Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After the quadrille, Ross noticed Genna leave the ballroom. She disappeared into the ladies’ retiring room and he waited in the corridor to catch her when she came out.

  The door opened and Genna peeked carefully around before stepping into the corridor. She seemed in no hurry to return to the dancing.

  He approached her from behind. ‘Genna?’

  She jumped and put her hand on her chest when she saw it was him. ‘Oh, Rossdale! You startled me. I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Who?’ One of the young men who occupied her time?

  She waved a hand. ‘Oh, one of Tinmore’s widowers. I am eager to avoid him.’

  He took her arm. ‘Then let’s not return to the ballroom.’

  He led her outside on to a veranda. The Duke of Archester’s town house was one of the few in Mayfair to have a garden of any size behind it. They were not the only ones to seek a quieter, more secluded place. Other couples stood close together on the veranda or on benches in the garden. After the close, warm air of the ballroom, the chilly March air felt welcome, although Ross doubted that all the couples outside were merely seeking fresh air.

  Genna inhaled deeply. ‘Oh, how nice. I can breathe out here.’

  It occurred to him that she smiled at him the way she smiled at her other dance partners. He didn’t like that thought, though. ‘You appeared to be having a good time dancing.’

  She sobered. ‘I am having a good time, although I cannot help thinking about Lord Penford. Has he returned to the ballroom?’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen.’ It pleased him that she felt concern for his friend.

  Her lovely forehead knitted.

  ‘Do not let it spoil your enjoyment, though. He would not wish that and I should feel quite regretful that I spoke of his family.’

  She nodded. ‘I have enjoyed the dancing.’ She slid him a sly smile. ‘So far I have not had to dance with any of the men Tinmore picked to court me.’

  ‘Is he so determined to get you married?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘But I only have to get through this Season. I will be twenty-one soon and I can go my own way.’

  He thought about her desire to become an artist. It was a daring choice. Women artists were rare, but some had made a good living with their art.

  She shivered and he led them to a corner more protected from the cool air.

  She gazed at him with curiosity. ‘But what of you? There seem to be several young ladies with whom to dance. Are you not looking to make a match?’

  He stiffened. ‘I am in no hurry to take on that responsibility.’

  She peered at him. ‘You do not seem the sort to wish to shirk responsibility.’

  ‘Perhaps responsibility is not the proper word.’ How could he explain? ‘My station dictates that a match should be a carefully considered one. Advantageous to both parties.’

  Her expression turned sympathetic. ‘How dreadful.’

  He was not ready to explain it all, though. ‘I know I must marry and produce an heir. It is my duty. I know I will have to bear the mantle of the title eventually, but my father is in excellent health. There is no reason for me to rush. There is so much more I wish to do.’

  Her face relaxed. ‘Like what?’

  What did he wish to do? Since the war’s end, he hadn’t been sure, although there certainly was plenty to do for the returning soldiers. With the war’s end, several regiments would disband and the soldiers would return home without a pension and many without a trade to support them.

  He’d already cast Genna and her sister into the dismals by talking of Dell’s loss; he certainly did not wish to depress her further with the plight of the soldiers.

  ‘I’d like to travel, perhaps,’ he said instead. Who would not wish to travel? ‘Visit Paris, for one thing. The rest of the Continent. Maybe return to Rome and Venice.’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘And see the works of art there! Would that not be wonderful?’

  Lately, because of Genna, he’d been noticing the artwork wherever he went. He’d like to learn more, appreciate it more.

  She laughed. ‘Here I am, pining merely to see the sights of London. You are thinking of the world!’

  He smiled. ‘Not the world, perhaps.’ Although he was intensely curious about the Colonies. ‘But certainly the Continent. Do a Grand Tour all over again, but widen my horizons.’

  She sighed. ‘You did a Grand Tour?’

  ‘With Dell,’ he said. ‘We have been friends since we were boys.’

