The Unthinkable (18 page)

“Mrs. Preston is a guest of mine for the season,” Lady Hawkesbury explained.

Lady Davenport lifted an eyebrow at that, glancing back and forth between Huntingdon and Genie. “Oh. I thought… Well, never mind.” She waved her fan excitedly, turning toward a young dandy who had just joined them. His cravat was starched so high, Genie was surprised that he could move his neck. But he managed to lift his chin and stare down his nose at her well enough.

Though not unpleasant of countenance, his expression was one of great boredom and disdain well beyond his years. He couldn’t be much older than her three and twenty. “There you are,” Lady Davenport said. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Mrs. Preston, this is our son, Percy.”

Genie had to close her mouth to prevent a startled gasp. The Honorable Percival Davenport could not have been more dissimilar from his parents if he’d tried. Noting the haughty expression extended to his parents, Genie thought that perhaps that was the point. He did not appear to value his parents’ rustic charm.

Percy greeted Lady Hawkesbury, nodded to Huntingdon and lifted his monocle to study Genie with great condescension. He could have taught Prinny a thing or two, she thought.

Huntingdon didn’t bother hiding his dislike of the younger man. “Percy,” he said simply, but his voice was full of the patronizing scorn affected by an older playmate.

The dislike was apparently mutual. “I’m surprised to see you here, Fitz. A confirmed bachelor like yourself gracing the assembly rooms of Almack’s? Finally done scouring the countryside for that little country mouse of yours?” Percy mocked.

Genie gasped, not believing what she’d just heard. The ton knew about her. If not by name, then as a “country mouse.” What other rumors were floating about? Fear of discovery mixed with humiliation. Tense, every hair stood on end praying for the conversation to take a different course.

Her prayers were not to be answered.

Unaware of the pain and embarrassment he was causing, Percy continued on. “You were fortunate to get out of that horrible blunder without irreparable social disaster. Couldn’t have an
esteemed peer
like yourself marry a little nobody. Think of the precedent,” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Though it was great fun to see you make a fool of yourself over a little ‘dairymaid,’ wasn’t that what you called her? Wonder what ever happened to the silly chit? I’d wager she found herself a nice farmer somewhere, has a dozen brats, and rues the day she let a duke slip through her grasping fingers.”

Genie felt her cheeks burn with mortification. She didn’t know what was worse, being referred to as a nobody or as a grasping nobody. She couldn’t look at Huntingdon. He’d called her a dairymaid? Humiliation ate at her insides. She waited for him to say something, to right the degrading manner in which Percy referred to her, but Huntingdon said nothing to defend her—or himself.

The poignant silence rang cruelly in her ears.

When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she dared to glance at Huntingdon. He looked thunderous, but was trying not to show it. His mouth set in a firm line with tiny white lines etched around his lips. His eyes burned nearly black with fury. His fists were curled into tight balls and he looked as though he fought to restrain himself from punching Percy in the nose.

Say something!

Nothing.

He wouldn’t even look at her.

Genie felt something inside of her flicker then go out. Why would she think, even for a moment, that he’d changed? She still wasn’t good enough for him.

“Hush now, Percy,” Lady Davenport scolded. “You’ve teased the poor boy enough. Look how you’ve shocked poor Mrs. Preston. She’ll want nothing to do with our dear duke now.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

Finally, Huntingdon looked at Genie. Their eyes held. A harsh sneer curled his top lip. “There was not much danger of that was there, Mrs. Preston?” No doubt aware that he’d said too much, he didn’t give her time to answer. “Percy, I can see your years at Oxford were wasted. You still have the manners of a guttersnipe and the tongue of an asp. If you don’t want those fancy clothes of yours mussed, you’ll do best to remember that I am no longer the tolerant playmate that I was when we were lads. Learn to curb your tongue, or you’ll no longer find yourself welcome in my presence.”

Genie watched the younger man flush. The threat was unmistakable. The duke had put Percy in his place and firmly reminded him of his rank and power. Important considerations for an ambitious young dandy.

But Huntingdon had said nothing to defend her.

How did he still hold the power to disappoint?

Into this already awkward gathering, Fanny and Edmund returned. It was immediately obvious that Edmund had confided in Fanny about his relationship with Genie. Fanny wouldn’t look at her. Strain lined her pale face. It seemed as if all that joyful spirit had been flogged right out of her.

