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The Beggarmaid
by Lesley-Anne McLeod
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Romance/Historical Fiction

Copyright ©Leslay-Anne McLeod, 2007

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

To Cait, my first reader, editor, reviewer, and wonderful cover artist.

Thank you, dearest daughter.

* * * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

King Cophetua was a legendary, very wealthy king of Africa who loved a penniless maiden named Zenelophon. They were married, lived long and happily, and were much mourned at the end of their lives.

Their story is told in a ballad called “King Cophetua and the Beggarmaid", which is printed in Bishop Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. The tale of King Cophetua is mentioned twice in Shakespeare's plays.

CHAPTER ONE

Lady Hanwood's May Day Ball would be afterwards accounted one of the most successful of the London Season; there could be no doubt of it. It was still early in the evening and already the over-warm reception rooms were crowded. Candles, shirt points and flowers would all droop within the hour. The air could grow only more stale unless someone risked opening one of the many classically-draped windows.

But all the beau monde was present, and it had been shaken from its customary ennui, for the Marquess of Wessington was in attendance. He had only recently returned to England from abroad, and any hostess who could tempt him to attend at her ball would receive the accolades of her peers. Indeed it was noticed already that Lady Hanwood was more than usually complacent.

Wessington's progress through the crowded rooms was necessarily slow, as every few paces an old friend hailed him on his reappearance in London. He was recognized by everyone, and a murmur of excitement was spreading through Lady Hanwood's reception chambers.

Wessington paused several times to converse. Shortly after his arrival, he had been joined by the aging Earl of Elmsall, a man with whom he had no more than nodding acquaintance and nothing in common. He was beginning to tire of his companion, who had insisted that he must make Wessington known to his daughter. If she at all favoured her father, he had little interest in meeting her. He was polite to the older man, his late father's contemporary, only out of courtesy and a slight curiosity.

The earl was single-minded and querulous. He tugged the marquess’ superbly tailored sleeve from time to time and urged him along to the ballroom. Suddenly he stopped his erratic progress and spoke to a whip-thin, foppish young man dressed in a satin coat and velvet breeches. “Austin? Where's your sister, eh?"

“Last I saw her, sir, she was besieged in the ball-room, but that was some time since."

It seemed to Wessington that the young man surveyed his parent with embarrassed disapprobation, and spoke with respect out of habit rather than conviction. “I believe I have not had the pleasure?” he said, prodding Elmsall to an introduction.

The abstracted earl started and mumbled, “Oh, aye, to be sure. This is my younger son, Austin. Not a bad lad. This is the Marquess of Wessington, Austin; make your bow."

Wessington could understand the resentment that burned in the young man's eyes as he obeyed his parent. Austin Brierley's thoughts were all too obvious. He was thinking, as he examined the marquess’ garb, that his shirt points, which his best friend had assured him were all the crack, were indeed too high. Then it was evident that he remembered that Wessington was, in the vulgar parlance, a swell. He had obviously been informed that the marquess was a paragon, neither a dandy nor a Corinthian, but with elements of each and surpassing both. Never mind that Wessington had been sojourning in some godforsaken place abroad for the past two years. Austin Brierley clearly knew very well that a young man bent on cutting a dash in town could do much worse than emulate the marquess.

Wessington smiled his understanding at young Brierley, but nonetheless there was a mocking curl to his lip. He remembered his own father and his reactions to his father's nonpareil friends. He must be getting old if he called forth such responses from younger men.

The earl was pushing on. “Come along, Wessington, if we are to find my girl. She is never long in one place."

The marquess held his temper in check and followed the older man. He would devote only five more minutes to this search, he vowed.

On the threshold of the ballroom, which had been admirably decorated with white India muslin in the style of a tent, and blazed with wax lights, Wessington insisted on pause. He removed his sleeve from the earl's moist grasp with every appearance of affability, though his irritation was growing.

Elmsall peered about short-sightedly, seeking out his daughter. “There she is!” He gestured across the room to a cluster of gentlemen, young and old.

Sets were forming for the next dance, but conversation held sway while heads turned as the marquess was recognized.

“Allow me to find our way,” Wessington said. He hoped to speed their progress now that their goal was in view. With the earl following, he stepped into the crush. With a carefully bestowed smile here, and avoidance of a talkative person there, they crossed the room more quickly than had seemed possible. With equal ease, they breached the cluster of gentlemen, and reached its centre.

With their appearance, the clamour of the group stilled. The lady at its core whirled to confront the newcomers who had had such an effect. For a moment she stood quite silent, disregarding her father, and frankly surveying the unknown gentleman with him.

The marquess raised a quizzical brow at the study, but returned it quite as interestedly. Elmsall's daughter was not above middle height, but something in her carriage and manner gave her slender, rounded form added inches. She wore a gown of pure white, but Wessington noted that though its style was simple, it appeared somewhat less than maidenly. It was fashioned of a fluid silk which, from its bellefleur-tinted ribbon under her bosom, clung subtly to every line of her beautiful form. She wore no jewels, but a single camellia adorned and partially concealed the smooth flesh revealed by her décolletage. Her hair was a deep, burnished copper hue and shone with striking beauty in lustrous curls from a knot on the crown of her shapely head. A perfectly oval, creamy-skinned face was highlighted by remarkable leaf-green eyes, arched by sleek, dark copper brows.

“Genia, a word with you,” her father grunted.

The young lady's slipper-shod toe tapped with her irritation.

Then abruptly it halted as Wessington engaged her with a challenging glance.

Lady Iphigenia Brierley's eyes narrowed with speculation as she examined the newcomer, and her chin lifted in a corresponding challenge.

The gentleman was very tall, and broad-shouldered, and was elegantly attired in a dark corbeau coloured coat and black breeches. His hair was as black as the coals in the nearby grate, and his eyes were so dark as to appear black also. His countenance was quite remarkably handsome, but carried more than a hint of strength, and unlike the winter pale dandies of the ballroom, his skin was an even sun-warmed brown.

Looking around at her circle of admirers, she said, “My dear papa wishes to speak with me, so you must all go away now. But mind, if it is a dressing-down he wishes to administer, I shall expect to be rescued."

Disappointed, but laughing, the gentlemen—youths, roués, and those of the first respectability—drifted away to the neglected damsels of the ballroom.

“Well, Papa?” she asked. She was aware that they were watched avidly by half the occupants of the chamber.

Her father ignored the peremptory question.

“Wessington, this is my daughter Iphigenia. Genia, the Marquess of Wessington."

Genia absorbed the name even as she dropped a slight curtsey. She maintained a studiously disinterested expression, but her interest was piqued.

So this was the famous Wessington. His name was legend, and she had heard that he had a face like the Greek gods of Lord Elgin's marbles. So he had, she thought, if a god might have a sardonic lift to his brows and a harsh line of lip.

Two years previous, the marquess had forsaken a position at the pinnacle of society, and had disappeared to the lands wild and exotic of the near and mid East. Prior to his departure there was no one in the London ton, not even the most newly presented damsel, to whom his name was unfamiliar. Maidens were warned to put no stock in his charming, unexceptionable flattery. Mamas tried to hold firm against his handsome face and fine figure. Young men attempted to emulate his deeds, and their elders envied his accomplishments and his fortune. He was exciting and unpredictable, and even in his absence, his name had not been forgotten. Two years of newly graduated schoolroom misses and blossoming pinks waited to behold the truth of the tales about Wessington.

“I am honoured,” she murmured. She kept her voice light and her words perfunctory. She had no intention of throwing out lures to the famous marquess.

“Why do I doubt your sincerity?” he quizzed her and smiled.

His smile held a devastating charm. Genia lifted a brow and laughed at this unusual attack. Elmsall, apparently satisfied that he had accomplished his objective, wandered off to seek more congenial company.

“I had not been returned a day when I heard of you,” the marquess said.

On her guard, Genia retorted, “I cannot imagine why. All good report, I trust."

“Ah, no,” Wessington said, again surprising her. “But all good is, after all, very dull."

A gleam sparked deep in his black eyes but Genia, though she joined his laughter, did not succumb to the marquess’ charm.

Over his right shoulder, she was relieved to see her friend Lanark approach. She smiled a welcome to him but she was surprised when Lanark clapped a gloved hand on Wessington's shoulder.

The marquess spun round. “Francis!” he exclaimed.

His affection for the gentleman showed in his expression, Genia noted with lively curiosity. She thought it likely that Wessington was more usually guarded in manner.

The fair-haired, well-favoured man confronting them was smiling in response. He said, “How are you, Wess?"

“Very well. My return could not bring you up to London from your estates? I did write of my arrival."

“Five weeks ago, from Dover. I received it. But I could not leave before my business was finished. In any event, you might have stopped at Rowde Hill. You have been to Bath? Lady Dorothea will have been happy to see you."

“I have been to Sandown, and I have been to Bath,” Wessington said. “And I was happy to see her. Is all your family well?"

“Very well indeed. My mother and Sarah go on as usual at Rowde; Julia continues to terrorize her young ladies’ seminary at Bromley."

“And Sir Henry and Lady Jane?"

There seemed to be some private laughter between the two gentlemen. Despite her curiosity, Genia began to feel ignored.

“Indeed. You have missed a great deal. There are four little Tolworths now. And of course, my aunt is in health and spirits, as you see.” He nodded across the chamber where Lady Hanwood, an angular lady in a ferocious puce turban, was holding forth.

Genia, though intrigued by this exchange of family gossip, twitched open her fan, and fluttered it. She could smell, through the perfumes and pomades, the food being laid out in the supper room. Her stomach rumbled and though it could not have been audible, the two tall men turned in unison to her.

“Lady Genia, my apologies. Have you missed me?” Lord Lanark took her slim hand between his large ones, and carried it to his lips. “Have you shed a tear, breathed a sigh of regret, for my absence?"

She chuckled appreciatively at his nonsense. “Neither, Francis. I have been well amused, and did not realize you were gone away."

From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the marquess’ dark brows rise at the intimacy in her voice.

“You possess a hard heart,” Lord Lanark accused.

She allowed her long thick lashes to veil her eyes. Wessington was intrigued, she was certain of it.

She said to Lanark, “Not hard, my lord, non-existent."

Lifting her slim gloved hand to rest on his arm, Lanark said to the marquess, “Would you believe such a beautiful creature could be without a heart, Wess?"

“All things are possible, Francis, you know that,” Wessington said.

Genia was arrested by the uncommon response.

Lord Lanark shook his head, laughing as he said to her, “Your dances are all bespoke?"

“All!” she nodded, mock sorrowfully. “I had thought you still from town."

“But the next waltz,” Wessington suggested. “I am sure that is mine."

She gazed at him speculatively, and then reiterated, “They are all bespoke, my lord."

She turned to Lanark. “Francis, how did you entrap your aunt into inviting me this evening?"

Lord Lanark shrugged, his blue eyes dancing. “I threatened that I would ask you to wed me, if she did not."

“Francis! In truth?” Genia laughed with delight. She watched Lanark shrug his broad shoulders once more as Wessington surveyed his friend with curiosity.

As the musicians struck up a country dance, the crowd surged to again surround Lady Genia.

Lord Lanark and Wessington relinquished their places with bows and were replaced by, among others, a red-haired rake whom Wessington recognized.

“I was certain someone would have put a period to Boningale's existence by the time I was returned,” he said.

Lanark, watching Lady Genia and her admirers with superficial indulgence, laughed.

Wessington turned to his friend with a sudden question. “Such intimacy with the lady, Francis. Are you thinking of becoming leg-shackled?"

“Lord, no,” Lanark shook his fair-haired head. “I am content to be her friend. I could not afford to be more; I'm but a lowly baron. You'd have to be as rich as Golden Ball to take her family on. And we should drive each other mad."

Wessington lifted a brow enquiringly, ignoring the lures being thrown out by several females, old and young, nearby.

“You must know the family; father addicted to the bottle and the tables, one brother a rattle, the other a Bad Man. Expensive lot; they've been under the hatches for generations."

“I do know that. I did not know about her. No mother?” Wessington asked.

“Died some years ago. It hit Lady Genia hard. And she never really made a come-out. She just ... er, arrived, in society one day early last season. With little justification the biddies call her fast, including my aunt. The young ladies turn their backs, urged on by their mamas. All the loose fish in town are after her with improper proposals."

“Second season,” the marquess mused.

“There are no eligible parti for a portionless girl with connections like hers, no matter how beautiful she be,” Lanark said. “She has a hard life ... bound to with family like that."

The marquess abandoned the topic with every appearance of disinterest and said, “Dorothea asked after you."

“Did she indeed?” Lanark's face imperceptibly brightened. “Kind of her. I paid a call when I was recently in Bath."

“So she said."

“Devilish place, Bath. Wonder she can bear it."

“She is wondering that also, now she is over the anguish that beset her on Charles’ death. She may come to stay with me, for I am opening Wessington House."

“Indeed.” Lord Lanark seemed to have nothing more to say. Then he added, “You are opening the house; you're here for some time then?"

“I left my irritation and restlessness in the East, Francis,” Wessington said. “I am, as you see me, tranquil, and prepared to settle down."

“I shall believe that if you stay in England five years.” Lanark's jibe was cynical.

The country dance ended and across the chamber the marquess saw Lady Genia come to rest. The lady's laughter rippled distantly, genuine, musical and low.

“You will have to excuse me, Francis. Next I believe is a waltz. I am engaged for it!"

It was Lanark's turn to be quizzical. “Going to dangle, Wess? She told you the waltz was bespoke."

Wessington assumed an offended air. “Have I ever dangled? No, as you are well aware. Although a friendship with the lady could be interesting. Curiosity is as always my besetting sin. I shall be a very, very good friend.” He set off across the ballroom with a leisurely stride.

“White's, tomorrow, two o'clock,” Lanark called after him.

With a raised hand, the marquess acknowledged the engagement.

* * * *

Genia did not see the marquess as he started across the room. She was considering the return to London of Francis, Lord Lanark.

Her gaze, which generally she schooled to cool disinterest, warmed as she sought out Lanark's well-favoured countenance across the chamber. He was such a good friend. He rescued her from overly amorous beaus, and sharps who sought to take her meagre funds when she gambled. He countered the tales of unkind gossips, and once had dried her anguished tears when an acquaintance cut her publicly.

Her heart was not engaged nor, she realized, was his. She was very well aware that no man could afford to marry with her family. She had realized that before even she had departed her shabby schoolroom. She knew also that gossip labeled her fast, and that her mother would have been saddened by her circumstances, and her behaviour.

She strangled a sigh and disregarded a pang of regret as she considered the gentlemen about her, ready to do her bidding. She had never sought notoriety, though indeed it had found her. Life was not satisfactory, she considered, but it was always interesting.

Always interesting, she repeated silently, looking about with quickened perception. A buzz was running through the vast chamber, and she could not but be aware that it was because the Marquess of Wessington was returning to her side. He stood half a head taller than most of the gentlemen about her, and the crowd parted before his approach.

“My waltz, I believe,” Wessington said, apparently unconcerned by the commotion he was causing.

Genia tilted her head to consider him. She was irritated by his assumption.

The very young baronet to whom the dance had been pledged said nothing.

“It is promised to Sir Thomas,” she disagreed.

The younger man, meeting the marquess’ black gaze, disclaimed the honour stammeringly.

Genia's brows lifted but rather than create a scene, she accepted Wessington's arm to the edge of the floor. The buzz of conversation diminished as the musicians struck up, and dancers took their places for the waltz.

They accomplished several graceful turns about the floor before speaking. The marquess then said, “We seem to be disconcerting the company."

Genia tipped up her head, feeling her curls brush his firm chin. She was uncommonly aware of the warmth of his strong, gloved hand on her slender waist. She lowered her lashes demurely, and said, “I have not been approved to waltz by the patronesses of Almack's."

“Nor have I!"

He surprised a gurgle of laughter from her.

“I have never been offered a voucher, and never shall,” she revealed. She found herself wishing to shock him.

She did not succeed.

“I've not been in the place for years,” he said. “My mother always declared Sally Jersey's mother had no sense, and Princess de Lieven was stiff-necked. She suggested that my sister and I never bother to countenance their pretensions, or their ‘club'. We only did once or twice."

Although she was intrigued by this novel view of the sacred forum of society, Genia seized upon the more commonplace information presented.

“You have a sister?"

“Just one, and younger than I. Dorothea is a widow; her husband, Charles Somerton, was a Hussar, killed in the Peninsular War."

Genia was silent in the face of tragedy; she had had experience of it when her mother died.

He said, “Dora has been living retired, with our aunt, in Bath. She was sadly affected by Charles’ death, but she is better now and may reside with me since I have returned."

He turned the subject adroitly. “I'll wager you have few female friends."

Lowered lashes quickly concealed the hurt his impertinent words conjured in her emotions.

He continued with calm honesty, “You are beautiful, clever and sought after ... few females would countenance such competition."

“I do not care for fulsome compliments,” Genia said, without embarrassment.

“'Tis but the truth. I wonder that you are invited anywhere."

Genia stiffened at the insult and her eyes narrowed.

Then he said, “The number of females left unattended by your throng of admirers must daunt most hostesses."

Genia laughed with sudden surprised delight. But she could not banish the trouble that she knew still lurked in her eyes. “You may be correct, but I do not solicit their attentions. My desire for a little gaiety, which I indulged last Season, has gone greatly awry. I am invited almost everywhere ... because those who attend at Almack's must have someone about whom to gossip. I will do as well as another."

“Better perhaps. For jealousy adds a spice to gossip."

The music was ending, and they exchanged polite courtesies, even as Genia inwardly assimilated their extraordinary colloquy.

“Will you take me to my brother, please, my lord?” she asked, placing her slim hand on his politely extended arm. He acquiesced, as Genia dropped her lashes to conceal a dawning gleam of mischief in her eyes.

She had caught sight of the Honourable Austin across the chamber. She contrasted the natural good breeding and innate charm and confidence of her new acquaintance with her sibling's youthful folly. He was supporting a silk hung wall and surveying the glittering scene gloomily.

With his superior height the marquess had apparently no difficulty locating the younger man either. They crossed the ballroom in charity, despite the avid stares of those they passed.

As they approached her brother, Lady Genia smiled brightly at him, warning him with a wink of her wish to be removed from her present company. She and her younger brother understood each other very well, and had an uncodified system of signals with which, upon occasion, they communicated. Despite his undoubted attractions, Genia had no desire to remain in the marquess’ society; Austin would remove her from it.

The younger man straightened, and said, by way of greeting, “They are playing at the tables in one of the withdrawing rooms, Genia. Should you wish to have a go?"

“I would,” she said. She flicked a curious glance at her companion, wondering if he would display shock or disapprobation over her decision to gamble.

But the marquess said nothing to prevent her departure, and indicated no wish to accompany them. He merely bowed impeccably and stepped aside.

Uncommonly irritated, she transferred her hand to her brother's arm. They turned away, but she cast back over her shoulder, “Thank you for the waltz, my lord."

He inclined his dark head slightly in acknowledgment, but was already preparing to bow to a dowager who was claiming his attention. She had two stout granddaughters in tow.

“He deserves them,” muttered Genia under her breath.

* * * *

Genia won a considerable sum of money at the tables during Lady Hanwood's May Day ball. She spent a large portion of it in the following days. Part of her winnings she invested in a selection of biscuits which she stored in a rodent-proof container concealed in her bedchamber. Much of the remainder she spent on desperately needed new clothes: a very prettily trimmed villager bonnet, a fine green silk shawl and two dress lengths of mull muslin.

She was wearing the bonnet and the shawl, and happily feeling that she looked her best, as she strolled among the crowds on Bond Street in the company of Lord Lanark. She had thought them engrossed in conversation, when suddenly he gave an exclamation and stopped short. Pedestrians behind them protested vociferously.

Genia followed his gaze, and spied the Marquess of Wessington with a handsome, dark-eyed woman on his arm. Like Lanark, she ignored the folk inconvenienced by their sudden halt. She had not seen the marquess in company since the ball at which they had met two weeks previously, but he had lingered in her mind. His charm had been as powerful as had been rumoured and his enigmatic utterances had intrigued her, as had his remote manner.

She indulged herself with a close consideration of his appearance in the harsh light of day. He was as handsome as she recalled, and was quite as commanding in a fine claret coat and buff pantaloons as when wearing evening dress.

That she should retain an interest in Wessington startled her; it was not her wont. Genia's brows drew together as he bent solicitously to his companion. She told herself firmly that it was not unexpected he should be in female company, and that the emotion she experienced was not envy. She gripped the fringe of her new shawl a little too tightly.

As Lord Lanark began to manoeuvre her towards the marquess, she attempted a protest. He paid her no heed. He, she realized, was intent upon the lady. With that realization, she suspected the lady's identity. When the introductions were performed, her suspicions were confirmed.

After greeting Lanark, the marquess said, “My dear, this is Lady Iphigenia Brierley. Lady Genia, my sister Lady Dorothea Somerton."

Genia could not fault his manner; it was correct and reserved. He accorded her only a polite bow though she was aware that his glance lingered on her copper hair crowded within the new bonnet. Her response to him was studiously disinterested, but she turned with curiosity to his sister.

She beheld a lady in her middle twenties with a sad, pretty face. Her thick hair and wide eyes were a rich charcoal, not so black as her brother's, and there was a kindness in her eyes that the marquess’ did not always possess. Her slim figure was very straight, and she was gowned in grey and white with quiet propriety and few pretensions to the latest fashion.

Genia was not surprised to discover that Lord Lanark and Lady Dorothea were well acquainted, though he had never mentioned Wessington's sister prior to Lady Hanwood's ball. While their manner towards each other did not hold the intimacy of long friendship, there was a certain ease and, it seemed to Genia, on Francis’ part a certain eagerness.

