by Hatch, Donna
Genevieve gasped and leapt to her feet, prepared to throw herself into the fray to protect the gentle countess from such angry men. They dwarfed Lady Tarrington, those muscular, powerful men, who could so easily hurt her, but without a qualm she placed a hand on each broad chest.
“Boys. Do behave yourselves. Only Lady Wickburgh should decide what’s to be done.” She patted their cheeks until they broke their gaze and turned their eyes to her. With equal contrition, they backed away.
Genevieve let out her breath in relief, her knees weakening, and sat back down. Christian shot a last challenging, defiant glare at his brother. Amusement lifted one corner of Tarrington’s mouth, softening his hard stare. Christian’s eyes narrowed and their crystal blue turned to steel.
“Christian,” Lady Tarrington said in warning.
Under Lady Tarrington’s soft reprimand, Christian returned to the settee and sank in the cushion on the opposite end from Genevieve. The earl raised a brow and exchanged amused glances with Lady Tarrington. The countess touched his arm in a most familiar manner, intimate and affectionate. The last of Genevieve’s alarm faded. Her year with Wickburgh had shaken her faith in humanity, even those clearly worthy of trust.
Lady Tarrington sat between Genevieve and Christian on the sofa, and took Genevieve’s hand in hers. She clung to the countess, drawing strength from the offered friendship and that aura of serenity that accompanied her.
“Now then,” said Lady Tarrington, “what’s to be done? Cole, what are her options?”
Tarrington sat in an armchair opposite the settee and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. “She has many options. For one, she can go home and request to live apart from her husband in a legal separation.”
Annoyance flared and Genevieve spoke without thinking, her voice lowered to a tone that bordered on insolence. “Please do not speak about me as if I am not present. Or not of sound mind.”
The earl inclined his head and looked her in the eye with a piercing gaze. “My apologies, Lady Wickburgh.”
Genevieve met his gaze. “It’s Genevieve. And I will not ever go back to Wickburgh.”
The earl looked her in the eye. “You could arrange a meeting with your husband and your solicitor, and write up an agreement for a legal separation which states where you wish to live and the conditions, as long as they don’t conflict with your original marriage settlement.”
Genevieve said, “He would never agree to it.” He wanted to control her. And he couldn’t do that if they lived apart. Even bringing up the subject would merely invite a fresh round of horrible games.
Tarrington rested his arm on the back of the divan behind Lady Tarrington and turned to Genevieve. “You could also take your husband to court and sue for divorce. But Parliament seldom grants them to women.”
Genevieve shook her head. “Suing for divorce is not an option I care to attempt, for a number of reasons.” She picked up a pillow on the divan and hugged it.
Lady Tarrington shook her head as tears brightened her eyes. “You poor dear. What has he done to you?”
Genevieve clamped her mouth shut, unable to speak of any of it.
Tarrington said, “If you remain wed to him, even if you leave, you will never be free to remarry.”
She shook her head. “No, I will never remarry.”
Christian shifted. “Where you will go?”
The footman returned, bringing a bowl of water and some clean cloths, and slipped away. Christian picked up the bowl, knelt in front of Genevieve and carefully bathed her foot, his mouth pressed together in sympathy. Genevieve froze, surprised that he’d attend to a task normally left to the servants, especially considering how deeply she’d hurt him. Perhaps she truly had gained a measure of forgiveness.
The towels and water turned pink as he carefully cleaned her damaged foot in a surprisingly intimate manner. The touch of hands, both gentle and firm, sent spirals of pleasure through her. She should stop him. Enjoying his touch was wrong for a number of reasons. Yet she seemed powerless to speak. She chided herself for running from this gentle man moments ago and sat spell-bound as he cared for her with a softer touch than she’d imagined.
