The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  “But Myles is a man,” Thea said firmly. “They are very sensitive about this sort of thing, I’ve discovered.”

  “That’s true. Alec starts to scowl whenever any man pays me a compliment.”

  “Yes, but Alec is mad for you,” Genevieve argued.

  “Myles is your husband, and he cares for you. He would not have offered for you otherwise,” Damaris told her. “A man doesn’t just throw away his future happiness because he wants to be a gentleman. It isn’t like offering you his coat.”

  “And Dursbury is the man you chose to marry,” Thea said. “That is quite different from agreeing to Myles’s offer because you had no other choice.”

  Genevieve looked at them. Her chest felt suddenly lighter, less restricted. But after a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “No. I don’t think that could be it. He wasn’t upset with Dursbury, the way Alec is about some man who flirts with you. He was angry at me. If you could have heard him, you would know. He holds such resentment! He says I am ungrateful. I’m not, truly, but . . . I cannot be what he wants me to be.”

  “But what does he want?” Thea asked.

  “I’m not sure. That is how far I am from his ideal. We are so different. It was sheer folly to think we could get along. He wants me to be nicer. Sweeter. He would be happier with someone more like him. Someone sweet and biddable. A woman who just wanted to be his wife, you see, and love him. Someone who would be happy to have him protect her. Not a woman who is prickly and sharp and has a temper. A woman who is . . . not warm.”

  “But he knew you for years before he offered for you,” Damaris pointed out.

  “He knew what I was like, yes. But I think he did not realize how little he would like being married to such a woman. I should be the way he wants. Anyone would tell you I am the one who is wrong, not he. But”—Genevieve shook her head, her eyes sad—“I cannot be sweet and kind. I am as I am. It is all I know how to be.” She lifted her chin. “I am a Stafford.”

  “So is Alec,” Damaris reminded her gently.

  “Yes.” Genevieve smiled faintly. “But an odd sort of Stafford, one with a heart. They do not come along very often. Well, ’tis pointless to talk about it. We are tied together now. And this is the way marriage is.” She glanced at the other two. “Usually, anyway. I must stay here in London for a time, of course, or else it will seem to the ton that I am afraid to face them. But then perhaps I’ll keep Grandmama company when she travels to Bath.” Genevieve seemed to develop an interest again in the pearl button of her glove. “I beg your pardon for turning into such a watering pot. I should go now.” She raised her head, forcing a smile. “Thank you for letting me speak to your servants.”

  “I shall tell you when we have the names from the agency,” Thea promised, her forehead still creased in concern.

  “Yes, thank you.” Genevieve looked at Damaris. “You need not go. Stay and visit with Thea. I can walk home from here.”

  “No, I’ll go with you,” Damaris insisted. “Alec always frets if I don’t lie down for a bit in the afternoon.” She made a droll face. “And you know how biddable I am.”

  The two of them took their leave of Thea, who stood for a moment, staring thoughtfully out the window, before she strolled down the hallway to her husband’s study. Gabriel was sitting hunched over the large, dark walnut desk, his elbows resting on the desk and his head in his hands as he studied the large flat book before him. He looked up at the sound of Thea’s footsteps and smiled, pushing his chair back and smiling.

  “Thea, my love, have you come to save me?” His cravat was askew, and his hair stuck out in several different directions.

  Thea chuckled as she crossed the room to him and slipped her hand in his. “It looks as though Matthew must have been in here wrestling with you.”

  He tugged her down onto his lap, his arm curving in a familiar way around her back. “If only that were so. No, I have been wrestling with the accounts for the estate.” His dark eyes lit up as he went on hopefully, “Perhaps you would like to take a look at them?”

  “Thank you, I think not. Your estate manager has an utterly illegible hand.” Thea snuggled into him, resting her head against his.

  “I heard Damaris’s voice,” he said, idly wrapping one of Thea’s springing cinnamon-colored curls around his finger.

  “Yes, she and Genevieve came by. Genevieve and Myles have returned to town.”

