The Unthinkable Page 2

  Then she could relax.

  If her past didn’t find her first.

  Three hours later, Genie could breathe more easily. The night was progressing well. At supper she’d found herself inexplicably seated between Edmund and the charming old Earl of Clarendon—much too high on the table for a mere soldier’s widow. Edmund’s doing she suspected. She’d been introduced to the highest peers in the realm and had acquitted herself well. She’d even, at his request, been presented to the Prince Regent.

  But her real achievement came earlier in the evening. Lady Hawkesbury had presented her to five of the seven grandes dames of society, the famed Patronesses of Almack’s, and Genie had secured a “stranger’s ticket” as Lady Hawkesbury’s guest for next Wednesday’s ball from the friendly Lady Cowper. A mixture of joy and relief surged through her. If she could win over the dragons of Almack’s, her success was virtually guaranteed.

  They’d finished the lengthy meal and had moved into the gardens where a temporary courtyard had been set up to accommodate the two thousand guests. The evening’s entertainment of dancing and gaming would begin shortly. The band of Guards played under the portico while the guests enjoyed the temporary promenades that had been erected for the occasion.

  Edmund leaned over to whisper in her ear.

  The countess playfully rapped Edmund’s knuckles with her fan. “Stop that whispering immediately. You’ve drawn enough wagging tongues already.” Motioning to Genie she said, “Come along, my dear, move away from your vicious guard dog’s side.” She turned to frown at her son. “And you, my boy, should know better. It’s not the thing at all, monopolizing her like this. Why you’ve barely let any other man near her. I thought for one horrible moment that you might refuse to present her to the prince.”

  A decidedly petulant scowl descended across Edmund’s handsome features. Genie hid her smile behind her hand. He looked at any moment like he might thrust out his lower lip and pout like a naughty schoolboy.

  “That lecherous old cur! Did you see him? I thought he might drool down the front of her dress—”

  “Shush,” the countess scolded, rapping him harder this time, but still smiling. “Do you want someone to hear?” She turned her cheerful smile back to Genie. “And can you blame him? It’s a remarkable bosom.” Genie blushed, but the countess didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve created quite a stir, my dear. Why that harpy Lady Jersey is just positively twittering with curiosity.” The countess preened. “You’ll be the talk of the ball tonight, I can feel it. You look exquisite.” She studied Genie over the top of her fan. “Simply exquisite.”

  “I feel like a princess. This dress is beautiful. You’ve been so generous, I can’t thank you—”

  “Oh, posh,” the countess said cutting her off. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It’s great fun giving the ton something to talk about. And I know you must think it difficult to believe, but I caused a minor sensation in my day.”

  “I don’t find that difficult to believe at all,” Genie said honestly, giving her a fond peck on the cheek. With her dancing eyes and vivacious smile, Lady Hawkesbury was still a beautiful woman.

  Lady Hawkesbury was another reason for Genie to feel fortunate. The countess cared not that her son was to marry an inconsequential widow of no standing and without five pounds to her name. Edmund loved Genie and that was enough for his mother. Lady Hawkesbury’s support and friendship tonight had been just as important as Edmund’s, perhaps more so.

  If only the rest of the ton were as easily persuaded.

  But Genie knew she should feel pleased. So far the evening had gone exceptionally well. The ton was intrigued. And there hadn’t been any unwelcome vestiges of her past to fend off. It was more than she could have hoped for.

  She turned back to Edmund to tell him she would see him for their dance later when she noticed him scanning the crowd behind her. Strange, she thought. She’d caught him doing the same thing many times throughout the evening. He appeared to be looking for someone. Though Genie had refused to tell Edmund his name, perhaps he, too, was concerned that he might be here.

  Now that she thought about it, there was a distinct edginess to Edmund tonight. Genie bit her bottom lip, feeling guilty. She’d been so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hadn’t realized that this night might be difficult for him as well. They both had much riding on her success.

