The Marrying Season (32 page)

“God, no! Genevieve.” His face cleared and he pulled her into his arms. “I am not such a clunch as Dursbury. I would never believe such a thing of you.”

She sagged against him in relief, drawing in the comfort of his warmth, his solidity. Tears stung her eyes, though she blinked them away. However angry Myles was with her, she at least had this to hold on to: Myles trusted her. And however storm-tossed she felt with him right now, she could rely on him. She straightened and gave him a small smile. “You just looked so—”

“Angry?” His eyes flashed. “I am. I am furious. I’d like to throttle someone.” He took her arm and they started forward again. “What is so damnably frustrating is, I haven’t any target for my anger. The article was very careful not to mention any names. Indeed, they couched it so that one could not prove they were referring to you. It was along the lines of ‘It’s said that a certain lady’s being caught
en flagrante
in the library was merely the last straw for her much-tried fiancé.’ Everyone knows of whom they’re speaking, but to confront them for writing such
lies about you only confirms that their description fits you. And of course they don’t say who this elusive fellow is that you were supposedly seeing; I would have guessed they meant to implicate me, but they called him a married man.”

“But why?” Genevieve’s voice wavered a bit on the word, and she had to swallow hard to continue in a normal voice. “Why would this newspaper want to blacken my name? They don’t even know me.”

“Because it sells the repugnant little sheets. You can bet that everyone went rushing out to purchase it as soon as they heard the gossip.”

They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes before Genevieve revealed her thoughts, “But why did they choose me?”

“I don’t know.” Myles frowned. “Their sales doubtless must have multiplied with the first bits of gossip and rumor they published about you. Perhaps they thought it would make more of a splash if they involved you again. Still, some lesser bit would have kept the interest going. Why create such a blatant, outrageous lie? It does seem oddly personal and malevolent.”

“I can only think that they must have overheard that rumor somewhere. And how did the paper know so quickly about my running through the East End after that maid? Grandmama says they probably pay servants to provide them with gossip. But gossip would scarcely have had time to work its way around to the people at the newspaper.”

He nodded. “I think they are getting the rumors directly from someone in the
ton
.”

“So it was someone I
know
who told them that lie? Someone in the
ton
is trying to . . . to ruin my life?” Genevieve asked, appalled. “But who? Why?”

“Langdon? We know he is more of a scoundrel than we first imagined since he lured you into the library with that note.”

“But how would this benefit him?”

Myles shrugged. “He fled London. He knows what would happen to him if Alec or I found him. Perhaps he realizes that I’ve sent a man searching for him. And there is always the possibility that you might reveal what he did, how thorough a cad the man is, and he would not be received.”

“So if he could first make it so that
I
was not received, perhaps I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell anyone that he purposely lured me to the library—or, at least, people would not believe me since they have read that I’m immoral.”

“That might impel a man without honor to wage this campaign against your reputation.”

Genevieve mulled this over as they approached their house. “But that would indicate that Mr. Langdon is in London. He would have to be able to communicate quickly with whoever writes this Lady Looksby thing. And he would have had to hear about my pursuit of that maid. He could not do that from the Continent or wherever he’s gone.”

“True. It would indicate that he’s still here somewhere,
and I just haven’t managed to find him.” Myles scowled, opening the front door and following Genevieve inside.

They settled in his study, where Myles poured a brandy for each of them and put one in Genevieve’s hand. “Here. Drink this. Things will look better.”

She did as he said, taking a sip of the drink and grimacing as it roared like fire down her throat. She sighed and leaned back against the chair, relaxation beginning to creep through her.

“I should have searched London more thoroughly,” Myles said. “I talked to his friends and poked about his usual places. But I was sure he would have had the sense to flee the city. I should have combed through all the gambling hells and brothels for him.”

“It can’t be undone,” Genevieve said. The thought of Myles’s searching the brothels for Langdon set her teeth on edge.

“No, but I can stop him from doing anything else.”

“The real question is what
we
should do.”

