The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  And how long would she have to endure it before she could escape? On the other hand, she realized, she was not sure she could stand up and leave this little island of safety. Now that she was here, she could almost feel as if she were hidden—so long as she did not look at anyone. It would take an effort of will to once again traverse the gauntlet of stares and whispers.

  Suddenly a familiar voice met her ears, and she looked toward the door. Was that Myles’s voice? Genevieve sagged in relief, on the verge of tears. Myles was here. She would be all right now. She heard him again, too far away to be distinct. The sound moved away, and her heart began to thud. What if he left? What if he glanced around and did not see her and thought she was not here?

  Genevieve jumped to her feet and slipped through the crowd, not caring if people turned to look at her. She reached the corridor just as Myles stepped out of the room opposite her. He was smiling and nodding to someone, but Genevieve could see the hint of tension in his expression, and his eyes were sharp and purposeful. His gaze fell upon Genevieve, and his face eased. He smiled, starting toward her.

  Genevieve had to rein herself in to keep from running to meet him. With what she hoped seemed only pleased surprise and not the sense of deliverance she felt, Genevieve moved forward.

  “My love.” He took her outstretched hand and bowed over it, touching his lips to her fingers. She knew he must feel the iciness of her hand, the faint tremor.

  “Myles. This is a surprise. What happened to your plans with Gabriel and Alec?”

  “I deserted them. They will doubtless mock me for weeks for being hopelessly domesticated, but I would rather be here with you.”

  “I am glad you did.” He had kept her hand in his, and the warmth spread through her, supporting her.

  “Is there anyone else here we know?” he asked, casually tucking her hand into his arm as he started toward the music room. It was the last thing Genevieve wanted to do, but she knew he was right. Whatever was going on, the only way to combat gossip was to face it down. It might not dispel a rumor, but it established that one considered it unimportant.

  “Yes, of course.” Genevieve cast about trying to remember any of the faces she had seen in her frozen walk. “Lady Carstairs. And, um, I believe Mr. Sanderson.”

  Myles spotted someone he knew and stopped to chat, keeping Genevieve close to his side. A certain wariness was in the eyes of the woman with his friend, but like most women, she was susceptible to Myles’s charm and was soon chatting more warmly. After a few moments, Genevieve and Myles strolled on, stopping again and again to chat. Myles was making the rounds purposefully, engaging first this person, then that, in casual conversation, forcing people to greet them or to be openly rude to him.

  He was also, Genevieve noticed, most affectionate. He did not cross the boundaries of polite behavior, of course, but he kept her close by his side, leaning over now and then to whisper in her ear and gazing into her face with rapt attention when she spoke. In short, he appeared to be a man enamored of his wife. Since Genevieve knew he was anything but that, he had to be playing the role for some purpose. She didn’t know what it was, but she had too much faith in Myles’s social acumen not to play along. She smiled back at him and flirted, gazing up at him with lambent eyes, doing everything but bat her eyelashes at him.

  It was excessively tiring, Genevieve found, and she was glad when Myles finally settled on a corner of the music room where one of his acquaintances stood and launched into a protracted conversation about the exhibition of fisticuffs that he had just left. Genevieve was not expected to join their chat, and no woman was there with whom she would have to make polite conversation, so she was able to relax and let her mind wander as one girl after another showed off her skills at the piano. Myles had neatly positioned them so that the three of them formed a tight, closed-off triangle in the corner of the room, making it difficult for anyone to casually join their conversation.

  After a time they left to partake of some refreshments, though Genevieve had even less interest in eating than she did in sitting and listening to a variety of young women slog through pieces on the piano. Finally Myles gave her a slight nod, and she knew he had decided that they had stayed long enough to leave without the appearance of running away. They strolled to the front door, stopping to assure their hostess with utmost mendacity that they had enjoyed the evening. Myles whisked Genevieve down the steps and along the sidewalk.

  “Let’s walk. It’s a short distance, and I don’t want to wait for the carriage to return.”

  “Of course.” Genevieve preferred to take some exercise to rid herself of some of the tension fizzing in her. “What is wrong? What happened? Why was everyone acting like that? Why did you race over to the gala?”

  “I had a note from your grandmother. She thought to catch you before you left, and the chap delivering the note was so distressed that you had gone that Bouldin sent him on to me. Apparently there was another comment in that wretched scandal sheet today.”

  “The Onlooker? But what could they have said that would have caused everyone to—to react that way? Lady Carstairs all but gave me a direct cut.” Genevieve could not repress a slight shiver as she remembered the sideways looks and the cold, unwelcoming stares. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “I know.” Myles’s jaw was rigid, and his eyes were colder than she had ever seen them. “They’ve made it up whole cloth, it seems.”

  “What did it say?” Dread filled her chest.

  “Lady Looksby intimated that Dursbury broke off your engagement not just because of what happened in the library but also because he learned you had been having an affair with another man.”

  Genevieve felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. She stopped abruptly and stared at Myles, unable to speak. He turned to look at her, his face so grim that an icy fear clutched her heart. “Myles—you do not think—you don’t believe it, do you?”