  She touched his arm and gave him a tender smile. There was no need to feign this time. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she ran her tongue along her upper lip, thinking about how she would thank him later for all he had done tonight. She’d come to enjoy kissing Edmund. Though it didn’t create the heart-pounding frantic craving from her youth, Edmund’s kiss was like him: warm and secure.

  Not dangerous and destructive.

  “Your mother’s right,” she said, disengaging her hand from his arm. When Edmund looked like he might argue she continued, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “But I do worry,” he said in a tone that was far too serious than was warranted by the situation. There was a tense moment where it seemed like he might refuse, before he sighed. “I’ll go for now, but I’ll be back if you need me.” He paused meaningfully. “For anything.”

  Genie watched him make his way through the crowd. Even his carriage seemed odd. Though graceful, there was a predatory slant to his movements tonight. It was almost as if he were stalking something… or someone.

  Whatever was bothering him—and she was sure something was—it was getting worse as the evening drew on. Perhaps Edmund was more jealous than she’d realized?

  She was prevented from thinking about the matter any further as the dancing began and she was led into the ballroom by the first in a steady stream of partners.

  Dismounting, the man carelessly tossed the reins of his horse to the waiting footman and hurried up the walkway, barely noticing the outrageous extravagances of tonight’s fete.

  He was late. Very late. Prinny would be furious, though he’d been fortunate to make it at all. A last-minute trip to Surrey to attend to an emergency for a friend had taken him from town yesterday. He’d only arrived home an hour ago, leaving him barely time to change before rushing to Carlton House to put in the obligatory appearance.

  He felt around for his watch fob but realized that in his haste he’d forgotten it. Instinctively his fingers dug around in the small pocket on his waistcoat that lay right below his heart. Relieved, he exhaled. It was there. The slide of cool silk slipping between his fingertips was strangely comforting. A corner of the blue ribbon, frayed and worn with time, peeked out from the opening of the pocket for a moment before he quickly stabbed it back down out of sight.

  Such sentimentality was not like him. But like some wretched talisman, he carried the damned thing with him everywhere.

  It was all he had left of a past that he could not forget.

  For it seemed nothing would ever bring her back.

  Much later, breathless and flushed from the heat of the ballroom, Genie decided to take a turn on the promenades. Catching sight of Edmund outside in the courtyard, she started across the room.

  She stepped outside Carlton House and paused for a moment, shocked by the drop in temperature. It had taken until well past midnight, but the sweltering heat had finally dissipated. She closed her eyes, allowing the cool breeze to wash over her.

  A startled gasp drew her attention to the man coming up the walk. He stood perhaps ten feet in front of her, dressed in a black cape and tall beaver hat. She tilted her head to one side in question. There was something familiar…

  Their eyes met and her heart stopped.

  Time stopped.

  The music and dancing, the din of conversation around them slipped away. Unbidden, the memories rushed back in a chaotic montage: the first time she’d seen him, the first time he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor.

  The first time they’d made love.

  Heat stained her cheeks as if he could know her though
ts. The memories were so strong, so clear, as if five years of recrimination and tribulation had never happened.

  But it had.

  Other memories, much darker memories, blotted out the fond ones, breaking the spell. Her gaze shifted.

  He, however, continued to stare at her in shocked silence.

  She’d known it was bound to happen, seeing him again. And she’d realized that there was a good chance it would be tonight. Perhaps a small part of her had hoped it would be so, when she undoubtedly looked her best. She wanted him to see what he had forsaken. She wanted him to know regret. As she did.

  Genie studied him. He’d changed so much she was surprised that she recognized him. There was nothing left of the lean young man she remembered. His shoulders were unfashionably broad and muscular; his legs thick and powerful. Unusually tall, perhaps standing four inches above six feet, his frame with the added bulk seemed infinitely larger. He looked more like a blacksmith or common laborer than a vaunted peer of the realm. Even his elegant court attire did nothing to civilize his appearance.