  “So soon?” His brows lifted. “Surely they have not run aground already?”

  “Mm.” Thea sighed. “I fear they have entered some rocky waters, to further your analogy.”

  “I am a little surprised, actually. I would have said Myles could get along with any woman—though Lady Genevieve would certainly put him to the test.”

  Thea dug her elbow gently into his stomach. “Don’t be unkind. I like Genevieve. And it always seemed to me that Myles had a certain fondness for her.”

  “You are probably right.” He laid a soft kiss on the point of her shoulder. “You generally are.”

  “Genevieve was most unhappy. She started to cry.”

  “You’re jesting, surely. Genevieve?”

  Thea nodded. “I could tell she was unhappy, and I could see Damaris thought so, too, and then she began to cry and just poured out her heart to us.”

  “You have the oddest effect on the Staffords. First Rawdon and now Genevieve. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her express a word about her emotions.”

  “She is convinced Myles regrets marrying her.” Thea lifted her head to look in Gabriel’s eyes. “Do you think he rues his offer?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” He looked thoughtful. “But I cannot imagine Myles giving up this quickly. I’ve seen him spar, and he is deadly patient. On the other hand, Genevieve is a woman who could try any man’s patience.”

  “I wonder if he really feels as she thinks. She believes he wishes she were sweeter. Someone more like he is.”

  “Doesn’t sound like Myles. I would have said that he preferred a bit of spice. He and Genevieve have always fussed at each other, but, truthfully, he seemed to enjoy it more than not. After all, where is the fun in marrying yourself?”

  “That is what I thought. But she seems quite hopeless. She was talking of traveling to Bath with her grandmother.”

  “Perhaps it would help if they spent some time apart.”

  Thea gave him a level look. “Do you think it would have improved our marriage if after one of our rows, we had gone to live in separate places?”

  “No.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do I have the feeling that you are about to suggest something I won’t like?”

  “I haven’t the least notion,” Thea said airily. “But it did occur to me that Myles might not know that Genevieve was . . . feeling so beset. It could be that he views it as nothing but a trifling spat. He is, well, rather more experienced than Genevieve in matters of the heart.”

  “You want me to talk to Myles,” Gabriel said flatly. “Thea, my love, I don’t think Myles would want me delving into his love life.”

  “You needn’t be obvious about it. But I thought that since you are friends, you might run into one another at your club one day. And you might sit down to talk.”

  “And I might just steer the conversation in the direction of his marriage?”

  “Exactly.”

  He heaved a sigh. “You know, it is not as if Genevieve regards me as a friend.”

  “But Myles is your friend, and you cannot wish him to have an unhappy marriage.” Thea smiled at him. “Besides, I am not asking you to do a favor for Genevieve.” She leaned closer, gazing into his eyes. “I am asking you to do a favor for me.”

  “You are trying to manipulate me.” His voice teased, but she could see the sudden leap of light in his dark eyes.

  “Am I succeeding?” Thea grinned and leaned closer to press her lips lightly against his.

  He let out a breathy little laugh. “It is possible I might be persuaded to brin
g up the matter with Myles.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She brushed her lips against his cheek.

  “But I am not going to pry into his personal life.”

  “Naturally.” She kissed the tender skin beside his eye. “And of course”—she kissed his ear—“since it would take up some of your time, I might be persuaded to take a look at the accounts for you.” She nipped his earlobe lightly.

  “To hell with the accounts,” he muttered and pulled her into him for a kiss.

  Sixteen

  Genevieve went down to supper in a cooler, calmer frame of mind. Embarrassing as it had been to break down as she had at Thea’s, she had returned home feeling better. It had been somehow a comfort just to have Thea and Damaris sympathize with her, to know that they did not blame her for the awful tangle she had made of her life.

  She met Myles coming down the hall from his study toward the dining room, and her heart skipped a little. Could Thea have been right? Could Myles’s words have sprung from jealousy? She scanned his handsome face, now tight in a way she had never before seen on him, the usual merriment gone from his eyes. No. His was not the face of jealousy. He looked . . . stiff and uncomfortable. His expression was more that of someone facing an unpleasant duty.

