Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  Genna wanted to tell him that Ross fed hungry people. Perhaps the others should do the same. But she did not dare.

  The Duke sat down again, drained the contents of his wineglass and suddenly clasped his hand to his chest, with a cry of pain. He collapsed on to the table, scattering dishes and food and spilling wine.

  One of the guests screamed in alarm.

  ‘Father!’ Ross was first to his feet and first to reach his father. He sat his father back in the chair. ‘Wake up, wake up,’ he cried.

  His father moaned.

  Ross turned to the butler. ‘Fetch the doctor immediately.’

  The butler rushed from the room.

  Penford ran up from where he had been sitting. ‘Shall we carry him to his bedchamber?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ross immediately agreed.

  The two men picked up the Duke and carried him out of the room.

  The Duchess stood and tried to make herself heard above the rumblings of the guests. ‘He’s merely had a spell. He will recover soon. Please let us continue with supper.’

  Finish supper? Genna could not finish supper. She left the room to see if she could help in some way. Out in the hallway, she looked for Ross and Dell, but they were out of sight.

  She found a footman. ‘Show me where Rossdale took his father.’

  There was no reason the footman should do what she demanded, but he did. She caught up with them right as they reached the Duke’s bedchamber door.

  ‘May I help?’ she asked.

  Both men looked surprised to see her.

  At that moment, though, the Duke made a sound and struggled to get out of Ross’s and Penford’s arms. ‘What? What happened?’

  ‘You lost consciousness, Papa,’ Ross told him. ‘We’re bringing you to your room.’

  ‘Nonsense. Must be—we are giving a ball. Perfectly fine.’ He stumbled and Ross caught him before he lost his balance.

  Genna spoke up. ‘Your butler has sent for your physician. You should lie down until he comes.’

  The Duke peered at her as if never having seen her before, then the puzzlement on his face cleared. ‘Oh, I remember you.’

  ‘See?’ She smiled at the Duke. ‘That is a good sign. You remember me. But you continue to be unsteady on your feet. Best to wait for your physician.

  ‘Come on.’ She stepped forward and took his arm. ‘If you feel dizzy you may simply hang on to me.’

  ‘I do feel dizzy,’ he murmured.

  He was inside the door of his room when his valet appeared. ‘They said below stairs that His Grace took ill.’

  ‘A little spell, that is all,’ His Grace said.

  The valet lost no time in getting him in the room and over to his bed. Ross remained with him.

  Genna walked back to the hall.

  ‘I was amazed he would follow your orders,’ Penford said.

  She slid him a smile. ‘So was I. Sometimes people do, though.’ She peeked in the room where the valet and Ross were convincing his father to lie down. ‘I hope he is not seriously ill.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Penford closed the door all but a crack. His voice turned low. ‘We should not like to lose him.’

  Another death for Penford to endure? How hard for him. ‘You must know the Duke well.’

  He shrugged. ‘I know Ross well. The Duke is too busy and too steeped in politics to be known well. I do not believe he ever spoke to me until I inherited my title.’

  ‘Ross is so unlike that,’ she said.

  He nodded in agreement. ‘According to Ross, his father was never like that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  He peeked through the crack in the door. ‘They are dressing him for bed,’ he said before answering her question. ‘According to Ross, his father was light-hearted before he inherited the title. He and Ross’s mother were always taking Ross to some new place for some new adventure. His father was game for anything, apparently. His mother, too.’

  ‘Did you know Ross’s mother?’ she asked.

  Penford shook his head. ‘I met her once, but by then she was ill and much altered, Ross said.’

  She glanced away. She had no memory of her own mother and her father had never bothered with her at all.

  ‘Let us hope he does not lose his father as well,’ she murmured.

  Penford’s face was grim.

  Ross came out the door. ‘He is in bed resting. His valet will stay until the physician arrives. I should return to the guests. Apprise them of his condition.’

  ‘And the Duchess. She will be worried,’ Genna said.

