Genie ate faster, pausing only to worry about the footman when the bowl and spoons went missing. Some households counted the silverware every night.
“We can return the dish to Mr. Gollub’s garden if you are worried,” Ardeth told her. “They will think one of the diners took a bowl outside to enjoy. I’d wager they find many a champagne glass under the shrubbery, if not a sleeping guest.”
After returning the evidence, Ardeth said he would put in a standing order at Gunter’s for a supply of this new delicacy.
Genie was glad. “Little Sean will adore it, and Miss Hadley worked so hard to prepare me that she deserves a treat.”
When they reached home and had pulled into the carriage drive under the portico, Ardeth did not wait for a footman to come lower the coach steps. He jumped down and lifted Genie out, waving the rushing servant back inside. Campbell drove the coach around to the mews.
By the gas lamps left burning outside the house and the light from the opened door, Ardeth could see that Genie had a raspberry stain on her face. Against his better judgment, he brushed his bare fingers against her lips.
She looked up.
“A bit of the ice got left.”
Genie licked her lips, as if that would clean away the raspberry drip. Then she looked back at him, as if asking if she was tidy enough to face the servants inside. She did not want to appear like a hoydenish child after her first grand outing.
“You are perfect.”
Then she looked at him as if he’d given her the moon, not just an introduction to the prince and polite society, a bit of confection, and a simple compliment.
Ardeth could not help himself. He could almost taste the fruit on her lips, the sweetness. And why not? She was his wife, and she was willing. More than willing, if he judged that bright light in her green eyes rightly. She was eager for him, and that had nothing to do with the punch, the raspberry ice, or the royals. He bent toward her and lowered his head.
… Making it easier for the crow to land on his shoulder.
“Party, pretty? Pretty party?”
“Yes, the reception was lovely,” Genie told the bird.
“And yes, Lady Ardeth was a success,” Ardeth added, after a word Genie had never heard before.
“Alive?”
Genie reached out to stroke the shiny head. “Yes, we missed Olive, but you would not have liked it there. One lady wore peacock feathers.”
“Gawk!” Then the crow turned its unblinking eye on Ardeth. “Alive?”
“Not yet.” But there was still a chance, thanks to the blasted bird. He had not carried his wife upstairs, betraying all he’d sworn. He had done no harm.
—
What was wrong with the man? Genie asked herself as she kicked a stool out of her way in what they were calling the Hourglass Room. He was definitely not like other men. Here she’d been exactly what he’d wanted her to be, a smashing success. Instead of admiring his glittering social butterfly, the earl had shoved her away, back into her dreary cocoon. No, Genie decided, he’d treated her as if she were a slimy, slithery caterpillar to be kicked under the rock or leaf pile it had crawled from. Soon she’d be too big with child, too awkward, too unattractive. And perhaps too uninterested. To the devil with him. She kicked the stool again.
As soon as they’d entered the house, Ardeth had gone to his book room, inviting the crow to share his nightcap, not his wife! Genie was left to chat with Miss Hadley, who’d stayed up late, wanting to know everything.
Genie told her companion as much as she could remember of the actual events: who spoke to her, what they said, which function they had invited her to attend. As for the theoretical part, why everyone had a change of heart, she hardly understood half of it, and none of her husband.
—
Ardeth raised his glass in a toast. “To honor.”
“To being on her,” the crow muttered.
“That is my wife, you henwit. Never let me hear you speak so disrespectfully.” He slammed the glass of brandy down on an inlaid end table.
Olive immediately swooped from his place on the curtain rod. He perched on the glass, flapping his wings, trying to duck his head down deeply enough to get a sip without falling in.
Ardeth grabbed the stem to keep the fine crystal from tipping, then thought better of drinking from it again. He took a drink from the decanter instead, like old times, very old. Randolph the butler would have been shocked, but Randolph had never seen the manners of a crusading knight. He would not see them tonight, either, for Ardeth had locked the door. That way he would have to think twice before giving in to temptation.