It was just a schoolgirl’s fancy. Fanny will get over it, Genie told herself, looking away and trying to quiet the guilt.

Just like you got over it?

Even in her own mind, the truth could not be denied. She hadn’t completely gotten over Huntingdon, perhaps she never would. But she’d learned to survive without him—in spite of him.

It was better that Fanny learn the truth about men now. Before disillusionment stripped away all of her youthful idealism like petals from a flower of her innocence, and left a withered, thorned stem in its place.

The Davenports seemed happily oblivious to the awkward surroundings and to Fanny’s obvious turmoil. They enfolded Fanny in a crushing hug and regaled her beauty.

“Oh, we’re so happy to see you, my dear,” Lady Davenport said. “How you’ve grown,” she exclaimed, looking Fanny up and down. “In all the right places, I dare say,” she added with a teasing wink.

Fanny managed a wan smile. “It’s good to see you too,” she said, returning the embrace and planting a fond kiss on Lady Davenport’s cheek.

“How is your dear mother? You’ve just returned from Leicestershire?”

Fanny shot a nervous glance to Genie at the mention of the duchess. Genie felt her blood rise, but held her expression impassive.

“I only returned to town yesterday,” Fanny answered cautiously. “Mother is well.”

“Still won’t come to town, eh?” Lord Davenport asked.

Fanny shook her head.

“Ridiculous,” Lady Davenport muttered. “This self-imposed exile must come to an end. I’m of half a mind to go and fetch her myself.”

“I’m sure she would welcome your company,” Fanny replied kindly. “But she is quite determined—”

“My Hyacinth won’t be gainsaid, not if she puts her mind to something,” Lord Davenport said with an affectionate squeeze of Lady Davenport’s plump arm. “She could stand down Wellington.”

The black patch above Lady Davenport’s lip twitched with unshed laughter. “Balderdash.” She preened. “Napoleon perhaps, but never our esteemed Wellington.”

“If the duchess will not travel to London, maybe we could bring a bit of London to her?” Lady Hawkesbury suggested.

“A house party!” Lady Davenport cried, taking up the reins. “What a fabulous idea. With the season nearly ended that will be just the thing.”

“Capital. Capital,” Lord Davenport added.

Edmund looked as though he wanted to strangle his mother. “Aren’t you forgetting the ball, Mother?”

“No, no, of course not,” the countess said with a meaningful glance at Genie. “After the ball of course. That is if the duke has no objections?” Lady Hawkesbury eyed him intently, almost daring him to do so.

Huntingdon bowed. “I shall write to my mother at once.”

“It’s settled then,” Lady Davenport said, clapping her hands.

Genie shot a look of plea to Edmund.
Do something
. She couldn’t go to Donnington Park. The Duchess of Huntingdon was the last person she wanted to see. She could ruin all her plans with one word. And the hatred for what the duchess had done, for what she had taken from her, still burned too bright. Genie didn’t trust herself to hide it. There was no confusion where the duchess was concerned, unlike Huntingdon, Genie had never loved his mother.

Edmund moved closer to her side. “I’m afraid I’ll be unable to get away from London for some time.”

He’d intended to exclude Genie and his mother from the invitation, but Lady Hawkesbury ignored his obvious ploy. “Perhaps you’ll join us later then, dear?”

Good gracious, Genie thought. If there was anything worse than being fed to the lions, it was being fed to the lions without a shield.

The Davenports chattered on enthusiastically about the plans now set in motion for the sojourn to Leicestershire. With the exception of Percy, who appeared simply bored, the rest of the group was noticeably subdued.

She and Edmund would think of something, Genie vowed. Nothing could persuade her to go to Donnington Park.

Even if it meant confessing the truth to Lady Hawkesbury.

Huntingdon was worried about his sister. Fanny had suffered quite a shock. Apparently, her childhood attachment for Hawk was more significant than he’d realized.

He should have warned her, but there hadn’t been an opportunity. So focused on his own problems, he hadn’t recalled Fanny’s infatuation with Hawk until it was too late.

Side by side brother and sister stood on a balcony off the assembly room, silently peering out over the railing to the gardens below. He needed time to let his blood cool. Fury still pounded in his ears. Percy had always been a nuisance, even when they were boys, but never had Huntingdon so yearned to pummel him. To wipe that condescending sneer into the ground.

