by Diane Gaston
He held up a hand. ‘No, please do not go to that trouble. I will only stay a minute.’ He turned to Genna. ‘I merely stopped by to ask if you would care to take a turn in the park with me this afternoon.’
She grinned at him, but looked askance. ‘I do not know, sir. It depends upon your vehicle…’
He smiled in return. ‘A curricle. Nothing too fancy, though. It will have a matched pair, however.’
She pretended to think. ‘A matched pair, you say?’
‘Matched chestnuts.’
She sighed. ‘Oh, very well.’ Then her grin broke out again. ‘I would be honoured to. Really.’
He nodded. ‘Three o’clock?’
Four was the fashionable hour.
‘Yes.’ Her voice turned a bit breathless. ‘I will be ready.’
‘Then I must take my leave.’ He bowed again.
When he left, Lorene shook her head. ‘I do not understand you. The way you talk.’
‘Oh, Lorene.’ Genna groaned. ‘It is all in fun. Rossdale knows that.’
Her sister gave her an exasperated look. ‘If you wish to gain his interest, it is no way to talk to him, though.’
‘I am not trying to gain his interest,’ Genna retorted. ‘As you have said many times, he is too far above me.’
Besides, she knew Rossdale’s desire was to avoid marriage.
Lorene’s brows rose. ‘Then why would he ask you to take a ride in the park?’
‘I think he is taking pity on me.’ Why else? ‘I did moan to him about wanting to go places and see things.’
‘Well…’ Lorene turned to leave the room ‘…do heed your behaviour on this outing. Lord Tinmore’s new connection to the Duke of Kessington is important to him.’
After Lorene left the room, Genna said, ‘Oh, yes. Lord Tinmore’s well-being is of the utmost importance to us all.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ross pulled up to the Tinmores’ town house in his curricle with its matched chestnuts. Gone were his days of driving high flyers and racing down country roads. Those had been exhilarating times, but, once experienced, he’d no need to repeat them. His curricle was the latest in comfort and speed, though he’d not tested how fast he could push it.
He suspected Genna would not care if he pulled up in a mere gig.
His tiger jumped off and held the horses while he knocked on the door.
As the footman let him inside, Genna was coming down the stairs, putting on her gloves. ‘I saw you drive up.’
She wore a pelisse of dark blue and a bonnet that matched, nothing too fussy.
‘Shall we go, then?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely!’ she cried. ‘I am ready.’
He helped her into the carriage. She pretended to examine it. ‘I suppose this will have to do.’ She sighed.
He took the ribbons from his tiger and climbed in next to her. ‘It must do, because it is the only one I possess.’
She blinked at him. ‘Truly? A duke’s son with only one carriage?’
He smiled. ‘All the others belong to my father.’
She laughed. ‘All the others! At Summerfield House we had one pony cart and one coach.’ Her smile fled. ‘My father had a curricle.’
He’d prefer her laughing. ‘Shall we take a turn in Hyde Park?’
She smiled again. ‘By all means.’
The park was mere steps away from Curzon Street. They entered through the Stanhope Gate. Right inside the gate, he stopped the curricle and the tiger jumped off. He’d pick him up again on their way out. He drove the curricle towards the Serpentine. The weather was overcast and a bit chilly, not the best, but at least it was not raining.
‘There is a rug beneath the seat,’ he told her. ‘Let me know if you feel cold.’
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘It feels so good to be out of doors.’
He turned to her. ‘And you are one to set up your paints while the snow is falling.’
She protested, ‘Not fair! I packed up when it began to snow.’
‘That you did.’
He’d guessed correctly that the Park would be thin of other vehicles at this hour. He’d wanted to be as private with her as possible. He waited until they’d passed the Serpentine, where some children were playing under the watchful eyes of their nannies and others were feeding the ducks.
‘You probably wondered why I asked you for this ride—’ he began.
‘No.’ She looked surprised. ‘I didn’t wonder.’
‘I have a proposition for you.’
‘A proposition?’ She pretended to look shocked.
‘It will indeed be shocking,’ he said. ‘But hear me out.’
The carriage path was edged with shrubbery and there were no other vehicles in sight. He slowed their pace.
Her expression conveyed curiosity, nothing more. This was why he could ask what he planned to ask. She would not take advantage, nor would she assume more than he intended.
He continued. ‘I have a plan that will get us both through the Season without feeling like commodities in the marriage mart.’
Her interest kindled. ‘Indeed?’
‘It will also give you the freedom you desire, freedom to explore London, and it will satisfy my father who has begun to pressure me into marriage.’ He glanced to the horses who were plodding along.
‘What is this plan?’ she asked.
‘We become betrothed.’
She stared at him, but did not speak.
He quickly added. ‘Betrothed. Think of it. If we are betrothed, I could escort you all around London. We could see the sights you wish to see. Do the things you wish to do. The cost of doing so would be no object.’
Her brows knitted. ‘But a betrothal means becoming married. You just implied you do not wish to marry.’