“You are staying with the marquess?” Genia asked.

Lady Dorothea smiled. “As long as he will have me,” she confirmed. She disconcerted Genia by considering her with an intent gaze. “He informs me that I am to go into company, and that I must have a new wardrobe, now that my mourning is inappropriate.” A quiet smile accompanied her words and she indicated her pearl grey gown.

“I did not remember London to be so crowded,” she continued, gesturing at the carriages that thronged the sunny pavement, and the fashionable folk entering the shops nearby. “Or to have such fine weather."

“We had a winter of interminable fog.” Genia sighed. “It is a relief to have spring and company."

“The winter in Bath was similarly long,” Lady Dorothea said. “Boredom and discontent are constant companions of fog."

A quick empathy stirred between the ladies. Genia permitted herself a responsive smile at the sensitivity of her new acquaintance.

“Do you know, much as my brother wishes me to have a new wardrobe, he does not wish to pore over fashion plates,” Lady Dorothea said. “I wonder, if I am not too forward Lady Genia, would you care to visit me, and assist me? After so long away, my acquaintance in town is limited, and I can see that you have excellent taste."

A slight frown appeared in Wessington's black eyes, and Lord Lanark looked taken aback. Genia was first tempted to reply in the negative, for overtures of friendship seldom came her way. She met Lady Dorothea's dark eyes directly though, and changed her mind as she discerned sincerity there.

“If I can be of assistance, I should be pleased. I will call, thank you.” She permitted herself an unguarded smile.

Lady Dorothea said, “Indeed, we could make a start this morning; why do not you and Lord Lanark join us?"

Wessington shook his head at his sister's impulse.

Genia began to respond, but was interrupted by the approach of her older brother Neville. She replaced her smile with a repressive frown directed at him. She had not seen the Viscount Rawcliffe for several weeks, and had supposed him to be on a repairing lease.

He ignored her scowl as he came up and kissed her cheek. “My dear sister, is all well with you? And with Austin? I have been from town an age.” He turned from her to her companions before she could respond, and ostentatiously awaited her reluctant introductions.

She performed them briefly, wishing him gone. He was at his most charming, which as Genia had once informed him, made him seem less a worm and more a snake. Rawcliffe was not an unhandsome man, but his narrow eyes were a cold grey-green and his skin had an unhealthy pallor.

Lord Lanark returned the viscount's greeting with reserve.

Wessington waved aside Genia's attempt at introduction. His manner was inscrutable; his voice and face expressionless. “Your brother and I have met, Lady Genia, before you emerged from your schoolroom, and before I went abroad."

Genia watched Wessington and Rawcliffe carefully. She regarded her brother with suspicion and dislike. She could see that he was attempting to remember if he had ever particularly offended the marquess. She hoped Wessington knew that wealthy widows were much in Neville's line. He did not appear to like the way Rawcliffe was considering Dora, but he said nothing.

Finally, the viscount agreed to prior acquaintance and smiled. “A pleasure to see you returned, my lord,” he said.

The marquess did not respond.

Lanark, who had completely ignored Rawcliffe, said, “We shall go to Jane Taylor's establishment and examine the goods displayed there. They are such as must please the ladies."

Genia agreed, disregarding her brother. “You will like that shop, Lady Dorothea."

The marquess’ sister agreed to the diversion with every appearance of pleasure.

Neville's expression hardened as he was ignored.

The marquess declined the opportunity to accompany the shopping party, as he consulted his pocket watch. “I have a prior engagement, and I see I must leave you even at this moment."

He bade them brief farewells.

To Genia's dismay, Rawcliffe had apparently conceived a desire to remain in her company. He said, smiling once more, “I offer myself as a poor substitute for Wessington."

Genia saw words of rejection spring to Lanark's lips.

He was superseded by the marquess, who said, “Lord Rawcliffe, you will accompany me? My destination may interest you."

The viscount could not, with grace, ignore the direct invitation. Wessington had known it.

Genia took Lanark's right arm, and waited while Lady Dorothea accepted the baron's left. They turned away without farewell to Rawcliffe.

“Where are you to, my lord?” she heard her brother ask the marquess.

“White's,” came Wessington's reply.

Lanark and Lady Dorothea were already in conversation, so Genia permitted herself a glance back over her shoulder. She had a desire to witness the interchange between her brother and the marquess. As she watched, a slow flush of anger mounted to the viscount's narrow face.

“Oh dear, blackballed, were you?” the marquess said. “You won't care to join me then. And you cannot now join Lanark and the ladies. I have spoiled your morning, in fact."

Genia shivered at the venomous look her brother bestowed on the marquess.

Wessington appeared unmoved, but said only, “My apologies and good day to you."

Rawcliffe did not respond, and Genia found herself hoping her brother did not realize she had witnessed his mortification. He made a dangerous enemy.

CHAPTER TWO

Within the week, Genia was dressing carefully for her first morning visit to Lady Dorothea at Wessington House. She chose a decorous pelisse in pomona green, and a demure pale green muslin gown to wear beneath it. She had allowed nearly a week to pass before undertaking the visit, for she had no wish to appear overeager.

Female companionship had largely been denied Genia since her mother's death. Before she emerged from her schoolroom, maidservants had been her only companions, for her father thought a governess an unnecessary expense. When, however, the maids had departed, they had not been replaced. As she emerged into society, Genia's lack of chaperone or sponsor and the licentious behaviour of her father and brothers had discouraged her from forming attachments with young ladies of her own age. She had not thought that she felt the lack of feminine influence. But she now owned to anticipation at the thought of acquiring a friend like Lady Dorothea.

She opened the front door of her home on a sunny but chill May day. The sun was approaching its zenith and the street was bustling with carriages, carters and pedestrians. As was her custom Genia proposed to walk, unaccompanied, to her destination. Before she had left Portman Square, however, she was conscious of someone following her. When she halted and turned, she beheld her brother Neville.

Her green eyes narrowed. She said, “You are an early riser, and you look shocking because of it."

The viscount's narrow face, which was indeed haggard though impeccably shaved and presented, acquired an unpleasant look. But he replied, “I had an overwhelming desire to accompany my dear little sister on her morning calls. My own convenience was not to be considered before brotherly duty."

She stared at him, disbelief and appraisal in her glance. A maidservant hurrying on an errand gave them a curious glance. A muffin man, whom Genia recognized as a regular visitor to the area, tried to approach but Neville waved him away.

“I have no desire for your company,” Genia informed her brother. She wished she could buy a muffin for, as was usual, there had been no breakfast to be had at Elmsall House.

“Come, come, my dear. You have important new friends; you must share your good fortune."

“My friends are none of your affair. Nor is where I go, and indeed I will go nowhere until you leave me.” Genia folded her arms emphatically, and did not move.

“You look absurd,” Neville hissed. He cast a look about the square where other fashionables were beginning to emerge from their homes.

“You are annoying me,” she retorted. She lifted her chin in defiance.

“Very well, go!” He stared at her with dislike. “But you had best think on this. The next time you refuse to aid me, you may hear some unpleasant stories circulating the ton. Stories about you that will preclude your being accepted anywhere.” He wheeled and stalked off in the other direction.

Genia, burning with indignation and something close kin to despair, watched him go. When she was certain he would not follow, she continued on her way. She took an extended route to her destination, walking briskly, willing herself to calm, trying not to think of Neville's spiteful words or his threats. She bestowed a penny and a smile on a crossing sweeper she knew at the corner of Oxford Street, and continued on North Audley Street.

She arrived with flushed cheeks before an impressive door in Grosvenor Square, and plied the gleaming knocker without pause for thought.

In only a moment, an oppressively staid butler opened the door, and led her through the admirably proportioned hall to a morning room. It was furnished and appointed with taste and elegance. Genia noted the details with an appreciative glance. Its classicism apparently had never been overtaken by the overwhelming fashion of chinoiserie, or the gothicism and Egyptianizing of recent years.

Lady Dorothea, again clad in pearl grey, was writing a letter at a small, intricately inlaid desk when Genia was announced. She looked up with a smile at her visitor's entrance.

“Ah, now I may put aside this duty letter with good conscience!” she said. A smile warmed her rather sad, pretty face. “Do come in and sit down. It is charming to have acquaintance with someone so nearly my own age. You know that I have been living retired in Bath? It seems everyone is elderly there. And Wessington tells me you know of my bereavement."

Genia murmured something appropriate, as she seated herself on a nearby sopha. She spied a drawing of a military man on the table at her hostess’ elbow.

Lady Dorothea caught the direction of her gaze, and picked up the framed picture. She handed it to Genia. “This is my Charles. It is three years since his death, time to be getting on with life. But it is ... difficult.” Her smile faltered a little.

Genia considered the picture. It was no more than a sketch, but it was confidently executed in charcoal and displayed a uniformed officer with a lively, attractive face. She said, “You have a great treasure in having known such joy. We all, in London, pursue it madly, and few attain it."

Lady Dorothea recovered herself. “Perhaps I can help others to know it when they find happiness.” She smiled at the drawing as she received it back from Genia. “It often goes unrecognized. I have ever been grateful for this drawing. Wess drew it."

“The marquess?"

Lady Dorothea replaced the drawing on her desk as she spoke. “He is a man of many talents ... But enough of us. My brother informs me this is your second season. Do you enjoy society?"

Genia, still assimilating the fact that the marquess had artistic leanings, laughed unguardedly. To her own ears there was a bitter note to the melodious sound; she hoped that Lady Dorothea did not discern it.

“I am perhaps one who does not recognize happiness, but I do not think I have seen it. My family has descended from the respected to the tolerated. I was unhappy when my mother died years ago, but hoped I might be happy when I was older. I was not. I was unhappy when I attained my eighteenth year, and knew I would never come out, be presented or have a season. I believed I might secure happiness if only I could attend at a ball. It took two years to find the courage—the desperation—to do so, uninvited. It did not bring me happiness. I created a sensation. And now I am sought after, but I think it has not made me happy.” She halted, aghast at the confidences she was depositing with this new acquaintance.

Lady Dorothea was regarding her with sympathy.

Genia withdrew to her more customary reserve. “I do have one or two good friends. Well, you know Lord Lanark.” She discerned a quickening of interest in Lady Dorothea at the mention of Lanark's name, and was glad to have discovered a distraction from her own confidences.

“He has been Wessington's good friend for many years. I have come to know him, but have seen little of him these last few years. He did pay me a call in Bath some weeks ago. Our excursion the other morning renewed our acquaintance. It was most enjoyable, did you not think so?” Lady Dorothea appeared herself to desire a change of subject.

Genia, all attention, would not be diverted from Lanark's virtues. “Indeed it was. Lord Lanark is most assuredly a good man ... most truly my friend."

By extolling Lanark's worthiness, Genia tried to reinforce an interest that Lady Dorothea seemed to display in the baron. But she rather thought she had sounded as if she harboured a romantic interest towards Lanark. Before she could rectify the matter her hostess did change the subject.

Apparently also deciding that the time for confidences was at least temporarily at an end, she rose and searched through the journals on a nearby Pembroke table. “I have somewhere here La Belle Assemblee and The Lady's Mirror. Ah there!” She opened the periodical and apparently found what she sought. “Now, tell me, what is your opinion of this walking dress?"

When the marquess appeared more than an hour later, the ladies had agreed that the Assemblee portrayed two or three most attractive modes. They were arranging a visit to a dressmaker.

Genia suggested an establishment that was far beyond her own resources. “I know that Lady Jersey and Countess Lieven patronize her, and many more at the height of fashion.” Her voice faltered as Wessington crossed the thick rose patterned carpet. Genia acknowledged his arrival with a stiff nod. She set aside the delicate teacup that she held and changed her mind about indulging herself with one last cake.

Wessington proffered his greetings and kissed the cheek his sister presented. He seated himself beside her with ineffable grace.

Lady Dorothea said, “We shall visit Schomberg House again, to consider those departments we passed by on Monday.” She addressed her brother with enthusiasm. “You must know Lord Lanark took us there, and we had some excellent tea and sweetmeats after examining their delightful displays."

“Then, Dora, you must certainly repair there again,” Wessington responded, with an amused gleam in his dark eyes.

Genia flashed a covert look at his face, but said nothing and began to draw on her gloves.

“You will laugh at me, but indeed this is all as delightful as you suggested to me a month ago in Bath that it would be,” Dorothea confided to her brother. “Lady Genia, I have meant to ask ... would you call me Dora, please, as Wessington does? Both you and I have formal names, and I already shorten yours."

Genia hesitated for only a moment. “Indeed I would be pleased, Lady Dora!” She discovered Wessington studying her, and she felt warm colour rise in her cheeks. Her self-possession deserted her in the marquess’ presence. She suspected he had often this effect on women, young and old, and condemned herself for joining their number. She concealed her discomposure with a flurry of activity.

“Is it so late?” she asked, glancing at the ormolu clock on the broad marble mantelpiece. “I must go. I am engaged to drive out with Viscount Boningale this afternoon."

“I am on my way out as it happens,” Wessington said. “If you are unaccompanied, you must allow me to see you home."

Genia could think of no excuse for refusal.

“My phaeton is at the door,” he said.

She hesitated. He was certainly dressed for driving, with an olive-drab caped greatcoat over his long tailed coat of blue superfine and breeches. He carried driving gloves in his hand.

“Do not let him coerce you, Lady Genia; his tactics come from dealing with me!” Lady Dora laughed.

Her words restored Genia's self-possession and her cynicism. If the marquess regarded her with only brotherly interest she would be very surprised.

“Your carriage would be most welcome,” she said. With the ease of long practice, she swept her long lashes over her eyes, concealing her emotions and her thoughts. She thanked her hostess, and confirmed their next expedition. “I will call on you Wednesday week."

The supercilious butler bestowed upon the marquess his tall beaver hat and gently closed the door behind their departure. Wessington handed her into the phaeton and joined her before speaking again. He nodded to his groom and said, “My sister enjoyed your visit. I have not heard her laugh so since before Charles’ death."

“I enjoyed my call,” Genia said with sincerity. She added, “You did not at first wish me to visit her. You need not fear I shall corrupt Lady Dorothea!"

“I only feared that you would find no interests in common. I was, happily, wrong. And I do not think you capable of corruption. But I fear Dora may domesticate you, and only think how dull that would be for the gentlemen of the ton.” He handled his very fresh horses easily in a crush of traffic. “I must ask though ... are you are bent upon your own destruction?"

“Destruction? I cannot think what you can mean.” Genia noted that their passage down the busy thoroughfare was not unnoticed. “I strive only to enjoy myself."

“Driving with Boningale in his perch phaeton can only lead to destruction."

“If I do not drive with Boningale, I am condemned never to drive out, saving your kindness today,” said Genia. She laughed. “Besides, though Francis thinks badly of him, Boningale is only weak and foolish."

The phaeton drew up before the elaborate facade of Elmsall House in Portman Square.

“I did not give you my address!” Genia said with surprise.

“Is this not your home? Your family was used to live here.” The marquess paused in the act of swinging down from his gleaming carriage.

“Yes, of course it is."

He continued his descent to the pavement. An urchin, at his nod, ran to the heads of his horses.

“I was unaware that you knew the direction.” Mechanically she gave him her hand and he assisted her down from the phaeton. The thought passed through her mind that the marquess knew far too much, and was uncomfortably acute. But she could not contemplate the matter for he retained the hand she had extended to him.

He held it in a feather-light grasp and said, “Don't waste your time with the weak and foolish, Lady Genia. You are too bright a star. I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing you again.” He handed her to the door of Elmsall House. Then without looking back, he tossed a coin to the urchin, returned to his phaeton and drove away.

As she opened the substantial door, Genia was conscious of a certain confusion. Wessington bid fair to become an enigma. He did not regard her disinterestedly, yet showed none of the signs of infatuation that she had come to recognize. And she wondered at his words. They were not idle flattery, yet surely could not be truth. She, a star?

The shabby entry hall was empty as she passed in; the sound of the closing latch echoed behind her. Rookley the butler, who was every bit as dissolute as the earl his employer, was never found where he should be. There had been no footmen for months. She crossed the unwelcoming entry and continued up the uncarpeted stairs, deep in thought.

Surely Wessington's words had gone beyond the commonplace of conversation. Was he simply giving her a friendly warning about Boningale and his ilk or, she paused on the seventh step, was he trying to set her up as his flirt? If he meant merely to be kind, would he call her a bright star? She certainly wished no more than conviviality from the marquess, or from any of her admirers; she had no desire to find it necessary to rebuff improper advances from him. She shivered to think that though she had no difficulty in discouraging the likes of d'Echine, Boningale, and Bednall, she might find it tempting to accept any offer that the marquess made.

“Was that Wessington brought you home?” The voice of her brother Austin broke her reverie.

She gained the top of the staircase and peered down the dim and dusty corridor. “Good God you look a sight!” she exclaimed.

“This rig is all the crack, Genia, much you know about it!” he responded.

“I know Wessington would not be seen in yellow pantaloons, a green coat and shirt points so high as to do him an injury. Can you have funds to waste on such foolishness? I advanced you only a little last week."

“I had some luck at the tables—"

“I thought we agreed I should husband our resources?"

“I needed it—"

She sighed, thinking of the food they might have bought. “Very well."

“Besides, if you play your cards right, we may have all the money we need."

She paused before entering the drawing room. She feared she understood his meaning all too well, but she asked, “What can you mean?"

“Wessington, big sister. Don't whistle him down the wind, whatever he wants of you.” He snickered.

“What should he want?” she snapped.

“Perhaps I should have said, whatever he should offer?"

She stared at him challengingly.

Forced into explanation, he said, “C-carte blanche, a slip on the shoulder—"

Her eyes narrowed. “Can you really think that I will accept anything of that nature from any man?"

“You must look to the future. What else can it hold?"

To her irritation, tears welled in Genia's eyes.

“Oh, dash it ... I...” He took a quick step toward her.

“Just go away,” she choked out. “Go and display your ridiculous outfit..."

“I beg your pardon. I'm sorry for my words, and for spending the money. It is just so dashed frustrating...” He shrugged and with bowed shoulders departed.

Genia entered the shabby drawing room slowly. She would not think of the future, she instructed herself. She could not foresee it, and would not imagine it. She would consider only the present, and that she could control. She would be no man's bit of muslin, despite that her family had created powerful reasons why no gentleman of taste or sense would ever make her more than a dishonourable offer.

She removed her bonnet and idly pulled at the ribands before setting it down. She picked up a book, leafed through it, replaced it and paced the room, frowning. Why did Lady Dora dare to be her friend? Surely it could not be at her brother's instruction? Even as she thought it, Genia discarded the notion. Dorothea was too honest, of too pure a nature to be used in such a manner. Still her friendship was not the unalloyed pleasure that Genia had hoped it might be. It brought her into proximity with Wessington and the marquess possessed the ability to discompose her as had no other man. What did he want of her?

* * * *

Three weeks later, it was common knowledge that Wessington House was open once more and that the marquess and his sister had returned to society. It was at a ball at the home of the Duchess of Devonshire that Lady Dorothea made her unofficial debut.

Charmingly gowned in celestial blue silk gauze over white satin trimmed with silver buttons and lace, she entered the magnificent ballroom on her brother's impeccably tailored arm. There was a little stir as they entered, and Wessington glanced down at Dora's face. She was looking to him for reassurance, and as always his face was unguarded for her.

He pressed her hand, smiled and said, “Have no fear, Dora, the ton is as boring and inconsequential as ever it was. They will exclaim to see you, and as quickly forget you ... probably when your friend, Lady Genia Brierley enters."

“Wess!"

“I speak only the truth. Your new friend is a subject of much gossip and speculation.” He saw the trouble in his own eyes reflected in his sister's.

“But you like her,” she said with certainty. “And I do, decidedly. She has indeed become a friend, and my presentable appearance tonight is much to do with her. She is charming, and yes, kind. Any lack of propriety in her behaviour must result from her lack of family guidance, not from any defect of character."

“I think ... I hope you are right. Ah, here is our friend Lanark."

That gentleman was greeted with affection by them both. Wessington watched with veiled interest as Lanark eagerly took Lady Dorothea's hand.

“You see? Even should I leave, Lanark will not see you left alone. And your presence is no longer causing a stir,” Wess said.

She nodded, her dark eyes sparkling. “My nervousness is gone."

Wessington smiled, but said nothing as he watched the gathering crowd.

“He is the best of brothers,” Lady Dora commented to Lord Lanark.

“He is the best of good fellows, for all he conceals it,” Lanark said, quizzing his friend.

Wessington lifted a mocking brow at these encomiums but was not discomposed.

“Indeed not many know his virtues; he trusts no one it seems,” said Dorothea with a moue directed at her brother.

“Enough,” Wessington said. “I trust both of you, though that may be foolish of me."

Lady Dora seemed to realize she had imposed enough on her brother's good humour. “How are your sisters, my lord?” she asked Lanark.

“All is well at Rowde Hill, I believe, and with my sister Tolworth, but constant appeals from Julia at school indicate a sad degree of discontent.” Lanark shook his head, inviting her laughter. “I believe I shall have to go and visit to brighten up the poor child."

Wessington stirred. “Ah, there is Lady Genia, just entered on the arm of her brother Austin."

Another murmur was going about the room.

Lady Dora plucked her brother's sleeve. “Is it her gown? Is that why everyone is buzzing?"

With his extra stature, Wessington could see Lady Genia very well. “It could certainly be. She is wearing a silver and green confection that clings to every line of her exquisite form."

“Oh!” Lady Dora said. “Perhaps it is always so when she enters?"

