by Lara Temple
‘You say one more word to me today, Lord Westford, and I will...’ She stopped, shoving a hand hard against her temple. ‘Stay away from me.’
‘With the utmost pleasure, Generalissima.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Genny? It’s time to dress for dinner...’
Serena’s voice, though low, shoved the hot steel nail in Genny’s temple an inch deeper. She gave a faint protesting moan, but even that made it worse.
A soft hand rested for a moment on hers where it was fisted on the blanket, and then an even softer voice spoke somewhere above her.
‘Rest.’
The curtains were blessedly pulled shut and the door closed. Genny gave a little mewl of relief and let go of consciousness.
* * *
‘Is Miss Maitland not joining us this evening?’ Lady Sarah enquired as she inspected the piano, running her fingers along the ivory keys.
‘My sister has the headache,’ Serena replied, not looking up from the music sheets she was inspecting with Miss Caversham. ‘I cannot seem to find the Northern Garlands ballads you asked for, Grandmama.’
‘What’s that? A headache? Genevieve? Nonsense,’ declared Lady Westford, putting down her cards and waving her cane in Howich’s direction. ‘Howich, go and see what is keeping the girl.’
‘Let the poor gel rest, Amelia,’ the Duke of Burford said soothingly, over his cards. ‘It’s no wonder she’s feeling out of sorts; she’s been run ragged these past weeks. Dashed competent girl.’
‘Genevieve hasn’t had a headache in her life,’ protested Lady Westford. ‘And she will know where the ballads are. Why can no one remember where everything is? Send one of the maids for her, Howich.’
‘There will be no need for that, Howich,’ Kit intervened. ‘I am certain whatever music Serena has for the pianoforte will do.’
‘I think perhaps the ballad sheets are in the cupboard in the blue drawing room. I shall go and see,’ Serena said swiftly, and both she and Howich beat a hasty retreat.
Lady Westford’s cheekbones were mottled with colour as she faced her grandson. He smiled slightly, wondering if she would manage to rein in her temper. Her cane hovered ominously a few inches off the floor. The conversations around them dipped in tone. Everyone was waiting.
He was spoiling for a fight after his clash with Genny, and it was high time his grandmother had her wings clipped. He was damned if he would have her ordering everyone about as if they were her serfs.
‘If you wish, Lady Westford, I know several of the ballads by heart,’ Lady Sarah interjected, her voice a soothing breeze in the heated atmosphere. ‘I could play them while we wait for Mrs Carrington to find the music. There is no need to bother Miss Maitland.’
For a second longer Lady Westford’s temper teetered. Then the Duke of Burford gave a slight, almost imperceptible tsk, and she lowered her cane, turning to Lady Sarah and Lord Ponsonby with a smile.
‘What a dear, accomplished girl you are. You are to be commended in your daughter, Lord Ponsonby. Yes, do come and play something for me, my child. And perhaps dear Calista and Sophronia could sing for us. Such lovely clear voices.’
The Duke beamed at her and Kit leaned back, half-amused, half-wishing she’d picked up the gauntlet.
He watched Lady Sarah take a seat at the pianoforte. She and the vivacious Lady Calista and Lady Sophronia presented a lovely tableau: three English beauties polished to a high sheen of perfection.
All he had to do for Society to bestow upon him its seal of approval was choose one of them and lay her pedigree like a silken cloak over his tainted roots. Unite with us and all will be, if not forgotten, then at least only whispered behind fans when we are bored or feeling more spiteful than usual.
Lady Sarah laid her hands on the keys and glanced up, meeting his gaze, her lips softening in the slightest of smiles. If he’d been at all impressionable he’d have melted into a puddle by now.
He switched his gaze to Lady Sophronia as she began singing, her clear high voice bringing the ballad about a shepherdess and her lost flock to life. She too met his gaze but, not possessing Lady Sarah’s poise, faltered for a moment, her cheeks warming.