  Ross frowned.

  ‘What does that frown mean?’ she asked.

  ‘She should be here,’ he said bitterly. ‘Not trying to salvage her social event.’

  Another less-than-ideal marriage? Genna was not surprised.

  ‘Everyone will still be at supper,’ she said. ‘While you go to the Duchess, shall I tell the guests in the other rooms what occurred and of your father’s present status?’

  Ross did not answer right away.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Penford said.

  Ross threaded her arm though his. ‘Come with me. Stay by my side.’

  At this moment, if they were truly betrothed, she would be expected to stay by his side. Oddly enough, at this moment, it was also where she most wanted to be.

  * * *

  Although the Duchess had wanted the ball to go on in spite of her husband’s sudden malaise, no one wished to dance and pretend to enjoy themselves while the host of the party had taken to his bed.

  So Ross stood where his father would have stood, at the Duchess’s side, while one after the other, the guests approached to say goodbye and to extend their good wishes to the Duke.

  In the midst of all this, the doctor arrived and, since the Duchess showed no inclination to accompany the physician to her husband’s room, Ross accepted that duty, as well. He managed only the briefest goodnight to Genna, a mere glance as he hurried behind the doctor.

  After examining him, the doctor told his father, ‘It is your heart. We have talked of this before. You must curtail your activity. Now it is imperative that you rest. For at least a month.’

  ‘A month!’ the Duke cried. ‘I cannot rest. There is much to do in Parliament. And my duties to the wedding of Princess Charlotte—I will be expected to participate.’

  The doctor was unfazed by these excuses. ‘If you fail to rest, another episode like this one could put a period to your existence.’

  Ross’s father crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips like a sulking child.

  The doctor stepped away from the bed. ‘I will stop in to see how you are faring tomorrow, but now I am very desirous of returning to my bed.’

  ‘We are grateful you came,’ Ross said, extending his hand.

  The doctor shook it. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  Ross walked him to the door. Ross was also eager to get some sleep.

  His father called to him. ‘Ross?’

  He turned. ‘Yes, Father?’

  ‘You must take over for me.’

  Ross knew this even before the doctor gave his diagnosis. ‘Yes, whatever you require, but sleep now. I’ll come in the morning. Tell me then what you need me to do.’

  * * *

  The next day instead of Ross coming to pick up Genna for her painting lesson, he sent a message and a carriage, explaining why he could not go with her. She understood. Goodness! His father was ill; what else could he do? He promised to call upon her in the afternoon.

  When she arrived at the studio, Vespery was disappointed that Ross was not there. ‘I was going to have him pose for you. You are ready to try a portrait.’

  The portrait seemed suddenly much les
s important to her than before.

  ‘I could paint you,’ she said.

  ‘No, you. Paint you.’ He brought over a mirror and set it up where she could look at herself and her canvas.

  Genna began as he’d taught her to begin on other paintings. Make a few lines as a guide, a rough idea of the shape of her head, where to place her eyes, nose and mouth. At each step, he stopped his own work and taught her what she needed to know next. What colours to mix for skin pigment, what colours for shadow and highlights. How to block in the colours, then how to refine them. By the end of the day she had a portrait of herself in a rough, unpolished form.

  ‘This is a very good effort,’ Vespery said. ‘A very good effort, indeed.’

  She wondered if Ross would be pleased.

  ‘I am becoming used to the paints,’ she said to Vespery.

  * * *

  When the carriage came to take her home that day, all she could think of was seeing Ross that afternoon.

  She entered Tinmore’s town house more subdued than at any other time when returning from her art lessons. She’d barely stepped into the hall when Lorene came down the stairs.

  ‘Where were you?’ Lorene’s voice was angry. ‘You were not with Rossdale. I saw you leave. You were alone.’

  ‘He sent a carriage for me,’ she stalled.