Wessington observed the gentlemen swarming to Lady Genia's side, leaving disgruntled ladies all over the expansive chamber.

A voice from behind her answered Dorothea's question. “Always."

The marquess had watched Rawcliffe approach, and now secure in Lanark's care for his sister, he left them with a casual nod at the viscount. He could hear Rawcliffe's words as he walked away.

“Forgive me, I could not help but overhear. My little sister amazes me as well. I remember her with tangled curls and torn frocks, and her popularity continues to startle me. She fashions her own gowns, you know, and she will not accept my comment upon them."

The explanation appeared to be spoken with all indulgent goodwill, but Wessington was certain there was no affection in the words. He shrugged off the concern and continued across the chamber to intercept Lady Genia.

He reached her side and in response to the disbelief in her face, the marquess looked across the ballroom to his sister. Rawcliffe was leading Dora into the set forming.

“Yes, you are right,” Wessington said to Genia. “I would have prevented him had I been there, not here. But I had rather be here. Will you dance?” He was abrupt.

Lady Genia indicated her willingness as briefly. A hopeful, very young gentleman and three others approaching turned away in disappointment.

“I have never liked your brother,” Wessington said. They joined a forming set, with mechanical bows and smiles.

“Nor have I, at least not these fifteen years,” Lady Genia admitted at the first opportunity in the dance. “I assume we are speaking of Rawcliffe?"

“Yes—I have no acquaintance with Austin.” With an inquiring look, he encouraged her to continue. “You have a distaste for the viscount despite his relationship to you?"

“Oh, I have justification. Neville is despicable; lately sometimes I think him truly evil. His lack of character and honour are the worst of his traits, his lying and deceit the poor best. Now Austin ... Austin is quite nice but silly and pathetic, because he has no money, and such a father and brother. We deal extremely."

“You are neither silly nor pathetic,” Wessington said. With his white-gloved hand he drew her closer than the movements of the dance required. He stifled a chuckle as she stiffened. She might be gowned like a light-skirt but her instincts were all propriety. She was, he could discern, relieved when the pattern of the dance separated them. When they came again together, he spoke of inconsequential matters, and he watched her waver between disappointment and curiosity during the remainder of their encounter.

Without comment, Wessington relinquished her hand to a notorious rake for the quadrille, and bowed formally before moving away. He was aware that, for all she might wish it did not, her wide, green gaze followed him through the crowd.

After chatting with an acquaintance, he returned to his sister's side. She had sat out the dance in company with Lanark, and they welcomed him with easy smiles.

When the quadrille ended Lady Genia was deposited near them, though Wessington was certain she had tried to manoeuvre it otherwise. She dismissed her partner peremptorily.

Wessington said nothing.

“I never liked that chap, Lady Genia,” Lanark hurried into speech. “Should you have accepted his..."

“I gave him no encouragement,” Lady Genia interrupted. “But he dances so very well I cannot refuse him."

The marquess was amused by the challenge that she cast him with a glance. He had noticed that she had given her partner little or no attention during the dance. He still did not speak.

“Indeed...” Lanark said. “Why do you do such things?” His tone was that of an exasperated older brother.

Lady Dora studied each of her companions with wide eyes. “Your gown looks very nice,” she said to Genia.

Wess noticed that if she hoped to ease Lanark's irritation, it did not serve. He was amused, for his friend looked aghast.

“You will not say you would wear such a thing?” Lanark asked.

“Nooo,” Lady Dora hesitated. “But then my form is not so perfect as Lady Genia's. I cannot deny that I would like to think I could wear such a thing, if I wished.” She blushed a little at her candour.

Lanark looked thunderstruck.

Wessington laughed aloud at the exchange, and Lady Genia joined him. He noticed however, that her laughter was tinged with guilt.

“I had a concern when I dressed,” Genia confided in an undertone to Lady Dora. “I had not realized that this fabric, which I find charming, would cling so. And then it was too late. I had no other gown so it was a choice between attendance wearing it or staying at home. And I felt I could not bear another night alone in my chamber. You are not shocked?"

“Oh, no. Wessington will tell you ... I have never been strait-laced.” The ladies smiled at each other in perfect agreement.

The marquess, who had been listening while appearing to be absorbed in conversation with Lanark, said, “That is true, but you have a charming reserve."

Then without formality, he inquired, “Lady Genia, this waltz?"

She agreed without hesitation.

As they moved into the crowd awaiting the dance's music, he said, “Do not try to interpret my remark to Dora as a criticism of you.” Then he cast a brotherly comment over his shoulder. “No more than two dances with Francis, Dora."

“I may have been out of society, but I have not forgot everything I knew, Wess. Besides why should Lord Lanark wish for more than two?"

The orchestra hurried into the waltz's strains and Wessington caught Genia in his arms and into the dance.

“Now you have set them all on end,” Genia laughed up at him.

He bent his head to better hear her, and heard her catch her breath at his proximity.

However, with composure, she said, “Francis will protest that he would dance them all with her, and Lady Dora will explain that she was not angling for such compliments."

“It will do them no harm,” Wessington said, his hand at her slender waist drawing her a little closer.

“I could wish one of my brothers had ever taken so much interest in my career,” she replied, retiring from him a little.

“You have no need of brothers with a gown like that. Every man in the ballroom is taking an interest in your career."

She flashed him a fiery glance.

“Isn't that what you desired?” he asked with a bland expression.

“No,” Lady Genia said. “I desired a pretty gown, and had no notion of its propensity to cling. Austin said nothing; he would not notice. I doubt I shall wear it again."

“That would be a shame for it is very lovely,” he said, drawing her even closer. He gave no evidence of hearing a whisper of titillation run through the assembly. He knew that Genia was aware of it, for she shivered suddenly.

“Your attentions to me are causing interest,” she said. “The ton will say I have set my cap for you."

His black eyes gleamed. “You would not be the first, but they would be wrong wouldn't they? You have done no such thing. Besides, I have never been concerned with the ton's opinions or their gossip,” he added without conceit.

“I try not to be."

“You should not—now, be silent, and enjoy the dance."

Their steps flowed delightfully in the waltz. She was obedient to his instruction, and gave herself over to the pleasure of the music.

If she regretted it—as he did—when the waltz ended, she did not indicate it. At her request he aided her to seek out her brother Austin and gave her into his keeping with apparent equanimity.

The marquess gave every appearance of enjoying the remainder of the evening. It was not perceptible that he knew at all times where Lady Genia was. He saw her visit the supper room with her brother, the card room with her brother, and the supper room again in the company of Bednall. He concealed a frown at that. Lady Genia was wary of him. She was right to be, he thought. She had no idea how ruthless he could be.

* * * *

Genia saw nothing of Wessington or his sister for the next several days, and tried to dispel a niggling concern that her indecorous gown had given Lady Dora a disgust of her. After the ball, she had folded the gown hastily and stowed it in the furthermost corner of her press. She declined all evening invitations for nearly a week, and embarked upon a virtuous course of reading and sewing.

She sat stitching early one morning in the shabby morning room of her home, when Rookley suddenly opened the door. She jabbed her finger with the needle as he slurringly announced the Marquess of Wessington.

Genia jumped to her feet, her injured finger in her mouth, and flushed hotly. She had removed the finger and opened her mouth to deny herself when the marquess, impressive and exquisitely tailored, entered. She watched him take in her plain, shabby gown, the drab room and the empty fireplace with an acute, all-encompassing glance. Then he turned his dark head, and Rookley, who had stood swaying in the doorway, took himself off, muttering.

“You must not blame him,” Wessington said. “He has imbibed at least half a bottle of brandy, and I threatened to do him an injury if he did not conduct me to you. You do not accept morning calls I am told."

Sunlight filtered through a grimy window. Genia responded without artifice as she gestured at the cold, bare room.

“I do not care to know the ton's opinion of my home.” Her emphasis was bitter. “Besides, the ladies do not come, and I have no desire to entertain the gentlemen."

The marquess shrugged his broad shoulders, apparently uninterested in her words. “I have interrupted your sewing?” he asked.

“It is not the genteel stitchery of a lady,” Genia snapped, and bit her lip. “I was mending a gown. I have no abigail."

At that Wessington did look inquiring.

Genia found herself explaining. “There is no money for maidservants, and even if there was, there is Neville. Few servants come and they leave shortly. Only Rookley stays."

He made no comment, but regarded her steadily until her gaze dropped to the gown clenched in her slim fingers.

Then he held out a missive to her. “This is from my sister. I am commanded to await a reply, or even better, to take you to her."

Genia stifled a desire to snatch the letter, so intense was her relief that she had not lost her new friend. Instead, as she opened the note, she asked, “Do you obey commands, my lord?"

“Only those I care to, from those whom I care for.” There was some warm but unfathomable expression in his eyes.

She dropped her own gaze to the letter and read.

When she again looked up, the marquess was wandering the room examining the blank unfaded patches on the greying wallpaper.

“The paintings were sold to pay debts,” Genia said with a degree of bravado as she braced herself for disgust or ridicule. “As was some of the furniture, and most recently, part of the library. You will understand why I deny visitors."

There was neither surprise nor condemnation in Wessington's finely modeled face, but something she still could not read.

“Yes, I do understand it, and do sincerely regret your family's lack of attention to your needs."

“I do not ask for your pity."

“I have not offered it. You are enchantingly beautiful, and intelligent with it. Your needs will be met."

Genia was speechless, and was almost relieved when Rookley staggered in the door again.

“Another visitor my lady. The one you was waiting for."

Genia had forgotten that she expected a caller and her eyes widened in alarm. With a smothered excuse, she hurried from the room after setting down her sewing. She met the shabbily respectable young man in the entry hall and, with a brief greeting, handed him a small purse which she had withdrawn from her sewing box. She bestowed a smile and a farewell upon the visitor and hurried back to the morning room.

She could not discern if the marquess had followed her to the door and seen her actions. He was standing near the window, staring out absently. She directed a nervous glance at him.

He only said, “Will you come?"

“What?” she asked.

“My curricle and my greys are waiting. Shall I take you to my sister?” he asked, as though they had not been interrupted.

Genia collected herself. “I shall be ready in ten minutes.” She was about to whisk out the door when he spoke again.

“Lady Genia?” She looked back over her shoulder. The marquess was standing with his booted right foot on the fender of the cold fireplace. “Even that old gown suits your perfect form most beautifully."

“Don't!” She said, and was followed by his low laugh up the stairs.

CHAPTER THREE

Wessington had finished his meal when his sister entered their cheerful breakfast parlour one morning the following week. May sun poured in the tall window, and gleamed over The Edinburgh Review and Cobbett's Political Register which lay on the table before him. He lowered The Times which he was perusing, at her entrance. He studied her troubled face, charmingly framed by a frivolous cap.

“Problems, my dear?"

“No! Well, yes.” She said no more until the footman had served her and at her signal left the room. “It is only that sometimes I do still miss Mama's excellent advice. I have this week had two ladies, ladies of influence and position, warn me against friendship with Lady Genia."

Wessington shifted his papers out of the sun, and said, “She will do you no harm. Indeed, you may do her some good."

“That is just what Papa would have said. And Charles. Oh, you may be sure I set those women down, for Lady Genia cannot hide her virtues from a friend; she is the kindest creature."

Wess raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Did you not know? She worries about climbing boys and crossing sweepers and flower sellers. She knows many of them by name. I have seen her give a crossing child all the money she had in her reticule—not a great deal for you must know she is sadly purse pinched—but all she had. And I have seen this more than once. Also, Lady Genia and I have visited more modistes and shops in the last month than I care to count, and she has not purchased a thing for herself. I do not know when or where she obtains her necessities. I think even she often goes hungry."

Wessington was silent, recalling Lady Genia's elegant fragility, and her brother Austin's gaunt lankiness. And their fondness for the supper room at any gathering they chanced to attend. He had not thought things had deteriorated so far at Elmsall House.

Lady Dora continued, “You know, I have thought, we give our money to certain charities but it does not hurt us, if you understand me. Lady Genia suffers when she disburses her money to the poor. You have said I may do her good; I wish I might help her a great deal more. Her unchaperoned entrance into society has done her so much harm."

“I understand all you say, and I thank you for telling me about her philanthropy,” he said. “She hides this side of her character from me most thoroughly.” Wessington remembered the young man accepting a purse from Lady Genia; he had followed her that day at her home.

“She is not at ease with you,” Lady Dora agreed. “She is with Lord Lanark."

“He cares greatly for her, and she knows it. She does not know why I would become her friend."

“Why would you?” his sister dared to enquire.

The marquess brooked no questions or interference from anyone, even his closest associates, but his sister had no need to fear one of his devastating setdowns.

“That is my affair, just yet a while,” he said, with a kindly smile. “There is only one way that Lady Genia might hurt you, and that is by bringing you into proximity with her brother, Rawcliffe. He is your contemporary; do you not remember him from your salad days?"

“Only slightly. He was then more interested in wealthy widows than newly presented misses."

“He still is,” Wessington said, with pointed gentleness.

“Oh!” Lady Dora was momentarily silent. “I understand you. I shall heed your warning as I can. It is difficult for he does accompany Genia on some occasions. She seems scarcely to tolerate him, but I cannot be too rude."

“Indeed,” Wess said. He smiled at her, a smile of great sweetness which he reserved for her alone. He pushed the newspapers aside and stood. “And now my dear, it is a very fine day. Why do you not send a note to your friend and one to Lanark? We will drive out ... anywhere you like. We will take your barouche."

“You spoil me, just as Charles did,” Lady Dora sighed.

“Only today.” He kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow I must go to Sandown. I have had a message from my steward. He wishes my decision on matters of some weight.” He withdrew to order the carriage.

* * * *

“My brother said we might go wherever I wished,” Lady Dora said, as Genia stepped into the barouche in Portman Square, “so I have chosen Hampton Court. Is that agreeable to you?"

Genia settled herself beside Lady Dora. She was happy that the gentlemen sat opposite with their backs to the horses. Though she disliked to have the marquess in a position to watch her, it would have been more difficult to have been seated at his side.

“It is most agreeable,” she said, twitching her tall-crowned bonnet. She had dressed in a great hurry, delighted to receive Lady Dora's note, and eager to be abroad in the spring sun. “Good morning, Francis.” She offered him a casual greeting, and continued to Lady Dora, “I have not driven out that way for an age. It is some distance though, is it not?"

“Not for Wessington's horses. And we may stay as late as we wish."

“I have bespoke a meal at The Feathers near Wimbledon. They were used to keep a fine table,” the marquess said.

Genia suspected that the thought of an excellent nuncheon brought a gleam to her eyes. She hoped it went unnoticed.

“The maze was always one of my favourite places,” Lady Dora was saying. “My brother was used to be quite an expert at solving the puzzle of it."

“I make no claims of proficiency,” Wessington declared with a shrug.

“I should think not,” Lanark said. “It must be five years since you have been to Hampton."

“At least,” said Wessington. “We shall see if I have a long memory."

Genia smiled, careful to guard her expressive eyes with her long lashes. “I have never ventured to enter the maze. I have not attended there with anyone whom I could trust to help me escape it, or behave with propriety if it could not be quitted."

“Thank heavens you had the sense not to enter then,” Francis said shaking his head. He reproached himself. “I should sometime have driven out with you, not left you to those rakes."

Genia reassured him with a smile and reminded him, “I have always taken Austin with me."

Lanark grunted. He seemed to indicate some skepticism over Austin Brierley's ability, or willingness, to protect his sister.

“Come, let us not refine upon it,” Lady Dora interjected. “It is too fine a day for argument.” She gestured at the burgeoning trees as they passed a square's garden, and the blue, unclouded sky.

“Always the peacemaker, Dora,” Wessington teased his sister.

Genia found it difficult to keep her gaze from him. He was lounging comfortably, apparently glad to be freed of driving responsibilities. His long legs, impeccably breeched and handsomely booted, were in close proximity to her own. Genia found herself reluctantly, inordinately, aware of him. She searched for distraction and directed her consideration to the crowded streets. She joined Lanark and Lady Dora in bowing to acquaintances. The marquess, she noted, avoided that task by keeping his gaze within the barouche. Too often it was upon her own face.

“Ah, there is my brother Rawcliffe. I wish I might cut him,” she said.

Despite her words, Lanark and Lady Dora acknowledged the viscount's bow with their own.

“We cannot cut him for no reason,” Lady Dora scolded her friend.

“I wish that we could."

“He cannot be so very bad."

The gentlemen kept silent over their knowledge of his exploits.

Genia said, “Oh yes, he is. I believe we were ordinary enough children, when Mama was alive. But bad company and a natural tendency to greed, combined with Papa's teaching, have led to a remarkable deterioration in his disposition and character."

“And the Honourable Austin?” asked the marquess.

Genia intercepted the glance Lanark cast him—a look that questioned his interest.

“Oh, Austin is harmless and penniless. He's quite biddable and even helpful—given monetary incentive—though stupidly reckless."

“So you have two problematic brothers. And Francis here has three irreproachable sisters."

“Two irreproachable sisters, and Julia,” Lanark said, with a droll look.

“Julia sounds delightful,” Genia said. “I have always thought so."

“Julia longs for adventure. My sister Tolworth desires only domesticity, which she enjoys with my exceedingly dull brother-in-law, and their ever-increasing nursery. And my sister Sarah seems content to stay with Mama, and be a homebody."

“But they are good people,” Lady Dora said charitably, with a warm smile at him.

“They are not even aware that it is possible to be bad,” Lord Francis said mock mournfully. “They are content to animadvert on Julia's regrettable nature, not even realizing the mischief in which she could embroil herself."

“Poor Julia,” said Genia. “She must be a changeling. An adventuresome person is most out of place in your family."

The marquess intervened before Lanark could respond. “And Dora and I have each other, and are happy for it."

Lady Dora nodded agreeably.

Personal topics were left behind as the buildings of the metropolis thinned and gradually disappeared. Desultory observations were exchanged on the state of agriculture and the warmth of the sun. The ladies unfurled their parasols, and their laughter rippled from the carriage as the gentlemen laid themselves out to be amusing.

The marquess’ fine horses covered the distance to Hampton Court in a remarkably short time. Genia felt a pang of regret as they gained the Palace grounds. She did not recall when she had been more content with her lot.

The gardens of the Palace were full of spring beauty, and it was agreed that the Broad Walk must first command their attention. The pond garden and the Fountain Garden were admired, but the maze soon became the goal of both Lady Dora and Genia. They led the way northward down the Broad Walk, with the gentlemen following at a leisurely stroll.

They entered the baroque maze as a foursome, with a nod and a coin to the keeper. At the first dissection of the paths, however, they separated.

“I am convinced this is the way,” Genia said. She gestured with a slim gloved hand to her right.

Lord Lanark shook his head. “Not the last time I was here,” he said.

“I have a notion that Lady Genia is correct,” the marquess interpolated. “She and I will try it. Dora, do you go with Francis and help him find his way.” He handed his sister to Lord Lanark's arm.

She made no complaint, but Genia noted that Dora gave her brother a quizzical look. And Genia noticed the very satisfied expression on Lanark's face as Lady Dora took his arm.

“A wager,” Genia said gaily. “Whichever couple first finds the exit shall face forward on the homeward journey.” The challenge was agreed, and she slipped her gloved hand onto the marquess’ offered arm, albeit reluctantly.

She had no concern that Wessington would attempt familiarities within the privacy of the maze, but had qualms about being alone in his company. The marquess was far too astute for her to be totally comfortable in his presence.

It seemed she need not have worried however. For some time as they walked, their chief topic was which divergent path to take and the reasons for it.

Then, “You seem to enjoy this modest diversion", the marquess said.

“I do ... very much. I think I do not require sophisticated amusements.” Genia was surprised into candour. “Though I will not deny that I enjoy the gaiety of society. You see, until a year ago I had no diversions. I had my library and my stitchery; my life was simple and solitary. And I had had my fill of simplicity and solitude."

Wessington made no comment on those revelations but said, “There is solitude in the vast desert spaces of the East. I did not dislike it."

“But that surely is different from my enforced solitude. One makes the choice for the solitude of that sort of journey; you chose it. I did not choose mine."

“True. But you have now made the choice for society and gaiety."

“I had a wish only for a little less solitude and simplicity. I might have cast myself into philanthropy had I the funds. But I have not the fortitude for great works with great sacrifice. Nor have I the education or the courage to provide for myself and break with my family. So I had a choice between more solitude, and the society of the ton.” Genia was dismayed; the conversation had taken just such a personal turn as she feared. “You are aware of my choice."

The marquess merely said, “I think you might like desert solitude. The heat and cold are both intense, and the challenges are many. But in the night, the vast quiet outside a tent with a warm brazier has a great charm."

“I should like to sleep in a tent,” Genia said, “and oh, I would like to see the stars again."

“I could express a wish to accompany you in both endeavours, but it would scarcely be gentlemanly, so I shall not,” Wessington said, with a devilish lift of eyebrow.

Genia choked on an outraged giggle, and did not demur when he drew her hand more securely within the crook of his arm.

Wessington and Genia faced the horses on the journey back to Grosvenor and Portman Squares. There was no doubt of their success, although Lord Lanark and Lady Dora had emerged from the maze only minutes after them. They all congratulated themselves that no one had had to consult the keeper. The day had spun out enchantingly as they strolled the Queen's apartments, the Clock Court and the Great Hall of the Palace. The meal that the marquess had bespoke at the nearby Feathers Inn was extensive. Genia was replete and content as, near sunset, the barouche entered Portman Square.

“Shall you attend at the Abingdons’ ball tonight?” the marquess bent his dark head to enquire of Genia.

She was very conscious of his proximity, and his breath was warm on her cheek. “I think not,” she said. She added, on a whisper, speaking more to herself than the marquess, “This has been quite a perfect day, without solitude or false gaiety."