  A saving spurt of resentment surged up in her, piercing the blanket of misery. If Myles found being her husband so onerous, he shouldn’t have offered for her. He had known her for years, after all; it was not as if she had concealed her true nature from him. She lifted her chin a little and laid her hand lightly on the arm he offered her, as she would have done with a stranger. She would be all right; she knew how to behave, how to get through difficult situations. She knew how to put on a polite face and save her tears for her pillow at night.

  “I hope you had a pleasant day,” Myles said formally as they entered the dining room and he seated her.

  “Yes, thank you. And you?”

  “I, um, went to White’s.”

  “How nice.” Genevieve nodded to Bouldin to begin serving.

  A heavy silence fell on the table, broken only by the clink of silverware. At last Myles began again. “What did you do today?”

  “Damaris and I called on Lady Morecombe.”

  “Thea?” His smile was surprised and more natural this time. “I am glad you like her.”

  “Yes. She is quite pleasant.”

  That topic seemingly exhausted, silence once more reigned. After a time, Myles said, “I spoke with Alec’s runner last night.”

  “Indeed? Have you tasted the turbot? I believe your estate manager found a jewel in our chef.”

  “Blast it, Genevieve. You wanted to know about this.”

  “Did I?” Genevieve turned her icy blue gaze full on him, grateful for the flash of anger that stiffened her spine. “Then I must beg your pardon. It is quite your affair, of course. I am more concerned with finding another chair or two for the drawing room. It seems a mite bare as it is.”

  His cheeks reddened and she thought for a moment that he was about to flare up as he had yesterday afternoon. She straightened, waiting—even perhaps anticipating—his outburst. But he pulled himself back under control. “Of course. If that is what you wish.”

  After that, nothing passed their lips but the most ordinary and stilted of comments.

  By the time supper was over, Genevieve’s stomach was in knots and a headache was forming behind her eyes. It was a huge relief to end the meal, but the even more awful prospect of attending the theater awaited her. She wished that she had taken Myles up on his suggestion that she stay at the Park instead of coming to London with him. Of course, now she realized that he had suggested it because he had been eager to be away from her—and that thought was another sharp little stab to her heart.

  The theater was ablaze with lights when they arrived. Every eye in the crowded lobby seemed to be on her, but Genevieve did not look to either side, keeping her chin high. Much to her annoyance, her hand trembled a little on Myles’s arm. He laid his other hand over it, and Genevieve glanced at him, surprised. He looked for a moment like the old Myles, his eyes alight in a blend of mischief, defiance, and warmth. She could not help but smile at him a little in gratitude.

  He took her free hand and raised it to his lips.

  “Myles, we are in public,” she protested, her heart suddenly fluttering inside her chest.

  “I know. That is exactly why.”

  “Oh. Of course.” He was putting on a show for those who watched them, playing the part of a devoted husband. Genevieve looked away, afraid of the disappointment he might read in her face. It turned her stomach to ice to see all the faces staring at her, then glancing hastily away. It seemed as if the buzz of voices grew louder.

  They started toward Alec’s box at an unhurried pace. Myles paused to greet a friend here and there, introducing his new wife with great pride. Genevieve could only marvel at his deft social touch. His calm imbued her with the same quality, and she greeted each person with a smile, her way eased by Myles’s confidence and geniality.

  “Sir Myles. And Lady Genevieve,” Lady Hemphurst greeted them. She was one of the women who hung about Genevieve’s grandmother, hoping to be counted as her confidante. But Genevieve could see the greedy interest in the woman’s eyes, and she knew that the woman’s greeting was prompted less by loyalty to Lady Rawdon and more by a desire to see the proud Lady Genevieve Stafford brought low by scandal. “What a surprise to run into you here in London. I would have thought you would find a more . . . entertaining way to spend the time.” Lady Hemphurst tittered behind her fan, casting a sly look at Myles.

