The Marrying Season (9 page)

“No, my dear, I doubt you do. I do not think you can imagine the extent of the regret you will feel for the rest of your life if you toss this opportunity away. You cannot expect an eligible gentleman like Sir Myles to hang about after you have rejected him.”

“I am not rejecting him. I am trying to save him from himself.”

“I understand precisely how you feel.” Lady Rawdon sent her granddaughter a pointed glance. “However, I doubt Sir Myles would view your refusal in that light. He offered you the most precious thing a man could give a woman.”

“Myles does not love me,” Genevieve retorted.

“I am not talking about his heart. You are becoming just like Alec.” Her grandmother grimaced. “Myles offered you his name. His honor. ’Tis no small thing, my girl. And you turned him down flat. You told him, in effect, that the name, the home, the life, he is willing to give you are not things you value.”

Genevieve gaped at her. “I never said that.”

“Not in so many words.” The older woman shrugged. “I fail to understand your reluctance. It is not as if you were some silly chit who must have ‘love’ in her marriage.”

“No, of course not. It—it is much the same arrangement I had with Lord Dursbury.”

“Precisely. Why is it different with Sir Myles?”

“I don’t know,” Genevieve said miserably.

“I would think it would be easier. After all, you have known Myles for years. I am sure Myles will be a perfectly amiable husband, and you will find him a great deal more entertaining to live with than Dursbury. After you have done your duty and produced an heir or two, you will be able to go your separate ways and enjoy your lives. He will have his mistresses, of course, but you can trust Sir Myles to be discreet.”

“Yes, you told me he always had been,” Genevieve agreed hollowly.

“You will have the household to manage and children to raise. You will be able to enjoy your usual place in society—once the scandal has died down, that is. Now—” The countess patted Genevieve’s hand again and released it, turning away with a satisfied look. “It must be a quick
marriage, I think. Normally I would not advocate haste, but in this instance, I think it is necessary to quiet the scandal. Myles can obtain a special license. You could be married tomorrow. I have a cousin who is a vicar here in London.”

Genevieve sat back, hardly listening as her grandmother continued to happily make plans for her future. She could not, she thought. She simply could not enter into this bloodless marriage with Myles. But what else was she to do?

V
ultures. Well, at least your
butler has turned them away.” Damaris turned from her post at the edge of the draperies, letting the heavy cloth fall back into place. “He is quite good at it.”

“He has had ample practice with Grandmama,” Genevieve replied, doing her best to ignore the ice growing larger by the moment in the pit of her stomach.

“No doubt.” Damaris chuckled.

“The gossips are the only ones who called on us today.” Genevieve realized her comment must sound self-pitying, and she quickly added, “It is what I expected, of course.”

Her sister-in-law kept her eyes on her needlework as she said carefully, “There are many things to enjoy outside the boundaries of the
ton
.”

“Yes, of course. It is much more enjoyable to ride at Cleyre. And parties can be such a crush.” Genevieve stuck her needle into the cloth determinedly.

“Indeed. We will have much more comfortable parties at Cleyre. And Thea and Gabriel will come to visit. We can go to Chesley.”

“Yes, of course.” Genevieve thought of spending her days with the two happy couples. “Ouch.” She pulled back her finger and sucked at the blood that welled out where she had stabbed herself. Tears pooled in her eyes and she tried to blink them away, but she could not prevent a few from sliding down her cheeks. “Oh, bother.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief to dab them away.

“Oh, Genevieve.” Damaris set aside her needlework and came over to sit on the sofa beside her, taking her hand between hers. “I am so dreadfully sorry you have been placed in such a position. Dursbury is a coward and a fool.”

“I know. I shan’t regret not marrying him.” Her smile was brittle. “There is no need for you to feel bad for me. I should have known better than to go into the library. I did know better. If it had been anyone but Myles, I would not have considered it.”

“If what had been anyone but Myles?” Damaris looked puzzled. “What do you mean? What does Myles have to do with it?”

Genevieve’s eyes widened. “Nothing. I mean—”

“It isn’t nothing. What are you talking about?”

“Please, you must not tell Alec. I will not have him angry with Myles.”

“Tell Alec what? Why would he be angry at Myles?”