“My first thought was to break a few heads at
The Onlooker,
” Myles responded.

“I fear that would only cause more scandal.”

“Perhaps. But it would certainly provide me some satisfaction.”

“It would me, as well,” Genevieve agreed. “But confronting them would make the situation even worse. Just think what this Lady Looksby would say about ‘a certain gentleman so angry over the revelation of his wife’s indiscretions that he attacked the editor.’ ”

“Do you wish to go back to the country?”

“It sounds delightful, but I cannot. I refuse to let whoever is doing this chase me out of town.”

“I thought that would be your answer.”

“I must go about my business as usual,” Genevieve said, taking another sip. Despite how awful this evening had been, it was pleasant indeed to sit talking with Myles like this, as if everything were as it used to be between them, to know he was concerned for her and would help her through the ordeal. “This is a sore trial for my grandmother, but she will support me, as will Damaris and Thea.” It stiffened her spine a little to think of the friends who would help her. “I have to continue to make calls—Grandmama will know whom best to call on without fear of being rebuffed. I should go about my normal life as best I can. Thea wanted me to go to Hatchards with her.”

“To buy books?”

“Yes. You needn’t look so surprised. I’m not illiterate, you know.” Then she laughed. “Though I must admit I barely know where the shop is. We could do that tomorrow afternoon, if she’s willing. We might even go to Gunter’s for an ice afterward. And I must put in an appearance at the theater and opera and even some parties. If I still receive any invitations, that is.”

“You will,” he said with great certainty. “I shall write to my mother. I am sure she will come to help us.”

“Your mother will come here?” Genevieve looked at him, astonished. “But I thought she hated London.”

“She does, but she will agree that we need to marshal all our forces.”

“You make it sound as if it is a campaign.”

“It will be. Mother may not mingle in society much, but she is not without friends. Her bosom bow from girlhood is Lady Penbarrow.”

“The Duchess of Terwyck’s niece?”

“Yes. My mother does not see her often, but Lady Penbarrow is the one who keeps her informed of all the latest London news. If my family is seen to close ranks around you, it will put paid to unfounded gossip. It is one thing for your own grandmother to support you, but if your husband’s family makes it clear they don’t believe the nonsense, it will weigh more heavily.”

“Oh, Myles . . .” Genevieve’s voice faltered.

He looked at her, startled. “What? Do you not wish her to come?”

“No! No, of course not. I am happy for her to visit; I am honored. It is . . . it is just so good of her to do so. Your mother has been much kinder to me than I would ever have expected her to be.” Genevieve stopped, afraid that if she went on, tears would sound in her voice.

“You are my wife,” Myles replied simply. “She regards you as a daughter now. For all my mother’s sweet nature, she is as fierce as any lioness when one of her cubs is in danger.”

That was it, of course. Any slur on Genevieve was now a slur on the Thorwood name. She told herself she must not assume Myles had come to her rescue because
he cared for her. Her honor was now his honor, and of course he would protect it. That was reassuring, naturally, but she could not help but feel a little let down.

“I am a bit tired,” she said, setting her drink aside, weariness coming over her in a rush.

“Of course.” Myles quickly set down his brandy, as well, and came over to give her his hand as she stood. He walked with her down the hall and stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Sleep well.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, then released it. “Don’t worry. We shall get to the bottom of this.”

“You are leaving?” Genevieve asked as he started toward the front door.

He turned back. “Yes. If Langdon is still in London, I intend to find him.”

He strode away, leaving Genevieve standing at the foot of the stairs. She remained for a moment after the front door closed, the quiet of the house settling around her. With a sigh, she turned and started up the stairs toward her empty bed. It was wonderful, of course, that Myles was determined to right the wrong done to her, to find the villain who had started this horrid lie.

But she could not help but wish that instead of that, he were coming upstairs with her and that she would be spending this lonely night in his arms.