  Undeniably he was still incredibly handsome, but he’d changed more than just from the passage of time. There was a hard edge to his face that had not been there before. As if chiseled from stone, his once softly sculpted features had sharpened from those of a boy to a man. The wide, arrogant mouth she recognized, but now it sat atop a cynical jaw that was both square and uncompromising. Where before there had been only dimples, now she noticed tiny cruel lines around his mouth. His hair was darker—no longer blond but golden brown—and longer, but still thick and straight with a slight wave that framed his face. His striking blue eyes shone as hard as glass, no longer sparkling like the sun upon the sea.

  Though changed, it was still the face that had launched hundreds of hours of tears and regret. Yes, she thought with relief, she could finally feel regret behind all the bitterness and recriminations. Behind the cold dull edge of hatred. Regret for the suffering, regret for the anger. But most of all, regret for the loss of love.

  When she looked at him and saw how changed he was, she felt something that she had not anticipated: a poignant longing for the innocence of youth.

  An innocence that he had taken from her.

  She was connected to this man by a past that should no longer matter. But it did. Perhaps it always would. He’d taken something from her that could never be returned. He’d forced her to open her eyes to the real world, where people are imperfect, where people break your heart and your trust.

  He’d once meant so much to her. Yet, oddly, Genie felt detached. She was not that same young ignorant country girl. He did not have the power to affect her any longer. That part of her life was gone forever. Seeing him again had finally solidified it.

  She might grieve for the innocence of youth, but she would never forget what had come after her cruel disillusionment. She would never forget what this man did to her.

  Lord Fitzwilliam Hastings.

  The man who’d nearly destroyed her.

  She’d given him her soul and he’d sent her into hell. Alone.

  The echo of her childhood ringing in her ears, Genie remembered. How he’d failed her. For refusing to do the unthinkable…

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thornbury, Gloucestershire, July 1806

  “Genie!” Lizzie Prescott shrieked as she raced up the oak staircase, her slipper-clad feet pounding as loud as a coach-and-four across a ballroom. “It’s true, it’s true.”

  Genie lifted her head from the letter that she’d been composing and wondered what all the ruckus was about this time. Probably something to do with a young man, Genie thought. At sixteen years of age, Lizzie could barely think of anything else. She grinned. At only two years her senior, Genie hadn’t quite outgrown the fascination herself.

  She turned her head in the direction of the clamor just in time to see her younger sister appear at the entry to her bedchamber, dramatically framed in the doorway, white-blond ringlets bobbing against flushed cheeks, her large bosom heaving from the short burst of exercise.

  Genie slowly put down her quill, giving her sister a chance to compose herself. “What’s true, dearest?” Genie asked calmly.

  Lizzie hardly took a breath before blurting out, “I’ve just heard it from Susan, who heard it from Jane, whose mother heard it from Lady Buckingham directly.” She clapped her hands together excitedly. “The Duke of Huntingdon has let Peyton Park.”

  The arrival of a peer of such distinction was exciting news to be sure in the provincial village of Thornbury, but Genie could tell from Lizzie’s near-bursting-with-excitement expression that there was more. She quirked her brow. “And?” she asked patiently.

  Lizzie lowered her voice, her luminous deep blue eyes wide and shining. “And the duke intends to stay until the spring.”

  She paused, a broad self-satisfied smile spread across her cherubic face, clearly eager to impart the final coup de grâce.

  Genie knew what was required of her. “And?” she asked dutifully.

  “And he intends to bring his two eldest sons with him.” Lizzie folded her arms across her buxom chest, enormously pleased to be able to pass on the latest on-dit to her older sister.

  Genie feigned indifference. She picked up her quill and turned back to her letter. “Oh, that is very interesting.”

  “Oh, that is very interesting?” Lizzie echoed incredulously. “Is that all you have to say. How can you be so calm, how can you go back to your letter as if—”

  Genie’s smothered gurgle of laughter stopped her.