He held the decanter in one hand and the nearly empty glass in the other, tilting it so the crow could drink. “They say a gentleman never drinks alone.”
Olive staggered back, nearly falling off the wooden table.
“Bah, what good are you? Can’t even hold your liquor.”
“Can-hie-hold a pretty.”
“And what do you know of virtue anyway? A crow has no honor. A gremlin sure as hell has no honor.” He took another swallow. “I must have honor.”
The crow eyed his empty glass and Ardeth’s full decanter. “Olive must have—”
“That’s right. To stay alive, I must have integrity, righteousness, moral principles. You heard Old Nick. Heart and soul.”
“More easy—hic—find the hourglass.”
Chapter 14
Genie grew almost too busy to worry about her husband’s desires, or lack thereof. Between the morning visits, the afternoon teas, the late-day rides in the park, and the assorted evening activities, she hardly had a moment to herself. She also needed more gowns for such a varied schedule, more staff at home to ensure the comfort of every visitor, and more sleep.
Thank heaven for Miss Hadley. Between them, they had the daily hourglass arrivals under control, accepting them, noting their owners in a journal, then sending them back after a quick perusal by Lord Ardeth. When the earl was too busy, the crow stood sentry as the boxes were unpacked or hand-delivered ones were unwrapped. Genie did not ask—she did not want to know—how the crow understood what Ardeth was looking for, but she accepted his squawked nos as enough. Besides, most were too big, too ornate, or too obviously new. She needed no special sensitivity to tell silver from gold, painted tin from precious metal, filigree from the plain base Ardeth had described.
In addition to helping with those clerical duties, Miss Hadley was also invaluable at teaching Genie the niceties of polite behavior. Genie was manor-born, but not to the levels of London’s ton. Miss Hadley knew everyone in town and their foibles—which dowagers did not speak to one another and which ladies would not attend the same function as their husbands. She knew which invitations were important, which hostesses must not be slighted, and which houses were too disreputable for a woman seeking an impeccable name. With the older woman’s assistance, Genie could sidestep half of the pitfalls she had not known existed.
Miss Hadley, together with Marie, also helped add to Genie’s wardrobe. Marie’s taste was a shade too flamboyant for dignity; Miss Hadley’s, too practical to be fashionable. Between them, Genie found a common ground that became her, that gave her confidence she was gowned as befitted Ardeth’s wife.
The companion made sure. She knew what was suitable for every activity, every level of social occasion, and she had a good eye for quality. She’d had to when one of her gowns had had to last for years.
No longer. Genie ordered new clothes for Miss Hadley, too, since the older woman had to accompany the countess on most of her visits, while Ardeth oversaw his investments and new projects. He became involved in politics as the best way to effect the most change for improvements, and left the women to their own pastimes.
Genie’s new clothes were all in black or deepest gray, but she insisted Miss Hadley wear colors. One of them should look bright and cheerful, Genie declared, lest they bring gloom wherever they went. Miss Hadley looked lovely in the softer tones, years younger i
n the newer styles, especially with the help of Marie’s cosmetic artistry. She wore her hair in a more modern style, and she no longer looked as if her last meal might be her last meal. If she thanked Genie twice a day, she thanked her twenty times, to Lady Ardeth’s embarrassment. Genie felt she should be the one thanking the higher powers for sending Miss Hadley. She’d be lost and alone otherwise.
Genie was also grateful for Captain James Vinross. The former officer had joined Ardeth’s household as steward or man of affairs or simply aide, whichever suited his mama’s notions of the appropriate title for her younger son. Ordinary working for a living was not quite in keeping with her standards, but being an earl’s right hand had enough clout to overcome the onus of trade.
Captain Vinross had no such qualms. He was delighted to find real work, helping to write speeches, searching out sites for veterans’ hospitals and homes, and acting as escort for the ladies when Ardeth was too busy. As a younger son with no income now that he had sold his commission, James’s only alternatives were to be his titled brother’s pensioner or live as an idle wastrel in his mother’s house.
