The Hourglass (22 page)

Now who was living a fantasy? The peculiar trinket—if it existed outside Ardeth’s imagination—was lost in another country entirely, across the sea. The odds of finding it, though, were better than those of her other option. A man like Ardeth, worldly wise and wonderful—loving silly red-haired Imogene Hopewell? Ha! But she could try.

She knew he cared for her and wanted her happiness, but that was not love. Neither was sex, but it was a start. He already noticed her: her skin, her hair, her lips, her breasts. She was no green girl who could not recognize a man’s desire when she saw it in his obsidian eyes and hear it in his ragged breathing. She’d seen it often enough in Elgin, when slaking that desire was about the only use he ever had for Genie. Elgin had not been a gentle lover, nor even a satisfying one—other women had whispered that pleasure was possible for both partners in the intimate act!—but Genie had learned to recognize his amorous moods the same way she watched for his drunken rages or morning-after moodiness. She had also learned to find some excuse to avoid her husband’s embrace whenever she could, a headache, the accounts, her courses. Now she was going to use that knowledge of a woman’s power to bring a man to his knees, or to her bed, despite whatever foolish notions her husband held. Just let him try to claim a headache, the accounts, his…cronies!

That was her plan, to succeed by seduction. She ignored the existence of the scores of women far more beautiful, far more experienced in pleasing a man, and far more dashing than she was. She was his wife.

On the other hand, maybe he could grow to love her mind, which, she admitted, was not a quarter as quick as his. Or her character. She was working on forgiving her sister, and had written a polite thank-you to her mother. Genie knew Ardeth appreciated good deeds, and for every toy and treat and book she sent her little nephew, she sent a dozen to the nearest orphanage, and not just to impress Ardeth. She also went in person to play with the children and read to them, for her own pleasure. Little Peter was seldom well enough for her visits, although he adored seeing Olive perform.

Genie realized she could not do more than look her best and be on her best behavior. But she could try to spend more time with the earl, so he’d be aware of both her physical and mental attributes, such as they were, and her affection for him. According to the novels she’d read and Marie’s chatter, liking was the best aphrodisiac.

She sought him out whenever she was not at the orphanage or scouring antiquities shops and jewelers for an hourglass brooch. If there was one such gewgaw, she figured, there must be others made from the same mold. Perhaps her husband could not tell the difference in his addled state.

She wanted oysters; could he take her to dine at the hotel that served the best? The smells of the city were upsetting her stomach; a drive in the country would refresh her. Her father had not written; what did Ardeth advise? Her effort to learn German needed practice, her sketch of Ardeth needed another sitting, and what did he think of the Corn Laws?

To get Ardeth alone meant she had to send Miss Hadley and James Vinross off on other errands. They did not seem to mind. Neither did Ardeth, although he was amused to think she was advancing the other couple’s courtship.

Genie took to holding his hand, touching his face, bestowing a good-night kiss on his cheek. He never seemed to mind that, either. He did not offer more, but he accepted her shows of affection, after his first surprise.

Was she making progress? Genie hoped so, for they’d be leaving town soon, and a man could disappear in the country far more easily than among the crowded streets. Ardeth had been studying all kinds of agricultural treatises, she knew, so was liable to immerse himself in his lands once they reached Ardsley Keep. And there would be less than four months left.

Marie lowered the necklines of Genie’s gowns. Miss Hadley tutored her singing voice. Cook kept the trifles coming. The Randolphs kept the fires lit. Genie did, too, the flickers of passion she was hoping to kindle.

She held private waltz parties just for him, with a small hired orchestra seated behind a screen. Miss Hadley and James sometimes joined them, and James’s sister and her betrothed, with his mother smiling happily over the lobster patties. Genie suspected Marie and Campbell and the Randolphs danced in the adjoining parlor, so she left the doors open for the sound to carry.

At least Ardeth had to hold her while the music played. She swayed closer, clung tighter, smiled more suggestively—and still the clunch left her outside her bedroom door. A good-night kiss seemed as far as he was willing to go, and not one inch closer.

What in the name of all the saints was a woman to do, beg on her knees? Hide in his bed? Weep? Begging would embarrass both of them, and Genie had tried waiting in the sitting room adjoining his chamber. The man must have extraordinary hearing, or smelled her perfume, or whatever. He never came, not when she was there. As for tears, they were a weakling’s weapon. Ardeth would be a comfort, but he would not be aroused.

He liked her. He cared for her. He enjoyed being with her. Genie was certain of those things. She was equally as positive that he was attracted to her. He raised his eyes with effort and manners when her bodice shrank. He swallowed hard when she licked her lips. He never felt the cold when they danced. He smiled more.

And he stayed on his side of the door. Perhaps her burgeoning belly was repulsive to him, or the fact that the babe was not his, despite his avowals. Or perhaps the man was a saint after all.

Genie was plotting stronger measures—accidentally walking in on her husband at his bath, pretending a mouse was hiding under her bed, dancing naked on the dining room table, by Jupiter; she was that desperate—when her plans suffered a setback.

Major Lord Willeford and his wife returned to London after a visit to her father in Cornwall. Her father being a marquess, to say nothing of Willeford’s sister’s husband being a duke, the pair had an elevated opinion of themselves, and a low opinion of Genie and Ardeth.

Willeford knew better than to challenge Ardeth to his face. The jumped-up foreigner was too popular at the clubs and too dashed dangerous looking to take on head-to-head. One dark glance from Ardeth had younger men fleeing, and older men minding their tongues.

Willeford’s own tongue was tied. He could not mention the actions of the earl in the late battle, not wanting his own behavior examined. But he could start asking questions, like where Ardeth’s money came from, and where, precisely, his sympathies lay. Here he was, giving money away hand over fist to the poor, just like some revolutionary. Why, he might have been a Bonapartist during the war, supporting the filthy French. After all, no one had seen him before the last victory.