  “God, no! Genevieve.” His face cleared and he pulled her into his arms. “I am not such a clunch as Dursbury. I would never believe such a thing of you.”

  She sagged against him in relief, drawing in the comfort of his warmth, his solidity. Tears stung her eyes, though she blinked them away. However angry Myles was with her, she at least had this to hold on to: Myles trusted her. And however storm-tossed she felt with him right now, she could rely on him. She straightened and gave him a small smile. “You just looked so—”

  “Angry?” His eyes flashed. “I am. I am furious. I’d like to throttle someone.” He took her arm and they started forward again. “What is so damnably frustrating is, I haven’t any target for my anger. The article was very careful not to mention any names. Indeed, they couched it so that one could not prove they were referring to you. It was along the lines of ‘It’s said that a certain lady’s being caught en flagrante in the library was merely the last straw for her much-tried fiancé.’ Everyone knows of whom they’re speaking, but to confront them for writing such lies about you only confirms that their description fits you. And of course they don’t say who this elusive fellow is that you were supposedly seeing; I would have guessed they meant to implicate me, but they called him a married man.”

  “But why?” Genevieve’s voice wavered a bit on the word, and she had to swallow hard to continue in a normal voice. “Why would this newspaper want to blacken my name? They don’t even know me.”

  “Because it sells the repugnant little sheets. You can bet that everyone went rushing out to purchase it as soon as they heard the gossip.”

  They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes before Genevieve revealed her thoughts, “But why did they choose me?”

  “I don’t know.” Myles frowned. “Their sales doubtless must have multiplied with the first bits of gossip and rumor they published about you. Perhaps they thought it would make more of a splash if they involved you again. Still, some lesser bit would have kept the interest going. Why create such a blatant, outrageous lie? It does seem oddly personal and
malevolent.”

  “I can only think that they must have overheard that rumor somewhere. And how did the paper know so quickly about my running through the East End after that maid? Grandmama says they probably pay servants to provide them with gossip. But gossip would scarcely have had time to work its way around to the people at the newspaper.”

  He nodded. “I think they are getting the rumors directly from someone in the ton.”

  “So it was someone I know who told them that lie? Someone in the ton is trying to . . . to ruin my life?” Genevieve asked, appalled. “But who? Why?”

  “Langdon? We know he is more of a scoundrel than we first imagined since he lured you into the library with that note.”

  “But how would this benefit him?”

  Myles shrugged. “He fled London. He knows what would happen to him if Alec or I found him. Perhaps he realizes that I’ve sent a man searching for him. And there is always the possibility that you might reveal what he did, how thorough a cad the man is, and he would not be received.”

  “So if he could first make it so that I was not received, perhaps I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell anyone that he purposely lured me to the library—or, at least, people would not believe me since they have read that I’m immoral.”

  “That might impel a man without honor to wage this campaign against your reputation.”

  Genevieve mulled this over as they approached their house. “But that would indicate that Mr. Langdon is in London. He would have to be able to communicate quickly with whoever writes this Lady Looksby thing. And he would have had to hear about my pursuit of that maid. He could not do that from the Continent or wherever he’s gone.”

  “True. It would indicate that he’s still here somewhere, and I just haven’t managed to find him.” Myles scowled, opening the front door and following Genevieve inside.

  They settled in his study, where Myles poured a brandy for each of them and put one in Genevieve’s hand. “Here. Drink this. Things will look better.”

  She did as he said, taking a sip of the drink and grimacing as it roared like fire down her throat. She sighed and leaned back against the chair, relaxation beginning to creep through her.

  “I should have searched London more thoroughly,” Myles said. “I talked to his friends and poked about his usual places. But I was sure he would have had the sense to flee the city. I should have combed through all the gambling hells and brothels for him.”

  “It can’t be undone,” Genevieve said. The thought of Myles’s searching the brothels for Langdon set her teeth on edge.

  “No, but I can stop him from doing anything else.”

  “The real question is what we should do.”

  “My first thought was to break a few heads at The Onlooker,” Myles responded.

  “I fear that would only cause more scandal.”

  “Perhaps. But it would certainly provide me some satisfaction.”

  “It would me, as well,” Genevieve agreed. “But confronting them would make the situation even worse. Just think what this Lady Looksby would say about ‘a certain gentleman so angry over the revelation of his wife’s indiscretions that he attacked the editor.’ ”

  “Do you wish to go back to the country?”

  “It sounds delightful, but I cannot. I refuse to let whoever is doing this chase me out of town.”

  “I thought that would be your answer.”

  “I must go about my business as usual,” Genevieve said, taking another sip. Despite how awful this evening had been, it was pleasant indeed to sit talking with Myles like this, as if everything were as it used to be between them, to know he was concerned for her and would help her through the ordeal. “This is a sore trial for my grandmother, but she will support me, as will Damaris and Thea.” It stiffened her spine a little to think of the friends who would help her. “I have to continue to make calls—Grandmama will know whom best to call on without fear of being rebuffed. I should go about my normal life as best I can. Thea wanted me to go to Hatchards with her.”