‘Not any more than you,’ he responded. ‘I said betrothed, not married. We would not have to marry. You could cry off, but not until you turn twenty-one and are free to do as you wish.’
And he had the funds to be certain she could do as she wished, but now was not the time to offer her money, not when she might misconstrue his intent. He meant merely to help her become the artist she wished to be. At least one of them would be free to do as they wished.
‘No one would know it was not a real betrothal,’ he added. ‘It would be our secret.’
She stared at him again.
He actually began to feel nervous inside. ‘Tinmore would see it as a feather in his cap if you were betrothed to a duke’s son. He would stop sending you suitors.’ Had he misread how daring she might be? ‘There might be a little scandal. I fear you might receive some criticism for ultimately refusing me, but it is also likely that it will be assumed I was at fault.’
‘What would your father say?’ Her voice lacked enthusiasm.
He shrugged. ‘What could my father say? He has been pressuring me to marry and it would seem as though I was doing what he asked of me.’
‘But surely he has someone else in mind besides me. My father was a mere baronet.’
‘That is the beauty of it,’ he explained. ‘He cannot complain that I’ve become betrothed, but he is likely not to complain when you cry off.’
‘Because I am not suitable for you.’ She turned away and he feared he might have offended her.
‘Betrothed,’ she murmured.
He gazed at the horses and gripped the ribbons. ‘I will understand if you do not wish this.’
She swivelled back to him, seizing his arm as she did so. ‘Betrothed?’
He dared look at her again.
Her eyes were sparkling. ‘A pretend betrothal.’
‘Yes. To free us both.’
A smile lit up her face. ‘It is a capital idea! We
can go anywhere, do anything and no one will wonder over it.’
‘That is the idea. We can enjoy this Season in a way that would have been impossible before.’
At their social engagements they would be free to be together the whole time. They could dance more than two dances. No greedy suitors would bother her; no matchmaking mamas would throw their frightened or eager daughters at him.
She frowned. ‘I do not like the idea of keeping secrets from my sisters.’ She paused and broke into a smile again. ‘Why do I worry? They both kept secrets from me.’
He tilted his head. ‘Then you say yes?’
She took a breath and he thought she would say yes. Instead she said, ‘Let me think about it a little.’
‘Take all the time you need,’ he responded, disappointed. A delay usually meant no.
He flicked the ribbons and the horses moved faster. They continued to circle the park, turning at the Cumberland Gate and proceeding along the perimeter of the park.
She finally spoke again. ‘Would—would you take me to see places like the Egyptian Museum and Astley’s Amphitheatre?’
He glanced at her. ‘It would be my pleasure to do so.’
She fell silent again for so long Ross felt like fidgeting.
‘You do realise, I could make you honour your promise to marry me,’ she said in a serious tone. ‘You would be taking a great risk.’
He turned to her again. ‘But you won’t. You are not the sort to break your word.’
Her eyes glowed as if satisfied by his response.
‘You realise I might make you honour your promise,’ he countered.
Her eyes danced in amusement. ‘But you won’t. You are not the sort to break your word. Besides, I have the right to cry off.’
They rode on, nearing the Serpentine again.
She bit her lip. ‘Do you think that we can stretch it out until I am twenty-one?’
‘When is your birthday?’
‘October.’
He nodded. ‘We can stretch it out that long.’
She shifted in her seat, as if setting her resolve. ‘Then let us do it, Rossdale! Let us have this false betrothal. We’ll fool everyone and have a lovely time of it!’
He turned to her and grinned and, to his surprise, had an impulse to embrace her. He resisted it.
‘Then you had better call me Ross, if we are to be betrothed,’ he said instead.
She laughed. ‘Ross. And you’ll call me Genna.’
He wouldn’t tell her he’d been thinking of her as Genna since that first meeting.
Genna threaded her arm through Ross’s and squeezed her cheek against his shoulder. ‘I already feel as if I am set free. No longer can Tinmore dictate to me. I can simply direct him to you.’
‘I should speak to him first,’ Ross said. ‘Ask his permission.’
She bristled. ‘He is not my guardian. He has no say in who I marry, no matter what he thinks.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But let us use his arrogance. Appeal to his vanity. Let him think he has some say. If he believes he has given his permission, he is less apt to question the validity of the betrothal. He’ll be less apt to exert control over your activities.’
She nodded. ‘I see your point, though it rankles with me.’ It was really no different than the way she’d always handled Tinmore, though. Make him think she would do as he desired, but really do what she pleased. ‘Promise me one thing, though.’
He turned his head to glance at her. ‘What?’
‘Promise me you will refuse the dowry he has offered me.’ She did not want Tinmore to think his money had any influence, even on this pretend-betrothal.
‘Genna.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘We are not really to be married. The dowry makes no difference, because I will never receive it.’
‘It makes a difference to me.’ Her voice rose. ‘I want Tinmore to know that I do not need his dowry money, that it had nothing to do with you proposing to me. It is bad enough I must accept his money for my dresses and such.’
She had to admit that Tinmore’s money had given her a rather comfortable life these last two years. She had as many dresses as she could want, food aplenty and enough spending money to keep her in paints and paper. It was the cost to Lorene that ate at Genna’s insides.
