The Unthinkable (23 page)

She gazed at him as if he was the most brilliant, most considerate man in the world. “That would be divine.”

He ushered her to a cluster of armchairs in an adjoining room. Genie took out her fan and fluttered it furiously.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my dear? Should I send for Lady Hawkesbury?”

“No, no. I shall be fine in a moment. But if you wouldn’t mind, a glass of ratafia would be just the thing.”

He hurried off to do her biding, eager to be of some use. Genie was grateful for the reprieve and for the moment of relative quiet. Aside from a handful of footmen, there were only a few people milling about and most seemed as eager as she to enjoy the solitude.

He
would be coming soon and she wanted to be prepared.

But rather than Huntingdon, it was Fanny who found her first. Fanny, the girl who’d once giggled with her like a sister, but who now glared at her with something akin to hatred blaring in her lovely blue eyes. The constant none too gentle reproach was hard to take. She’d been doing her best to avoid Fanny, dreading this conversation nearly as much as Huntingdon’s. Indeed, this was the first time she’d spoken with Fanny since that unfortunate episode in the garden.

“Where’s Lord Chester? I saw him bring you in here?” Fanny asked.

“Fetching some refreshment.” Genie motioned to the chair next to her. “He should be some time, it’s quite crowded out there.”

Fanny pulled the chair out and sat down. “Yes, Lady Hawkesbury’s annual ball is always popular. It’s become something of a tradition to mark the end of the season.”

“So I see,” Genie replied. They sat in uncomfortable silence for some time. Taking in Fanny’s pale face, she asked quietly, “What is it Fanny? Is there something you want from me?”

Tiny white lines appeared around Fanny’s mouth and brow. She met Genie’s gaze with a flat stare that wasn’t exactly a challenge, but more a look akin to betrayal. A look that made Genie distinctly uncomfortable.

Fanny appeared to brace herself and without further preamble, she asked, “Are you going to marry Hawk?”

There it was. How like Fanny to come right to the point, no delicate sidestepping around the subject for her. Having care for Fanny’s tender feelings, Genie said gently, “I’ve agreed to marry him, yes.”

Fanny’s face crumpled and Genie’s conscience bit her soundly in the chest. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of Fanny’s heartbreak.
It is just a schoolgirl’s crush
.

“But why? You don’t love him.”

“Of course I do.”

Fanny’s jaw tightened. “Not in the way that matters. You forget, Genie, I know what you look like when you are in love. You don’t look at Hawk the way you looked at my brother.”

“That was a long time ago,” Genie said sharply, intending to cut off any discussion of the past. “I was just a girl.”
Like you,
she wanted to say.

“You still love him.”

“I despise him,” Genie replied fervently. Perhaps too fervently.

Fanny laughed, but it was with sadness not amusement. “I think you wish you did. And Lord knows he deserves your anger. He acted like the worst sort of cad. But I know he wanted to marry you. He made a mistake, a monumental one, confusing duty for honor. But you didn’t see him after you left, believe me, he’s paid for it. Many times over. My brother has changed, Genie.”

Genie didn’t want to discuss Huntingdon. She appreciated Fanny’s sisterly loyalty, but Genie doubted Fanny knew everything about what had happened between them five years ago. “Perhaps he has changed, but not as much as you think,” she said, thinking of his selfish attempts to force her to marry him and his broken promise to leave her alone. “In any event, it is five years too late. You can’t change the past.”

Fanny looked at her sadly. “No, you can’t. But nor can you ignore it, no matter how much you might wish to. Don’t make Hawk pay for your unhappiness, Genie. He deserves to be loved.”

“And you think if I let him go, he’ll fall in love with you?” she asked softly and immediately regretted it.

Genie heard Fanny’s sharp intake of breath. Her lovely face twisted with grief. Genie felt cruel.

“No. I don’t think that.” Fanny’s voice caught. “He doesn’t think of me like that. But perhaps there will be someone else.”

“I will make him happy,” Genie said firmly, trying to convince herself.

Fanny stared at her for a long time, silently urging her to change her mind. But Genie stood firm. What choice did she have? Could she just give up on all of her plans? No. She had to marry Edmund. Apparently sensing that Genie would not be swayed, Fanny’s glare hardened. “My brother is not the only one who is selfish.”