“I am glad,” he said.

Genia lifted her gaze to discover both Francis and Lady Dora considering her and Wessington thoughtfully.

* * * *

Only a few days later Genia and Lady Dora strolled in the Green Park. It had become their habit to walk out on fine mornings, and this park had become quite their favourite destination. They were followed, at a suitable distance, by Wessington's brawniest footman.

Genia enjoyed the park's green peace, for it was occupied in the morning hours only by pigeons and nursemaids with infants, and a few grazing cows with attendant milkmaids. Her head was aching and she welcomed the quietude.

Conversation had been intermittent between them, punctuated by friendly silences, but suddenly Genia said, “I expect you have been told of my walk down St. James two days before yesterday."

Lady Dora admitted that she had heard of it. Her manner was tranquil.

“And Wessington?” demanded Genia.

“He is from town. But you may have noticed he has a distressing tendency to omniscience. I should be surprised if he did not quickly learn of it when he returns."

Genia paused on the edge of a bed of budding flowers, weary and dispirited. She had gone to bed hungry and had not slept well. She knew she was looking tired and misliked the strong morning sun for revealing it to her friend.

“Why did you do it?” Lady Dora asked. “I may have been for some time living out of the world, but that has never been acceptable."

“I always walk, you know that. Though generally Austin is with me,” Genia said. “Even though I was not in his company, St. James offered a perfectly safe avenue to reach my destination.” She managed a grin. “Besides Lord Boningale wagered ten guineas I would not do it; you must know I need the money!"

She was relieved when Lady Dora showed no shock, but said, “Your reasons have some validity. But I cannot think my mother or yours would have condoned them."

Genia felt a familiar desolation at the mention of her mother. “My mother would understand. She was married to my father at seventeen ... a marriage for her father's convenience. She loved an adventure; life is so very drab without her.” She brightened with an effort, and laughed. “Besides, I have no prospects, so I cannot harm them."

Lady Dora contented herself with shaking her head ruefully, and said, “By the by, your gown ... the one that caused such a stir?"

Genia coloured a little and asked, “Yes?"

“I found a scarf, or my abigail did, with blue green spangles on silver. It never did suit any thing of mine—I cannot think why I bought it—but it seemed to me that it would become that gown prodigiously. And veil its revelations."

They shared a girlish giggle.

“If you will accept it? I have it at home, set aside."

Genia hesitated.

“You must believe I have never worn it.” Lady Dora seemed concerned that she had given offense.

Genia hastened to reassure her. “You are too kind; I shall accept, with many thanks. Though the gown may be unwearable,” she added, with a forced laugh.

“What can you mean?"

“I stuffed it in the darkest corner of my press, after the single wearing. It may be crumpled beyond redemption."

They exchanged a smile, and walked on. A light breeze stirred their gowns and tugged at their bonnets.

Genia was relieved when her friend said in a different vein, “Did I say that Wessington has gone to Sandown? He went the day after our excursion to Hampton Court. That was most enjoyable was it not? I did however feel sorry for Lord Lanark, to be encumbered with me, when he so enjoys your company."

“I doubt he missed me,” Genia said. She had no thought for Lanark. She was thinking of Wessington, and was conscious of disappointment. She had hoped, and feared, to discover what the marquess thought of her unseemly foray down St. James.

Lady Dora was continuing. “My brother is very busy you know. When he was traveling abroad, there were no problems with the estate and business matters, for he made very certain there would not be. But his steward and his agents are happy to have him returned for he takes such matters very seriously. They prefer he make the decisions. He dislikes to leave his writing now though."

Genia was bewildered and said so.

“Have I not told you? I quite thought you knew,” Lady Dora seemed surprised. “Wessington is writing a book about his adventures in the East. Actually it was not his idea, but that of a friend of my late mother's, who is a publisher and bookseller."

Now Genia was astonished. “The marquess has literary pretensions as well as artistic talent, and friends in trade?!"

Lady Dora laughed aloud, but said, “Well, he is not a fribble, you know, and has never been high in the instep. My father taught us well to weigh the worth of a person on his own merits and never mind the opinion of others."

Genia busily stored the information, and as they turned, suddenly frowned. Her eldest brother was coming down the path. He was dressed to a nicety in buff pantaloons, gleaming Hessians and a coat of green superfine, but Genia had no time to waste admiring his appearance.

“What do you want, Neville?” she demanded, as he drew near.

He eyed her with reproach, and made an elegant bow to Lady Dorothea. “Rookley informed me that you had gone walking. I came to ensure that you committed no such solecism as a stroll down ... er, in the wrong areas."

“Lady Dorothea knows of my walk down St. James,” Genia said. “But I forgot to tell her that you put money on me, and are plumper in the pocket for it."

Viscount Rawcliffe directed a pained look at his sister, and smiled at Lady Dorothea. “She's headstrong, always has been. No stopping her wild starts."

Genia began to remonstrate, but was interrupted.

“Let us not break straws, little sister. I have come to offer a high treat. A balloon ascension, day after next, near Vauxhall. I will arrange the carriage, Austin will accompany us, and perhaps Lady Dorothea would honour us with her presence.” He shot a challenging look at Genia.

Her first response, a refusal, died on her lips. She recalled his warning about crossing him, and considered her options with rapidity. Lady Dora also appeared to be deep in thought.

Within moments, Genia could see that her friend was about to decline politely. She burst into speech. “Oh, I should like that of all things. Do come Lady Dora!"

She regretted having to involve Dora in her family's machinations but could see no way to avoid it. She was quite certain she could protect her friend from her brother's advances, though she could not protect herself from his threats.

“I should like to see the ascension,” Lady Dorothea wavered.

“Then it is settled,” Neville said with finality.

* * * *

The day of the balloon ascension dawned on a heavy shower of rain. Genia, making a sparse breakfast, had hopes that it might be canceled. Austin, seated at the same table, admitted similar gloomy hopes.

The viscount was not popular when, on entering the chamber, he commented, “It will not continue to rain, and you had as well feign cheerfulness for if you queer my suit with Lady Dorothea, you will both regret it."

His younger siblings exchanged depressed looks.

“I expect you to be charming and delightful company, and to disappear for some time when I give you the nod. Are those muffins?"

Genia attempted to protect her last two purchases from his depredations, but Neville had already snatched one up.

He bit into it and chewed thoughtfully. “Very nice,” he said at length. “We should indulge in family breakfasts more often.” He was laughing at his own wit as he left the room.

“Austin, I depend upon your assistance,” Genia whispered to her other brother, who was pouring himself another cup of the abominably weak tea. “Wessington will not thank us for allowing Neville to importune Lady Dora. We must impede his efforts.” She sliced the last muffin in half and offered one of the pieces to Austin.

“How?” Austin asked, accepting the portion and picking crumbs from the plate that had held the muffins.

“We won't leave Lady Dora alone with him, for one thing."

The earl could be heard speaking with someone in the corridor. Austin popped the last piece of his muffin into his mouth.

“You must follow my lead this afternoon,” Genia finished in an undertone. “And pray that Papa does not decide also to accompany us."

By noon a fresh breeze had indeed cleared the sky, and the sun glittered on the rain-washed streets. When the job chaise appeared at the door at two o'clock, the three Brierleys were ready.

“Smile,” snapped Neville, as Austin assisted Genia into the phaeton.

“Not until absolutely necessary,” Genia said.

Austin snorted.

On the short drive to Grosvenor Square, Genia devoutly wished that the marquess was not from home. How, she worried, had Neville known that Lady Dorothea's brother was attending at Sandown and could not circumvent his activities?

Her gaiety on greeting her friend, was forced. She was certain her concern was writ on her face.

If Lady Dora noticed anything amiss, she was far too well-mannered to indicate it. She accepted Rawcliffe's assistance into the carriage, but had little to say to the Brierley brothers. “Is that the Pamela bonnet of which you told me?” she asked Genia, admiring the tall crowned straw, which sat pertly on Genia's copper curls. “You trimmed it most elegantly."

“I thank you. I had such a search to discover ribands the same colour as the rose.” As Lady Dora was settled at her side, Genia began to chatter of fashion in a manner that Rawcliffe could not penetrate. She lifted a brow at Austin, and he roused himself from an absent-minded slouch, to launch into a monologue regarding the latest boxing champion.

The viscount glared at them both but made no attempt to halt their conversation. He appeared prepared, Genia thought, to bide his time.

At their arrival on the ground, the hired coachman found a place for the carriage with little difficulty, though there was a host of fashionable equipages present. If they stood in the carriage—and Genia did—they could see the romantically boat-shaped basket of the balloon, and the balloon itself, gaily striped, gradually swelling to life.

They had not long been settled, when to Genia's unconcealed delight, Lord Lanark appeared. She cared nothing if others misconstrued her pleasure for she knew it was, in the main, relief. Lady Dora greeted him warmly if with more restraint, but Genia caught her curious glance.

Austin took the opportunity of Lanark's arrival to step down from the carriage and invite Lord Lanark to take his place. Several other gentlemen arrived and had to be content to stand by and try to exchange a word with Lady Genia, whose spirits rose despite her unease.

Lanark soon made it apparent to the viscount that he had no intention of leaving. It was impossible for anyone to tell from his demeanor what had brought him to Rawcliffe's carriage. It might have been devotion to Lady Genia, or concern for Lady Dora's comfort. It was clear however that it was his intention to monopolize both ladies.

As the baron engaged Lady Dora in conversation, the viscount hissed in Genia's ear, “Did you warn Lanark to play watchdog?"

“I did not,” she said. “But however he came, I am glad of it."

“And Austin—why's he being so devoted and considerate?” Rawcliffe sneered.

“It is unusual for a member of our family, is it not? I find it pleasant.” She raised her voice. “Francis, let us go and examine the balloon. Give Lady Dora your arm. Neville, you may give me yours."

Only Genia heard the viscount's snarl of frustration, and an anxious chill crept up her spine.

Genia arrived back in Portman Square in the late afternoon with a raging headache, but also with the satisfaction of knowing that she had to a degree foiled her brother's intentions. Austin had disappeared at some point during the ascension, but Lord Lanark had not quit them until the moment of their departure from the ground. They had strolled about the great crowd for more than an hour, and Lady Dora had found a moment's privacy to confide to Genia that she had herself invited Lanark to join them. She had begged forgiveness for such boldness but said that the baron had been greatly disappointed to be unable to escort them himself to the ascension. Genia had hastened to reassure her that Lanark's presence was most welcome. When they had returned to the carriage, Lanark had stepped in as if it was his right. Rawcliffe had been unable to dislodge him until the balloon had long since floated into the azure sky, and they prepared to return Lady Dora to her home.

She had endured Neville's rage and threats on the brief journey to Portman Square after they had deposited Lady Dorothea at Wessington House. Despite her belief he would not harm her, Genia had been a little afraid. But he had done no more than talk before depositing her unceremoniously on their grimy doorstep and departing again in the hired carriage.

Genia passed the evening in the musty library of her home. At midnight she retired to her bed, and then spent two hours listening for the return of her brother Austin. She sped from her cold chamber to the corridor after hearing him stumble. She took her candle with her and discovered that he had none.

“Never can find a light,” he grumbled.

She was pleased to discover he was not deeply in his cups. “Austin, do—"

“I say, that ascension was fine was it not?” he surprised her by his enthusiasm. “I think I should like that."

“When we have a great deal of money, we shall both indulge in it,” she said. They both entertained brief daydreams of better times.

“Was Neville ... how was Neville?” asked Austin suddenly sobered. “Sorry I deserted you, old girl."

She brushed aside his apology. “You did very well ‘til Francis arrived. And his presence carried more weight than yours. Neville was very angry indeed. But he had no justification, for you and I did nothing but chatter and Lady Dora herself had invited Francis to join us. I did wonder if he might castigate me on the way home, I could then have welcomed your company, but enough of that ... Austin, it is of money I would speak."

He leaned his bony frame against the discoloured wall, and said, “I have none."

“I know that, neither have I. But I would get some. We shall have to take our gambling more seriously. Will you please to make a list of gaming hells and card parties? A pity we are barred from the clubs..."

“A list? Gambling? I can, of course.” Comprehension dawned in his face. “But, I say, Genia, you cannot attend..."

“I must,” she said. “Do you know this is the only decent wrap I have?” She wrapped her green shawl more snugly about her. “And I have had nothing to eat all day. Besides if you are my escort, it will be thought odd, but not over exceptionable."

He groaned. “It will put us beyond the pale."

“So will starving to death,” Genia said.

“Oh very well, I know better than to argue. I'm going to bed."

“The list?"

“Tomorrow."

“I had best light you to your room,” she said, managing a roguish grin. “You will be of no use to me at all if you break a leg."

CHAPTER FOUR

More than a week after the Marquess of Wessington had left town for his estates, Genia accepted an invitation extended by Lord Boningale. She was to attend the theatre at Drury Lane, unchaperoned, in his company.

Genia considered the matter long and carefully. It seemed ill-advised, but she wished very much to see the play being performed. She would have preferred Austin's company, but their new foray into gambling had yet to prove profitable and they had no funds for such entertainment. Even if they had, he had a long-standing dislike of the theatre, and refused unequivocally to attend at any performance.

So, humming a fragment of song, she dressed herself in a gown of cream silk newly trimmed with peach ribands from another gown, and tucked a bit of lace in her décolletage. Despite her misgivings, her eyes sparkled at the thought of the play. And perhaps, she mused, Boningale would give her supper. She was very hungry.

She was alone in the house when Boningale's groom rapped the great door knocker. Boningale had not the courtesy even to hand her in to his carriage, but left the groom to attend to her comfort. It did not auger well for the evening, but once again Genia thrust aside her misgivings.

The theatre was thronged with playgoers of all ranks although as they ascended the stairs to the boxes the crowds thinned. Boningale made a display of ushering her within his box, and when he closed the door, the click of the latch caused Genia's nerves to jump. Her misgivings were justified; within the box sat four of Boningale's cronies leering at her. It was immediately evident that they regarded her as something less than a lady.

Genia was relieved when the play began within minutes. Her relief was short-lived. Neither the performance on the stage nor the disapproval of nearby playgoers silenced the antics of her companions. Their lewd jests and indecorous behaviour brought a wash of colour to her cheeks, and temper sparked her eyes. Within the half-hour, she demanded of Boningale that he take her home. He ignored her request. He had never before behaved with such a degree of impertinence. She could only assume he was emboldened by his friends’ presence. His talk was loose and his hands were free. Even a cold reserve on her part could not quell his ribald comments and lascivious regard.

She could pay scant attention to the stage in the first act of the performance. She was busy fending off Boningale's familiarities and planning for escape during the interval. She would not admit to worry, but she grieved that the remains of her reputation would be in shreds. As the act ended however, there was a firm rap on the box door.

It opened before any of the occupants moved, to admit the Marquess of Wessington.

Genia laughed outright, in nervous relief. “Wessington!” she exclaimed with unfeigned delight.

He said nothing at first, only stared blightingly at Boningale who had his chubby hand on Genia's silk-covered knee. When the hand was removed, he turned his hard black stare on each of the other young men in turn. To Genia, light-headed with relief, it seemed the men blanched. The marquess had an air of menace about him.

When he spoke, it was very quietly, his deep voice devoid of civility. “You will all vacate this box now. You may return in the next act. You will not discuss this matter with anyone and you will not approach this lady again ... ever."

He looked for the first time at Genia. She coloured deeply as he regarded her. He did not turn his head as the younger men filed sullenly out of the box. Genia's relief faded as she was left with him, for his expression remained very cold. Many faces were turned toward the box avid with curiosity, some reflecting disdain, some disapproval.

“You were in the country,” she said, flicking her curls into place with nervous fingers. She stood, drawing up her peach gauze scarf, and moved into the shadows at the back of the box. She could bear the curious stares no longer.

“I am returned,” he said, joining her out of the flaring lamplight. His broad shoulders completed the protection that the shadows offered.

Genia stared up into his face, searching for some emotion that she could understand, some feeling to which she could respond. There was nothing to be read in his still, cold features. She hurried into speech. “I wished to see the play so very much. I thought my only companion was to be Boningale. I did not think ... it was only that some of them were new to town. They thought..."

“They thought you were of a class of woman who could be treated with little respect, and no honour. They had as well likely heard of your stroll down St. James, and your gambling excursions. A touch of exclusivity would enhance your charms,” he concluded with a snap.

Guilt fired Genia's temper and she blazed up at him despite her shame and regret. “Do not dare to speak to me as if I were a ... a Cyprian!"

“Do not behave as one! Shall you bestow upon me the favours you grant Boningale?” He taunted her savagely, while trailing a long finger down her cheek, her throat and her shoulder. She shivered as his caressing gaze followed his touch.

“I granted him nothing,” she said, unevenly. “Will you take liberties as he did?"

Wessington's hand dropped to his side. One, then two, minutes passed in silence before he said, “I believe I may think myself a better man than Boningale. My sister and Lanark are in the next box but one. Dora would be pleased if you would join us, unless you prefer that I escort you to your home."

Genia remained in the shadow, wishing she need never leave it. Then she lifted her head.

“I still have a wish to see the play,” she said with a proud reserve. “I may have been ill advised in my choice of escorts, but I have done nothing of which to be ashamed. I should be pleased to join Lady Dora."

The marquess nodded.

In silence, they quitted Boningale's box, and moved to that of Wessington. They saw nothing of Boningale and his cronies in the corridor. For that, Genia was thankful.

In Wessington's box, she ignored the reproach in Lanark's fine eyes, and greeted Lady Dora with affection.

If that lady noticed the air of constraint between her brother and her friend, she said nothing of it.

“I've not seen you since the balloon ascension!” she remarked, as she drew Genia down beside her.

Genia sank into the plush seat thankfully, and flicked open her painted fan almost, but not quite, hiding behind it.

The curtain rose on the second act and while the audience regained their interest in the stage, the occupants of Wessington's box did not.

“What can you have been thinking?” Lady Dora whispered to Genia. “Those gentlemen were behaving very badly. Lord Lanark was quite wild and said he would go to you. But Wess said he desired to be of assistance to you and so he went. I think I have never seen my brother so angry. He has always had a fierce temper and he controls it well, but I feared he would unleash it this time."

Genia glanced over her own slim shoulder to observe Wessington deep in conversation with Lord Lanark. She had noticed his absence from town more than she would have admitted to anyone, and had experienced a surge of delight as well as relief, when he had opened the door of her box.

She concealed quivering lips with her fan and returning her gaze to Lady Dora's sweet face. “He was harsh, but I was grateful for his assistance,” she said. Her words emerged haltingly. A burst of laughter from the audience lured her attention to the stage, and she and Lady Dora lapsed in to silence.

Wessington was recovering his temper in discussion with his friend Lanark. His evening had begun pleasantly enough. He had arrived in Grosvenor Square in the late afternoon to find his sister at tea with Francis in the drawing room. He had suggested the theatre and all had acquiesced gladly. He had been delighted to see further proof of his sister's steadily improving spirits.

His pleasure in the expedition had been destroyed however when following their arrival, Lanark had pointed out Lady Genia's party in a nearby box. Now he queried Lanark in an undertone, “Balloon ascension?"

“There was an ascension at Vauxhall,” Lanark informed him.

“You accompanied them?” Wessington asked.

“No. In fact, Rawcliffe was before me with his invitation. I called on Lady Dora to invite her; I did not, until then, know that you had gone to Sandown. She informed me that they had accepted Rawcliffe's solicitation."

Wess closed his eyes briefly in pained reaction, and shook his head.

“My feeling exactly,” Lanark said, as close to sardonic as his open nature ever approached. “I offered Lady Dora my assistance. Indeed I suggested that she might depend on me in your absence."

Wessington found a challenge in his friend's glance, but he had no intention of deterring Francis’ eagerness to be of service to Dora.

Lanark continued, “I attended the ascension and attached myself to their party. Rawcliffe was not best pleased, but seemed eager to keep within respectable bounds. Young Austin was there; he of course is half flash, half foolish. Lady Genia did stay with Lady Dora all the afternoon ... never left her alone with Rawcliffe. The whole thing turned out rather better than I expected."

Wessington shook his dark head. “And the gambling?"

“Talk of the town this week! Lady Genia's been at four card parties. Only woman present each time, but at least she's had young Austin constantly at her side. You know, I can imagine my sister Julia traveling the same path as Genia, if she were without the excellent guidance of my mother and sisters."

Wessington allowed his gaze to dwell on the lovely profile Genia presented to him while he considered what his friend has just told him. Then he spoke with slow deliberation. “Not quite the same path, my friend, not quite. For Lady Genia's direction is about to change."

* * * *

The next day dawned beautifully clear and warm. Lady Dora's carriage took them to Green Park for their usual walk, and they spent the best part of two hours, admiring the newly leafed trees, and the burgeoning flower beds, chatting idly of fashion and embroidery. When she would have walked home, Genia was prevailed upon to enter the carriage for a return to Wessington House.

She had no hesitation in explaining her reluctance to her friend, though the events of the previous evening had not so far figured in their conversation. “You know Wessington was furiously angry last evening. I do not care to see him.” She said nothing of his words, which had disturbed her sleep all night.

“He was concerned for you when he saw your companions, as were Lanark and I. He effected your rescue with remarkable restraint, I thought."

“I had not thought I would require rescue. Had Boningale been alone, I should have been able to enjoy the performance and should have managed very well myself,” Genia said, not meeting her friend's level gaze.

“Indeed, and had you mentioned your desire to attend the play to me, we might all have been happier. Well, in any event, you will not see Wessington. He will be in his study, writing. I should be surprised if he leaves it today,” Lady Dora said.