  ‘How lovely!’

  A footman came to the veranda door. ‘Supper is being served.’

  ‘We missed the supper dance,’ she said, sounding relieved.

  ‘You wanted to miss it?’ he asked.

  She grinned. ‘One of Tinmore’s widowers was searching for me. That is why I left the ballroom. Imagine being trapped with him through supper.’

  ‘You know this gentleman?’

  She nodded. ‘Tinmore introduced us last Season, but he was not out of mourning yet, so he’s been encouraged to court me now.’ She glanced away and back again. ‘He is a perfectly nice man. I do not mean to make a jest of him. I merely do not want him to court me. There are so many ladies who would love to marry him, but I would feel imprisoned.’

  Other couples crossed the veranda and re-entered the house.

  ‘Would you consider it undesirable to be trapped with me through supper?’ he asked.

  Her gaze rose to meet his. ‘I can think of no one else I would rather be trapped with.’

  * * *

  Sitting with Rossdale for supper was a delight. With anyone else she would have restrained herself and taken care what she said, but with Rossdale she felt free to say anything. Even better, she was not beneath the watchful eye of her sister, who she finally spied in a group of other ladies and gentlemen. And Lord Penford.

  She was relieved to see Lord Penford back.

  After supper some of the young gentlemen with whom she became acquainted the previous Season engaged her to dance. Lord Rossdale asked her for the last dance.

  A waltz.

  It was exciting that the Duchess of Archester allowed the waltz, still considered scandalous by some. Genna usually did not relish the less lively dances, but she did love to dance the waltz. She liked being free of the lines of the country dances or the squares of the quadrilles. You stayed with your partner throughout the whole dance. With the right partner, the waltz was heaven.

  And Rossdale was the right partner.

  When the music began, they walked on to the dance floor with hands entwined and, finding a place, faced each other. She curtsied. He bowed. She put her hands on his shoulders. He placed his hands at her waist. Her heart fluttered.

  Why did her body react so when he touched her? She could only think that it was because they liked each other so well and were as alike as two peas in a pod.

  He led her in the dance, moving in a circle together.

  Usually in the waltz, Genna relished the sight of the couples all turning on the dance floor, the ladies’ dresses like spinning flowers. This time, though, she could not take her eyes off Rossdale. She was taller than fashionable, but it hardly mattered when dancing with him. She had to tilt her head to see his face and she much preferred that to staring at the top of some gentleman’s head.

  Especially because Rossdale’s lovely eyes and smiling mouth made her feel happy inside.

  Staring only at him made the rest of the room a blur. Genna felt as if they were alone in the room, moving to the music, like one unit. She was tired from the dancing and giddy from a bit too much champagne and it all felt like a lovely dream, one she did not want to end.

  But end it did. The music stopped and it took a moment longer f
or Genna to tear her eyes from his.

  ‘What a lovely way to end a ball,’ she murmured.

  He nodded.

  He took her hand and they walked through the guests, looking for her sister. Or Tinmore. How lucky Genna had not seen Tinmore during the whole ball. That in itself had contributed to the night’s enjoyment.

  Lorene had returned to where Tinmore had originally left them and she stood with poor Lord Penford, although they were not speaking to each other. Lorene had danced many of the dances, Genna had been glad to see.

  ‘There you are,’ Genna cried. ‘Did you dance the waltz?’

  Lorene glanced at Penford. ‘Yes. We did.’

  Goodness. Penford even asked her to dance the waltz.

  ‘I would have been without a partner otherwise,’ Lorene added.

  ‘We have had such a nice time,’ Genna said, squeezing Rossdale’s hand before he released hers. ‘I must find the Duchess and thank her for including us.’

  ‘I had an opportunity to speak with her,’ Lorene said. ‘I did convey our thanks.’

  Genna laughed. ‘I was too busy dancing.’

  Penford inclined his head towards the door of the ballroom. ‘Lord Tinmore is bidding you to come.’

