The Marrying Season (25 page)

“Genevieve?” Damaris asked, frowning. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Then, to everyone’s surprise, including Genevieve’s, a tear escaped from the corner of her eye.

“Genevieve!” Damaris slid over from her seat at the other end of the sofa and curled her arm around Genevieve’s shoulders, leaning in solicitously. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I don’t know—” Her throat was suddenly choked with tears and she had to swallow hard. She swiped at her eyes. “I am sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Thea slid forward on her chair, reaching out to take her hand. “Is it Myles?”

“He regrets marrying me,” Genevieve burst out, and now the tears began to flow in earnest.

“No! Did he say that?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” Genevieve drew a little hiccuping breath. “But it was obvious! He said I was—” Her stomach clutched. She could not say it, could not reveal that Myles, too, found her cold. She jumped up, feeling somehow defenseless in the face of their comfort. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “He says I am too proud. He wishes I were—other than I am.”

“But what happened? Why did he say all this?” Damaris frowned. “He always seems so . . . pleasant.”

“He is!” The words came out in a wail, and Genevieve stopped, struggling to control her voice. Finally she went on, low and swift, “Myles is the most easygoing of men. I tried to tell him. I tried to tell everyone. I knew it would turn out badly. But I was too . . . too much a coward. I could not keep from snatching at his offer.” She swiped at her tears again, then began to fiddle with the button of her glove. “Everything was too easy. I see that now.”

“I don’t understand. If it was too easy, why is Myles suddenly saying these things?”

“It was easy because he was hiding it!” Genevieve turned and faced Thea and Damaris, her expression bleak. “He is so accommodating; you know how he is. The one you can always count upon to ask a wallflower to dance or to talk to your great-aunt who bores everyone to tears. He is a very
kind
man. He said—he said he tried to turn aside his anger because he knew I was suffering. That he
cajoled me and made jests. And he did, you see. I knew at the time that he was being good to me. But eventually, he could not bear it anymore, I suppose. I—well, I tried to be nicer, too. Really, I did. I was grateful to him; I tried to tell him I was. But, well . . . you know how I am,” she finished with a miserable glance at Damaris.

“Oh, Genevieve . . .” Damaris said, melting in sympathy. “I am so sorry. You were rushed into it, I know. It was not what you wanted; surely he did not expect you to be happy.”

“But I was.” Genevieve sighed. “I was such a goose. I thought everything was going well until all this came up about the note. But now I see that Myles was not happy from the beginning, no matter how hard he tried to be. One cannot will these things. He . . .” Her voice caught a little but she went on, “He said I looked down on him, that I wanted a man like Dursbury, that I preferred Dursbury’s name and title and lineage.”

“Dursbury? Ah.” Thea nodded wisely and shared a smile with Damaris. “He is jealous.”

“Of Dursbury?” Genevieve stared in such astonishment that the other two women burst out laughing. “No. That couldn’t be right. I told him I did not care for Dursbury. He knows I hold the man in contempt.”

“But Myles is a man,” Thea said firmly. “They are very sensitive about this sort of thing, I’ve discovered.”

“That’s true. Alec starts to scowl whenever any man pays me a compliment.”

“Yes, but Alec is mad for you,” Genevieve argued.

“Myles is your husband, and he cares for you. He would not have offered for you otherwise,” Damaris told her. “A man doesn’t just throw away his future happiness because he wants to be a gentleman. It isn’t like offering you his coat.”

“And Dursbury is the man you
chose
to marry,” Thea said. “That is quite different from agreeing to Myles’s offer because you had no other choice.”

Genevieve looked at them. Her chest felt suddenly lighter, less restricted. But after a moment, she sighed and shook her head. “No. I don’t think that could be it. He wasn’t upset with Dursbury, the way Alec is about some man who flirts with you. He was angry at
me
. If you could have heard him, you would know. He holds such resentment! He says I am ungrateful. I’m not, truly, but . . . I cannot be what he wants me to be.”

“But what does he want?” Thea asked.