With his lowered head so close, she almost reached out and touched his hair shimmering gold in the lamplight. She curled her hand into a fist. No doubt he would believe her both faithless and wanton if she made her desire for him known. Desire. She paused. She hadn’t experienced desire in so long, she’d almost forgotten how it felt. Sorrow edged against her like the lapping of waves that she’d had to give up such a wonderful man.
“I’m glad you weren’t here to hear the things he said about you,” Alicia said, “the way he tried to discredit you and paint you as a mad woman. It made me ill.”
Tarrington lifted a brow. “You were listening?”
Alicia said without shame, “The door was open and I couldn’t help but hear.”
Christian said grimly, “He knows full well you jumped into the river, Jen. I think he believes you perished and is merely making a big show of playing the concerned husband before deciding what to announce.”
Genevieve let out a long, slow breath. “Leaving him with the disgrace of having a wife who killed herself was my one revenge against him, and now he’s removed even that.” She should have known he’d find a way to escape unscathed. He must have bullied or bribed whoever found her clothes. “And even if the truth ever comes out that I drowned myself intentionally—or at least attempted to—he’s made sure everyone believed I was out of my mind with grief, which would garner sympathy for him instead of creating scandal.”
Alicia tightened her hand on Genevieve’s.
Christian’s voice softened and the lines of his face gentled. “I promise you, we will give him no reason to suspect the truth.”
The sincerity in his words wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She did not doubt him. Perhaps he could never love her again—nor should he—but at last she’d gained his forgiveness. Moved to tears by the lifting of that burden, Genevieve could only nod, hoping her gratitude showed in her face.
“Do you have a plan?” Alicia asked.
Genevieve nodded. “I do, my lady.”
The countess smiled. “It’s Alicia, remember?”
“Alicia. I shall apply for a post as a governess somewhere far away, out of Lord Wickburgh’s reach. Perhaps Ireland or Scotland.”
“A governess?” Christian repeated.
“I’m qualified,” she said defensively. “I am well educated and can teach on almost any subject—even mathematics. My father has rather unusual views of appropriate education for young ladies.”
Alicia clucked. “I hate to see a lady forced into employment. Don’t you have family to whom you can go?”
Genevieve shook her head. “If I go to my parents, he’d hear of it. And I have no other family.”
Tarrington expression turned pensive. “Who are your parents?”
“William and Cecily Marshall.”
The earl blinked. “Captain Marshall? Of the HMS Resolute?”
She stared. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Not well, but I had dealings with him while I served in the navy.” A light of admiration shone in Tarrington’s eyes. “He was a fine officer. A fine man.”
“Yes.” A fine man except for the mutiny. Bitterness frosted her heart.
Christian said, “I could take you to stay with Rachel.”
“Your sister Rachel?” Genevieve asked.
Thoughtfully, he nodded. “She lives in a little hamlet near the Scottish border.”
Alicia rubbed her rounded abdomen absently. “It’s quite a remote area. You would go unnoticed there.”
“I don’t wish to be a burden, nor beholden, either,” Genevieve added.
“She needs someone up there with her, believe me,” Tarrington said.
Christian leaned forward. “I’ve been worried about her up there all alone, except for a few servants. Though I’ve encouraged her to get a secretary
to help her with her cataloging, she hasn’t yet. She needs someone up there with her. In fact, she needs someone to convince her to come home or travel abroad. Anything.”
“She’s a botanist, of sorts,” Alicia explained, “and is gathering research for a book she plans to publish on the subject.”
Tarrington let out a half laugh. “Honestly, it’s all an excuse to tromp around the moor all day and avoid society.” He rubbed his chin. “Can’t say as I blame her; I’d like to leave it all behind, at times.”
Genevieve nodded slowly. “I could serve as her secretary. Then it would be a position, and not merely relying on the kindness of strangers.”
“You could,” Christian said slowly. “She could probably use the help. But you don’t need to work. She’d be happy to have you as a guest.” His mouth turned down as if he couldn’t bear the thought of a gently bred lady forced to employment.