Her words were loaded with pent-up emotion. Something other than Edmund was troubling her, Genie realized. “What are you talking about, Fanny? What have I done to make you hate me so?”

Fanny stood up. Back rigid and shoulders set regally she paraded to the door. Genie didn’t think she was going to answer, but at the entry she turned. Pity and anger marred the beautiful planes of her face. Her voice shook. “Not once have you asked about your sister. Don’t you care what has become of Lizzie?”

Startled, Genie rose and hurried after her into the ballroom, quickly losing sight of her. What about Lizzie? What had happened to her? Was she all right? Genie scanned the crowd for Fanny, but her eyes caught instead on Fanny’s brother. And by the black look on his face, discovering what had happened to her sister would have to wait.

He knew. Genie could see it on his face. Disbelief, disappointment, anger… and perhaps the first seedlings of disgust. The sharp pinch in her chest told her that his reaction mattered much more than she wanted it to. It was foolish, of course, because she’d known what would happen by sending him to Edmund. She knew what he would think. Counted on it, in fact.

He was wrong. Yet in many ways, the truth was not much better.

Huntingdon picked his way across the ballroom, occasionally stopping to make brief remarks to the many who hailed him, but his destination was clear. Genie steadied her frantic nerves for the coming storm, telling herself that it would be worth it in the end. The truth—or partial truth—would free her from any further attempts from him to force marriage upon her.

He wouldn’t want her, the threat of ruin would disappear and she would be free to marry Edmund. Forcefully, she pushed aside the memory of Fanny’s agonized eyes and Lady Hawkesbury’s heartfelt warning.

So intent on Huntingdon, Genie failed to notice Lady Hawkesbury’s approach until she stood right beside her. She grasped Genie’s hand and gave it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“I spoke with my son.”

Genie hesitated, not sure what her reaction would be. “And he told you?”

The countess was visibly distressed, but nodded as if she’d expected it. “Yes, that you wish to postpone the announcement.”

“I’m so sorry,” Genie said, meaning it. Lady Hawkesbury had been nothing but kind to her, and she hated to disappoint her. “I had no choice.” Genie’s gaze traveled meaningfully to the duke, who was descending upon them like some dark, avenging angel.

Genie took immediate umbrage at his judgmental reaction. After all he’d done, his attitude stung. She thought she’d put aside the anger and resentment and moved beyond the need for revenge. But the dark emotions she’d suppressed threatened to explode. She felt a burning desire to make him pay for hurting her again.

Lady Hawkesbury took note of the direction of Genie’s angry gaze and, despite the circumstances, smiled kindly. “No, if I know Huntingdon, I’m sure you didn’t. He always was a willful child. But irresistible just the same.” She nodded to the approaching duke. “Have care, my dear. Hatred corrupts in devastating ways. Make sure you know what you want before you make a decision that can’t be undone.” Startled, Genie’s eyes widened. How did she know what Genie was thinking? Were her thoughts of revenge that transparent? Lady Hawkesbury continued, “Use my private drawing room. From the looks of it this is a conversation that is better held in private. No one will disturb you.”

Genie nodded her gratitude and started to turn away. But something confused her. “Lady Hawkesbury?”

“Yes.”

“There is something I don’t understand. The other night, why suggest the house party?”

“Hmm.” She brought a finger to her mouth, considering. “When I realized that you were the girl from Huntingdon’s past… Well, I know something of the duchess’s role in your disappearance. It is important to me that you be absolutely sure about marrying my son. The only way to do so is by fully facing your past.”

“But isn’t there a risk that forcing me together with Huntingdon might hurt Edmund?”

The countess gave her a long, thoughtful look and nodded. “Yes, of course. But if you and Edmund are meant to be together, you will survive the duke and his mother. True love can survive any obstacle, can it not?”

No, Genie thought, there were some things love could not survive. Like betrayal. Like the death of a child. Like the death of innocence.

Lady Hawkesbury continued, “In any event, the duchess will eventually hear that you have returned. You might not want it, but you will need her support—or rather her silence.”