Instead he was happily living at Ardeth House. Lud knew there were rooms enough for an army, so he did not feel intrusive, and he was away from his doting mother, who coddled his limp and cringed at his nightmares. At Ardeth House James selected the farthest suite of rooms, in hopes that his bad dreams could not disturb anyone else. The notion of waking the newlyweds with his cries almost kept him awake.
Lord Ardeth’s hearing must be extraordinary, James thought, or the man wandered the halls after midnight, which did not speak well of that honeymoon, but the captain would not listen to backstairs gossip about his patron. Either way, Lord Ardeth woke Captain Vinross up the very first night, silently handing him a cloth to wipe off the sweat and tears. The earl spoke softly of his own dreams for the future. Something about Lord Ardeth’s voice, or his quiet, calm acceptance of another’s failings, comforted James back into a more restful sleep. He had not had a nightmare since.
Genie was no matchmaker, but she thought her companion and the captain were well suited. Both were of a certain age, although the officer may have been a year or two younger. They shared a similar upbringing, except that James’s family harbored no drunks or debtors. Both were of serious character, having seen more than their share of ugliness and misery, yet both were pleasant and friendly and willing to work.
So Genie had them keep a joint appointments calendar for herself and the earl, conferring daily to keep their engagements straight. She made sure both sat at the dining room table when they ate at home, and she requested the captain’s company at the opera and theater and on their calls, whenever his lordship could spare him. She might organize the seating so that her two new friends were beside each other, send them together on combined errands, and force them to talk to each other while she conversed with Olive, but she was no matchmaker. Of course not. She’d seen what interference could do in her own life, and had no desire to meddle among two intelligent adults. But wouldn’t it be nice…?
Of all the new sights and activities, Genie adored the theater best. She’d attended once before in London, when her family had come to town for her sister Lorraine’s presentation. Otherwise the only plays she’d seen were by amateurs in her own neighborhood, or traveling troupes of actors performing at the grange or in the largest barn or at country fairs. This was far different, and enthralling to her. The sheer size and splendor of the theater made a visit exciting, no matter what drama or farce was presented. The crowds, the lights, the private boxes, all added to her pleasure. That and knowing she was modishly dressed, with the finest jewels at her neck and the handsomest man in all of London sitting beside her, when the theatergoers turned their quizzing glasses their way.
The opera was made even more pleasant by Ardeth’s whispered translations in her ear. Of course she paid more attention to the ticklish, tingly feeling than the music, but Ardeth seemed amused, so Genie was content.
They did not attend balls, public assemblies, or large rout parties. Genie did not care for crowds and would not dance, so what was the point? There were enough smaller gatherings, where good conversation was possible and her unconventional mourning was not as noticeable. Many families who had lost sons in the late war were in similar circumstances and understood, wearing black armbands and ribbons, but living their own lives.
Ardeth used those quieter events to influence votes, to make the wealthiest understand the plight of the poor, in a polite manner, naturally. No one was offended or thought him pushing or radical, not that Genie heard, only a trifle progressive for a newcomer to the scene. And he never played with the fires.
Genie relaxed enough to take the crow with her on a few morning calls. She’d taken him in the park one day, thinking the silly bird had to get over his fear of flying outdoors, especially if they were going to the country. He would not be happy spending the entire journey in a closed carriage. Genie was not looking forward to it herself.
If Lady Pomeroy could have her smelly Pekingese, and Mrs. Smith-Corbett had a spotted cat on a diamond lead, Genie could have a black bird on her black-clad shoulder—atop a snowy handkerchief, in case. Olive was a smashing success, adding to Genie’s cachet. So he was invited to pay social visits.
Genie made sure no cats would be present, no canaries, no big dogs, no ladies in feathered headdresses. In turn, she warned the crow that there better not be any accidents indoors.
