s insouciant grin flashed out. “When I asked Genevieve, I did not hesitate. But when she turned me down, I told myself I must have been mad to offer for her. I don’t doubt that I can talk her around. The question is, should I? What if Thea is wrong about Genevieve? What if I am? What if there is nothing deeper or warmer in her? I don’t expect love; I don’t even think I shall miss it. But what if—what if when you dig down underneath all that icy control, you find there really is no heart in her? That she cannot love, even in a mild way?”
“It seems a fearsome risk to take.”
“I know.” Myles looked down at his hands. “And yet . . . I think it is a risk I intend to take.” He glanced up and grinned, and suddenly his eyes glittered dangerously. “Now . . . I believe that I shall go looking for Mr. Langdon.”
Genevieve put off going down to breakfast the next morning, pinning stray hairs into place and smoothing out wrinkles only she could see, until finally, disgusted by her cowardice, she squared her shoulders and marched down the stairs. She only had to face her family, after all, not the entire ton. It did not matter that her eyes were swollen and her head ached from a night spent in tears and restless tossing instead of sleep.
Alec and her grandmother were seated at the breakfast table, and as Genevieve stepped into the dining room, she heard her grandmother say, “—and how in the blazes did they already know?”
“I don’t know, but—” Alec glanced up and saw Genevieve. He sprang to his feet. “Ah, Genevieve, good morning.”
Lady Rawdon hastily folded the sheet of newsprint, handing it to one of the footmen. “Here. Take this and throw it away.”
“You are reading The Onlooker, I presume,” Genevieve said, coming forward.
The countess’s lips tightened. “It’s a scurrilous rag. Someone should shut it down. I believe I shall speak to Caswell about it; the government should be good for something, I would think.”
“What did they say this time?” Genevieve was pleased that her voice was even, not betraying the nervous roiling of her stomach.
“Oh, they were crowing that they had predicted the little contretemps last night. Ridiculous, of course. But it is nothing you need worry about. Sit down and have a bite to eat. The berries are delicious.”
“I am not hungry.” Genevieve remained standing, her hands laced together in front of her. “I wanted to speak with both of you.”
“Of course.” Alec gestured to the servants to leave.
“I would like to apologize for last night,” Genevieve began when the men had gone. “I bitterly regret that I embroiled our family in a scandal.”
“Genny, dear girl. You did nothing wrong,” Alec assured her. “Langdon is beneath contempt. And Dursbury needs a lesson in how to behave like a gentleman.”
“Alec . . .” Lady Rawdon said warningly.
“No, no, Grandmother, you may rest easy. I have promised I will do nothing to him, and I won’t.”
“I never meant to—to besmirch the name Stafford,” Genevieve went on, feeling as though she had not adequately expressed her remorse. That everyone was being nice to her only increased her sense of shame.
“Of course you didn’t,” Alec said. “I don’t care about the scandal. And you’ve done nothing to taint our name.”
“And, thank God, Sir Myles stepped up and asked for your hand,” the countess added.
“Grandmama . . . I told Myles last night that I would not marry him.”
“Sir Myles knows you were distraught. I believe he intends to call on you again this afternoon.”
“Because you told him to, no doubt.” Genevieve’s eyes flashed.
“Of course I did. Someone had
to think of your future. It was clear that you were not capable of it.”
“Genevieve does not have to marry if she doesn’t wish,” Alec interrupted. “You know that, don’t you, Genny? I will always take care of you.”
“I know. Oh, Alec—” Genevieve turned away in agitation and began to pace the room.
“All that’s important is for you to be happy.”
Lady Rawdon gave a delicate snort. “Really, Rawdon, what pap. Genevieve, do sit down. You are making me dizzy.”
Genevieve stopped, her hands balling up into fists at her sides, but she walked back to the table and sat down in her place.
“Now.” Lady Rawdon turned to her granddaughter. “Listen to me. Sir Myles offered you a respectable way out of your dilemma. It is a perfect solution, and you would be foolish in the extreme if you did not take it. You said you would not take Mr. Langdon or Lord Dursbury even if Alec could force them to offer for you.”
“I assure you I can,” Alec stuck in.
“I understand your unwillingness to marry either of them,” his grandmother went on, ignoring him. “Mr. Langdon is a cad, and Lord Dursbury is obviously as shallow as he is boring. However, Sir Myles is an entirely acceptable suitor, possessed of a good name and a respectable fortune. You are not likely to receive a better offer.”
“I know that. I didn’t turn him down for my sake. There is no reason Myles should sacrifice his whole life just because he is a kind man. It would be wicked of me to take advantage of him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lady Rawdon said. “Sir Myles is not ‘sacrificing’ his life, as you put it. He is making an advantageous marriage. His family and fortune are respectable, but he would not normally aspire to marry a Stafford. While it did arise suddenly and by accident, it is still an excellent alliance for him.”
“Myles is not doing this to ‘improve’ his social position,” Alec protested. “Which, by the way, is good enough for anyone but you, Grandmother. He is a true gentleman and a good friend. That is why he offered, not because it was advantageous for him.”
The countess gave her grandson a long, cool look. “I am fully aware that Sir Myles is a gentleman. Do you think I would advocate Genevieve marry him if that were not true? That does not mean he was unaware of the value of the marriage for him, as well. I am not one to disdain a decision to align oneself with a name like Stafford. And the fact remains that this is an excellent marriage for him. Genevieve has no need to worry about ‘trapping’ him or some such nonsense.”