Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

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Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields) Page 22

by Diane Gaston


  Ross disagreed. Genna would make a duchess unlike any other. The problem was, if he truly wished to make her his wife, he would kill her dreams. His mother’s dreams had been dashed; Ross would not see the same for Genna.

  She’d become that important to him.

  Ross answered the Duke defensively. ‘Stop trying to control when I marry and what I do.’ He rose from the chair. ‘I will take over whatever duties you need me for. I will do that for your sake and for the sake of the title and all the people dependent upon us, but allow me my own choice of who to marry and when.’

  ‘You are a disappointment to me!’ his father shouted. He pressed a hand to his chest and sank back against the pillows.

  ‘Calm yourself, Papa!’ Ross cried in alarm. He softened his tone. ‘Just rest. Trust me. You will get well. All will work out as it should.’

  His father turned his face away.

  Ross stepped back. Curse his idea of this false betrothal!

  ‘Rest, Papa,’ he said again. ‘I’ll come see you later.’

  His father continued to ignore him. Ross turned and strode out of the bedchamber.

  The Duchess stood right outside the door. She joined him as he walked away.

  ‘I am not in favour of your marrying right away,’ she said.

  He did not look at her. ‘Eavesdropping, Constance?

  She huffed. ‘I was walking by. Your voices were raised. I could not help but hear.’

  Ross did not believe her.

  ‘You can change your mind about marrying Miss Summerfield,’ the Duchess went on. ‘I am certain she can be persuaded to cry off. She has not the vaguest notion of what it will take to be a duchess. She is entirely unsuitable.’

  ‘It is none of your affair, ma’am,’ he warned.

  She continued anyway. ‘Now that your father is ill, you can see how important it is to marry well, to have a dignified, capable woman for a wife, not a frivolous girl with a scandalous upbringing.’

  What had his father ever seen in this woman? Ross wondered. She was all calculation and no heart.

  He stopped and faced her. ‘Take care, Constance. If my father’s health fails completely—if he dies—you will want to be in my good graces. I will be Duke then.’

  He left her and did not look behind.

  * * *

  For the next three weeks, Ross barely had time to think about his father’s wishes and the Duchess’s mean-spiritedness. He was too busy going from one task to another. There always seemed to be problems on the estates, decisions to make about finances, Parliamentary bills to advocate for, or Court functions to attend.

  There were more Court functions than a typical Season. All to celebrate the upcoming wedding of Princess Charlotte. To these functions he was required to escort the Duchess. They were dreary affairs.

  When he could Ross included Genna in his attendance to other parties, but those were infrequent. There were one or two functions which she attended with Lord Tinmore and her sister.

  All in all, though, he saw very little of her.

  He missed her.

  He stopped in at Vespery’s studio a few times. It was clear she was thriving there. Her portraiture was remarkably skilled, he thought. He coveted the self-portrait she painted. Perhaps he could own it, to remember her by.

  He found himself dreading the day they must part. Too often he wished their betrothal to be real.

  But it was time for him to face truth. She did not want to marry. Even if she did want it, marrying him would rob her of everything she desired—to be an artist. To answer to no one but herself. To live free of constraints.

  Life with him would be nothing but constraints.

  His father gained strength, enough that the doctor allowed him to participate in Princess Charlotte’s wedding, but afterwards Ross must continue to assume the lion’s share of his father’s burdens.

  On the day of the wedding, his father seemed his old robust self. Perhaps the excitement over this event would carry him through.

  Ross had not been included in the wedding invitation, but ladies and gentlemen were allowed to stand in the entrance hall of Buckingham House to greet the Princess and other royal personages as they came out to their carriages. Ross took the opportunity to escort Genna and Lady Tinmore to the event. Also in their party were their other sister, her husband and his parents. And Dell. To everyone’s delight, Tinmore begged off, unable to bear the exertion of the event.

  When the royals emerged, Genna’s excitement burst from her and spilled over all of them.

  ‘Look! There is the Queen! I never thought to see the Queen!’ She jumped up and down.

  Princess Charlotte appeared.

  ‘Tess! Look!’ Genna cried. ‘Look at the Princess’s gown. It shimmers!’

  She commented on all of the Royal Princesses, as well. Ross was surprised she recognised them.

  ‘I’ve seen engravings of their portraits in magazines,’ she explained.

  * * *

  Afterwards they all walked to the Northdons’ town house for a breakfast.

  ‘It is said that Charlotte’s choice of a husband is a love match,’ Tess remarked over the meal.

  ‘Yes, but what about Prince Leopold?’ Genna retorted. ‘Surely the prospect of becoming the Queen’s consort had much to do with his agreeing to the marriage. Much higher status than the prospect of ruling a duchy.’ Leopold was one of the German princes of a duchy that had been taken over by Napoleon. ‘Did he fall in love with the Princess or with the idea of being the husband of an extremely wealthy queen?’

  ‘One can fall in love even if a marriage has political advantages, can one not?’ Tess asked. ‘Look at you and Rossdale. People will say you marry him because of his rank.’

  Genna reddened. ‘I assure you, Ross’s rank is of no consequence to me.’