  “My lady, I confess I could not stay away from you.” Myles took Lady Hemphurst’s hand and bowed charmingly over it, flooding the woman with compliments.

  Lady Hemphurst bridled and giggled. “Sir Myles, you are such a flirt. It has sent all of London into a dither to learn that its most eligible bachelor has been snapped up. We were all agog to hear that Lady Genevieve had caught you.”

  “Lady Genevieve was the catch, I assure you, not I.” Myles favored his wife with a tender look. “I only hurried to secure her hand before someone else could steal a march on me.”

  Lady Hemphurst beamed at Myles. “You have my sincerest congratulations, sir. Lady Genevieve’s grandmother is a woman of the greatest consequence.”

  “Indeed she is,” Myles agreed affably.

  “I do hope you and Lady Genevieve will be able to attend my little party next week. Just a trifling thing, you understand, nothing to compare to the countess’s balls at Stafford House, but I promise we shall have dancing. Everyone would love to see the two of you take the floor as husband and wife for the first time.”

  “Indeed. You can count on us,” Myles said smoothly.

  “Genevieve.” Lady Rawdon strode toward them, Alec and Damaris trailing in her wake. “Lady Hemphurst. So good to see you. I hope you will excuse us; I have not had a chance for a good coze with my granddaughter yet.”

  The countess slipped her arm through Genevieve’s, and with a gracious nod to the beaming Lady Hemphurst, she swept Genevieve away to their box, the others all falling in around them, effectively separating Genevieve from the rest of the crowd. “What a ghastly crush,” the countess said as they went inside the box. “Here, Genevieve, come sit beside me in front. Let them get out all their staring straightaway. Alec, close the door at once before someone wants to join us.”

  Alec obeyed, then seated Damaris on Genevieve’s other side as carefully as if his wife were made of glass. The three women cast a glance at each other and began to laugh.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Alec said good-humoredly. “I am an old woman.” He nodded toward Myles warningly. “Just you wait until it happens to you. Then you’ll see.”

  Genevieve looked down at her gloved hands to hide the pang that struck her at his words. Myles would want an heir, of course, but how was she to bear him coming to her bed now, knowing what he thought of her? Cold. She had melted in his
hands, but he found her cold. Her grandmother’s conversation flowed around her, but Genevieve heard not a word.

  “Genevieve, hold your head up.” Her grandmother tapped Genevieve on the leg with her fan. “You cannot droop in front of everyone.”

  “Yes, Grandmama.” Genevieve obediently lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

  “What is playing tonight?” Damaris asked, drawing the countess’s attention.

  “Goodness, child, I don’t know. What does it matter? Ah, there is Lady Somerdale; I knew the rumors of her demise were false. It would take more than a fall down the stairs to carry her off.” The countess gave a regal nod of her head to the old lady in the box across from them. “Genevieve, smile at them. Lord Somerdale hasn’t the slightest idea who you are, of course—or anyone else, for that matter.”

  The countess continued in this vein, nodding, now and then giving a smile to someone, other times staring down some upstart or other with her opera glasses, all the while chatting away as if she and Genevieve were carrying on a lively conversation. Genevieve did her best to keep her mind on what her grandmother was saying, but found it a relief when the curtain opened and she was able to sit back and pretend to watch the play.

  When the first act ended, Genevieve and the others left the box. It would be better, as Lady Rawdon pointed out, to face the curious masses in the lobby, where they could walk away, rather than risk being trapped in their theater box by some gossip who hadn’t the courtesy to leave. Alec and Myles set off to get refreshments for the ladies, and Genevieve strolled down the corridor with Damaris and her grandmother, schooling her face into a look of polite unconcern.

  “I believe that you have made a far better match than your original one,” her grandmother said, watching Myles as he walked away.

  “That is faint praise,” Genevieve retorted.

  “True. Lord Dursbury was a disappointment. However, what I meant was that Sir Myles will make you a better husband than I hoped Dursbury would be. I used to think Sir Myles a bit of a peacock, but I am beginning to believe I underestimated him. I could not have orchestrated your entrance tonight any better myself.”