Huntingdon was almost upon them. “Go, now,” Lady Hawkesbury motioned. “I’ll tell him where to find you.”

True to her word, not five minutes after Genie had dismissed the footmen, she heard the doors of the drawing room open behind her. She turned around only to see Huntingdon close the doors firmly behind him. A foreboding click and they were alone.

He approached her soldier’s stance by the fireplace. A sudden chill swept over her and she shivered. Her delicate ball gown did not offer much protection against the drafty room. Although it was a cool evening, the coals had not been lit. As this was not one of the public rooms, it was not expected to be occupied during the ball. She dearly wished it wasn’t occupied now.

He broke the silence. “Lady Hawkesbury is unusually accommodating,” he noted dryly.

Genie met his gaze. His expression was strained, like he was fighting to stay calm, fighting the urge to hurl accusations at her. Genie shrugged. “She has her reasons.”

Huntingdon looked at her questioningly, but did not pursue the matter. Instead he asked the question that hung like a giant albatross between them. “Why, Genie? Why were you in a place like that?”

He kept his tone careful, nonjudgmental, but Genie could hear the underlying plea. She steeled herself from the sudden urge to come clean. To tell him everything. Would he understand? Would he blame her? Judge her?

But she couldn’t tell him the truth—not if she wanted to ensure that he left her alone.

Clearly, he was trying to be fair, giving her the opportunity to explain, but just as clearly he’d already damned her.

He would never understand. He was a man, used to taking what he wanted. Just like the others.

She squared her shoulders. “Didn’t Edmund explain?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Hawk said that you had been badly beaten.” He took her chin and tilted her face up toward him, as if he was looking for any lingering evidence. But the scars that remained were far too deep to see. Her skin tingled under his callused fingertips. Their eyes met and Genie felt that powerful connection. The awareness that could make her forget everything else—almost.

She could melt in the liquid warmth of his eyes, in the rugged handsomeness of his face.

“Who hurt you, Genie?” The soft caress of his husky voice made her eyes burn with longing. It was a voice that promised protection. The voice of a man who would defend her against the world.

If only he had been that man.

“A man.” She wrenched her face free from his tender fingers. “It doesn’t matter who.”

“It does to me.”

“Why? It was a long time ago. Don’t worry, he has received his due.” At her hand. No one had been there to save her but herself.

“Was he…?” He stopped, unable to finish the question. He cleared his throat and started again. “Was he a visitor to the house?”

He was my employer,
she wanted to scream,
a man who’d hired me to care for his children. A man who refused to take no for an answer
. But instead she scoffed. “That’s a rather kind way of putting it.” She smiled coldly. “What you’re really trying to ask is whether I was a whore?”

He flinched at her deliberate crudeness. “What am I to think? Was there another reason for you to be in such a place? Damn it, Genie. Help me understand.”

She bristled; her back straightened. “Why should I? I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her eyes narrowed. “If anyone made me a whore, it was you.”

His eyes sparked with fire, hearing in her response what he wanted. He grabbed her arm, furious. “Don’t blame me for your choices.”

“Shouldn’t I?” The anger she’d been holding back for years finally burst free. “Who seduced an innocent, respectable young girl with a promise of marriage? Who refused to answer my letter when I begged you to come to me and honor that promise? Whose mother forced me from my home, my family, from everything I’d ever known? Who left me with child, a child whose death nearly killed me? Who left me alone to face the ugliness of the world, and men who only want—” She stopped herself, aware that she’d said too much. She was shaking from the release of emotion that had been kept bottled for too long. Her throat constricted with a knot of hot tears. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, slowly, stone-by-stone, she erected the wall of detachment back up around her.

Taken aback by the vehemence of her attack, he seemed honestly shocked by the level of her anger. And shamed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know how horribly I wronged you. Forgive me, I never realized.”

“No. Of course, you didn’t. Why should you?” she asked bitterly. “As a man these are things you wouldn’t consider. The ‘choices’ as you put it are not the same for a man. Tell me this,
Your Grace
, what choice does a woman alone really have? A woman without money, without connections, without protection, without useful skills other than a passable accomplishment at pianoforte or embroidery.”