Olive drank tea from a saucer, took biscuits from eager fingers. He repeated the hostess’s name, bobbed in a bow, said “great” and “full” when leaving, and stole only the occasional earbob or shiny key, which Genie promptly returned. He rarely cursed, never pecked anyone, and let the ladies scratch under his chin where he could not reach. He even performed somersaults and circus tricks when the children were brought down from the nursery to see the countess’s counting crow. They adored him, and Genie. Few enough adults cared to speak to the infantry or see them, or let their sticky hands touch them. Lady Ardeth did not care. Once a crow had shat on your head, nothing else mattered. Such behavior endeared the bride to her hostesses.
Miss Hadley was already one of theirs, as was Captain Vinross. Now Genie was part of the inner circle of the beau monde, in perfect time. In a few weeks she would be unable to hide her pregnancy or avoid awkward questions about its chronology, but by then the victory celebrations would be over and most of the grand houses would be shuttered, the nobs going to their country estates and house parties. Ardeth would have won over many cabinet ministers and leaders of Parliament to his side, have his finances in order, with trusted men in place to run his endowments, and be ready to leave.
Before that departure, Genie had an important call to make, one she’d been putting off. She did not take her companion, or the crow, not even her maid. She did not invite—or beg—Ardeth to come along, either. This was a duty she had to see through on her own. With only Campbell to drive the coach and a footman to open the door, Genie called on her sister at Cormack House, Grosvenor Square. She chose a time when she knew Lord Cormack was at an important political debate. If she and Lorraine could not converse politely, alone, there would be no more visits, ever. The Dowager Lady Cormack, Elgin’s mother, had gone to Bath. Genie would never have come otherwise.
Lorraine was in. Genie had wondered if she would choose to be at home for her sister’s visit, and was halfway surprised to be shown immediately into a small, cozy parlor filled with picture books and toys.
“I wanted to thank you for writing to Mama,” Genie began after the usual polite pleasantries for the servants’ sake were finished and they were alone over a tea tray with macaroons and ginger biscuits. Genie loved macaroons, but she doubted that her sister had remembered. She ate one anyway, while the baroness mouthed empty refusals of any gratitude.
“Once she was apprised of your circumstances, of course she wrote. She is your mother, you know.”
And had been the previous ye
ars, without as much as a note. Genie swallowed her bite, and her bile. “Yes, I heard from her this week. She sent congratulations on my wedding, as if Elgin and the scandal never existed.”
“That is Mama’s way. If she does not see it or say it, nothing bad exists.”
Which was why, Genie supposed, she and Elgin were shipped out of the country almost before the vicar finished his sermon at their wedding.
“Much of the ton behaves that way, if you must know, turning a deaf ear to affairs and illegitimate children.”
Genie did not wish to discuss those awkward subjects, either. “She sent a silver epergne as a gift.”
“Large, with elephants and monkeys and palm trees?”
“And fruit. It would take up half the dining room table, and no one would be able to see around it to converse.”
“I know. Don’t you recall the hideous thing taking up a wall in the butler’s pantry? She tried to give it to me for my wedding, but I told her I could not accept. Since it had been in her family for so long, it ought to stay with her.”
They laughed together—and were aware that they were laughing together.
“I wondered who she would find to foist it off on next.”
“Why did she purchase it in the first place? Our mother had better taste than that.”
“Oh, I believe the monstrosity came from Great-aunt Loretta to Mama on her wedding. There is no way of knowing how many poor brides had to house the horror for decades waiting for another unfortunate girl to dump it on. That is, bestow it on.”
“There will not be any more. I am putting it up for auction at the benefit for the widows’ and orphans’ fund. I thanked Mama for her kindness on their behalf. I added that knowing of her generous spirit, I was certain she would not mind.”
“She will be apoplectic!”
“Really?” Genie asked, smiling over her teacup.
Lorraine turned serious. “How remiss of me. I never gave you a gift, not for your first wedding or your second.”
The Hourglass Page 14