He sank his chin into his cravat and turned his gaze to the second singer. Lady Calista twinkled with all the bravado of an eighteen-year-old accomplished flirt. He rather thought that by twenty she would either be ruined or, more likely, married to a pleasant, tame man who would let her run rings round him. She would probably live a long and happy life.
The thought cheered him a little, but then he caught sight of his grandmother’s complacent smile, her hands rocking her cane.
‘Three on a silver tray...take your pick,’ Julian whispered as he settled on a chair beside him. ‘At least they’re musical. That’s an advantage.’
Kit shifted in his seat, leaning his heel heavily on Julian’s toes. His cousin grunted, but sank into silence.
At the end of the ballad Serena entered with a stack of music sheets and Julian went forward to help her. He was promptly dragooned by Lady Calista into turning the pages for them.
The three pretty blonde heads followed Julian like sunflowers turning to the sun. Kit watched his cousin smile and charm them, and might himself have been convinced that Julian was truly taken with their charms—except that he’d seen his cousin smile very differently at a far less beautiful woman. There was charm aplenty in his current smile, but not even a hint of the affection evident in his eyes when he spoke with or about Genny.
Affection, ease...intimacy. So much so that Julian was even willing to forgive her for trying to marry him off to another woman. Perhaps that was even what he wanted? A wealthy bride would give Julian a degree of freedom...
Kit shifted in his seat. It was damned uncomfortable. Why did they have to produce seats that made sitting for more than half an hour a penance? He missed his armchair on the Hesperus.
He missed the Hesperus.
No, he missed his uncomplicated life before he’d ventured onto the Carrington web.
He damned his cousin again for drawing him into this world. It was as brutal and competitive as navigating the Barbary Coast, and it had brought him nothing but headaches.
Not only him, apparently.
Did Genny truly have a headache? Or was she tired of facing him, knowing she’d been caught? She hated being in the wrong—he was certain of that. It didn’t suit her vision of herself. She was probably up there, reassessing her campaign. Perhaps even planning how to turn this defeat to her advantage.
Probably.
The girl was relentless. If she’d been one of his men he’d probably be commending her determination and enterprise, not hating her for it. And she owed him no allegiance, so it wasn’t even worthy of being called a betrayal.
But it felt like it.
It felt...vicious.
Chapter Eighteen
When Genny woke again she had no idea whether she’d been asleep for a day or a week. She shoved aside the blanket, but someone pulled it back up. Serena.
Her sister was dressed in her travelling pelisse, and Genny remembered the excursion planned to the Osmington White Horse. The thought of tramping through the countryside with the gaggle of young ladies while they made eyes at Kit made Genny groan, but she tried to put back the cover once more—only to have Serena stop her.
‘You are not rising from this bed until you are well, Genny.’
‘But the guests...’
‘Will do perfectly well without you. Mary and I shall see to them. You have just come through a megrim, love. You are in no state to do anything but rest today.’
Genny slowly shifted onto her back and tested her forehead, then placed a hand over her right eye where the pain had been unbearable yesterday. A dull, faraway thud answered her with a Parthian shot—I might be leaving but I’ll be back when you need me least.
She sighed. ‘I thought I’d left these behind with childhood.’
‘So did I,’ Serena answered, sitting carefully on the bedside. ‘Why did you not say anything? I wondered what was wrong yesterday, but a megrim didn’t occur to me, not after so many years. What happened?’
I made a dreadful mistake and I’m tired. And scared. And hurting dreadfully.
She turned onto her side, her back to Serena. ‘A megrim happened.’
‘Well, you should have gone to rest the moment you felt the first sign, love. You have been doing far too much recently.’ Serena sighed. ‘I am glad to be back in Dorset, but I wish you hadn’t begun this.’
Genny squeezed her eyes shut. I am doing this for you.
‘I know you are doing this for me, and for Mary, but it has to stop, Genny,’ Serena said softly.