“I won’t be a burden.” She folded her arms.
Christian eyed her. “I’d hoped she would have grown weary of the isolation and come home, but except for a brief visit a few weeks, ago, she has no plans to return soon. If ever. Trust me, if you stayed with Rachel, you’d be doing our family a favor.”
“You might merely go for a visit, Genevieve,” Alicia told her, “and reserve judgment. After you become acquainted with Rachel, you can make a decision whether or not you wish to remain as her friend or companion or secretary.”
Christian looked at her with that intensely focused gaze of his. “You’ll love her, I know you will.”
Genevieve held her lower lip between her teeth. If she were near the Scottish border, and in a small village, she’d surely be safe there. “Very well. I’ll go. If she’ll have me, I’ll stay with her as her secretary or companion, whatever she chooses. I’ll leave as soon as I can arrange transportation on a stage or a mail coach.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll take you in the family coach,” Christian said.
Her gaze darted to him. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of imposing.”
“I was already planning on going for a visit to convince Rachel to go on a grand tour—anything to get her out of isolation. If you and I can get her to go to France or Italy, you can travel with her as her companion. Then, when she’s ready to come home, you can make more permanent arrangements for yourself on the continent.”
Genevieve considered traveling with Christian. That much time alone with him would remind her of what she had lost. But it would be the last time she’d see him and then she could at last bid him a final farewell and be sure she’d truly won his forgiveness.
She held out her hands. “Very well. It appears that I must accept your charity for a time. I thank you. All of you.” She looked up at Christian. “How soon can we leave?”
“I had planned on leaving in the morning.”
“But don’t you think you ought to write to her first?”
“No need,” Christian said. “When we arrive at her doorstep, I’ll announce you are there to help her. She’ll welcome you, believe me.”
“You can’t leave that early,” Alicia interjected. “You’ll need clothes and supplies.”
Genevieve smiled. “I have nothing to pack. And as a secretary I won’t need much.”
Alicia’s brow wrinkled. “Oh I suppose not.” Her face lit up. “I’ll have more of my clothes and things made over tonight so you can take them with you. By the time I can fit in them again, they’ll be terribly out of date and I shan’t be able to wear them.” She offered a self-deprecating grin. “Bad form for a countess to wear old fashions, you know.”
As they discussed the details of the upcoming journey, the last of Genevieve’s reservations melted away and she basked in their warmth. In another lifetime, these people would have been her family.
If only her father hadn’t been the victim of blackmail! If only he’d been honorable instead of participating in that horrible mutiny! She pushed back her self pity and drew in a breath. It was done and it would not serve to dwell on what might have been.
She arose and bid them all a goodnight but Christian rose, too. “I’ll walk with you.” He held out an arm.
Hesitantly, she took it. She glanced at Lord and Lady Tarrington but they had fallen into a private conversation, their heads close together. As she put a hand on Christian’s arm, she kept her eyes on the floor. As they ascended the stairs, they fell silent. The idea of spending so much time alone with Christian as they traveled made her nervous. They’d have much time to squirm in awkward silence or perhaps try to rekindle the romance they once had. Neither of which was a good option.
“Thank you again for your help,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to visit Rachel,” Christian said. “We’ll leave right after breakfast.”
She stopped walking as they reached the junction in the upstairs corridor and looked up at him. “Why are you willing to help me?”
He blinked. “Because you need it.”
“What do you want in return?”
His mouth dropped open. “You’re questioning my motives?”
“What could you hope to gain?”
“What do you think I want?” he demanded, his voice rising in anger.
“I don’t know, I have no money with which to pay you, a liaison? A mistress? After all, I’ve—”
“What?”
She flinched.
Christian turned away and sucked in great gulps of air, his hands clenched and his shoulders stiff. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”
“I didn’t mean to insult your honor. I’ve done nothing but hurt you and put you in danger and yet you’re willing to do so much for me. I just don’t understand.”