The drive was brief broken only by desultory comments on acquaintances they passed. They entered the house and the morning room in silence. Lady Dora removed her very becoming chip straw bonnet, and rang for tea. Genia wandered about the room, peering from the window, fingering ornaments and finally seating herself in a delicate chair across from her friend. At length, she said, “Very well, I was a fool. And I was never so glad to see anyone as Wessington last night; I had not the least notion what to do to escape."

Lady Dora smiled warmly at her. “You lack the ability to be a fool, my dear..."

She might have said more, but Genia's attention had been caught to a series of sketches laid out upon a nearby table.

She drew them towards her and asked, “Are these Wessington's? They are very good.” She had forgotten her embarrassment in her interest. She bent to examine the charcoals. There was a handsome dog with horses in one, a child in another. Francis Lanark graced one, laughing unreservedly, and Lady Dora herself was sketched in several poses.

“They are my brother's,” Lady Dora confirmed. “He has ever had a talent to catch a moment with his charcoal."

“He conceals many talents,” Genia said. She considered his capabilities in thoughtful silence.

“He does,” his sister agreed. “He declares that no one considers him further than his title or his face. He has always been pursued because of his position and his person without consideration for his thoughts or feelings. He has cultivated a deep reserve.” She hesitated. “He has given his heart, more than once I think, and has discovered it a mistake. He has developed a distrust of people, particularly women, that causes him loneliness."

She might have said more but was interrupted by a commotion in the hall. The ladies stared at each other, and then a startled-looking footman opened the door.

“Lord Lanark, my lady, and a ... a lady,” he said, and backed out.

He left a harassed-looking Lanark in his place, with a small, veiled lady behind him.

“Lady Dora, my apologies. Lady Genia, your servant,” Francis looked beseechingly at them both, as he entered. “I did not know what else to do."

The small lady with him burst into noisy sobs. Lady Dora overcame her stupefaction and hurried to her side to be of aid. Genia simply stared, a host of unlikely ideas jumbling in her mind.

“This is my sister, Julia. She's run away from school,” Lanark explained. “Put back your veil, and stop crying."

The young lady obeyed both commands, displaying a triangular, delightful face, surrounded by fair curls, and dominated by wide periwinkle-blue eyes drowned in unshed tears. Rosebud lips were pressed in what could only be termed a pout, and a small upturned nose sniffed inelegantly.

“She arrived when I was in the hands of my valet,” he added. “She says she will not return to school. I say she shall, immediately I hire a chaise."

Genia stifled a laugh.

Dora frowned at her, hovering over the distraught girl. “There my dear, now dry your face. Take off your bonnet and come sit down. We shall all discuss this matter."

The young lady sniffed again, and did as she was bid.

Wessington appeared in the open doorway with disconcerting suddenness. “Dear me,” he said surveying the company. He closed the door firmly behind him, shutting out several gawking servants.

Lord Lanark's young sister stared at the marquess with undisguised admiration, giving Genia new understanding of Lady Dora's recent words. The young lady was apparently overcome by Wessington's appearance. He however gave no sign of noticing. Genia received only a common bow from him, for which she was thankful.

All the marquess’ attention was given to Lanark, who began to explain his problem once more.

“Francis,” interrupted Wessington, “perform the necessary introductions, and then look in the mirror."

Lanark made the company known to his sister with a remarkable economy of words and crossed the room to the gilt framed mirror hanging above the marble mantel.

“Well?” Wessington asked.

“Damnation,” Lanark muttered under his breath, surveying his disordered neckcloth and hair. He attempted to repair his dishevelment, and added in an undertone, “Could have knocked me down with a feather when my man ushered her in. Well, I thought all the letters and anguish were for show. I was going to visit the dashed school. And now she shows up on m'doorstep. I have no place for her; she'll have to go back, go home, or go to my aunt."

“I won't go home or to Aunt Hanwood!” said Miss Lanark. Lady Dora had been speaking to her, but she had apparently been attending half-heartedly, while staring at Genia and the marquess.

Genia had also been listening to Lanark's quiet words. She forgot her differences with the marquess and exchanged with him a smile, at the absurdity of the situation.

“I won't,” Julia said. Lord Lanark groaned.

Lady Dora intervened. “Perhaps the matter may be discussed, my lord,” she said to Lanark. “What does Julia wish to do?"

“I wish to have some pleasure, some excitement,” the young lady said with a defiant toss of her head.

“Good God, you sound like Lady Genia,” her brother remarked.

He received a blazing glance from Genia. Wessington chuckled, and lifted his strong hands in a gesture of defense when Genia's gaze flashed to him.

“I believe I know what Julia means,” Lady Dorothea said. “I remember the year before my own comeout; I was quite wild with impatience. Life in the schoolroom seems very dull indeed with the world on your doorstep.” She exchanged a meaningful look with her brother, then suddenly nodded. “My dear you need a holiday. Perhaps, if Lord Lanark agrees, you may stay here and visit me. We would see some sights, and take part in a few mild entertainments. A diversion is what you stand in want of. I am certain Lady Hanwood would have no objection."

Hope and delight dawned in Miss Lanark's blue eyes.

Her brother was shaking his head. “No, we could not possibly impose. But you are right in one thing ... my aunt will not wish to have care for this scrubby brat."

The young lady, not unexpectedly, burst into tears once more, her fair head drooping.

“Yes, you could impose,” Wessington murmured drawing his friend aside. Genia unabashedly eavesdropped. “Write some letters, man, make all right with school and home. It will divert Dora, and Lady Genia. Julia'll come to no harm but enjoy herself a little."

Lanark was easily convinced, relieved to have his problem solved. “Very well, Julia, you may stay, but only for a little, and you must behave, and do as Lady Dora says,” he directed.

“I am not a child,” said the young lady, contradicting his words sulkily.

“Well, you have acted as one,” retorted her brother.

Lady Dora intervened again, directing Lanark to her writing desk, before the bickering could become more serious.

Genia stared from fair-haired brother to sister, for the affection between them was obvious despite their disagreements. She pondered momentarily, then rose to take her leave. Her presence was, she felt, decidedly de trop. Lady Dora and Lord Lanark were abstracted as she said her farewells, but the marquess accompanied her to the hall. He ordered a carriage to be brought around.

“I did not thank you, last evening, for your help,” Genia said with some difficulty.

“Don't,” said Wessington. “Don't, for the love of heaven, thank me. I did little enough and I insulted you.” He recovered himself. “I would see you to your destination, but you will understand I must remain here and help Francis sort this coil."

“I can walk to my destination,” Genia said.

“No, you will take my carriage wherever you wish.” He met her shadowed eyes and added, “Please."

There was a gentleness in his tone she had expected never to hear again.

“Very well,” she murmured almost inaudibly.

* * * *

Lady Dorothea was immediately busy planning outings for her houseguest. Genia received a note detailing a pic-nic to Richmond Park and while the footman waited, she responded with an acceptance. She suggested to her friend that she would bring Austin—for the fresh air and exercise. On the bright morning assigned to the outing, the Brierleys departed early from their gloomy family home to make their way to Wessington House. They walked in silence some distance before the Honourable Austin asked, “Why are you so suddenly taken up with my company, Genia, eh? You wasn't used to wanting me about all the time."

“You are my brother...” Genia teased. Then she added honestly, “I had rather have you than stupid Boningale or any of a dozen others. I do wish though that Neville would stop appearing whenever I am about with Lady Dorothea. I think he does not know about this pic-nic."

“Must say I'm surprised your fine marquess allows his attentions to Lady Dora,” Austin said as they headed out of the Square. He puffed after her. “I say, slow down."

“He is not my marquess,” Genia snapped. Then, she asked thoughtfully, “Austin, why is Neville so determined to join our excursions? He has never been before. He cannot believe he has a hope to impress Lady Dora."

“He don't confide in me!” Austin shrugged. “Mayhap it's no more wonder than you wanting me about."

“Perhaps,” murmured Genia. She left the subject. It was already warm and she was pleased that she had completed sewing a mull muslin gown with a fine green thread running through the ivory. She considered her brother's appearance. “Austin, you do look quite dreadful this morning. A brisk walk will do you good."

“Or kill me,” her brother said, struggling to keep pace. “Daffy Club last night. Don't know why I agreed to go with you this morning; I don't care to rusticate at Richmond."

“Yes, you do. You will have a decent meal, spend the day in civilized company, and be introduced to Francis’ little sister. So mind your manners. You have found a new respectability."

“Dashed acute, ain't you?” Austin complained. “You know I ain't in the petticoat line, but I can be polite as the next chap.” Another thing occurred to him. “As for respectability—in the clubs, they're saying he's your marquess—making bets on the whole thing."

Genia digested that information in silence.

Then Austin ventured, “Perhaps Neville's got a wager on, wants to see what is happening. I say, you haven't ... Wessington hasn't...?"

“No!” Genia's face was scarlet. “And I won't and surely he won't. Put your money on something else Austin, or you shall never accompany me again. And you may tell Neville the same."

Her brother pulled a skeptical face. He did not speak again during their journey, until they were half way down Grosvenor Square.

“Good Gad,” he exclaimed then. “Is that our entourage?"

Genia stared also. Before Wessington House was drawn up a barouche, the marquess’ curricle, and a closed carriage into which was being loaded the last of several wicker hampers and three footmen.

“We are an expedition!” Genia gurgled with laughter. She was still alive with mirth when Wessington came down the steps as they reached the bottom one.

“I had not so much baggage for my trip to the East,” the marquess concurred, apparently overhearing her words. He nodded to Austin and bowed over Genia's hand in an unexceptionable manner. “My sister is determined you shall ride in the barouche, Lady Genia, and so I can offer your brother an invitation to join me in my curricle."

Austin, who had been looking glumly at the equipages, brightened on hearing those words. “Should be honoured, my lord. Be glad not to have to do the pretty."

Genia fired him an admonitory look but only shook her bonneted head over his choice of words.

It was not until they were to return to town late in the afternoon that Genia had an opportunity to speak alone with the marquess. As they prepared to depart Richmond Park, he gently insisted to his sister that Lady Genia should join him in the curricle. Lady Dora acquiesced, taking Austin into the barouche to sit beside Julia, for Lord Lanark had taken the seat next to her.

“I hope you found the day enjoyable,” Wessington said to Genia, watching the other carriages drive off before giving his matched bays the office to start.

“I did,” she said. “At Richmond I am almost able to convince myself that I am in the country."

“And that is important to you?"

“I love the country,” she said. She made a display of opening her floss-trimmed parasol. The lowering sun scarcely warranted its use. “But you probably know that. You must know a great deal about my family after spending some time with Austin."

He did not deny it, but confirmed, “A few well-placed questions elicited a quantity of information.” She noted a gleam in his black eyes as he glanced from his horses to her face.

“He is a sad rattle,” she said. Determined to admit no more confidences she said, “The walks we had by Pen Pond were most enjoyable."

“Had we not had such a large party, I would have enjoyed it more."

His deep voice seemed, to Genia, very intimate. She could not be thankful that he had sent his tiger in the closed carriage with the other servants. Her thoughts strayed briefly to the disastrous opera party. She schooled her face and concealed a responsive shiver to that note in his voice. To dispel the intimacy, she said, “Julia is a charming child. And so very lovely."

“Is she? I suppose,” he said. “It is a very long time since I have admired blue eyes and golden curls and girlish giggles."

“My brother seemed quite taken up with her,” Genia said. She would not, she decided, contemplate his remark. “He is not generally very interested in young women, nor they in him. He is considered by careful mamas to be a fortune hunter, which in fact he is."

“Of course. But I believe they have discovered a mutual need for excitement, to Francis’ serious dismay."

“Poor Francis. My family is such a trial to him,” Genia gurgled with laughter forgetting her uneasiness.

“So too is his own,” the marquess commented with a wicked chuckle. “He worries too much."

“He is a fine person."

“He is,” Wessington agreed. “But he is not the man for you."

She stared at his handsome profile for several moments. That was another comment she would not consider. “The pic-nic meal your sister provided was very fine."

He accepted the rebuff without comment or gesture. “Indeed,” he said. “The cakes were particularly nice."

* * * *

The next morning Genia remained at home, stitching in her dingy morning room, while she reflected upon the previous day's activities and every word of her conversations with Wessington. She heard the knocker plied, and wondered idly about the caller. Nevertheless she was surprised when Rookley staggered in after a brief tap at her door.

“A groom from Wessington House, m'lady. Says he must needs see you."

“Take yourself off,” Genia said. He was already intoxicated; disgust induced her rudeness. She pushed past him to the front entrance and the open door.

A liveried groom stood on the bottom step, holding the rein of a delightful roan mare, as well as that of his own serviceable hack. He held out to her a letter. “For you, my lady, and I am to wait."

Genia took the note and broke the seal.

“My dear friend,” the delicate writing read.

In all the excitement of Julia's arrival, I forgot my news. Wessington returned from Sandown with a mount for me, as he knows my fondness for riding out. But he brought two horses, which now both require exercise. Will you join me for a ride? Lord Lanark has taken Julia to pay her respects to her Aunt Hanwood, and then they will go to the ‘Change to see the beasts. She is the veriest child. The groom will wait while you prepare to ride. I hope to see you shortly.

Dorothea

Genia surveyed the mare and the groom thoughtfully. The whole matter seemed contrived by pity. What were Wessington's motives, to indebt her so to him? So strong was the temptation to accept the mount that it scarcely mattered. She had not ridden for one and one half years, since the last of the earl's horses had been sold. She had missed it extremely.

“I shall be ready in a very few minutes,” she informed the groom, and hurried within. Her Isabella habit was a little out of fashion, but it would do for this day, and she had suddenly an idea for a smart refurbishment.

She rode up to Wessington House purely delighted with the mare, the ride and the thoughtfulness that had made it possible. She controlled the mare's fresh caracols easily as she halted before the marquess’ residence. Simultaneously upon her arrival, the front door opened and a groom led a dappled grey gelding up the street from the mews.

Lady Dorothea, in a deep gold, intricately trimmed habit, greeted her gaily. “Is it not the most beautiful sunny day, and the most enjoyable activity for it?” she called. “Why did we not think of it before?"

“It is your thoughtfulness that has made it possible now,” Genia responded as her friend was tossed up into the saddle by her groom. “Thank you!"

“Oh pooh!” Lady Dora waved off the thanks, and extended her wave to her brother standing at the window above.

Genia looked up, startled, and coloured becomingly, for the marquess’ slow smile was all for her. Has he been watching all the while? She turned the head of the mare abruptly, and they joined the carriages, coaches and other riders in the street.

Genia considered that smile every time she rode out in the following days. Lady Dora had informed her she need only send a note to Wessington House, and the mare would be brought round to Portman Square immediately. She took advantage of the offer frequently.

Wessington's smile had convinced Genia that the marquess was more responsible for the mount and the kindness than was his sister. But it was Lady Dora who joined her occasionally for a ride, and the marquess made no interference at all.

Indeed it was more than a week before Wessington appeared in the Park one morning as Genia enjoyed a canter. She had refurbished her riding costume with great success, adding wide lapels of rich fawn silk—salvaged from a discarded coat from her father's youth—and an extravagantly long scarf of cheap but presentable gauze to her distinctively mannish tall hat.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling with pleasure with her mount when she came upon the marquess riding in a secluded allee. He was mounted on a raking bay gelding of at least seventeen hands.

He greeted her with a wave and spoke only when the horses came abreast. “Well met,” he said.

Genia's nerves shrilled at the sight of him. Her pleasure in the ride died. Only that morning Neville had taunted her about the marquess during her meagre breakfast. “I expected to meet you here one day, my lord,” she said, avoiding his dark gaze. “I am aware that I have you to thank for the use of this fine horse. I had thought you would seek some recompense for your kindness before this. Indeed they are placing wagers on it in your club, I believe."

She was so engrossed in her own anger, that she was not prepared for the sudden blaze of fury in his finely modeled face. “You have my sister to thank for your mount,” he snapped. “It was her idea and it gave her pleasure to see you happy. If that bothers you we will send the curst animal back to Sandown. I want no payment, in any form, although I would be interested to know what you thought I expected."

Genia's ire turned to distress and she flushed uncomfortably.

“And the wager in the clubs is that I will make you my chere amie,” Wessington continued. “My friends keep asking if I am making progress.” His expression now was as cold as hers. “I will tell you what I tell them. That you are a lady. That I will never ask offer you carte blanche, though you are beautiful and intelligent and wholly desirable. And you, like them, may make of that what you will."

He spurred his mount, which leapt from a walk to a canter that left Genia far behind. Her eyes glittered with tears, which she allowed to drop unheeded on her fawn silk bosom. Then she saw him wheel the gelding. Possibly he would return to her side. Hastily she dried her face, and knew what she would say given the opportunity.

He returned and reined in before her, his face very still and reserved.

“Forgive me,” she hurried into speech before he could speak. “I spoke without consideration, out of weariness. I have learnt that some men give nothing without an expectation of recompense. I should by now be aware that you are not that kind of gentleman. But, in the past year, I have had every kind of unpleasant proposal from every kind of scoundrel."

The anger was gone from his face. He even smiled a little, and said, “Though I have been variously apostrophized over the years, I have not to my knowledge been accused of being a scoundrel. We need not continue these conflicts you know. You accept friendship from Lanark ... accept it from me.” He gathered his reins in one gloved hand, and held out the other to her.

Genia started to shake her head, then stopped, and remembered the pleasure of his company at Hampton Court, and Richmond. She could have his friendship, and he had said he would not ask for more. She wanted no more but he must know that his touch made her tremble—Francis’ did not—and she wished that he would not look at her lips with his fine dark eyes.

“I accept,” she said, colouring at the confusion of her thoughts. She placed her hand in his.

CHAPTER FIVE

Wessington made several trips into the City each week from his home in Grosvenor Square. It was during one of these, on his return trip to Mayfair from a visit to his publisher, that a familiar form walking the pavement of Shoe Lane off Fleet Street caught his eye. He immediately discarded the notion that he had seen Lady Genia Brierley in these irregular surroundings, but the uncanny acuity that had served him so well in the East moved him to pull up his horses, and look again. In fact, his eyes had not deceived him. Lady Genia was involved in distributing rock buns to the dozen street urchins surrounding her. Her green eyes were sparkling, and as he looked on she laughed at something one of the children said.

She must have sensed his gaze for she suddenly lifted her modestly bonneted head and looked about her. The pavements were crowded with the area's usual assortment of clerks, men of the law, men of business, rogues and ragtag females. He knew the exact moment she spied him, for she appeared to heave a sigh, and then flushed guiltily as though caught in another misdeed.

He sighed himself, as he thrust his reins into the hands of his young tiger, and crossed to stand before her on the paving stones. The urchins scattered before his approach, as his many-caped driving coat billowed in the breeze.

Before he could speak, Genia asked, “How come you to be in such a street?"

“Ah, thrust rather than parry."

She looked confused.

“Offense rather than defense,” he explained. “Question me before I question you. I am not so easily put off. To answer you ... I am often coming to and from the City. I visit my man of business, my publisher, and my barrister. But the salient point is ... what brings you here?"

She seemed to decide on honesty, and lifted her pointed chin. “The bazaar, there,” Lady Genia pointed across the crowded street. “It has silk stockings and like necessities, at the cheapest they can be got in town."

Wess stepped closer, assessing her plain walking dress, and modest bonnet. “You are alone, and on foot,” he said. The facts pained him.

“I attract no attention,” she indicated her gown.

“Except by gestures! I know of no one else who purchases rock buns for hungry urchins."

“There but for the grace of God, go I,” she said, with a flippant grin. “My mother died when I was twelve; she kept my father from dissipating his fortune earlier. Had she not done so, I might have been as hungry as these children."

“She must have been a remarkable woman."

“She loved me."

He watched her expression soften as she spoke. He did not care to comment on her memories.

“You carry no parcels. Therefore you have not yet been to the Bazaar. After purchasing those buns, have you money still to go there?” he asked.

“That is none of your affair,” Lady Genia countered.

“That may be true, at the present, but tell me."

“I think I shall go home,” she said, displaying puzzlement about his words.

He did not enlighten her as to his meaning, but said, “Come, you shall introduce me to this bazaar."

“I will not,” she said. “If I do, you will offer to lend me money. I cannot repay it."

“Then it will not be a loan, but a gift."

“You cannot mean to purchase my ... my stockings and the like."

“Why not?” he asked. “I am, remember, your friend. We share a disregard for convention. Besides, who shall know? You shall not have a trip for naught. You have done your good deed ... allow me the same luxury. And after, I was to take you to Dora today in any event, so I will do myself the honour of escorting you home."

“To your home,” she corrected. “Why do you dislike to see me walk? Do you never do so?"

“In the country, it is one of my greatest pleasures. In the town, I prefer to drive. I dislike to see you walking alone, because you are at risk. And I would have you safe. Come..."

He offered his arm and Genia accepted it. He noticed that the glove that covered her slim hand was worn. And he was aware that his tiger was gaping at him from the street. “Come along. We're upsetting my staff."

“I would return to Mayfair now,” she said.

“Were you, or were you not, intending to shop?"

“I was."

“Then we shall shop,” Wessington said with finality. To his relief, Genia complied.

Once in the bazaar Genia seemed to put aside her concerns and concentrated on the business for which she had come. Wessington had no hesitation in displaying his shocking knowledge of feminine accoutrements. He took care to keep her in a ripple of amusement over his comments; he would not have her embarrassed as she selected her necessities. When her stockings, pins and lace were chosen, he found pretty trifles that she could not have considered purchasing. If she showed the slightest partiality for them, he insisted they be added to their pile of selections. He handed across three guineas in payment without a blink and knew from her sudden silence that Genia had recalled her objections.