“I’m not sure. That is how far I am from his ideal. We are so different. It was sheer folly to think we could get along. He wants me to be nicer. Sweeter. He would be happier with someone more like him. Someone sweet and biddable. A woman who just wanted to be his wife, you see, and love him. Someone who would be happy to have him protect her. Not a woman who is prickly and sharp and has a temper. A woman who is . . . not warm.”

“But he knew you for years before he offered for you,” Damaris pointed out.

“He knew what I was like, yes. But I think he did not realize how little he would like being married to such a
woman. I should be the way he wants. Anyone would tell you I am the one who is wrong, not he. But”—Genevieve shook her head, her eyes sad—“I cannot be sweet and kind. I am as I am. It is all I know how to be.” She lifted her chin. “I am a Stafford.”

“So is Alec,” Damaris reminded her gently.

“Yes.” Genevieve smiled faintly. “But an odd sort of Stafford, one with a heart. They do not come along very often. Well, ’tis pointless to talk about it. We are tied together now. And this is the way marriage is.” She glanced at the other two. “Usually, anyway. I must stay here in London for a time, of course, or else it will seem to the
ton
that I am afraid to face them. But then perhaps I’ll keep Grandmama company when she travels to Bath.” Genevieve seemed to develop an interest again in the pearl button of her glove. “I beg your pardon for turning into such a watering pot. I should go now.” She raised her head, forcing a smile. “Thank you for letting me speak to your servants.”

“I shall tell you when we have the names from the agency,” Thea promised, her forehead still creased in concern.

“Yes, thank you.” Genevieve looked at Damaris. “You need not go. Stay and visit with Thea. I can walk home from here.”

“No, I’ll go with you,” Damaris insisted. “Alec always frets if I don’t lie down for a bit in the afternoon.” She made a droll face. “And you know how biddable
I
am.”

The two of them took their leave of Thea, who stood for a moment, staring thoughtfully out the window, before
she strolled down the hallway to her husband’s study. Gabriel was sitting hunched over the large, dark walnut desk, his elbows resting on the desk and his head in his hands as he studied the large flat book before him. He looked up at the sound of Thea’s footsteps and smiled, pushing his chair back and smiling.

“Thea, my love, have you come to save me?” His cravat was askew, and his hair stuck out in several different directions.

Thea chuckled as she crossed the room to him and slipped her hand in his. “It looks as though Matthew must have been in here wrestling with you.”

He tugged her down onto his lap, his arm curving in a familiar way around her back. “If only that were so. No, I have been wrestling with the accounts for the estate.” His dark eyes lit up as he went on hopefully, “Perhaps you would like to take a look at them?”

“Thank you, I think not. Your estate manager has an utterly illegible hand.” Thea snuggled into him, resting her head against his.

“I heard Damaris’s voice,” he said, idly wrapping one of Thea’s springing cinnamon-colored curls around his finger.

“Yes, she and Genevieve came by. Genevieve and Myles have returned to town.”

“So soon?” His brows lifted. “Surely they have not run aground already?”

“Mm.” Thea sighed. “I fear they have entered some rocky waters, to further your analogy.”

“I am a little surprised, actually. I would have said Myles could get along with any woman—though Lady Genevieve would certainly put him to the test.”

Thea dug her elbow gently into his stomach. “Don’t be unkind. I like Genevieve. And it always seemed to me that Myles had a certain fondness for her.”

“You are probably right.” He laid a soft kiss on the point of her shoulder. “You generally are.”

“Genevieve was most unhappy. She started to cry.”

“You’re jesting, surely. Genevieve?”

Thea nodded. “I could tell she was unhappy, and I could see Damaris thought so, too, and then she began to cry and just poured out her heart to us.”

“You have the oddest effect on the Staffords. First Rawdon and now Genevieve. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard her express a word about her emotions.”

“She is convinced Myles regrets marrying her.” Thea lifted her head to look in Gabriel’s eyes. “Do you think he rues his offer?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” He looked thoughtful. “But I cannot imagine Myles giving up this quickly. I’ve seen him spar, and he is deadly patient. On the other hand, Genevieve is a woman who could try any man’s patience.”

“I wonder if he really feels as she thinks. She believes he wishes she were sweeter. Someone more like he is.”