  Again, their deception reared its ugly head. These good people thought them to be in love, thought they would marry. Ross could now admit to himself that he loved Genna, but he would never marry her.

  * * *

  After leaving the Northdons’ breakfast, Genna walked with Ross through the streets of Mayfair to Tinmore’s town house on Curzon Street. Lorene had left earlier, escorted home by Lord Penford. It was already dusk and the streets were a lovely shade of lavender against a pink sky.

  The exhilaration of the day had settled into melancholy and Genna fought an urge to simply burst into tears. To see the royal family had been thrilling, but now sadness swept over her. How could she explain it to Ross when she did not understand it herself?

  She forced herself not to dwell on it. ‘I rather hope they will be happy.’

  ‘Who?’ Ross asked.

  She held his arm. ‘Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold. They have little chance, of course, but it would be nice if they could be happy. Goodness knows, Princess Charlotte’s parents were not happy with each other.’

  It was well known that the Prince Regent and his wife, Caroline of Brunswick, detested each other from first sight.

  ‘You cannot judge every marriage after that of the Prince Regent. Think of the King and Queen. Theirs has been a long and, by all reports, a happy marriage.’

  He was right, of course, but she resisted any evidence contrary to what she believed. ‘Well, he turned insane. That can’t be happy.’

  ‘You won’t hear of a happy marriage, will you?’ His voice turned low.

  ‘There are far more unhappy ones, you must agree,’ she said. ‘Better to be like my mother and take a lover.’

  He said nothing for several steps. ‘Is that what you plan to do? Take a lover?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said without enthusiasm, although what other man could she possibly want for a lover besides Ross? ‘It seemed to be what made my mother happy.’ Even at
the expense of her children’s happiness, but Genna would turn into a watering pot if she thought about that too much. ‘What about your parents? Were they happy?’

  He frowned. ‘For a long time, very happy. Until my father inherited the title.’ He paused. ‘The revolution in France, becoming a duchess, it was all too much for my mother, not to mention my father’s complete preoccupation with the role. It killed her.’

  ‘Oh, Ross!’ She leaned against him in sympathy. ‘Could unhappiness truly kill her?’

  He shrugged. ‘She contracted a fever, but I believe she could have fought harder to live if she’d wanted to.’

  ‘Both our mothers left us,’ she murmured, blinking away tears, but it was not losing her mother that most pained her now. It was knowing she and Ross would have to part. In many ways, she’d already lost him.

  Like his mother, she realised. She’d lost Ross to his new duties just as his mother had lost the Duke.

  She continued to hold on to him tightly, as if that would keep him with her for ever.

  They walked for half a street before he spoke again. ‘We should talk—’ he began.

  That sounded ominous.

  ‘My father’s illness has changed things. He is pressing for us to marry right away. He wants to know the succession is secured in case his heart gives way completely. You might say he wants us to get on with it.’

  With creating an heir, he meant.

  He went on. ‘Father doesn’t know, of course, that we will not marry—’

  ‘Do you want me to cry off sooner?’ She tried to keep her voice from cracking.

  He’d be free to marry someone else, then.

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I tell you this only so you will be prepared if he speaks to you. I want us to continue as we planned. To make certain you are ready to become the artist you wish to be.’

  To ultimately part in the autumn, when everyone expected they would marry. Would he marry someone else then? He must, she thought. What other choice did he have?

  She made herself speak brightly. ‘Yes! Let us enjoy the rest of the Season. You will have more time, will you not, now that your father is more recovered? You must let me paint you.’

  ‘I would be honoured,’ he said, but his eyes looked as sad as she felt inside.

  * * *

  The next morning Ross called upon Vespery before Genna was expected. His housekeeper sent him to Vespery’s studio where the artist was at work on a portrait.

  ‘Ross, my boy, how good to see you.’ Vespery put down his brushes and palette and greeted him. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Without Miss Summerfield?’ He gestured to the seating area where Ross used to sit to watch Genna paint.

  ‘I am here about Miss Summerfield,’ Ross said, taking a chair. ‘How is she faring?’

  ‘She progresses very rapidly, Ross.’ He motioned for Ross to rise again. ‘Come. I’ll show you.’ He walked over to several canvases leaning against the wall. He turned one of them, Genna’s self-portrait. ‘Here is her first effort at portraiture. It is competent, is it not?’

  Ross thought it looked very much like Genna. It even captured some of her irrepressible personality.

  ‘I am no judge of competence,’ Ross admitted. ‘It is very like her, though.’

  ‘Yes. And that was her first effort.’ He walked over to another canvas still on an easel and removed the cloth covering it. ‘Here is another.’

  It was the housekeeper and even Ross could tell Genna had improved her technique.

  ‘The woman’s personality shows, does it not?’ said Vespery.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I believe there is nothing she could not paint if she wished to.’ Vespery covered the painting again and walked back to the chairs.

  Ross sat with him. ‘Painting is what Miss Summerfield wishes to do and I want to make certain she can do it. So I have a proposition.’