  Tinmore was leaning on his cane with one hand and waving the other. He looked very impatient.

  ‘I wonder where he was all this night,’ Genna said.

  Lorene pulled her arm. ‘Come, Genna.’

  She turned and smiled at Rossdale and Penford. ‘Goodnight!’

  * * *

  Ross and Dell watched the Summerfield sisters rush to where Lord Tinmore was beckoning.

  ‘You spent a great deal of time with Miss Summerfield,’ Dell said.

  ‘As much as possible.’ Ross slid him a sideways glance. ‘And you with Lady Tinmore, I might add.’

  Dell frowned. ‘By happenstance.’

  Ross clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘I am glad you came back.’

  Dell nodded.

  Dell was living with him in Ross’s father’s house while the shell of his burned London town house was restored.

  ‘The thing is, I like them. I like both of them,’ Ross said.

  ‘They are not what I expected,’ Dell said. ‘I will agree to that.’

  The two men followed the crowd out of the ballroom, taking their time, having no reason to hurry. They caught up with his father and the Duchess. His father’s wife had remained in the ballroom the whole time, making her rounds and keeping an eye on Ross’s activities. His father spent most of the time in the card room, where Ross imagined Tinmore stayed, as well.

  His father and the Duchess joined them and they all stood waiting for the carriage.

  Ross’s father pointed to him. ‘Brackton’s daughter.’ His father spoke as if their conversation had begun earlier than this moment. ‘She’d be a good match for you. Marquess’s daughter. A step up for her. Good family, too.’

  Obviously the Duchess had reported to his father that he’d danced with Lady Alice.

  ‘I danced with her, sir,’ Ross said. ‘I did not make an offer.’

  ‘You should,’ his father responded. ‘You are not getting any younger and neither am I.’

  Ross glanced towards Dell, who averted his gaze. Both had heard this conversation before. ‘I am not ready to consider marriage,’ Ross said. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ his father snapped.

  ‘There are things yet I wish to do.’ He never discussed his activities with his father and certainly not with the Duchess. They both assumed he merely caroused.

  His father sliced the air with his hand. ‘Marry. Beget an heir. Then do as you wish until the title is yours.’

  Ross gave him a scathing look. ‘Do you hear yourself? What sort of marriage would that be for the woman?’

  ‘If the woman is a proper partner, she will understand,’ the Duchess said. ‘She will have her duty, as well.’

  ‘Do not spout any romantic nonsense,’ his father said.

  ‘I was not planning to.’ Ross’s anger rose.

  Once his father had engaged in romantic nonsense. When Ross’s mother had been alive. When it had been just the three of them. His father had loosened his reserve and expressed the love and affection he had for both his wife and son. When Ross’s grandfather died and his father inherited the title, everything had changed. His father grew distant, always busy, too busy. Too busy to notice when Ross’s mother became ill.

  ‘No romantic nonsense,’ his father repeated more softly. To Ross’s surprise what looked like pain etched the corners of his father’s eyes. His father gave him a fleeting bleak look that told him his father, indeed, remembered those halcyon days when he and Ross’s mother engaged in romantic nonsense.

  The Duchess did not see. She was too busy looking smugly at Ross. ‘You need a wife who will understand that being a duchess is not play. It is serious business.’

  Ross understood, though. A duchess needed to be more like her, more in love with the title than the man, because she had to run her own enterprise, something for which his gentle mother with her freedom of spirit had not been suited.

  His father’s countenance hardened again. ‘You have waited long enough, Ross. This is the Season. No more tarrying.’

  The carriage arrived and they all climbed in.

  * * *

  The next day Lorene and Genna called upon the Duchess of Archester to thank her for the ball. They stayed only fifteen minutes. Tinmore had made such a fuss about how they should behave with decorum that Genna said very little during the visit. Several other ladies and gentlemen had also called, including Mr Holdsworth, who left at the same time as Genna and Lorene.