  ‘You did not meet him, though, did you?’ Lorene accused. ‘Lord Tinmore said it was Rossdale, not the Duke, who met with some of the other lords to discuss the changes in coinage.’

  Parliament would vote on changing the currency to a fixed gold standard. She’d heard gentlemen talking about it at the ball last night.

  Lorene glared at her. ‘If Rossdale was there, he was not with you.’

  ‘No, he was not with me,’ Genna admitted. Her art lessons were another secret she kept from her sister.

  ‘Then where did you go alone in Rossdale’s carriage?’ Lorene demanded.

  Genna glanced around her. The footman who had opened the door for her was standing stony-faced, but in hearing distance. ‘May we go up to your sitting room? I will explain everything there.’

  Lorene answered her by simply turning and climbing the stairs again. When they reached the sitting room, Lorene remained standing.

  ‘Explain, then,’ Lorene said.

  ‘I have been taking lessons in oil painting,’ Genna said.

  Lorene’s brows rose. ‘Oil painting?’

  ‘From Mr Vespery. Do you remember him? He was at Her Grace’s musicale. He is painting portraits of the Duke and Duchess.’

  Lorene shook her head in disbelief. ‘Lessons? With a man? Unchaperoned?’

  ‘Well, Ross was with me until today, but, I assure you, Mr Vespery is merely my art teacher, not my paramour.’

  Lorene’s eyes scolded. ‘Genna! Honestly! You are much too free-speaking.’

  Genna lowered her gaze. ‘I am sorry, Lorene. I should not have been so sharp.’

  Lorene waved a hand. ‘Never mind that. Whatever possessed you?’

  ‘To get art lessons?’ How much could she explain without telling all of it? ‘We’ve been surrounded by astounding paintings in this house, at Tinmore Hall, in every house we’ve visited. I want to paint like that.’

  ‘Genna, those paintings were done by masters. You cannot expect to paint like them.’

  Lorene’s words stung, but Genna wanted her to understand. She took her sister’s hand and pulled her over to the chairs. ‘I love it, Lorene. And I am progressing very quickly at it. Please do not make it so I cannot continue.’ In other words, tell Lord Tinmore.

  ‘But why? How did you even start it?’ Lorene asked.

  ‘One day I mentioned to Ross that I would like to learn to paint in oils and the next day he took me to Mr Vespery’s studio. Ross bought me all the supplies and paid for the lessons.’

  Lorene looked shocked. ‘You cannot accept that!’

  ‘Why not?’ Genna countered. ‘He is my fiancé. If he gave me a diamond bracelet, you would think that a fine thing.’ If he were really her fiancé, she should say.

  Lorene’s eyebrows knitted. ‘I do not know. In some ways Lord Rossdale seems the perfect husband for you, but it is difficult to see you as a duchess.’

  On that Genna could agree. She would make a horrible duchess.

  Genna leaned forward. ‘Please do not spoil this for me, Lorene. I am doing no harm and I do love it so.’

  Lorene glanced away. ‘I suppose…’

  Genna sprang from her chair and kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘You do understand! It is like your music.’

  ‘Like my music,’ Lorene said wistfully. ‘Like if I could take lessons… ’

  ‘You could!’ Genna seized her sister’s hands. ‘London is the perfect place to find a wonderful piano master. We can ask if anyone knows of one. I’ll ask Ross. Or Lord Penford.’

  ‘No!’ Lorene said sharply. ‘It is a lovely idea, but I cannot do it.’

  ‘You could.’ Genna sat again, but kept hold of Lorene’s hands. ‘Ask Lord Tinmore. He likes to do things for you.’ But not for anyone else. She shook her sister’s hands. ‘Think of it! You already play beautifully, but you were mostly self-taught. There might be all sorts of things you could learn.’

  ‘Perhaps…’ Lorene glanced away.

  * * *

  When Ross called that afternoon Genna met him in the drawing room. Seeing him standing, waiting for her, she had an impulse to rush into his arms. It stunned her. The events of the previous night, seeing Ross so distressed, it had changed something in her.