Genny turned over cautiously. She hadn’t spoken aloud, had she?
Serena smiled at her. ‘You are so like Grandfather sometimes, but you don’t always know best. I would rather live under Lady Westford’s thumb than marry again. Thankfully, there is another option. Lord Westford has offered to let us return to the Dower House and I think it best we accept. I will ask Mary if she wishes to join us.’
Genny pressed her hands to her eyes—not because her head hurt but because this weakness was making her weepy. ‘Is that enough, Reena?’
‘It is for me, Genny. I still have hopes that you at least shall marry one day and provide me with nieces and nephews to spoil. If you would only lower your guard long enough to allow a man over it.’
Genny shook her head. The burning in her eyes was worse and her head was thumping again.
The bed creaked as Serena stood. ‘Stay in bed today, love. We’ll speak later.’
* * *
Lady Westford looked up from the card table with a smile. It disappeared promptly when she saw Kit standing in the doorway.
‘I thought everyone had gone to Osmington,’ she said a trifle sullenly.
‘Almost everyone has,’ he replied, closing the door behind him. ‘The steward called me back just as we were leaving, with the excuse of urgent estate matters.’
Across the room the garden door was open, and he could see the absurdly named Milly—Militiades—spread like a furry rug on the lawn, no doubt missing his morning walk with Genny.
He’d been more than a little surprised when Genny had missed breakfast as well. It wasn’t like her to hide. Still, she could not be very ill if both Mary and Serena had departed on the excursion to the Osmington White Horse and the Roman wells. It was probably merely that Genny wished to avoid him as much as possible. Had she known he planned to remain at the Hall, no doubt she would have gone with the others.
‘You really must have a mind to your manners, Kit,’ his grandmother said behind him. ‘One would think you could manage a week without shirking your duties.’
He wrapped his hands around the back of one of the spindly gilded chairs she favoured. It wasn’t much of an anchor, but it was better than nothing.
‘You should be grateful, Grandmother. The reason I am shirking my duties is so that we can hold this discussion while everyone is out. I would prefer we are not overheard.’
Her back straightened. ‘I don’t see what we have to discuss. You made your disapproval clear when you stormed into my rooms the other day.’
‘So I did. But today I would like us to establish some rules, Grandmother.’
The cane wobbled a little. Carmine peeped, but with a wave of Lady Westford’s hand he fell silent.
‘Rules, Christopher?’
‘Rules. If you wish to remain at Carrington House in London, you are free to do so—on the understanding that you never again interfere in my private life.’
‘Interfere!’
‘Do you have another word for conspiring to manoeuvre me into marriage with one of your carefully chosen titbits?’
‘I do indeed. Duty. My duty to the Carrington name. It should be yours too but as you are too lax in your morals to see that as clearly as I, I decided to act.’
‘Putting my morals aside for the moment, I understood it was Miss Maitland’s suggestion to auction us off.’
‘Her suggestion was sparked by my concerns, and quite frankly I didn’t put much stock in it. But if there was even but the smallest chance of success, I thought it worth pursuing. In any case it has kept her occupied and hopeful that she might yet secure Mary’s and Serena’s futures. Her efforts have been commendable—her results less so.’
Several epithets were burning on the tip of Kit’s tongue, but he held them back. ‘You don’t appear very bothered by her failure,’ he said.
‘I did not say that, but since I hold the trump card I am resigned to playing it.’
‘What trump card?’ he asked with deep foreboding.
‘My pact with Genny is that should she find a bride for one of you, I will secure Serena’s and Mary’s financial freedom. If she fails, she has offered to marry Julian herself.’
‘She has offered.’ He couldn’t manage more than that.
His grandmother smiled. ‘She did. In fact, after watching your rather dismal performance yesterday I spoke with Julian, and since he seems no more inclined than you to progress from his empty flirtations with the young women here to a more settled state, I told him I would settle a lump sum of ten thousand pounds on him if he weds Genny.’