“He shouldn’t be. Oh, blast! Myles asked me to meet him in the library; that is why I went there. I would not have done so if it had been anyone else. But I knew there was no danger with Myles. But then Foster Langdon was there before Myles could arrive! It was the worst luck.”

“But why did Myles ask you to meet him?” Damaris asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him after . . . after everything happened. It hardly matters now. But I think that is the reason behind Myles’s offer. He feels responsible. But it was not his fault. I shouldn’t have gone there to meet any man.”

“It is perfectly understandable. Why shouldn’t you be able to meet a friend, even if he is a man? It’s ridiculous. You couldn’t have known that you would run into Langdon.”

“No. But that is why there are rules of propriety—so that one avoids situations where such things can happen. I have always been so careful.” Genevieve realized her hand had curled up into a fist, and she relaxed it. “Well, it does not matter now. ’Tis done.”

“Genevieve . . . would it be so terrible to accept Myles’s offer? I know you do not love him, but—”

Genevieve narrowed her eyes at Damaris. “Did Grandmama send you here to talk me?”

“No, oh, no, you must not think that,” Damaris said hastily. “I mean, well, yes, she did talk to me, but only to make sure I understood that I was to vanish the moment Sir Myles arrived. I would never urge you to marry against your wishes. But I do hate for you to be unhappy, and I cannot help but think your life would be much more to your satisfaction were you to marry Myles.”

“Yes, it is an excellent solution for me. If I did not realize that, Grandmama made it exceedingly clear.” Genevieve jumped up and began to pace the room. “I feel—I feel so wild and torn!” She raised her hands to her temples,
as if she could hold her turmoil down. “I cannot bear for my scandal to fall on Grandmama. She will not let anyone see it, of course, but her pride will be so wounded. And she has spent her life taking care of me. She could have gone on living in London, attending parties and visiting with her friends, but she came back to the castle after my mother died because she felt she had to raise me. She—my father was not an easy man. Perhaps Alec has told you.”

“He was a brute!” Damaris’s eyes flashed. “Do not tell me that he hurt you as he did Alec? Or your grandmother?”

“No, oh, no,” Genevieve said bitterly. “It was always Alec on whom our father took out his rages—even when it was I who had done it. Sometimes I wished he
would
hit me. I think it would have been easier than standing outside his study and hearing him punish Alec and knowing . . . knowing Alec never ran away because he feared Father would turn to me.” She stopped, reining in her emotions, pulling up the cool mask that had always served her so well. “Father did not, however, hit me. And he would never have dared touch Grandmama.” A faint smile curved her lips. “I think she was the only person my father feared. Or perhaps the only one he loved. It was difficult to tell. But she disliked living at Cleyre. It is lonely and wild and cold. It made her bones ache. She enjoys company. Lights. Dancing. The theater. It was a tremendous sacrifice for her to bury herself at the castle all those years for my sake.”

“She loves you. I am sure she was glad to do it.”

“Yes, no doubt. But I have repaid her badly. I meant to soften the scandal, and instead I made it worse.”

“The scandal of Alec marrying me?” Damaris asked softly.

Genevieve glanced at her guiltily. “No. I mean, well, there was also the whole affair of Jocelyn jilting him.” She smiled wryly. “We Staffords seem to have a problem keeping hold of our betrotheds. Everyone blamed Alec; there were even whispers that he had murdered her.”

“I know. And his then marrying a woman with a past did not help.” Damaris softened her words with a smile. “Do not worry. I have always known that. But I could not sacrifice our love for the sake of the Stafford name. Nor should you have to pay for it by marrying anyone you don’t want to marry. There is no need for you to accept Myles for Alec’s sake; you know Alec cares not what others say of him. Nor for your grandmother, either. She will not lose her position in the
ton,
not for any real length of time. I suspect that most of them fear her as much as your father did.”

Genevieve laughed, relaxing a little. “You may be right.”

“It is you I was thinking of. I think you like Cleyre little more than your grandmother does.”

Genevieve shrugged. “I do not love it there.”

“If it were some man other than Myles, I would not urge you. But he would be a good husband. He is kind and so easy in his ways.”

“I know. I know. Myles has many virtues. I am not the
one who would suffer. It would be Myles. How can I let him do such a thing?”