  “To buy books?”

  “Yes. You needn’t look so surprised. I’m not illiterate, you know.” Then she laughed. “Though I must admit I barely know where the shop is. We could do that tomorrow afternoon, if she’s willing. We might even go to Gunter’s for an ice afterward. And I must put in an appearance at the theater and opera and even some parties. If I still receive any invitations, that is.”

  “You will,” he said with great certainty. “I shall write to my mother. I am sure she will come to help us.”

  “Your mother will come here?” Genevieve looked at him, astonished. “But I thought she hated London.”

  “She does, but she will agree that we need to marshal all our forces.”

  “You make it sound as if it is a campaign.”

  “It will be. Mother may not mingle in society much, but she is not without friends. Her bosom bow from girlhood is Lady Penbarrow.”

  “The Duchess of Terwyck’s niece?”

  “Yes. My mother does not see her often, but Lady Penbarrow is the one who keeps her informed of all the latest London news. If my family is seen to close ranks around you, it will put paid to unfounded gossip. It is one thing for your own grandmother to support you, but if your husband’s family makes it clear they don’t believe the nonsense, it will weigh more heavily.”

  “Oh, Myles . . .” Genevieve’s voice faltered.

  He looked at her, startled. “What? Do you not wish her to come?”

  “No! No, of course not. I am happy for her to visit; I am honored. It is . . . it is just so good of her to do so. Your mother has been much kinder to me than I would ever have expected her to be.” Genevieve stopped, afraid that if she went on, tears would sound in her voice.

  “You are my wife,” Myles replied simply. “She regards you as a daughter now. For all my mother’s sweet nature, she is as fierce as any lioness when one of her cubs is in danger.”

  That was it, of course. Any slur on Genevieve was now a slur on the Thorwood name. She told herself she must not assume Myles had come to her rescue because he cared for her. Her honor was now his honor, and of course he would protect it. That was reassuring, naturally, but she could not help but feel a little let down.

  “I am a bit tired,” she said, setting her drink aside, weariness coming over her in a rush.

  “Of course.” Myles quickly set down his brandy, as well, and came over to give her his hand as she stood. He walked with her down the hall and stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Sleep well.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, then released it. “Don’t worry. We shall get to the bottom of this.”

  “You are leaving?” Genevieve asked as he started toward the front door.

  He turned back. “Yes. If Langdon is still in London, I intend to find him.”

  He strode away, leaving Genevieve standing at the foot of the stairs. She remained for a moment after the front door closed, the quiet of the house settling around her. With a sigh, she turned and started up the stairs toward her empty bed. It was wonderful, of course, that Myles was determined to right the wrong done to her, to find the villain who had started this horrid lie.

  But she could not help but wish that instead of that, he were coming upstairs with her and that she would be spending this lonely night in his arms.

  Twenty

  Genevieve’s stomach danced with nerves as she walked toward Gunter’s. It had been easy enough to go into Hatchards with Thea. It was far less likely that she would meet anyone she knew in the bookstore. But here, in the popular confectioner’s, she might well run into a lady of the ton. She let out a little sigh of relief when they walked inside and she saw no one she knew. It would do little good, of course, to show her face to the ton if no one of the ton was there to see it, but she could not help but be glad that she had escaped that ordeal today.

  She and Thea were almost done with their ices, and Genevieve was laughing at Thea’s tale of Matthew’s latest misadventure
, when three women walked into the confectioner’s and stopped, their gazes falling on Genevieve. Genevieve’s smile died, and she drew herself up.

  Thea, watching her, dropped her story and turned toward the door. “Do you know them?”

  “Yes,” Genevieve replied, her eyes still on the three women. The oldest one, after a moment of stunned silence, turned her head away sharply, not acknowledging her. Genevieve kept her face expressionless. “That is Mrs. Farnham who just refused to acknowledge me, and one girl is her daughter Lilian. The other young lady is Iona Halford. You probably don’t recognize her, as for the first time since I have known her, she is not tagging along after Lady Dursbury.”

  Mrs. Farnham said something to the two young women and marched over to a table as far away from Genevieve and Thea as she could get. Her daughter trailed along after her, but Miss Halford stood for another moment, regarding Genevieve with fury in her eyes. She started to turn and join her friends, but then she swung back around and marched over to Genevieve’s table.

  “How dare you?” Iona hissed. When Genevieve said nothing, merely raised her eyebrows coolly, she rushed on, “You should be hiding in shame after what you did! And to as good and—and upstanding a man as Lord Dursbury.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Genevieve could see other patrons swiveling in their seats to look at them curiously. She knotted her fists in her lap, not sure whether she wanted more to stand up and slap Iona or turn and run from all the prying eyes, but she managed to say calmly, “Miss Halford, everyone is looking.”

  “I don’t care!” Iona shot back. “I am not the one who should be ashamed. It is you who are the . . . the harlot!”

  Genevieve drew in a sharp breath. Before she could even think what to do, Thea jumped to her feet and clamped her hand around Miss Halford’s arm. Iona looked up at her in astonishment.