He ushered her from the small bazaar in silence, and a satisfied shop assistant carried their sizable parcel to the curricle. They stepped into the carriage, and Wessington dismissed the tiger with a nod. Genia was preoccupied as they moved through the traffic, which became more dense and more fashionable as they neared their destination. He did not press her to speak, but could sense the intense debate that she was having with herself.

“My dear, you have directly cut three acquaintances,” Wess said at last. “The ton will buzz that you are infatuated with my company."

Genia resorted to the cool mockery which she customarily used to deal with importunate admirers. Her long lashes fluttered over her emerald eyes. “Perhaps they would be correct, my lord,” she said.

“Try again, my lady,” he said. “You advised me at our first meeting that you had no heart."

He watched her bite her lip as he drew up before Wessington House and tossed his reins to the tiger.

She said, “I owe you three guineas, Lord Wessington, I shall not forget."

“It was not a loan, remember? And there is no obligation,” he said. He lifted her from the curricle and set her on the paving stones. “I enjoyed our unexpected outing,” he added.

He was very conscious of her narrow waist between his hands, and he felt the tingle of awareness that rippled through her. He released her abruptly.

“I understand there is a Foundling Hospital, near to where we met,” he said as they mounted the steps to his front door.

Genia smothered a gasp, confirming his suspicions that she had business with that hospital. Her eyes widened with concern. A footman opened his front door and, as he gave his hat and gloves into the servant's care, he watched her with every appearance of nonchalance.

“The ladies are in the morning room, my lord,” the footman said.

“We will join them shortly.” Wessington dismissed the man with a slight smile. He turned to Genia, allowing her to see the acuity in his black gaze.

“Come to my library,” he invited.

Apparently realizing that it was more a command than an invitation, Genia followed him through the door he opened at the back of the hall.

Wess crossed to his massive desk, and leaned against it.

“Will you grant me an explanation? For I saw a young man accept a purse from you on your doorstep, and I put a few inquiries afoot."

“Spying on me, my lord?"

He was not deceived by her light tone. She nervously paced the room, thoughtlessly removing her gloves, and stuffing them carelessly in her reticule.

“Are you never still?” Wessington caught her slim right hand as she passed him and drew her to a halt. “It was a friend's concern; we are friends, remember?"

She was staring at their hands. It was the first time she had touched him ungloved. He was very aware of it, and knew that she was also.

“Will you tell me?” He drew her attention upward to his face, and she met his gaze directly.

“The explanation is simple. I found a dirty, hungry babe in the street near the bazaar one day. She was not a year old, and no one that I could find knew anything of her. I took her home, and I cared for her for almost two weeks. The situation became impossible however, and at length I found that hospital. And since, I have sent what money I can spare to help their work. Occasionally I visit her."

“I have no words to express my admiration,” Wess said quietly. Instead of making a polite, proper bow, he raised Genia's right hand, and pressed his lips in her soft palm. Lifting his head as suddenly as he had bent it, he curved her fingers gently over the kiss. She quivered responsively, meeting his eyes again.

“Perhaps we shall have more adventures together,” he murmured, a caressing laugh in his voice. “But now I have work to do. Will you join my sister?"

She acquiesced with a nod.

He opened the library door and waved the footman to the morning room door.

Genia crossed the hall, deep in thought, conscious of the marquess’ gaze following her. Near the tall, impassive footman at the opposite door, she looked over her shoulder uncertainly. Wessington still stood watching her.

“Thank you for understanding,” she said.

He sketched a bow, and reentered his library.

Genia ordered her face and her thoughts, but discovered her right hand still closed tightly over his kiss.

The footman opened the morning room door, revealing Lady Dora and Miss Lanark seated on the sofa. They looked up at the door's opening.

Genia said, with recovered poise, “Good morning! Wessington brought me, but now has gone to attend to business in the library."

“We are delighted to see you,” Lady Dora said. “Do guess what I have decided?"

Genia shook her head as she removed her bonnet. “I cannot imagine."

“I shall hold a rout!” Lady Dora declared, her dark eyes shining. “And you and Julia must help me."

* * * *

Lady Dorothea's announcement was followed by three weeks of brisk activity on the part of all three ladies. It was her plan to hold a private dinner party, and then expand the guest list to encompass an evening of conversation, music in the drawing room and cards. Julia was made responsible for devising menus, both for the dinner and the supper to be served at midnight. Dora confided to Genia that she felt it excellent experience for the girl. Genia was entrusted with the guest list for, as Lady Dora said, she knew the ton best of any of them. Between their planning and consultations about the party, the threesome took in such sights as the city might offer a very young lady on her first visit. This was in some part compensation for her being denied the privilege of attending the entire party. She was not out—she might join the private dinner but the rout would not be proper, Lady Dora decreed. Lord Lanark frequently accompanied them on their outings to such sights as Egyptian Hall, and Astley's Amphitheatre. It was plain to Genia that he welcomed every excuse to be in company with Lady Dorothea, and she did all she could to encourage his attentions to her friend.

Genia thoroughly enjoyed the innocent excursions that, in her solitary youth, had never before come in her way. She particularly savoured the few times when Wessington joined them. Though she still rode out every morning she only occasionally encountered the marquess and she saw him but rarely during her visits to his home. His charm at the bazaar, his warm, strong hands at her waist, the kiss he placed in her palm took on the aura of mystery. Why did he alternately attend her and ignore her?

The evening that the rout was to be held arrived sooner than one might have expected, given the enjoyments of the three intervening weeks, Genia reflected on the appointed night.

She was dressing in her cold chamber, and she fastened the tapes of her gown with satisfaction. She had fashioned it from a cloud of shimmering golden tissue that she had discovered quite by chance in the small draper's shop that she patronized. She had no jewels to wear, and that had been in her mind when she chose the dazzling fabric. Something the marquess had said had shaped the style, for the simple golden silk under-dress was decorous, while the overdress was striking in its originality. She drew on silk sandals and wound their satin ribands up her slim ankles.

She considered the two posies of flowers that had been delivered to her. Then she pinned Lord Lanark's yellow roses on the gold riband threaded in her simply dressed hair, and she placed the Wessington's deep red roses in a chipped cup at her bedside, savouring the rich scent of them.

Her last task before leaving was to consider whether Austin was presentable, and she went to do so in a pleasurable state of anticipation. She had, at one point, suggested to Lady Dora that she and Austin should not be invited if the gathering was to be select. She had been thoroughly scolded, and told that the whole affair would be abandoned if Genia and her younger brother were not to attend.

She was thinking of her friend's rebuke when she and Austin arrived at Wessington House in time for the private dinner. Genia's scarf and Austin's worn chapeau-bras were borne away by servants, and they were led upstairs to the drawing room. It was ablaze with candlelight, the polished wood shone, and portraits on the walls gleamed subtly like jewels. Genia sighed her appreciation of its beauty and comfort.

She was warning Austin to mind his manners, when the marquess and his sister stepped forward to welcome them. Three more guests had followed them up the stairs so that there was no opportunity for more than brief greetings.

Genia had time to consider her friends, as Austin wandered off. The shadows of sorrow seemed to have left Lady Dora's pretty face. She wore a delicately magnificent necklace of rubies on her bosom, and her slim form was complimented by a gown of rose silk.

Julia Lanark sparkled with excitement. She was gowned expensively and appropriately in simple white silk trimmed with pink silk rosebuds and floss.

Lord Lanark was not long in arriving and Lady Dora tried to conceal her pleasure at seeing him. Genia was amused to watch their hesitant interaction. Francis, she considered, was being far too reticent and Dora seemed determined to think him attached to Genia.

Contemplating how best to promote her friends’ affairs, Genia turned to discover the marquess at her side. He looked devastatingly handsome in his immaculate evening dress, with a large diamond blazing in his neckcloth, and a quizzing glass on a black riband about his neck.

He gazed at her hair. “Lanark's roses?” he asked. “Mine did not suit, I can see."

She burst into speech, uncommonly eager to spare his feelings. “They are very beautiful. They are by my ... bed,” she said. She was aware too late of having been trapped.

His black eyes invited her to join his private jest, as he said, “I had hoped that was where they might end. You look very beautiful."

“You do flirt most outrageously,” she said.

“But not often ... you must admit it,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips.

Genia was uneasily aware of the interest his gesture caused in the drawing room. “Francis does not flirt with me,” she said.

“Every friend is different,” he responded. “You have been very busy these past weeks."

“I have been to more museums, shops, and ‘sights of interest’ than I would have thought possible. And I have enjoyed them!"

“Quiet entertainments do suffice then?” he quizzed her gently.

“Of a certainty,” she said. “In good company."

“Meaning my company, or Lanark's?"

“The ladies’ company,” she corrected with a sweet smile. She then sobered. “Those occasions on which my brother Rawcliffe appeared—you heard about them?—were not by my invitation."

“I thought not but I thank you for the reassurance.” He bent more closely to her. “Because of your presence, I enjoyed the few excursions of which I was a part."

Genia's glance flew briefly to his aquiline face. Her hands clenched on her fan. She experienced regret and relief as dinner was announced. The marquess, with a bow and warm smile, moved away to escort a lady of higher rank to the dining room.

She was seated by Lanark for the meal, and was well satisfied to be with an undemanding friend. Indeed he kept staring down the table at his young sister, until Genia said, “She is doing very well, except when you stare and make her nervous. Francis, leave her be. She has very pretty manners, to match her very pretty face, and will do very well when she makes her come out."

“You don't know her as I do,” Lanark said, spearing his fish. “She has been angelic these past weeks, and it is bound to end sooner or late. She has enjoyed herself, but she'll be looking for more excitement soon. Rather like you."

“Francis!” Genia protested in mock dismay. “I have told the absurd child I am not to be admired or emulated."

“She's not a child. She's only four years younger than you."

“Good heavens, that is true.” Genia was astonished.

“You do have more experience,” Lanark grinned.

“Experience I had rather not have gained."

“Well, the ton is saying that you have reformed, or that you are casting out lures for a marquess,” Lord Lanark said.

“I am not casting out lures,” she whispered. “I am enjoying pleasures long denied me, and people should not begrudge..."

“Have some fish.” Lanark offered the dish with another grin.

Genia waved it away peremptorily, conscious that Lady Dora's gaze was upon them.

He added, “As I am your friend, I thought you should know the gossip."

“I am not casting out lures,” Genia said again. “I am doing as I wish, as I have always done. If I have a little more decorum and guidance now than in the past, you would think the nay-sayers would be glad!"

“They are never glad, and I did not mean to set you on end. It is just, well, I can hardly warn you against Wessington, dash it, he's my best friend. But I'm blest if I know what his angle is just now. Anyway I thank you for your kindness to my sister. I know that you have been on even more excursions to entertain her than I these past weeks. And I must say your brother Austin isn't half the bad chap I thought him."

Later, in the drawing room, Lord Lanark repeated his statement to Genia. Most of the invited guests had already appeared and had squeezed into the chambers allocated for the rout, when Viscount Rawcliffe was announced. Startled, Genia looked to Francis who took two steps to her side. His eyes were also on the viscount, who was accompanied by a crony.

“I'll be ... now what does he think he is about?” Lanark said. “As I said, Austin ain't a bad chap, but your brother Neville is, and his friend Bednall is worse."

“I don't need you to tell me that,” Genia said. She moved to intercept her oldest brother and his companion.

He greeted her with an unctuous smile, and Lord Bednall bowed elaborately.

“You were not invited here,” Genia said, ignoring Bednall altogether.

“An oversight, surely,” Rawcliffe smiled. “When the rest of my family is in attendance, I cannot imagine I would purposely be excluded."

“I made up the guest list myself,” Genia said. “I did not include Papa or you, and no one else mentioned your name."

His smile faded temporarily, revealing an unpleasant twist to his thin lips, and a cold light in his eyes.

“Then you made an error, dear child.” He returned to his apparent good humour. “I do not think we will be ejected."

“I wish you might be! But you could simply leave."

“I think not. I've not come without purpose. And you had best not hinder me..."

Genia stepped away from him. She could do nothing but keep him under her watchful eye. He was correct of course; he was not ejected. Wessington would commit no such breach of etiquette. But Genia noted that neither the marquess or Lady Dorothea made an effort to welcome him, and whenever Rawcliffe approached his hostess, the marquess or Lord Lanark was at her side.

Genia played a little at cards, listened to the music briefly, and took part in several unexceptionable conversations. Through it all, however, her elder brother's presence haunted her, and her pleasure in her much-anticipated evening was destroyed. It was more than halfway through the evening before Genia spoke with Wessington again. The marquess drew her, with a charming smile, away from her current companions.

Then, “Have you seen your brother Austin recently, my lady?” he asked.

Genia stared at him in some surprise; the nearby members of the ton were watching them closely for some hint as to their relationship. She lowered her gaze as she usually did when she wished for time to think.

“I have not recently. My attention has been all on Neville. I did not, by the by, invite him or give him to think that he would under any circumstances be welcome. And that he should bring Bednall is unconscionable."

Wessington waved a hand dismissively. “Dorothea has been warned and Lanark is an able guard."

“What has Austin done?” Genia asked.

“I won't know until I find him."

“I saw him in the card room, but that was oh, an hour since."

“Hmmm,” the marquess was thoughtful.

“What is to do?"

“Francis escorted his sister upstairs immediately following dinner. She is now not in her chamber. Everyone else who was at dinner is still in these chambers, except Austin. I have checked the card room and the supper room."

Genia stiffened, and she swept the company with a keen glance. Her assessment agreed with the marquess’ words. Wordlessly she slipped her hand on his arm, and with a charmingly intimate smile for the benefit of onlookers, drew him out the door to the hall.

There she confronted him. “I have remembered something. Will you come with me?” she asked. She took no heed of Wessington's butler, who coughed and looked away.

“Anywhere...” he said with amusement. “But may I know our destination?"

“Francis said at dinner something about Julia being ripe for excitement. Austin is missing, and he was talking this very afternoon about a masked ball at the Argyle Rooms this evening that he wished he might attend. If he mentioned it to Julia..."

“Not at all the thing,” the marquess said.

Genia laughed bitterly. “That would not deter a member of my family. Please, order your carriage. We shall have to intervene."

“Surely that would be for Francis and me to do?” the marquess suggested.

“If you and Francis disappear from Lady Dora's rout, speculation will be rampant. And you must leave Francis to protect Dora from Neville,” Genia said, gripping her silken skirts to hurry down the staircase. “If you and I disappear from the rout, it will cause a sensation but be more easily understood. Have you a domino?"

“And if any of the ton should have ventured to attend, the sight of you and I at the masquerade will distract any attention from Austin and Julia.” The marquess understood immediately, and turned back to the drawing room. “I will advise Francis of our plans and request he keep an eye on Dora—although he has done that all evening."

Genia could not admire that flippancy, taut with anxiety as she was. But she could not fault the speed with which Wessington ordered his carriage and requested that two dominos be brought to the entry hall. He left to speak with Lanark and returned without apparent haste. He took his hat from Forth who appeared to have seen and heard nothing untoward.

Genia continued as though uninterrupted, “I care for Austin's future, though he does not, and I shall give him a rare trimming for this escapade. It is Julia I am more concerned with, however."

“Even to the sacrifice of yourself?"

They left the house and entered the closed carriage without being particularly noticed. The entry hall was empty of guests. Genia found a moment to wonder how Forth had managed that, but she said, “If necessary. Besides, I have no reputation to lose. Have you a concern for yourself?"

The marquess’ only response was a low laugh. “We shall have opportunity to waltz,” he said before instructing the driver.

They made the drive in a taut silence, riding through the dark streets in the marquess’ fine coach with a sense of urgency. As they mounted the stairs to the Argyle Rooms however, Wessington murmured, “Another adventure!"

Genia knew she had a mischievous smile on her face as they entered with a maximum of commotion, appearing relaxed and carefree.

They were both been vigilant, searching the crowd. Unmasked and with their dominos open, they were soon recognized, even though the gathering was made up of the lower orders of society and the demimonde.

It did not take them long to find the miscreants. Austin had given his domino and mask to Julia, and his tall, thin frame was easily located. The foolish pair was utterly astonished when Genia and Wessington joined them. Julia was informed of her folly, in an undertone without hesitation, by Genia. Austin was subdued by a single glance from the marquess. And they were both told to smile and uphold their appearance of enjoyment.

They did not stay long, but long enough to create a sensation sure to percolate to the upper echelons of the ton. After Genia's arrival, little heed was paid to Julia, masked and unknown. Her identity, it seemed, was of no interest to the company.

Wessington and Genia waltzed, and the marquess held her far too closely for propriety.

“You are taking advantage of the situation,” she told him, in a careful undertone.

He only laughed.

When a circumspect wriggle did nothing more than increase her awareness of the proximity of his lean, strong length, she gave escape up and gave herself over to enjoyment of the dance.

They danced only one more set, during which Genia partnered her brother and the marquess Julia. Then Genia strolled about the chambers with Austin while Wessington spirited Julia out to the carriage. When she was certain she had drawn all eyes, Genia swept out to Wessington's coach abandoning her brother in the entry of the Argyle Rooms. Then, she and Wessington whisked the repentant and tearful young lady home.

* * * *

The story was all over fashionable London the next morning. Lady Genia and the Marquess of Wessington, in the company of the Honourable Austin Brierley and an unknown lady, had attended a less than genteel masked ball at the Argyle Rooms. Moreover, Wessington had left his post as host in his own home to do so.

Lady Dorothea was informed of the facts by a morning visitor ostensibly come to discuss the rout of the previous evening. She confronted her brother in his library, rare anger blazing in her dark grey eyes.

“How could you, Dominic? What of my rout and my reputation? If you and Genia have no care for yourselves, what of me? At least Lord Lanark remained. And Viscount Rawcliffe noted your departure. The two of them were of great assistance after you disappeared, for all you dislike Rawcliffe so much. They kept the ton from noticing your absence too much. There was little talk about it, then at least. But now! The gabble-mongers are busy. If you wished to attend some foolish entertainment could you not have done it some other night, or worn masks at least? I credited you both with more sense, or are you both infatuated to stupidity?"

Wessington made a fencer's gesture of defense. “Hold hard, my dear. We are neither infatuated nor without sense. I do regret the effect on your party, but the unknown lady with Austin was Miss Lanark. Lady Genia sacrificed herself to protect the child. We chose this way of solving a dilemma that might have been disastrous. No one with a reputation to lose has been harmed.” He watched his sister's expression change, as her anger drained away.

Lady Dorothea sank into a chair and closed her eyes. “Good gracious,” she breathed. Then her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright. “Where is Julia now?"

“In her chamber, much chastened. She was last night reduced to tears by Lady Genia's strictures. She has endured a lecture from Francis for the past hour. You have nothing for which to reproach yourself,” he assured her, recognizing the look entering her face. “No one could have foreseen this situation."

“Lady Genia's goodness is beyond anything.” Lady Dorothea was returned to her charitable self. “To have sacrificed her own reputation—even if it is questionable—for Julia is extraordinary."

“She enjoyed the masque immensely,” the marquess laughed aloud remembering, “as did I."

“Wess, what are you about? You are not forgetting Lord Lanark's attachment to Lady Genia, are you?"

“Don't ask, my dear.” Wessington shook his dark head. “Don't worry about Lanark and his possible attachments, and don't ask about mine."

“Very well, I shan't. But I must visit Genia and thank her...” Dora rose. “Oh, no, she does not welcome visitors. Well, I shall write her ... ask her to call upon me."

“A good idea, but perhaps you should see Julia first. And I must tell you ... I have just had a communication from Sandown. There is trouble ... I must go."

CHAPTER SIX

Genia awaited word from the marquess all the next day. She had rather thought that she and Wessington had achieved a special degree of amity the previous night at the Argyle Rooms. In the marquess’ intriguing company, she had found the evening singularly exciting. She remembered the waltz with pleasure. A thread of the music came to her mind and she hummed a little of it, wishing she had still her pianoforte. The music died away as her current situation reasserted itself. She wished Wessington would come to her. The last remnants of her reputation were surely in shreds, and she had not the slightest notion what next to do.

It was another day before Genia learned from her brother Austin that the marquess had gone from town to his estates.

She must have looked disbelieving for he added, “I had it from someone who had the news direct from Wessington House."

“Well, if it is true,” she said, “it is likely that he is wearied of the foolish exploits of my family. Austin, I do not yet understand how you can have thought it acceptable to escort a lady of only sixteen, not yet out, to a masque at the Argyle Rooms.” She was prepared to impress upon him again the folly of his actions.

Her brother interrupted her. “I have told you! I didn't think. It was just a bit of fun and gig. I was planning to attend, and when I told Julia, she wished to accompany me. It's dashed tiresome being lectured by you, Genia,” he grumbled, preparing to depart the house. “I have had enough of it."

Genia wandered about her cheerless home after he was gone, considering Wessington's sudden departure. She was at a loss to account for it. She had received a note from Lady Dora, thanking her for her intervention, on Julia's behalf. Her friend had said nothing about her brother's departure. She had invited Genia to visit, but Genia, particularly in light of the news of Wessington's defection, had no heart for it.

The marquess—who might somehow have protected her flawed reputation—had gone from town without a word, leaving her to face the ton. She had not thought he would be so unkind. And she had never imagined she would come to such straits. She would be considered thoroughly rash and heedless. Her hard-won invitations might disappear and if they did she would be at point non plus.

“Very well,” she spoke aloud to her reflection in a stained mirror. A spurt of anger overcame her distress. “If the ton wishes to think me licentious, it may. Perhaps I am. Mayhap I shall prove them right. And Wessington may stay in the country forever.” She marched upstairs to search out the disgraced silver and green gown.