“But, Genevieve, he asked you. Myles is very kind, but in my experience men usually do things because they want to—even if they may not realize why they want it.”

“Myles does not think before he acts.” Genevieve set her jaw. “And he is generous to a fault. It is exactly the sort of rash thing he would do. But we would not suit. Anyone can see that. We never agree. He loves the world and I—I love hardly anyone. He should marry someone sweet and happy, a woman who could love him as he deserves. Not me. Not a woman with the heart of a Stafford!”

“You should not disparage the Stafford heart.” Damaris smiled. “I have found it to be quite large. And consider this: Myles did not propose to any of those women you described. He asked you.”

As Genevieve started to reply, she heard the knocker on the front door rap sharply. She looked at Damaris, the cold knot in her stomach suddenly expanding to fill her entire torso. Damaris went to the bow window once again and lifted the side of the drape to peer out.

“It is Myles.” Damaris picked up her needlework.

Genevieve had risen to her feet at Damaris’s words, her hands unconsciously going to her stomach. “You needn’t go.”

“I have clear instructions from your grandmother.” Damaris gave the other woman an encouraging smile. “ ’Twill be better if the two of you talk alone.”

“Sir Myles Thorwood, my lady,” the butler intoned from the doorway, stepping aside to allow Myles to enter.

“Sir Myles,” Damaris said, going forward to offer him her hand, and the two of them exchanged the usual greetings and pleasantries while Genevieve remained stock-still and silent as a statue. “Well . . .” Damaris cast a glance toward Genevieve. “Forgive me, but I was just about to go upstairs. I am sure you and Genevieve have much to discuss.”

“Indeed.” Myles turned to Genevieve after Damaris left the room, his warm smile lighting his eyes. “Come, Genny, you need not look at me as if am a snake about to strike. I intend you no harm.”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.” It was ridiculous the way her heart was pounding. This was
Myles
. She gestured toward the chair at right angles to the sofa. “Pray, sit down. May I offer you some refreshment?”

He shook his head. “You know why I have come.”

“Indeed I do, and it was wrong of my grandmother to persuade you to do so. I cannot—”

“No, wait.” He looked at her earnestly. “Pray extend me another chance. I handled it so ill last night one would think I am a raw lad from the country.”

“It was not your manner, I assure you.”

“You are saying, then, that is my entire being that you find unacceptable?” Myles lifted his brows. “Some might take offense at that.”

“What?” Genevieve blinked. “Of course not. Myles, really, don’t twist things around.”

“I assure you, my desire is only to be as clear as I can about my ardent desire to marry you.”

“Myles! You know you—”

He raised a finger and laid it against her lips. “Shh, now. You must not interrupt me every other breath, or we shall never be done here.” He took both her hands in his. “I realized that last night, in my haste to make my suit, I did not offer you in the proper way. So I came here today to woo you.” He went down on one knee, pulling her down to sit in her chair. “Lady Genevieve, would you do me the honor, the very great honor, of accepting my hand in marriage?”

“Myles!” Genevieve tried to tug her hands from his grasp, but he would not let her go. Absurdly, tears threatened her eyes, and she had to swallow hard. “Myles, you cannot wish to marry me.”

“Can I not?” He smiled at her in that crooked way he had that invited one to join him, then raised her hand to his lips, velvety soft. “Genevieve, come . . . am I so bad? Really?”

“Of course you are not bad.” She tried again to discreetly tug her hand away, to no avail.

“Even your grandmother says I am acceptable. Surely that must count for something. We all know how high Lady Rawdon’s standards are.”

“My grandmother is desperate to find me a husband.”

“You mean she approves me only as a last resort? Genevieve, you wound me.”

“Don’t be nonsensical.” Why did Myles have to act in this gentle, gallant manner? It was so difficult to be sensible. Honorable.

He kissed her hand again, and though he was only
teasing, her skin tingled at the brush of his lips, the touch of his breath. “Myles . . .” she whispered.

“Genevieve,” he murmured back, and looked at her with those laughing amber eyes. “Surely you cannot intend to dash all my hopes?”

“You do not need to do this. You owe me nothing. Rawdon would never ask it of you.”