“Doesn’t sound like Myles. I would have said that he preferred a bit of spice. He and Genevieve have always fussed at each other, but, truthfully, he seemed to enjoy
it more than not. After all, where is the fun in marrying yourself?”

“That is what I thought. But she seems quite hopeless. She was talking of traveling to Bath with her grandmother.”

“Perhaps it would help if they spent some time apart.”

Thea gave him a level look. “Do you think it would have improved our marriage if after one of our rows, we had gone to live in separate places?”

“No.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do I have the feeling that you are about to suggest something I won’t like?”

“I haven’t the least notion,” Thea said airily. “But it did occur to me that Myles might not know that Genevieve was . . . feeling so beset. It could be that he views it as nothing but a trifling spat. He is, well, rather more experienced than Genevieve in matters of the heart.”

“You want me to talk to Myles,” Gabriel said flatly. “Thea, my love, I don’t think Myles would want me delving into his love life.”

“You needn’t be
obvious
about it. But I thought that since you are friends, you might run into one another at your club one day. And you might sit down to talk.”

“And I might just steer the conversation in the direction of his marriage?”

“Exactly.”

He heaved a sigh. “You know, it is not as if Genevieve regards me as a friend.”

“But Myles is your friend, and you cannot wish him
to have an unhappy marriage.” Thea smiled at him. “Besides, I am not asking you to do a favor for Genevieve.” She leaned closer, gazing into his eyes. “I am asking you to do a favor for me.”

“You are trying to manipulate me.” His voice teased, but she could see the sudden leap of light in his dark eyes.

“Am I succeeding?” Thea grinned and leaned closer to press her lips lightly against his.

He let out a breathy little laugh. “It is possible I might be persuaded to bring up the matter with Myles.”

“That would be wonderful.” She brushed her lips against his cheek.

“But I am not going to pry into his personal life.”

“Naturally.” She kissed the tender skin beside his eye. “And of course”—she kissed his ear—“since it would take up some of your time, I might be persuaded to take a look at the accounts for you.” She nipped his earlobe lightly.

“To hell with the accounts,” he muttered and pulled her into him for a kiss.

G
enevieve went down to supper
in a cooler, calmer frame of mind. Embarrassing as it had been to break down as she had at Thea’s, she had returned home feeling better. It had been somehow a comfort just to have Thea and Damaris sympathize with her, to know that they did not blame her for the awful tangle she had made of her life.

She met Myles coming down the hall from his study toward the dining room, and her heart skipped a little. Could Thea have been right? Could Myles’s words have sprung from jealousy? She scanned his handsome face, now tight in a way she had never before seen on him, the usual merriment gone from his eyes. No. His was not the face of jealousy. He looked . . . stiff and uncomfortable. His expression was more that of someone facing an unpleasant duty.

A saving spurt of resentment surged up in her, piercing the blanket of misery. If Myles found being her husband so onerous, he shouldn’t have offered for her. He had known her for years, after all; it was not as if she had concealed her true nature from him. She lifted her chin a little and laid her hand lightly on the arm he offered
her, as she would have done with a stranger. She would be all right; she knew how to behave, how to get through difficult situations. She knew how to put on a polite face and save her tears for her pillow at night.

“I hope you had a pleasant day,” Myles said formally as they entered the dining room and he seated her.

“Yes, thank you. And you?”

“I, um, went to White’s.”

“How nice.” Genevieve nodded to Bouldin to begin serving.

A heavy silence fell on the table, broken only by the clink of silverware. At last Myles began again. “What did you do today?”

“Damaris and I called on Lady Morecombe.”

“Thea?” His smile was surprised and more natural this time. “I am glad you like her.”

“Yes. She is quite pleasant.”

That topic seemingly exhausted, silence once more reigned. After a time, Myles said, “I spoke with Alec’s runner last night.”

“Indeed? Have you tasted the turbot? I believe your estate manager found a jewel in our chef.”

“Blast it, Genevieve. You wanted to know about this.”

“Did I?” Genevieve turned her icy blue gaze full on him, grateful for the flash of anger that stiffened her spine. “Then I must beg your pardon. It is quite your affair, of course. I am more concerned with finding another chair or two for the drawing room. It seems a mite bare as it is.”