  ‘Ross,’ she managed.

  He walked towards her and took her hand. ‘Forgive the message this morning. I hope you got to your lesson with no difficulties.’

  ‘None at all.’ She led him to the sofa and they sat. ‘But, tell me, how is your father?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Weaker than he will admit. The doctor said he must rest for at least a month. The only way I could get him to agree to do that was to take over whatever of his duties I am able to perform.’

  ‘Of course you must.’ But she felt sad for him. It must be a great deal of responsibility thrust upon him so suddenly.

  ‘I must renege on my promise to take you wherever you wished to go,’ he said.

  She put her hand on his. ‘Do not fret over that.’

  ‘Tell me.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘What did you paint today?’

  The stress on his face put all thoughts of painting out of her mind. She did not wish to cause him worry so she exclaimed, ‘It was the very best day! Vespery started teaching me to paint portraits. At last!’

  ‘Who did you paint?’ he asked.

  She’d not mention that he was supposed to have been her first model. ‘I painted myself. Vespery gave me a mirror.’

  ‘I would like to see that,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘No, you would not. It is rather awful at the moment, but I will improve it.’ She took a breath. ‘I can master this, Ross. I can paint portraits. Thanks to you, I will be able to earn money.’

  ‘And that is what you desire more than anything,’ he stated as if finishing her sentence.

  She sobered. ‘But how are you faring?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘I can manage. I suppose I absorbed more of my father’s thinking than I guessed. I still hope to break away one of these days and come and visit Vespery’s studio.’

  ‘Whenever you are able,’ she said. ‘I would welcome you.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ross returned to the Kessington town house after calling upon Genna. The footman attending the hall told him his father wished him to come to his bedchamber.

  Ross knocked and was admitted.

  He walked to his father’s bedside. ‘How do you fare
today, Father?’

  His father, always so strong and commanding by nature, looked shrunken and pale against the bed linens. ‘I’m tired, is all. Merely need a little rest.’

  ‘The doctor listened to your heart. You need to heed him,’ Ross countered.

  His father made a dismissive gesture. ‘I know. I know. I am doing as he says.’

  His father’s valet, who was in the room folding clothes, spoke up. ‘Your Grace, I dare say the physician would not have approved of your getting up and working at your desk for over an hour.’ His father’s desk was in his study attached to the library on the floor below.

  ‘You may leave us, Stone,’ his father snapped.

  The valet bowed and left the room.

  ‘Gossips worse than an old woman,’ Ross’s father muttered.

  ‘He is concerned about you.’ Ross’s brows knitted. ‘You must rest, Father. It has only been a day since your spell.’

  ‘Sitting at my desk did not seem such an exertion,’ his father said.

  ‘But walking there. Climbing stairs. Stay in this room. Please. I can take care of what you cannot.’ What other choice did Ross have?

  ‘Very well. Very well,’ His father gestured to a chair by his bedside. ‘Sit, my son.’

  Ross sat.

  His father glanced away as if uncertain what he wished to say. Finally he spoke. ‘This spell has alarmed me, if you must know. Your grandfather died of such a spell. He was about my age.’

  Yes. Everything changed when his grandfather died.

  ‘It is time for you to settle down, my son,’ he said.

  Ross’s brows rose. ‘I am. I am betrothed—’

  His father interrupted. ‘But you plan to marry in autumn! I may not be here in autumn. I do not know how long I will be here. I would like to know if there will be an heir to the title before I die.’ He leaned forward in the bed. ‘Get on with it! Get a special licence and marry right away. What is this waiting?’

  This deception of his and Genna’s suddenly felt like a foolish mistake.

  His father’s voice rose. ‘It is nonsensical to wait. Are you wishing to get out of it? Believe me, Constance and I would be delighted to see you look elsewhere. But if it must be this Summerfield chit, marry her now, even though I doubt she is up to the rigours of becoming a duchess!’