  ‘May I walk with you?’ the young man asked.

  Lorene nodded and walked a little ahead of them.

  ‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’ Mr Holdsworth said.

  He continued to utter the sort of polite conversation that contained very little of interest to Genna. He was also visibly nervous, which puzzled her. They were acquainted. What was there to be nervous about?

  She found herself comparing him to Rossdale, which was rather unfair. Rossdale had years on him and the experience with it. Rossdale made her laugh. Rossdale listened. He talked to her about art. Did Mr Holdsworth even know she painted watercolours?

  They reached the corner of Curzon Street.

  ‘May—may I call upon you, Miss Summerfield?’ His voice shook.

  Ah! She understood now. He wanted to court her.

  Why on earth would he want to court her? There was so much more he could see and do before settling down to marry. So many more young ladies to meet who would suit him better.

  She slowed her pace. ‘Oh, Mr Holdsworth!’ She spoke in exaggerated tones. ‘If it were up to me, I would say yes, because we have such fun dancing together. But Lord Tinmore would never allow it. He is looking for someone much grander for me.’

  Holdsworth looked wounded, as well he should. She’d just told him he was not good enough because of something he could do nothing about—the status of his birth. Better that, though, than telling him he simply did not interest her.

  ‘Do tell me you understand, Mr Holdsworth,’ she said pleadingly. ‘I should not like Tinmore to ruin our friendship.’

  He brightened a little. ‘I do understand.’

  They reached the door of the town house.

  His brow furrowed. ‘You do not think Lord Tinmore will change his mind? I will have money.’

  She shook her head. ‘It is status with him, you see.’

  ‘I value your candour.’ He bowed. ‘And I must bid you good day.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Holdsworth.’

  He walked away with shoulders stooped.
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br />   Lorene glared at her. ‘What are you about, Genna? Lord Tinmore would find Mr Holdsworth perfectly acceptable, I am certain.’

  ‘But I do not find him acceptable, Lorene,’ she said.

  ‘Why not? He’s the son of a baron. And he’s a very nice young man.’

  Maybe that was it. Genna felt years older than Mr Holdsworth. ‘You know I would run rings around him. Why make him miserable being stuck with the likes of me? And what happened to all your romantic notions? Were you not the one who wanted Tess and Edmund and me to marry for love?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ Lorene shot back. ‘I still do, but—’

  Tess and Edmund did not marry for love. They married to escape scandal. It was just by sheer luck they found happiness and who knew how long it would last?

  ‘Then do me the honour of allowing me my own choice of a husband.’ Or no husband at all.

  ‘Well.’ Lorene huffed. ‘Do not say it is Lord Tinmore who must approve your choice.’

  ‘I had to say something,’ she said. ‘Would you have me wound the poor fellow? Say I simply do not fancy him?’

  ‘It would be more honest,’ Lorene countered. ‘But let us not debate this at the door to the town house. We can continue inside.’

  Where the servants would hear and report whatever they said to Lord Tinmore.

  A footman attended the door and took their things. ‘A gentleman to see you, Miss Summerfield. He is waiting in the drawing room.’

  ‘To see me?’ Her spirits plummeted. One of Tinmore’s widowers, no doubt. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Lord Rossdale,’ the footman said.

  She smiled. ‘How delightful!’ She started to climb the stairs to the drawing room.

  Lorene hurried to catch up with her. ‘I should come with you.’

  To chaperon? She’d been alone with Rossdale more than once.

  But she would not argue. ‘Of course.’

  When they entered the room, he was standing and gazing at one of the paintings on the wall. He turned at their entrance.

  ‘Why, hello, Rossdale,’ Genna said. ‘How nice of you to call.’

  He bowed. ‘Lady Tinmore. Miss Summerfield.’

  ‘Would you care to sit, sir?’ Lorene said. ‘Shall I send for tea?’