G
enevieve’s stomach danced with nerves
as she walked toward Gunter’s. It had been easy enough to go into Hatchards with Thea. It was far less likely that she would meet anyone she knew in the bookstore. But here, in the popular confectioner’s, she might well run into a lady of the
ton
. She let out a little sigh of relief when they walked inside and she saw no one she knew. It would do little good, of course, to show her face to the
ton
if no one of the
ton
was there to see it, but she could not help but be glad that she had escaped that ordeal today.

She and Thea were almost done with their ices, and Genevieve was laughing at Thea’s tale of Matthew’s latest misadventure, when three women walked into the confectioner’s and stopped, their gazes falling on Genevieve. Genevieve’s smile died, and she drew herself up.

Thea, watching her, dropped her story and turned toward the door. “Do you know them?”

“Yes,” Genevieve replied, her eyes still on the three women. The oldest one, after a moment of stunned silence, turned her head away sharply, not acknowledging
her. Genevieve kept her face expressionless. “That is Mrs. Farnham who just refused to acknowledge me, and one girl is her daughter Lilian. The other young lady is Iona Halford. You probably don’t recognize her, as for the first time since I have known her, she is not tagging along after Lady Dursbury.”

Mrs. Farnham said something to the two young women and marched over to a table as far away from Genevieve and Thea as she could get. Her daughter trailed along after her, but Miss Halford stood for another moment, regarding Genevieve with fury in her eyes. She started to turn and join her friends, but then she swung back around and marched over to Genevieve’s table.

“How dare you?” Iona hissed. When Genevieve said nothing, merely raised her eyebrows coolly, she rushed on, “You should be hiding in shame after what you did! And to as good and—and upstanding a man as Lord Dursbury.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Genevieve could see other patrons swiveling in their seats to look at them curiously. She knotted her fists in her lap, not sure whether she wanted more to stand up and slap Iona or turn and run from all the prying eyes, but she managed to say calmly, “Miss Halford, everyone is looking.”

“I don’t care!” Iona shot back. “I am not the one who should be ashamed. It is you who are the . . . the harlot!”

Genevieve drew in a sharp breath. Before she could even think what to do, Thea jumped to her feet and clamped her hand around Miss Halford’s arm. Iona looked up at her in astonishment.

Thea said crisply, “Young lady, while you may not have any concern for your reputation and are happy to let everyone see your very poor manners, you might consider the other patrons of this establishment, who did not come here to listen to a silly young girl screeching like a harpy.”

Iona’s jaw dropped comically as she stared at Thea. “Ow! You’re hurting me. Let go.”

“I will be happy to if you have regained your senses,” Thea began, but before she could go on, Mrs. Farnham rushed over.

“Iona! Iona!” She swung on Thea. “Let go of her! Who are you? Do you realize to whom you’re speaking?”

“I am speaking to a very rude and impulsive young woman,” Thea answered, gray eyes snapping behind her spectacles. “If this girl is in your charge, I can only say that you are doing a very poor job.” As the woman began to puff up like a pouter pigeon, her face flaming red, Thea went on, “Though I can certainly see where she gets her taste for theatrics.”

Genevieve stood up quickly. She would have liked to hug Thea for her swift and razor-sharp defense of her, but she could not let this scene escalate into another bit of fodder for Lady Looksby’s column.

“We are leaving, Mrs. Farnham,” Genevieve said shortly. “But I suggest you get Miss Halford in hand before she makes a spectacle of herself.”

She expected an angry retort from the older woman, but Mrs. Farnham refused to even look at her, giving an ostentatious
sniff and turning her head away, as if the very sight of Genevieve offended her. Genevieve was amazed at how the insult pierced her. She turned and walked to the door, not daring to even glance back to see if Thea followed her. Tears beat at the backs of her eyes, and her cheeks were hot with humiliation. She started blindly up the street, and Thea came up beside her to take her arm, turning her the other direction.

“The carriage is down here,” Thea said, leading her to the Morecombes’ glossy black vehicle. Thea climbed into the carriage after Genevieve and sank back into the seat. “What a horrid woman! Sometimes I find myself quite lacking in Christian charity.”