She paused, searching Kit’s face, but when he said nothing she continued.
‘Since her lineage is not up to Carrington standards I opposed the idea when there was talk of them marrying some years ago, but I’ve come to believe someone like her is precisely what Julian needs. They certainly spend enough time in each other’s pockets. They think no one notices them scurrying off together whenever he comes to the Hall, and that I don’t know she went up to see him in London when she said she went to visit an old friend of the General last month. Well, I have noticed, and I don’t like it. There will be a scandal and then where will we be? So, if all that comes from this rigmarole is that those two finally cease shilly-shallying and wed, then at least I shall know one of my grandsons has married a woman capable of securing the Carrington legacy.’
The chair creaked ominously beneath his hands. He’d never felt such an urge to throttle someone...not even a Carrington.
‘You manipulative, conniving bi—’
‘May I join you?’
The deep voice cut through Kit’s and he turned. The Duke of Burford stood in the doorway, an uncharacteristic frown on his florid face.
Kit took a deep breath, dragging his temper down. ‘If you don’t mind, Your Grace, this is a private matter between Lady Westford and myself.’
‘I gather as much, young man. And I shall not apologise for eavesdropping as I think it is best I join this discussion.’
‘There is no need, Robert,’ Lady Westford intervened, her voice softer than it had been up to that point. ‘I do not need your protection. We can have our hand of whist later.’
‘I think there is a need, Amelia. And I am not here to protect you; I happen to agree with Lord Westford.’
‘Robert!’
‘If what I have heard is true, you are sorely at fault, Amelia. I was under the impression we had been invited here in good faith—not as the result of some convoluted plot. A plot which would never have been necessary had Alfred made fair provision for the members of this family. I told him often enough that when you hold the reins too tight, the weak might buckle but the strong will bolt.’
He turned to Kit.
‘If I have one complaint to place at your door, young man, it is that it was your duty to return and set matters right directly when you inherited the title and estate. You may not wish to shoulder the burden. You may—and rightly—resent your family’s treatment of your mother and yourself. But to indulge in pi
que by continuing on your merry way as the others struggle to find their way out of the swamp left by your grandfather’s mismanagement of his family’s affairs should be beneath the man I have come to know these past weeks.’
Kit raised a brow at this softly spoken but sharply delivered reprimand. He waited, half-annoyed, half-amused, for his grandmother to let slip her dogs—or canaries—of war, but she merely sat there, twin spots of colour on her cheeks.
He gave a slight bow to the Duke. ‘You are quite right, Your Grace. I have been remiss in my duties. However, since my return I have tried to make some amends. I have already settled Charlie’s debts and arranged annuities for Serena and Mary. I will do the same for Julian...with no strings attached so he shall have no need to succumb to extortion. As for you, Grandmother, you may have the London house for your lifetime. I don’t want it. I’m sure there is some Carrington relation who will be more than happy to stay with you if Mary...understandably...chooses not to.’
The Duke cleared his throat. ‘As to that, I think Amelia will be better off with me and the grandchildren at Burford Manor rather than racketing about in that big house with no one but some poor relation to order about. Don’t you think so, Amelia?’
It took Kit a moment to register the meaning of the blandly spoken words.
It took his grandmother even longer.
Then her eyes went wide as saucers, her cheeks pale, only a sharp streak of colour standing out across each cheekbone. ‘Burford Manor?’ she whispered.
‘Indeed. I would not wish to show you or Alfred any disrespect, but he has been gone for over a year and I think it is high time I spoke. You and I have not many more years on this earth, Amelia. I think you enjoy my company as much as I enjoy yours—foul temper and managing ways notwithstanding,’ he added with a smile. ‘It would make me very happy if you would accept my hand in marriage. That would remove at least one of your concerns, wouldn’t it, Westford?’
‘It certainly would...if Lady Westford is agreeable.’