  Vespery’s brows rose. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I will continue to pay you to take her on, but as an assistant, not a student.’ He paused to gauge the artist’s reaction. The man still looked interested. ‘I will pay her salary, too, but she mustn’t know it comes from me. It must seem as if you are paying her. I want this plan to continue until she has enough commissions to set up her own studio.’

  Vespery looked puzzled. ‘But you are to marry her, are you not?’

  Ross stopped to think. Could he trust Vespery with the whole truth?

  The artist’s expression turned to alarm. ‘Do not tell me you are planning to renege on your promise!’

  ‘No,’ Ross said. ‘Not me. But lately I have thought perhaps—perhaps Miss Summerfield would like to cry off. The painting makes her much happier than being a duchess would do. I think that is beginning to dawn on her. When—if—she decides to end our engagement, I want her to have what she most desires—to support herself as an artist.’

  ‘An artist’s assistant makes a pittance,’ Vespery cried. ‘She cannot support herself on it!’

  Ross lifted a stilling hand. ‘You and I might know what an artist’s assistant would make in salary, but she does not. I will pay enough for her to live comfortably.’

  Vespery stared at him for a long time before answering. ‘I will do it, of course. I would be a fool not to. I can double my output, be paid and have a skilled paid assistant at no cost to myself.’ He leaned towards Ross. ‘Are you certain, my lord, that Miss Summerfield would prefer art over marriage to you? I am not convinced.’

  ‘I am certain,’ Ross answered.

  And he was also certain he wanted it for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Three days later Genna put on her gloves, ready to be transported to Vespery’s studio. It was time for the carriage to come and pick her up and she waited in the anteroom.

  A knock sounded at the door. The footman announced, ‘Your carriage, miss.’

  She hurried out to the hall and was happily surprised. Ross stood there, hat in hand, looking magnificent in his perfectly tailored black coat, white neckcloth and buff-coloured pantaloons.

  ‘Ross!’ she cried, stilling an impulse to rush into his arms. Instead she approached him with her hands extended.

  He clasped them and gave her a peck on the cheek. No doubt she would feel the sensation of his lips against her skin for the rest of the day.

  ‘I was able to take the time.’ There was only the hint of a smile on his face. ‘Much has slowed down now that the Princess’s wedding is over and my father is feeling better.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She filled with hope. ‘Will I see more of you, then?’

  ‘As often as I can manage,’ he responded, as she took his arm and they walked to the door.

  The footman opened it and they stepped outside.

  ‘You have your curricle!’ she cried. ‘It has been weeks since we were out in your curricle.’

  He helped her up into the seat. ‘I warn you, it is chilly today. I am regretting leaving my topcoat at home.’

  ‘I do not care.’ She cared about nothing else except that he was with her.

  He took the ribbons and his tiger jumped on the back.

  As soon as they started, Genna turned to him. ‘Oh, Ross! I have some wonderful news!’

  He glanced from the road to her. ‘What is it?’

  She could hardly get the words out. ‘Vespery wishes to hire me to be his assistant. He will pay me a handsome amount, enough for me to live on.’

  ‘That is wonderful news.’ His voice did not sound as enthusiastic as she’d anticipated.

  But, then, she did not feel as excited as she’d sounded.

  She went on. ‘I must tell him when I am ready, he said, but I am able to take as little or as much time as I wish.’

  ‘That is good, is it
not?’ he responded.

  ‘Yes. Very good.’ She swallowed. ‘It—it means we can break the betrothal whenever we wish.’

  ‘I suppose it does.’ His voice turned low. ‘When do you wish it?’

  ‘Never!’ she cried, threading her arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder. ‘I wish everything could remain exactly as it is this minute.’

  ‘Riding in a chilly curricle, you mean?’ he quipped, but his throat was thick.

  She tried to smile. ‘You know what I mean.’

  He turned on to Piccadilly. ‘I was hoping you would want a break from the studio. A little outing. Two outings, actually.’

  ‘Will you have that much time?’ She hoped.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I still want you to sit for a portrait for me,’ she said.

  He turned to gaze at her. ‘I will make the time.’

  * * *

  When they reached Vespery’s studio, Ross handed the ribbons to his tiger who would take the curricle back to the stable until it came time to pick them up again. Ross knocked at the door and the housekeeper admitted them.

  The housekeeper broke into a smile when she saw Genna. ‘Good afternoon, miss,’ the woman said brightly. ‘And to you, sir.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Shaw!’ Genna turned to him. ‘I painted a portrait of Mrs Shaw. She was my second one.’

  ‘Did you?’ He knew it, of course, having called upon Vespery the day he made his bargain with him. Ross glanced at Mrs Shaw. ‘And have you seen it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, my lord.’ The housekeeper beamed. ‘Miss Summerfield made me look so very nice.’

  ‘I merely paint what I see,’ Genna said. ‘Lord Rossdale has agreed to sit for me next. Is that not brave of him?’

  Brave because it would put them in each other’s company for an extended period. They’d not been together so much since he’d kissed her, since he’d realised how much he wanted her.

  The housekeeper patted Genna’s arm. ‘You will do a fine job of it, miss.’

  They left Mrs Shaw to her duties and walked to the back of the house to the studio.

 

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