Genia wore the gown to a card party a week later, with Lady Dora's scarf. She had provided the ton with abundant gossip that week, attending at gaming hells, frequenting the card room at balls, and being seen with Bednall and Boningale. Austin—still smarting from her remonstrances after the Argyle Rooms masque—had admonished her. She laughed at him, and demanded his attendance on her. Lanark had reproved her. She ignored him. She did not answer Lady Dora's note, and she did not call upon her friend. Nothing had been seen or heard of Wessington.

She saw Lanark as soon as she entered the card room of the discreet hell in York Street. It was midnight, and she could see that he had hoped only to meet some congenial company and forget his burdens for an hour or two. She disregarded him, as she was greeted with acclaim. Austin, who had accompanied her, was swept from her side, and as she was the only lady present in the house, she was cherished by the crowd. Later she accorded Francis a casual nod, but when he attempted to rebuke her, she simply laughed and shrugged him away.

Her vision was blurred by the glass of champagne she had drunk, and she was dicing with Lord Boningale when a sudden hush fell over the assembled company.

Genia looked up to see Wessington standing before her. Conversation rose again in the chamber as the marquess merely bowed.

Genia swallowed desperately and managed to say, “Ah, my lord ... Boningale has lost all his pin money. Do you wish to have a go?"

He indicated his willingness, and after a few minutes’ play, Genia laughed, and sipped more champagne. “There, my lord, I have repaid your loan of three guineas with my losses. Let us play at piquet."

He was agreeable and, she soon discovered, a master at the game. Her losses mounted quite alarmingly, then she won, and she drank a little more champagne. A throng gathered about their table.

Wessington finally rose, and said, “You have me at a disadvantage, my lady. We will play no more. Come, Lanark and I will escort you home."

Francis suddenly appeared at his side.

“I do not wish to go home.” Genia enunciated carefully, wishing that her head did not ache quite so violently. “I came with Austin."

Lanark said, “Your brother is not in evidence. It is late ... we will see you safely to Portman Square."

To her irritation, the next that Genia knew she was seated between Lanark and Wessington in the marquess’ luxurious coach. “I did not wish to go home,” she reiterated, aware that the two men exchanged glances over her head.

“Yes, you did,” Wessington disagreed. His face had been set in stern lines, but all at once relaxed. His ebony gaze was quizzical in expression. “You lost very badly, to me, and then I allowed you to win. Do you enjoy gaming so very much?"

Suddenly Genia felt ill.

Noting her white face, the marquess offered, “The champagne was quite dreadful. You drank little enough, but it will give you the headache."

“You let me win?” she asked. Tears gathered on her long lashes, tears of anger and anguish. She carefully answered his question. “No, I do not enjoy gaming. But, my lord, that is how I survive. I have no other money than what I can win ... and so I play.” She struggled to open her satin reticule, the tears streaming unheeded down her pale cheeks. “But I will not keep guineas not honestly won."

Extracting a handful of gold coins, she tried to give them to him. When he would not take them she let them trickle from her hand onto the floor of the coach.

The rest of the drive to Portman Square was accomplished in silence. Genia accepted a snowy handkerchief from Francis and retired behind it. She struggled hurriedly from the carriage when it stopped, but the marquess was immediately at her side on the pavement.

He led her to her door and within, when no one answered the knocker. The hall was musty and chill, and lit only by one candle. Genia swayed wearily. She would not look at him.

The marquess stepped back outside. “Lock the door after me,” he commanded. “Please inform the earl I shall pay him a call on the morrow."

She would have spoken to him then, but he had already closed the door. “Lock it!” she heard him call.

“What the devil has been going on?” the marquess demanded of his friend Lanark on his return to the carriage.

“What the devil have you been doing?” Francis retorted.

“I told you before I left. Are you smarting over your inability to turn Lady Genia from her course of action during this week?” Wessington asked.

“I have been trying to contain the wild starts of two headstrong females, one my sister, the other Lady Genia, and to placate the sensibilities of two others, one your sister, the other my mother. I have had a stream of letters from her. I have been keeping Viscount Rawcliffe from your sister and the Honourable Austin from mine,” Lanark said. “I have had no success in controlling Lady Genia, and what the gossips will say about this night's work does not bear thinking. And how the devil did you manage to turn up in that hell?"

Wess laughed. “You do not subscribe to belief in my omniscience?” he asked.

His irritation fading, Francis shook his head. “Never."

“Only the truth will do then. I was on my way to Watier's having returned to town in time for little else, when I encountered the Honourable Austin in the street. He was sadly fuddled, but informed me that you had ejected him from the hell. And he told me a little of what has transpired this week."

Francis shook his head. “I told him to leave and then wondered where he had gone. Did he even remember he had a sister?"

“Only just. Shall we retire to Watier's, my friend?” Wessington had completely relaxed.

“How were things at Sandown?"

“Difficult. The great barn burned, leaving nothing but ruined stone walls. So I have been assisting my steward to bury his old father who suffered a great shock at the sight of the fire, and died. In addition, I was comforting a tenant with eleven children whose cottage was also burnt, putting in train the building of two new cottages, and a new drainage ditch. In between I ensured that my old nanny has recovered from a severe illness, checked my prize mare's new foal, and the herd of cattle threatened by scour, authorized the planting for the season and reassured the housekeeper that she must buy whatever she requires in new linen. Any more questions?"

“Yes,” said Lanark. “Shall we drink or gamble at Watier's?"

“Drink,” Wessington said.

* * * *

Genia slept little that night. She felt ill from the bad champagne, her bed was cold, and she turned over and over in her mind the marquess’ instruction to tell the earl that he would call.

She rose feeling little rested, and dressed in her oldest, plainest gown and bonnet. She wrote a brief note for her papa and she left the house, for she had no wish at all to see Wessington. She wandered the Green Park alone for more than an hour, choosing to walk rather than ride, and hoped that the marquess would call when she was out.

On her return, it seemed her wish had been granted. In answer to her question, Rookley confirmed that the marquess had paid his call and left. The butler insisted however on ushering her into the library with its half-empty shelves. Her father awaited her there, and it was immediately apparent that he was in high good humour.

“Genia, my dear child."

She was instantly suspicious. “Papa? Wessington called?” she asked. Her brows drew to a faint frowning line.

“Sit down, my dear. Have a glass of Madeira."

“You know I cannot abide it, Papa. Besides I thought Rookley had drunk it all."

The earl winced at her comment, but he maintained his good humour, as he gulped the strong wine. “That gown is very becoming,” he said.

“No it is not. It is faded, out of fashion and I sewed it myself, two years since,” Genia said. “But you did not call me in to talk of my gown, papa. What did you wish to say to me?"

Elmsall cleared his throat portentously. “I have received an offer, daughter, for your hand; a most flattering offer,” he announced.

Genia raised her slender hand to her lips, attempting to conceal their trembling. “Dearest Papa, whoever wishes to wed fast, impoverished me?” Her words were facetious, but her distress at the thought was very real.

“The Marquess of Wessington,” the earl said. “Twenty thousand a year, Genia. He returns at three o'clock for your answer. Sly puss, you never confided to your papa that you had attached his interest."

“I did not know that I had.” She sat down, very carefully, and clasped her hands in her lap. Her knuckles shone like pearls. “Besides, I have never confided anything in you, sir. You would not welcome it."

“Yes, well, no matter. Think of it, Genia, twenty thousand pounds!” His faded eyes, deepset in pouchy folds, glistened. “Your reply, my girl?"

“I must think, papa. This is very sudden.” she eyed him with distaste, rose and crossed to the door. “You must excuse me.” Once out of the room, she sped quickly up the stairs.

Punctually at three o'clock, the marquess returned. Genia was waiting for him in the cheerless drawing room. When Rookley, who was remarkably sober, announced Wessington, she stopped her pacing and greeted the marquess with every appearance of tranquillity. She had donned her bellefleur green gown, and she had painted her face delicately to hide her deeply circled eyes.

The marquess indicated with a lift of one black brow that he had noted the paint. His bow was a model of elegance, his greeting pleasant, but he said nothing about the paint or the previous evening.

Genia rushed to break the little silence. “You have been at Sandown, my lord?"

“I have,” he said. “It was unexpected and inescapable, but I should have found time to pen you a note. Dora was to explain all to you, but I understand you did not see her. I regret that you were left to face the ton alone after our evening at the Argyle Rooms."

She shook her head and avoided meeting his eyes. “I also regretted it. I dealt with it in my own way,” she said. “The ton talks of nothing else, I warrant."

“Let us give them something else to discuss then,” Wessington said. “You know why I am here?"

Genia nodded, clasping her hands tightly before her, and keeping her eyes fixed firmly upon the worn carpet.

He repeated his offer of marriage formally.

As formally, and without hesitation, Genia accepted. She had spent the day in consideration and was quite clear in her mind on her reasons for accepting. She would escape the shabbiness of the Brierley way of life, the pressure of her father's endless debts and dissipation. She would be sheltered from Neville's unkindness and threats, and perhaps be able to assist Austin. They were obvious, worldly reasons, and Genia clung to them. They were the only ones to which she would admit.

She had not permitted herself to consider Wessington as her husband; now in his presence she could not avoid it. The thought exhilarated her, even as it frightened her. For all he had said that he was her friend, the thought of sharing the intimacies of daily life with him gave her pause.

The marquess moved to her side, and lifted her cold hand to his lips. She shivered a little at the touch, and when he did not release her fingers, she at last met his steady, black gaze. She saw concern in his eyes and warmth, and something she could not define.

Genia hurried into speech. “You said you would not ask me to be your mistress, but you must know that your offer has surprised me. I would know your reasons for making it. I had not thought that monogamy would have the power to interest you."

He drew her to the shabby sofa, and after seating her, he relaxed beside her, watching her, she thought, too keenly.

“Everything interests me, my dear. And marriage is possibly the last novelty in which I may indulge. I require an hostess and an heir. Besides, I believe we shall deal extremely together. We have, I think, at last become friends, despite last night.” He made none of the protestations of devotion or desire that other of her admirers would have expressed. He mentioned nothing about love.

Genia shifted, and the old sopha squeaked a protest. “I am not even certain of your name,” she said.

“Dominic Christian Charles Bonaventure, my dear,” he said. “My friends have always called me Wess. I should like you to call me Dominic. You will find that Dora does, on occasion."

She had no response to his request. “I have no money for bride-clothes.” She lifted her chin and met his black gaze candidly. “Especially since I returned your guineas last night."

She surprised a laugh from him. “There will of course, be a settlement; your father and I have discussed that. But I have no desire to give currency for your use to him,” he said.

Genia nodded her understanding; she would never see such funds.

“So I propose to place funds immediately for you at Hoare's Bank; and you shall draw from there whatever you need."

“That is unconventional,” Genia said, overly aware of his long, strong frame lounging elegantly beside her.

“Well, we are, are we not? Besides when the announcement of our betrothal appears, the tradesmen will have no concerns about payment."

“When will that notice appear?” Events were moving rapidly, and Genia felt quite powerless to stop or change them.

“Tomorrow or Tuesday whichever you prefer,” he said with apparent indifference.

“And the wedding?” she asked.

“Soon ... as soon as is seemly and desirable.” His reply was vehement.

“I agree.” She suddenly felt light-hearted. She would be, in marriage, almost free. “Let it be in June."

She studied his remarkably handsome face and when he smiled at her—a genuine, reassuring smile of warmth such as she had never seen him display—she felt empowered to ask, “And what shall you expect of your wife, my lord. Meekness? Compliance? Bored acquiescence?"

She spoke in jest, but with more than a hint of bitterness.

The gentle warmth faded from his smile and was replaced by a more familiar mockery. “I require of my wife only that she give up her more regrettable masculine acquaintances, and confine her attentions and unmistakable charms to me. I in return will ensure that she is never bored.” It was a warning and a challenge.

Genia experienced a nervous thrill as his black gaze locked with hers.

Then he again took her hand and pressed his lips to the smooth skin lingeringly, before speaking.

“If the earl is in the hall still, and I expect he will be, may I relieve his suspense with your permission?"

Genia nodded, quite unable to speak.

He did not release her hand but drew her with him as he rose. His free hand threaded among her copper curls gently and they clung to his fingers. “I have wanted to do that for a very long time,” he murmured. He bent his head and kissed her cheek gently before releasing her.

Genia could only stare, wide-eyed, as he took his leave.

* * * *

The betrothal announcement, carefully worded, appeared in The Times on Tuesday. That morning, Austin entered the spartan breakfast parlour in Portman Square waving a copy of the newspaper.

“No one tells me anything,” he complained dropping the paper beside Genia's muffin, and glaring at her. “You do realize that all bets will now be off; no one ever wagered on such a turn up as this."

“Thank you very much for your good wishes,” Genia said.

“Well, you said he'd not..."

“He hasn't."

“But..."

“This is a ... a family alliance, an arranged marriage of convenience."

Austin hooted with laughter. “Convenient for whom? Not Wessington. Who would willingly ally himself with a family such as ours? If you are not compromised, he must be run mad."

“Austin, I would expect this from Neville, but not you. For pity's sake, wish me happy.” Her wide eyes swam with sudden tears.

“I do,” he said. “Oh, I do. How could you be otherwise with all that brass?” He seemed to realize that those words were cruel as well inappropriate. “Never mind, Gen, all will be well. I envy you your good fortune, and I wish you very happy indeed. But don't forget your loving brother."

She grinned at him, and her tears dried. “Keep a discreet tongue in your head, mind your manners, and you may also have a brighter future,” she advised before she addressed her muffin.

The marquess had meantime sought his sister in her bedchamber. He carried the newspaper in his hand.

She was still in her bed, swathed in a soft blue shawl, sipping her chocolate, and turning over invitations. Her abigail bustled about the chamber until Dora dismissed her.

“You are up betimes, my love,” she said, eyeing her brother's claret coat and smooth biscuit pantaloons.

“I have a great deal of business to attend to today,” he said. “Dora, I have made Lady Genia an offer of marriage and she has accepted. I have the notice here.” He dropped the paper on her bed.

His sister gasped and was silent. She made no move to touch the periodical.

Wessington sat down in a delicate bedside chair, unaccustomedly at a loss.

“I shall be delighted to welcome such a good friend as a sister,” Dora said with hesitation. “I ... I am speechless, Dominic. I did not know that you had attached each other's affections. Indeed you seem to be coming to cuffs with each other more often than anything of late."

“It is not a romance,” Wessington said. “But Lady Genia deserves a better life and future than that she has; I discovered last evening that she has no money at all but what she can gain from gambling. I had not thought things were quite so desperate. And I do require a wife; my father would demand that I think of the succession."

“Such prosaic reasons to wed,” Lady Dora mourned. “Oh my dear, I had hoped you would marry for love, and find the degree of joy and content that I attained with my dear Somerton. I had hoped you had put the past behind you. Perhaps love may grow?” she added.

Her glance was searching, but Wessington had carefully guarded his expression. “Perhaps,” he conceded.

“You have my blessing and every good wish,” she offered as her abigail reentered the room.

The marquess rose and kissed his sister's cheek.

“Lord Lanark is below, my lord,” the abigail said wide eyed. “He says he must see you."

“I have a feeling Francis has heard the news.” Wessington laughed.

“Oh, Wess, poor Francis, you should have told him—asked him—"

“Poor Francis will be fine, Dora,” Wessington said over his shoulder. “You'd best get dressed; come and comfort him yourself.” He noted his sister's blush without comment.

Lord Lanark was in the marquess’ bookroom. He had turned out the secretary, Chamberlin, who assisted his lordship with all manner of business. He looked up frowningly from a dish of coffee as his host entered.

“I was accosted by Rawcliffe this morning, who handed me the Times and offered me his condolences on being bested by you. He said he was delighted to be welcoming a new brother."

“I offered for Lady Genia, and was accepted,” Wessington explained. “Dora said I should have asked you first."

Lanark's frown disappeared as he shouted with laughter. “I don't know whether to congratulate or condole you. It is kind of Lady Dora to be concerned for me, but I would not have Genia or her family on my plate. You're either mad or in love, I'm damned if I know which."

“Mad, I think,” Wessington said, pouring himself coffee from the silver pot, as his secretary tapped on the door. “Quite mad."

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was Thursday before Genia cared to go abroad. She had been prey to all manner of worries since the announcement had appeared, and she had had no word from Lady Dora. She very much feared that the marquess’ sister disliked his match. She determined to find out and, after dressing carefully, she set out for Wessington House.

She walked to Grosvenor Square in a light rain, unaccompanied as usual. Austin had offered to accompany, but as she rather thought he intended to ask Wessington for a loan, she declined his escort. It was early and few of the fashionables were about. Genia kept her head, in a sensible dark straw bonnet, down and avoided all acquaintance.

As she entered the square, she was startled to see that her brother Neville was assisting Lady Dora into a job chaise before Wessington House. She speeded her steps, but the carriage had already jolted into movement and turned a corner before she reached the south side of the square. She paused a moment, to catch her breath, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she sped down the pavement, trod purposefully up the steps and applied the knocker.

The door was opened immediately by Forth himself, as though he had not yet quitted the hall. He betrayed some surprise at seeing her, despite his impassive demeanor. “My lady!” His bow to his future mistress was all it should have been, though the talk belowstairs had been unflattering after the marquess had made his announcement.

Genia understood his emotions all too well, but she entered and demanded, “Send a footman after that carriage. Where has Lady Dora gone with the viscount?"

Forth coughed discreetly, beckoning to the footman lingering near the green baize door. “I understood he was come to take her ladyship to you, my lady, though I must have been mistaken. He intimated that you were in some difficulty."

Genia's face displayed first dismay then anger. Her feelings toward her eldest brother were quite murderous at that moment, and she had to stop him. “Have the footman follow that coach. It turned right out of the square and it had a number on it, did you note? He must return here and report its direction within the hour!"

The butler frankly gaped at her, and Genia stamped her slender foot. “Do it!” she commanded.

Forth obeyed. He instructed the footman who was already half out the door.

“Where is the marquess?” Genia asked, when Forth turned from seeing the footman on his way.

“His lordship is in the City, my lady, some matters of urgency with his man of business and a visit to the Exchange, he confided."

Genia frowned. The butler's manner was becoming more respectful with every instruction she issued. “Obtain me a job chaise, or a carriage from the stables, whichever will be most quick. Provide the coachman the address of his lordship's man of business. Advise Miss Lanark that we are all three gone to Sandown for two days; her brother will attend her. And I needs must write a note to Lord Lanark while you order that carriage."

Later, Forth was to inform his colleagues belowstairs that he was quite reminded of the old marchioness by Lady Genia's manner as she commanded him, and that perhaps reports had been unfair to the young lady. Now, however, he showed her to the marquess’ desk in the bookroom, and assured her that a carriage would be readied in ten minutes. He knew the marquess would not forgive his betrothed's arrival in a job chaise.

Genia wrote quickly in her large, clear hand. "Francis—We are gone to Sandown for a brief survey. It is I know unexpected, and as you can probably guess there are special circumstances. There is nothing to cause concern however, or Gossip! Just see to the Entertainment of Julia and we shall report all on our Return." In the midst of her haste she added mischievously, "I have yet to receive your Congratulations." She signed her name with a flourish, and realized that she must also write a note to her own home. She did so cryptically and briefly, aware with sadness that there would be little interest in, and no concern over, her whereabouts.

Then the carriage was ready and she was accorded every courtesy by Wessington's staff. She sat deep in thought, yet quivering with impatience down Oxford Street to Charing Cross and into the Strand. The carriage halted in the midst of the busy City before the edifice where the marquess apparently did his business.

The footman accompanying the carriage poked his head in the door. “I shall bring his lordship, my lady."

Genia moved briskly, forcing him to pull down the steps. “No I shall go myself.” She bethought herself of the proprieties. “You will accompany me.” She was briefly thankful that she was wearing her best Pomona green pelisse. The marquess need not be ashamed of her appearance at least.

The rooms were full of clerks, and a buzz developed as Genia was escorted to the appropriate private chamber. The head clerk scratched on the door, and obeyed a brisk ‘come’ by opening it. A rush of relief surged through Genia, for the marquess was present deep in conversation with an elderly man in a bag wig.

“I must speak with you,” Genia burst out. That Wessington was thunderstruck was apparent, but he quickly recovered his accustomed poise and performed the necessary introductions. “We have little time,” Genia said all her concern apparent in her voice. She appreciated his discretion as the older man removed himself from his chamber.

The marquess took her hands. “What is it, my dear, that brings you post haste to me? This is flattering, but—"

“It is Dora.” Genia hurried into speech again, interrupting his attempt at lightness. The concern for her in his face intensified at the mention of his sister. She hurried on. “And Neville. I think he has tricked her, may even be intending to harm her. We must go. I have had the carriage followed by one of your footman. He should be returned to Wessington House with information by the time we reach it. He can tell us if they left the metropolis and by which Road."

The marquess was calling in his man, picking up his hat, even as she spoke. He then turned to her, “You came...?"

“Respectably,” she retorted with a glint of humour. “One of your footmen is without; one of your carriages is in the street. Forth was a great help."

“He always is.” The marquess was grim-faced now. He took her arm, nodded to his man, and hurried them both down the stairs and out to the carriage. Their return to Grosvenor Square was accomplished with all the speed that the crowded streets would permit.

The footman had returned to Wessington House; in fact, they met him in the entry hall, and he burst into speech, breathing gaspingly because of his run. “The carriage took the Great North Road, my lord, traveling smartly, but not over quick."