For that matter, no one had ever heard of him or his title. The earldom might have been an ancient one, but no one knew of any Coryn Ardsley, his father, or his grandfather. Where did he go to school? Who were his chums? They had only his vague answers of travel and investments.

Faugh. Now that he was in England, all Ardeth seemed to care about were the lower classes. If he was not a traitor to his country, Willeford hinted, he was a traitor to his class.
Gentlemen, especially those who owned mills and mines, began to listen.

Lady Willeford did her part in the whispering campaign. She mentioned to a few of her oldest, dearest friends that she did not care to attend the same gatherings as climbers and fast women. When pressed, she would not name names, but she did hint at a widow bride whose condition was as scandalous as the identity of the child’s father.

Soon ladies were staring at Genie’s middle, talking behind her back. Her sister defended her, Genie was happy to hear, as did Lady Vinross, but some things were simply indefensible, and harder to hide. Fewer invitations were delivered. Fewer women sought her company.

“How soon can we go into the country?” she asked Ardeth one night after dinner. Miss Hadley and James were singing duets at the pianoforte while Genie stitched at her needlework. Ardeth was reading. He’d be going out later, Genie knew, to yet more political gatherings, rallies in support of workers, meetings with denizens of London’s underworld who plied their trades at night. The dangers he faced were yet another reason to leave town. “I thought your work here in London was almost done.”

He looked up and smiled to see that she had her feet tucked under her, like a little girl. “Almost.”

“Surely you have convinced everyone whose mind is open enough to change. The others will never be swayed to your causes. And I know you have trained assistants ready to carry on when you are gone, so that is no reason to stay longer.”

“Why, are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Less every day, I am afraid.”

“The social rounds do grow tiresome. I cannot imagine what the fribbles find to speak about, seeing the same people every day.”

“They talk about us. There is gossip, I understand, sly whispers that place my new acquaintances in awkward positions. We should leave.”

“Concede defeat by running away?”

“It would not be cowardly to go visit my parents. Quite the contrary, but Mama has asked twice now for our visit. No one would think it odd in us to go, especially with so many of the
ton
leaving for their own estates. And it is past time to get your country house in order, too. Those distant relations of yours who live there sent a small pair of candlesticks for our marriage. I took that to be a token of their small regard. I doubt they are pleased to have their places usurped, with a new master and mistress appearing out of the blue. For all you know, they could be robbing the estate blind while we stay on in town.”

“No, I thought about the chances for ill feelings and felonies, so I installed stewards who report to me, and other men who report on them. All is in order. Everyone will be amply compensated.”

“Very well, but what about the village school for girls I was going to establish, and the pottery for returning soldiers? There is much work to be done.”

“You are right, my dear. We should think about going while the weather holds. You will not wish to travel later, and I admit I am curious to see Ardsley Keep.”

“It is odd to think of an earl not knowing his ancestral lands.”

Sir Coryn had claimed those acres with his sword, defended that castle with his blood. He knew them. “Oh, I have a good idea of the place. But you will want to refurbish it to your tastes.”

“And yours. I know you will want to install a bathing room with heating pipes, if one does not already exist.”

He smiled at how well she understood his needs, or thought she did. “Yes, we have much to do. Still, I am not content to let one man’s ugliness besmear the good we are doing. I have heard the rumors, you see, noticed
doubts on men’s faces in the clubs and coffeehouses. I do not wish to let James Vinross fight my battles, nor engage in name-calling like a grubby schoolboy.”

“You will not challenge Willeford, will you?”

“To swords or pistols? Hell, no. That is, heavens, I am not that bloodthirsty. Mayhap I shall stick Willeford’s wagging tongue to the roof of his mouth.” He smiled at her gasp. “No, I have one more important meeting next week. I will use the time to decide what to do about the maggot. Then we can go.”

Before the week was half-gone, Genie’s sister, Lorraine, came to call. Lady Cormack gave her card to Randolph, but rushed past the butler when she heard Genie’s footsteps. Lady Ardeth was not the one she wished to see, however.

“Is your husband home, Genie? I must see him.”

“Why? Is a mob coming after him?” Genie’s words were only half in jest.

“This is no time for levity. I need the man. My son is worse and the doctors have given up. They blame me for stopping the bloodlettings but Ardeth was right—their leeches were not helping the poor angel. He was better for a few days. You saw yourself when he played with the puppet you brought.”

“I thought he had better color, more energy.”

“And his appetite improved. But last night he suffered another bout of wheezing and took a turn for the worse. I am at my wit’s end. What if he cannot recover from the next time?”

Genie poured her sister a cup of hot tea. “But Ardeth is no physician.”

Lorraine left her cup on the table. “I have heard wonders. Lady Vinross, and, yes, even Lady Willeford, say that he worked in the field hospital and saved scores of men. Lady Vinross thinks him an angel, while the major’s wife swears he is a devil. Either way, he saved lives! He must help me now.”

“I do not know if he can,” Genie began.

“He can try! I have no one else to ask.”

Genie sent messengers around to the various clubs and coffeehouses Ardeth was known to visit. She gave Lorraine fresh tea and honey cakes and handkerchiefs to wipe her eyes while they waited.

In moments, it seemed, Ardeth rushed into the room. He knelt in front of Genie before she could rise and took up her hands. “The footman said there was a crisis of some sort, that I was needed at home. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I am fine. I am not the one who needs you.”

As if he’d held his breath the whole way home, Ardeth exhaled. Then he crushed Genie in his arms, rocking her in relief. Any other time she would have been delighted. He really did care for her, in his own muckle-minded way.

“I am fine,” she said. “My sister needs your help.”