The only thing that stopped him from violence was the realization that defending himself or Genie might somehow give her away. He knew Percy. If Percy sniffed a scandal, especially one that involved his childhood nemesis, he would not rest until he uncovered it.

Huntingdon had wanted to explain to Genie, but noticing Fanny’s pallor, he’d sought to remove her from the unpleasant situation at the first opportunity.

But not before he’d agreed to that damned house party. How had that happened? And what was Lady Hawkesbury’s purpose in suggesting it?

How could he be expected to maintain his distance with Genie living under his roof? And with his mother no less. This spelled a perfect combination for disaster.

“You can’t let this marriage happen,” Fanny said, panic rising in her voice. “You must do something.”

“What would you have me do?” he said, exasperated. “I’ve tried to apologize, but after what happened, Genie wants nothing to do with me. Do you blame her?”

Tears glistening in her eyes, Fanny turned to him and shook her head. “No, I don’t blame her. I’ve told you for years that you behaved abominably. You broke her heart. But to marry Hawk? Your best friend?”

“My former best friend,” he corrected. “But she didn’t know that until recently.”

Fanny’s eyes rounded with horror. “Do you mean that Hawk knew who she was?”

“Not initially,” he said grudgingly. “But he’s known for some time.”

“And Genie was married?”

“So she says. A soldier.”

“When?”

“Not long after she left for America.”

Fanny’s gaze narrowed at that. “I don’t believe it.”

Huntingdon shrugged. He’d come to much the same conclusion himself. Too many things didn’t make sense.

Fanny was silent after that, again leaning over the stone banisters, intently studying the couples strolling in and out of the shadows along the moonlit garden paths.

Huntingdon felt impossibly stuck. As a brother, he naturally wanted to protect his sister. But he’d also made a vow to Genie not to interfere. A vow that he’d been manipulated into. A vow that he already deeply regretted. And now, a vow held at the expense of his sister’s heart.

If Huntingdon thought there was a chance for Fanny, it might provide the excuse he needed to step in. But Hawk had never shown Fanny any interest beyond that of a tolerant older brother. Even if Hawk’s heart wasn’t otherwise engaged, Fanny was probably doomed to heartbreak.

Just as he was doomed to watch the woman he couldn’t forget marry his best friend.

Was allowing Genie to marry Hawk the way to atone for his mistakes? And could he let her go… again?

He heard a sharp intake of breath and followed the direction of Fanny’s gaze. Like two players on an intimate stage, Hawk and Genie stepped out of the shadows and into a small circle of light.

Neither he nor Fanny moved. With painstaking slowness, the farce unfolded before the captive audience of two. Although Huntingdon couldn’t hear what they discussed, both seemed upset. Genie appeared to be pleading with Hawk. Consoling her, Hawk pulled her under his arm and gently kissed the top of her head.

Huntingdon’s heart pounded, knowing what was going to happen next, but trying to stave it off by sheer force of will. His fingers gripped the unyielding stone until his knuckles turned white. Incapable of speech, his lungs constricted as he held his breath.

Hawk led Genie farther into the shadows. But not far enough. Silhouetted against the moonlight, Hawk pulled her into his arms, tipped her chin and kissed her. Not with mindless passion, but with infinite tenderness.

Tenderness that seized Huntingdon’s chest in a vise.

The kiss lasted only for a minute, but it was long enough to alter his good intentions. His reaction was swift and unequivocal. He knew exactly what he had to do. For Fanny.

No, he admitted, for himself.

His attempts to put the past behind him were finished. The past was not over. He knew it with every inch of his body, a body that now shook with a primal rage. He would not stand aside and let her go without a fight. And maybe not even then. He would do whatever it took to win her.

Even if she hated him for it at first. He told himself in the end it would be all right.

With a soft cry of utter despair, Fanny turned and ran.

Before Huntingdon chased after his sister, he stole one last look at Genie. Fanny’s cry must have carried across the still night air, because both Genie and Hawk had turned their surprised faces up toward the balcony. But it was only Genie who interested him. Their eyes met and held. His uncompromising stare burned into hers, promising one thing and one thing only: The Duke of Huntingdon, a man now revered for his trustworthiness, was about to break another promise to her.