“I feel duty bound to help you.” He softened his voice. “I can’t allow you to face that demon alone.”
She put a hand on his back. He tensed under her touch but didn’t move away. “Thank you. I wish I had something to offer you in return.”
“Helping Rachel will be repayment enough. Goodnight.”
“Good night.” She watched him walk away and disappear into his room.
Thanks to the Amesburys, Christian especially, she would find a place of safety and rebuild herself into a new, free woman. She’d be alone, but safe.
CHAPTER 12
As the Amesbury family coach began its journey to the Scottish border, Christian settled into the rear-facing seat across from Genevieve and steeled himself against her presence for two days. If he’d had any sense at all, he would have hired a companion for her and put her on the first ship leaving the nearest port, and walked away. But he couldn’t. Besides, she might help him convince Rachel to leave her isolation and do some traveling. Surely that would help her leave her sorrow behind. He had to do something to draw Rachel out of seclusion and sorrow.
Genevieve, wearing a deeply hooded cloak despite the pleasant day, cast several anxious glances out the window as if expecting an army to suddenly appear and attack them.
Seeing her so frightened touched his heart and nudged aside another piece of his anger for her betrayal in Bath. “We have two outriders escorting us, not to mention the coachman and footman who are both armed. As am I.” He lifted his coat to reveal twin pistols at his hips. “We’re quite safe.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to be watching your house and following us.”
“I can’t imagine he would force you to go back with him, even if he did suspect you were here.”
“He would.” She said nothing more but continued casting furtive looks all around.
Perhaps she was right. In Bath, Wickburgh had watched her with such fanatical hunger that Christian could well believe Wickburgh had some sick need to keep Genevieve under his thumb.
They said nothing more for a long time as the carriage bumped along the rutted country roads. After passing several toll booths and changing horses twice, Genevieve’s tension eased and she began to look out at the countryside out of curiosity, rather than the frightene
d, furtive glances she’d been casting all around.
“Feeling better now that we’ve put some distance behind us?” he asked.
She smiled. “Yes. Much.”
He nodded while a dozen questions collided against his tongue. He clamped his mouth shut. He probably didn’t want to know the answers.
And yet he was missing something, some key piece of the puzzle that eluded him. If only he could find it, everything would make sense; Genevieve’s actions in Bath, her letter breaking off their unofficial engagement, her contradicting statements when he tried to stop the wedding, her clear misery now. Had Genevieve shared more than a few conversations with Wickburgh, she would never have willingly married such a man.
“Why is it that you’re so worried about Rachel?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He weighed his answers. “Right after our mother passed on, Rachel suffered a heartbreak and retreated from everyone. I fear if she doesn’t come home soon, she’ll turn into a complete recluse and remain mired in melancholy.”
“Has she always had such a scientific bent?”
“She has always been a self-proclaimed bluestocking, although never to this degree. I don’t think she cares so much about this project as it is that she needed an excuse to run away for a while.”
She stared at the wall behind him, her finger absently stroking her lower lip. “So you hope that I can help draw her out.”
He watched her finger caressing her lip, aching to touch those lips again and rediscover their warmth and softness. Foolishness. He pulled his attention away from her mouth. “I hope you and I can convince her to come home. Or to go on a grand tour where she might find a reason to return to the life of the living.”
She nodded. “I’ll certainly do what I can. But I cannot imagine I’ll have more influence on her than you.”
“You may be the voice of reason to whom she listens.”
“I’m not sure I’m the voice of reason,” she said softly.
He wanted to press her for an explanation but held back. He probably didn’t want to know. That she regretted marrying Wickburgh was clear, but whether she regretted not marrying Christian was another matter entirely. And he didn’t care. He’d promised to help her, and he would, but he refused to allow himself to care for her again. He would not give her another weapon with which to wound him. As far as he was concerned, she was a waif who needed rescuing. A damsel in distress. Nothing more.