  Lizzie stomped her tiny foot. “Eugenia Prescott, how dare you tease me like that! For a horrible moment I thought you were serious.”

  Their eyes met and both girls broke out into fresh peals of laughter. Genie enjoyed gossip—especially concerning young eligible gentlemen—nearly as much as her sister. When their laughter died down, Genie patted the small bench next to her chair. “Come. Sit down and tell me the rest. What else did Jane say?”

  Lizzie took the proffered seat and bent toward Genie, a conspirator in arms. “It was Susan who told me, Jane told her—”

  “And Jane heard it from her mother who heard it from Lady Buckingham,” Genie finished.

  Lizzie beamed. “Precisely. And the Marchioness of Buckingham is reportedly great friends with the Duchess of Huntingdon so it must be true. Susan didn’t know too many details; just that the duke has let the place while the family seat, Donnington Park, in Leicestershire is undergoing some improvements.” In a clearly reverent voice she added, “Mr. Capability Brown himself is said to have designed the gardens. The family will stay at Peyton Park through the hunting season until the beginning of the London season. None of the daughters are out yet, but there are two older sons.” Lizzie gasped, as if the most astonishing thing had just occurred to her. “Genie, do you think they might attend your coming-out ball?” Her words tumbled out even faster. “Maybe they’ll ask you to dance. Maybe they’ll both fall in love with you and they’ll fight a duel to decide who can win your hand. Maybe—”

  “Hold on, hold on. I think I may have told you one too many romantic tales.” Genie laughed, knowing that she was responsible for putting all those silly notions into Lizzie’s head with her stories. But Lizzie’s enthusiasm was definitely contagious. As much to rein in her own burgeoning excitement, Genie said cautiously, “I’m sure our annual ball is not grand enough for a duke’s family, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie frowned, taking umbrage at the suggestion that there was anything lacking in one of the great country traditions of Thornbury. The harvest festival race-week ball had come from the old Lammas Day feast, which the village had been celebrating for hundreds of years. “The Marquess and Marchioness of Buckingham always attend. It’s grand enough for them.”

  “We are fortunate; Lord and Lady Buckingham have always been most gracious to the local gentry.” Gracious, but aloof. They’ve never invited anyone, including her parents, to dine at Thornbury Castle, but Genie kept that though
t to herself. “Lizzie, you must realize that country society is vastly different from the circles of a duke.”

  “Well, they’ll have to do something for entertainment for the next few months,” Lizzie said stubbornly. “And the annual ball is the best that Thornbury has to offer.”

  Lizzie was right. Perhaps they would come. “Even if the duke’s sons do attend, it’s highly unlikely they’d be fighting duels over a parson’s daughter with less than five hundred pounds.”

  “Why, you’re the sweetest, most beautiful girl in Gloucestershire,” Lizzie dismissed with a short wave of her hand. “What’s not to fall in love with?”

  “I think you are hardly the most objective critic, my sweet, as you and I look more like twins than sisters separated by two years.”

  Lizzie shrugged, grinning. “After you break his heart, perhaps the loser of the duel will console himself with your younger sister.”

  “Naughty scamp!” Genie laughed, swatting Lizzie’s hand playfully with her feather quill. “Better not let mother hear you say such things. You still have two years before your coming-out. Besides, we know nothing about the duke’s sons. Perhaps they are more frog than prince?”

  “Oh, balderdash. A duke’s sons are invariably handsome.”

  Genie quirked her brow. “I think you’ve been listening to Susan for too long.” It was no secret that Mrs. Andrews would do anything to secure a title for her precious daughter. And with her fifty thousand pounds courtesy of the family shipping business, the pretty Susan just might grant her mother’s wish.

  Lizzie ignored her, caught up in her own reverie. “Once you are married, you’ll go to your spectacular townhouse in Mayfair for the season. Of course you’ll invite your beloved younger sister to share in your good fortune, and I’ll have a real season with the most beautiful gowns…”