Ross nodded. ‘I promise you that if the subject of the dowry comes up, I will refuse it.’
‘The subject will come up. Tinmore will want you to know what a huge sacrifice he has made for me.’
He glanced at her and back at the road. ‘Then I will make a very convincing refusal.’
While he was attending to the road and the horses, Genna had a chance to study him in detail. His was a strong profile, high forehead, gracefully sloping masculine nose, strong jaw and lovely thick brows and lashes. She loved that his face was expressive when he wished it to be and devoid of all expression when he did not.
She was so lucky, so fortunate that he would do her this great favour. Certainly she would receive more benefit from it than he. Tinmore’s dictates that she marry would be silenced now, because Tinmore would think she was marrying Rossdale.
Ross.
The mere thought of his name brought flutters inside her. These sensations, all so new to her, were a puzzle and one she did not wish to examine too closely. She just wanted to enjoy his friendship.
This plan of his made it so they could be friends.
‘So you will call upon Lord Tinmore tomorrow.’ She had to keep talking or the flutters would take over.
‘Correct.’
* * *
She did not mind keeping this secret from Tinmore and the rest of the world, but this was another huge secret to keep from Lorene and Tess. She’d told them nothing of her intent to be an artist or her determination to refuse marriage to anyone. This would distance them from her even further.
‘Will you tell Lord Penford the truth?’ she asked.
He thinned his lips and took his time to answer her. ‘I would like to tell Dell,’ he said finally.
She frowned. Since learning he’d lost his family in a fire, Genna’s heart went out to him, but she still was not certain how he felt about her and Lorene. Sometimes Penford looked at them as if he wished they were in Calcutta, but at other times he behaved in a most thoughtful and attentive manner.
‘Surely he will not approve of our scheme,’ she said. ‘Who would?’
‘Even if he does not approve, we can trust him to keep the secret.’ Ross met her eye. ‘I would trust him with my life. In any event,’ he added, ‘we may need an ally.’
But if Penford disapproved, would he be an ally?
She examined Ross’s face.
If she embarked on this plan of theirs, she must trust Ross. ‘Very well. You may tell Lord Penford.’
‘Do you wish to confide in your sisters?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I shall wait to announce this betrothal to Lorene, though,’ she said. ‘And to Tess and Marc.’
They fell into silence again until they neared the Stanhope Gate. Ross signalled to his tiger to get on the back and in what seemed like the blink of the eye, they pulled up to the town house.
The tiger jumped down again and held the horses while Ross helped Genna out of the curricle and walked her up to the door. When the footman opened the door, Ross bid her good day and she skipped inside, wanting to dance through the hall and up the stairs. How could she be expected to contain her exuberance?
Once in her room, she gave in to her impulse and spun around in joy.
Until there was a knock at her door. ‘Come in,’ she said tentatively.
Lorene entered. ‘I saw Lord Rossdale pull up. How was your outing?’ Her voice was filled with expectation.
Genna felt a
great pang of guilt. She was about to lie about the lie they were going to tell everyone. ‘It was lovely. We do get along famously, so there was a great deal to talk about.’
‘Did you get any notion of why he asked you?’ Lorene persisted.
‘None except companionship.’ This was not precisely a lie. Companionship was what they’d agreed upon, was it not?
* * *
The next day Ross called upon Lord Tinmore. When the butler announced him to Lord Tinmore in his study, Tinmore’s head was bowed. It snapped up at the footman’s voice. The old man had fallen asleep.
When Ross approached the desk, Tinmore fussed with the papers there as if he had been busy with them. He tried to stand.
Ross gestured with his hand. ‘Do not stand, sir. No need of ceremony with me.’
‘Kind of you, Rossdale. Kind of you,’ Tinmore muttered. ‘And how is your father? And the Duchess? In good health, I hope?’
‘In excellent health,’ Ross replied. ‘And you, sir?’
‘Excellent!’ he repeated. ‘Could not be better.’ Tinmore sat back in his chair.
Ross wasted no time. ‘I know you are a busy man, sir, so I will not waste your time with prattle. I have come to talk with you about Miss Summerfield.’
‘What?’ Tinmore straightened. ‘What has the girl done now?’
Tinmore’s automatic disapproval chafed. ‘You assume she has done something of which you would disapprove?’
Tinmore’s expression turned smug. ‘Why else would you come here?’
‘To ask your permission to marry her.’
Tinmore recoiled as if Ross had struck him in the chest. ‘Marry her!’
Genna would like that reaction. Sheer surprise.
‘Yes,’ Ross stated. ‘Marry her. Assuming she will accept me, that is.’
‘Accept you?’ Tinmore continued to look dumbfounded. ‘She’s naught but the daughter of a baronet. She’s not fit—’
Ross’s anger flared. ‘I assure you, she is my choice.’ He glared at the man. ‘I might remind you that you married the daughter of a mere baronet.’
‘An entirely different matter, sir!’ Tinmore said indignantly. ‘An entirely different situation.’