Forth stood by, prepared to receive the marquess’ instructions, as Wessington spoke. “I shall go after them. The chaise will do. Get John out to it quickly.” He requested his tiger. “Lady Genia, I will see you on our return."

“I am coming with you,” she announced.

“I think not,” he began, but was halted by her determined expression.

She said, “I have some ideas where Neville might go. I have written to Lord Lanark and my family. If Neville is gone where I think, Sandown is not so very far away. It may appear to be a family visit if we handle it properly."

“Very well,” he wasted no time in argument. “Forth..."

“You may rely on my discretion as always my lord,” the butler intoned.

“I shall,” said the marquess dryly, and hurried Genia out to the chaise.

* * * *

Wessington's chaise had gained the Great North Road before either of them spoke again.

“Do advise me where we are going so that I may instruct my coachman,” the marquess asked. Then he added, “And tell me what you think your brother intends with regard to my sister."

Genia was deep in thought and started on hearing his grave tones. She hurried into speech, meeting his serious gaze directly. “Whatever Neville intends, it will be for monetary gain,” she said.

“I have made Lord Elmsall a generous settlement. Can Rawcliffe not expect a share?"

“The money will go to pay my father's debts. It must. If he keeps a little aside, it will be for himself; Neville knows he will not see a penny of it. And he knows our betrothal must end his opportunities to impress your sister ... that you and I will ensure that he has no more to do with her."

The marquess said nothing; his very silence urged Genia to further explanation.

“I believe he must mean to compromise Lady Dora, to force a marriage, surely nothing worse. If so he needs a place to hide away. Boningale has a hunting box near Winslow. I've not been there,” she felt it necessary to say, “but he speaks of it constantly. If Neville has mischief in mind, he would have Boningale lend it him. Or Bednall has a manor at Clophill; Neville may have persuaded him for use of it. I make no doubt it is falling into decay, though he did use it as an enticement for me to become his mistress."

Wessington's grim expression further hardened. “Your brother keeps charming company."

Genia shrugged. “Their presence was unavoidable, so I did too. I dislike them so much, though they are in the main more stupid than evil. Except for my brother.” She met his black eyes with worry and regret in hers. “He is not stupid. I am sorry for this trouble. If he has harmed Lady Dorothea, I shall never forgive myself, or him."

Wessington's expression was harsh but he gently lifted her gloved hand, which lay on the plush seat between them.

“If your brother has harmed my sister, I will kill him. And I will still marry you. You will neither of you escape,” he said.

There was menace in the words, but Genia was not afraid, not for herself at least. She left her fingers in his, as she said, “I think that Neville may have tried Bednall, for even he knows Boningale is a fool. I do believe we should try Clophill first."

“Very well.” The marquess shouted directions to the coachman, and they turned onto the very next pike road.

So correct were Genia's suppositions that, after an hour, they spied an unmistakable London job chaise in the yard of a broken down inn as they swept past. They maintained a solemn, but companionable, silence for yet another hour. Genia felt that there was little one could say of sense in such an awkward and worrying situation, and the marquess obviously agreed.

The coachman had to ask directions of a carter before they found the overgrown drive that led to Bednall's crumbling manor. The sprawling house lay in the late spring sun, verdantly overgrown, and with an unhappy air of disuse. The coachman drew up before the door with precision, and the tiger opened the door of the chaise and let down the steps.

The marquess handed Genia down from the carriage, but left her to follow him as he made for the aged oak door. Rather than knock, or use the tarnished bell pull, he opened the door himself.

Past his shoulder, Genia saw a slatternly maid in the hall straighten and turn. The girl audibly gulped.

“Is it possible to see through that keyhole?” the marquess questioned with a polite manner.

The maid looked ready to run.

“No? Then we had best have the door open."

The girl obeyed her instincts and took to her heels.

Wessington did not bother to grasp the tarnished handle but kicked open the door.

Genia pushed up to enter with him, and was relieved to see Lady Dorothea seated composedly behind a small table bearing a pot of tea.

The viscount was perched on the ledge of a deep window; he slid to stand, warily, on the door's opening. His pale eyes narrowed. “Damn you, Genia,” he said by way of greeting.

Wessington stepped to his sister's side and embraced her protectively. She rested her head for a brief moment on his broad shoulder. Then calmly she greeted Genia, and offered them both tea.

“I detest family parties,” Rawcliffe said moving toward the door.

The marquess thrust it shut.

“I have not been harmed,” Lady Dorothea said. “He has not touched me. I was only a little ... distressed."

“What was your plan?” Wessington demanded of Rawcliffe.

Genia took a seat beside Lady Dora. Despite the nature of some of their previous encounters, she had never seen in the marquess quite the degree of ferocity that he was holding in check at that moment.

“Merely a double wedding. My congratulations to you both by the bye,” Neville sneered. “A love match plain and simple, I make no doubt."

Genia coloured.

Wessington gave no sign of hearing the taunting words.

“My plan was to compromise Lady Dorothea by keeping her here until she agreed to make me as happy as my little sister is making you. With her money though, not her body, which is all my dear Genia has to offer. But little sister is more clever than I thought. I knew she would think of Boningale, but gambled that she would not think of Bednall until too late. The devil fly away with you my dear!” He addressed that remark to his white-faced sister and took a step in her direction.

That movement was his undoing.

The marquess moved like quicksilver and caught Rawcliffe by the neckcloth at his throat.

“Dora, go to the coach. Genia, you will go with her. Send my tiger to wait in the hall."

Genia took Dora's arm and made for the door. She had no intention of defying Wessington at that moment.

“Surely pistols would be more civilized than fisticuffs, Wessington,” Rawcliffe achieved another sneer as he understood the marquess’ intent. “You will not wish to damage your handsome face."

As they left the chamber, Genia heard Wessington say, “I only duel with those I respect. You rate only a beating."

The crash of an overturned chair echoed behind them, as Genia hurried with Dorothea across the unkempt hall to the door.

They ran to the coach and directed the tiger as Wessington had bid them. The coachman grumbled at having to remain where he was.

Genia followed Dora into the coach. “Are you certain you are unhurt?” she asked Dora as they settled themselves in the crested carriage.

Her friend reassured her, “I am fine, except that I have the headache.” She wearily removed her bonnet. “But I am worried about Wess."

Unexpectedly, Genia laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I am not. Neville is a coward; I believe he may never have experienced fisticuffs with anyone before."

Lady Dorothea controlled a shudder. “How did you find me so quickly?” she queried.

Genia explained and added, “I was coming to visit you—about our betrothal—for I had heard nothing from you."

“Ah, forgive me,” Lady Dora said. “I felt I could not leave such a matter to correspondence, but my days were filled with engagements. Today was to be a day spent with you; I was on the point of sending you a message when Rawcliffe arrived.” She choked out a short laugh. “It seems an age since this morning."

Genia summoned a question from her surprisingly constricted throat. “Do you dislike it? Our betrothal?"

“Of course not,” Lady Dora began, but said no more as the door of the ancient manor opened.

The marquess, followed by his tiger, emerged into the failing light and strode across the yard.

Both ladies jumped down from the chaise, and ran to his side.

Genia could see few signs of his recent activity. His neckcloth was gone and his tiger carried his superfine coat. His black hair was disarranged, and a bruise darkened on his left cheek, otherwise he seemed undisturbed. He smiled at Genia and winced then patted his sister's arm reassuringly.

“Come, our business here is finished,” he said. “We are near enough to Sandown. If we hurry, we may eat a late supper there."

His tiger assisted both ladies into the carriage, and helped his master into his coat. Then Wessington instructed his coachman, and stepped in to sit across from Genia.

It was only then that she saw his fine linen handkerchief wound around his right hand.

“Dominic?” she said, unwittingly speaking his name. She touched the bandage questioningly, worried glance flitting from it to his bruised cheek, then meeting his eyes.

“Just a graze, a scrape,” he assured her. He turned to his sister and scanned her with concern. “You are truly unhurt?” he asked.

“Truly,” Dora said.

“And Neville?” Genia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I left him unconscious,” he said without apology. “Before I rendered him to that state, I advised him that if I ever saw him again, I would kill him, and that perhaps the continent would be a suitable venue for his peculiar talents. He offered you his apologies Dora, but only under duress, I am sorry to say. I gave that servant a guinea to care for him. Now let us speak of something else."

“We were speaking of your betrothal,” Lady Dora said, with composure, “before you joined us. I wished to tell Genia—I may call you that now?—that I am delighted to have such a dear friend for a sister. I believe this is not a love match and I am sorry for that, but still I wish you happy. I wish you both as happy as Charles and I were."

Genia was blushing, touched by her friend's words.

It was left to Wessington to reply. “Thank you, my dear. If we are ever that happy we shall be fortunate indeed."

Genia met his unfathomable sable gaze, and they all lapsed into weary silence.

* * * *

They did indeed arrive at Sandown for supper. In the twilight, Genia saw a glimmer of the classic Jacobean profile of the great house. It seemed very beautiful, and it did not seem possible that she was to be mistress of it.

As an under-butler ushered them into the house, Genia stared around the immense entry hall. Sometime in the previous century the chamber had been plastered in the classical style, and the marble floor shone in black and white squares. The housekeeper bustled out from a door at the back of the hall.

“Mrs. Mole, we shall require supper in an hour or so, if Cook can oblige us,” the marquess requested after performing the necessary introductions.

To Genia's surprise, the servants were unperturbed by their master's unexpected arrival so soon after his last visit.

Wessington continued, “We shall rest in our chambers until then. Please accompany Lady Genia to a guest chamber, for I wish to speak with Lady Dora."

The housekeeper seemed to sense Genia's weariness and said little as she took her prospective mistress along finely furnished corridors to a beautifully decorated chamber.

Genia was not too weary to appreciate the charm of the rose silk-hung bedchamber, but she lay down on the soft bed immediately the housekeeper left her. The beauty and the comfort of what would be her home was most welcome after her many years of privation. She was almost asleep, and dreamily contemplating her marriage from a most mercenary point of view, when a scratch at the door brought her from her thoughts.

“Come!” she called, too comfortable to rise.

A plump, fair country girl entered, her arms full of clothing and other necessities.

“I am Nancy, my lady.” She curtsied. She examined her new mistress briefly, then busily deposited her burden on the bed. “My lord said you was all come unexpectedly, and I am to help you. Supper will be served at nine o'clock, and may I brush your hair?"

Genia had never had a maid, and she had not known what a comfort one could be. Nancy had brought lavender soap, fine ivory handled brushes, hot water, and soft washing cloths. She had also brought a simple lilac round gown, a deeply fringed shawl, and a nightdress. They were Lady Dorothea's garments, she explained.

Genia was still weary, but much refreshed by the efforts of her willing helper, when a footman arrived to escort her to the dining room. She had washed, and donned the lilac gown, and her hair feathered from an intricate coil that Nancy had fashioned on top of her head. She drew the soft shawl about her shoulders as she followed the footman down the wide corridors.

Wessington and Lady Dora arrived at the door to the dining room at the same moment as she. They all entered the spacious chamber arm in arm.

The marquess seated both ladies with equal solicitude, but inquired of Genia, “Have you everything you need? Do you find Nancy satisfactory?"

Genia assured him of it, even as her dainty nose twitched at the enticing smells emanating from the serving dishes which the under-butler and a footman were carrying into the dining room.

Supper was a joy of well-prepared fresh country food, despite the short notice to the kitchen. Genia noted that they all three ate hungrily, though they spoke little. Her observant eyes noted the raw graze on Wessington's knuckles; she thought that it must be painful. She wondered briefly about her brother's welfare, but her sorrow for any pain he suffered was overcome by the shame of his behaviour.

She did not linger over her meal, and neither did her companions. They all rose after one glass of wine.

“If you will excuse me I desire nothing so much as my bed,” Lady Dora said, outside the drawing room door, with a warm smile that included Genia and her brother.

Genia agreed that her bedchamber held more appeal than the drawing room.

Without demur, the marquess escorted both ladies up the wide polished stairs and into the west wing. Lady Dora was left before her door first, then Wessington accompanied Genia further down the corridor.

In her weariness, she did not welcome the tête-à-tête.

“I must thank you again. Your thoughtfulness and quick action saved my sister much distress today,” Wessington said.

“If it were not for me and my brother,” she said, “Lady Dorothea would not have been at risk at all."

“True,” he agreed with a glimmer of a smile. “But she is very pleased to be acquiring a sister. You have nothing for which to reproach yourself.” He halted before her bedchamber door. “When we are wed, this will not be your chamber. The master suite is in the east wing."

He was occupied with opening the door, and she hoped he did not notice her frisson of nerves. She stepped past him to enter, but was stopped by his hard hand on her arm.

Genia stared into his face, noting the darkening bruise with anxiety.

“This will be your home. We may turn this visit to good advantage, if you should wish to consider the house and estate on the morrow."

“I should like that,” she said unable to look away from his intense consideration. Then he bent his head, and his firm lips brushed her smooth cheek. She shivered.

With one hand he drew the shawl closer about her shoulders, and with the other he pushed open the door a little more. The action revealed the maid, Nancy, and a tub of steaming water before a small fire, lit despite the spring warmth.

“Good night, my dear,” was all he said, and strode off down the broad corridor.

Swaying with weariness and on an unaccustomed edge of nerves, Genia dissolved into tears. Nancy shut the door firmly, and gently bustled her into the tub.

* * * *

The next day, much restored and again clad in the demure lilac gown, Genia met her betrothed and his sister in the breakfast parlour. They all were well rested and Lady Dora seemed returned to her customary tranquillity. Genia could greet the marquess without a consciousness of what had passed between them the previous evening.

“I think we should return to town tomorrow,” he informed the ladies as he partook of a baked egg and small beer.

“I do agree,” said Lady Dora, with concern. “To be from town when you are only just betrothed will cause talk, though a visit to the family estate is permissible, and in fact, a very good idea.” She smiled. “For of course, Genia must decide if she wishes to be mistress of all this.” Her gesture was comprehensive, before she addressed herself to her lighter repast of tea and toast.

“Wessington has seen what I am come from,” Genia confided. “There can be no question of choosing. Do you know, I have not been outside London, but for Hampton and Richmond, for nearly ten years? Papa sold Brierley Place just before Mama died.” She applied herself to her eggs and did not see the glance that the marquess and his sister exchanged.

When the breakfast covers had been removed, Wessington invited Genia to walk out. She did not hesitate to accept, and after fetching her shawl, she joined him before the great house.

“I thought last evening that Sandown must be beautiful and indeed it is,” she said.

“Almost two hundred years old,” the marquess said. “And loved by each generation of our family. Now let us walk; we are after all in the country.” His smile invited her laughter, reminding her of a previous conversation.

The day was bright and warm, and Genia enjoyed every moment of the morning. They began their tour at the stables, then saw where the ancient barn had recently burned. Genia felt the sadness that everyone else displayed at the loss of that huge and historic building.

Wessington showed her the formal gardens, the orangerie and the succession houses, pointed out the tenant farms in the distance, and took her to meet the inhabitants of some dependent cottages only one-half mile from the manor. One of these was his old nurse.

That straight-backed old lady with a wise, wrinkled face stared keenly at her nursling's betrothed.

“You look worn to a thread by life in that place,” she spoke of London disparagingly. “Do you come here soon after you are wed, and we shall soon have you rosy and well, so that the nursery may be filled with bairns."

Genia coloured deeply. She had thought she could no longer blush but the past weeks had proved her wrong. Her association with Wessington, it seemed, had recalled her innocence.

“I am sure I have no mind to embarrass my lady,” the old nurse continued, “but it is well past time you were thinking of the succession, my lord."

“So you have told me these many years, Nursey. Finally I have taken heed.” As he spoke, Genia was conscious of his amused consideration.

They paused by the decorative water before the great house on their return. Genia was silent, thinking of the old nurse's words and assimilating her impressions of the estate. A white duck, landing in a flurry of wavelets on the water, recalled her from her thoughts. She looked up to find Wessington's gaze, intent with an expression she could not read, upon her.

She spoke from her thoughts. “There are many people dependent upon you."

“There are,” he agreed.

“It is like a world contained, in microcosm. It is genuine."

“More real than London, at least the London of the ton. For here hardship can be alleviated and hard work can be done."

“I could love this very much.” Genia did not at first realize she had spoken aloud.

Wessington covered her hand on his arm, with his other hand. “I am glad,” he said. Without speaking further, he drew her on, to return to the house.

They enjoyed a brief nuncheon with Lady Dora, who then announced her plan to conduct Genia on a tour through the house. The marquess indicated he had work to which he could attend with his steward, and Genia watched him leave the chamber with a small sense of loss. Dora however proved to have a fund of information on the history and furnishings of her family home, and kept Genia much entertained. After they had toured the public rooms, they were joined by Mrs. Mole, the housekeeper, and moved from kitchen, stillroom and cellars to airing closets and attics. Genia was thoroughly bewildered when they arrived in the library, to find the marquess reading a newspaper. He saw her confusion immediately, but only smiled a little as his sister excused herself.

He said, “Come, I wish to make my steward known to you."

Surveying Genia's face at supper, Lady Dorothea reproved her brother. “See how tired she is; we erred. There was no need to have shown her everything in one short day."

“You are right I am sure, but in a sense there was need. She must know what she will encounter on marrying me. Better now than later."

“Stop speaking of me as though I were not here,” Genia said with a laugh. Her words hissed with a nervous edge. “I have enjoyed this day, I am not tired, and Sandown is quite remarkable.” She had been enthralled by the day's revelations, and fascinated to observe how his tenants and workers regarded Wessington with respect and even affection. While she wished for solitude to reflect upon her marriage to him, she with difficulty drew herself from her thoughts to join the conversation. The meal provided was again wonderful; soup, fish and a joint were accompanied by greens and root vegetables and enhanced by sweets. Genia was more than a little surprised at the difference a satisfied hunger made to her disposition. She was comfortable and in comfort, relaxed. And in relaxation, she found she was content.

After their meal, they retired to the drawing room, where Lady Dorothea took up some long neglected needlework she had found earlier in the day. The marquess picked up a journal, and Genia, wandering about, found the peace in the quiet room delightful. Tall glassed doors stood open to the terrace. As dusk fell without, a soft-footed servant entered the room to light the candles.

“Is this then family life?” Genia spoke aloud without realizing it.

Lady Dora lifted her head and considered her. “It is,” she confirmed. “At least as we understand it."

Wessington gave no sign that he had heard the exchange.

Genia, after continuing around the room, paused at the pianoforte. She hesitated then she seated herself and ran her slim fingers over the keys. There was a stack of music on a console nearby and she turned it over thoughtfully. She found several pieces she thought she could play, and directed a rather shy glance at her companions, but they were engrossed in their occupations.

Wessington had taken up a sketching book and a charcoal.

She stumbled at first, for her pianoforte had been sold years before. But she gained confidence, and soon discovered her music came back to her. She chose to play simple country airs at first, and only gradually chose more difficult pieces. When eventually she stopped playing, she found herself applauded, the other two having abandoned their pursuits to become an audience.

“That was lovely,” Dorothea said. “I can sing, but attained no more than an elementary skill on the pianoforte."

“And I cannot sing,” Genia admitted, with a laugh. She removed from the instrument and joined her companions at the tea table, which had been brought in. “Or perform upon the harp or display my watercolours.” She was unembarrassed but sadness entered her voice. “In fact, my education was largely neglected, but I did have my father's library, until much of it was sold more than a year ago. I had read almost everything in it, for it was my sole amusement for more than four years. I miss it."

“You have now seen the library here,” Wessington said. “It is yours.” There was a peculiarly intense look in his black eyes.

Genia looked away from his regard, experiencing a shiver of sensation wash over her skin.

Lady Dora chose to turn the subject. “Well, I do not regard mere accomplishments as essential, but I confess to an envy of Dominic's sketching. Do look what he just did.” She extended the large book even as Wessington tried to intercept it.

Captured in the charcoal, Genia discovered herself at the pianoforte, concentration plain in her face. “You have a talent, my lord, that surely would lend itself to oils,” she said, finding words to cover her discomposure.

He waved a hand dismissively. “I gave it consideration, but found no talent with a brush. I have merely a small gift for capturing a moment.” He seemed as discomposed as was she.

“It is so pleasant to have leisure to come to know each other better,” Dora said. “And I do find it interesting that one discusses such different topics in the country than in town. We have learned all manner of new things of one another in just two days."

Genia wondered what the marquess had learned of her, but his face revealed nothing. He set the sketching book aside, and only returned to the table when they were all served with tea.

“You mentioned once that you have no maid,” he said then to Genia.

“I have not,” she said, wondering about his interest.

“Would you consider having as abigail the girl who assists you here?” he asked. “I am informed by Mrs. Mole that Nancy wishes to be a lady's maid and is eager to be of service to you."

“I should be glad of it when we are wed,” Genia agreed.

Dorothea hurried into speech. “Oh, surely she could be of use to you now!” It was apparent she had some knowledge of her brother's suggestion.

Genia looked from sister to brother, dismayed that they had been plotting behind her back, and yet appreciative of their concern for her. She decided to acquiesce gracefully. “If I am to have innumerable new clothes, and invitations from the cream of the ton, I had best have an abigail to see to it all. I like Nancy very well. And you may be sure she will be safe, now that Neville is gone. Austin and my father are not in the petticoat line."

Wessington quirked a brow and said, “I am relieved. Her father is one of our gardeners; I shall be able to reassure him."

The evening ended in laughter.

* * * *

Wessington chose to ride one of the fine hacks from his stable on their return trip to London. The roads were dry in the late spring heat, and with four horses they were bound to accomplish the trip easily in five hours.

Nancy joined the ladies in the coach, speechless with excitement over her first trip to the metropolis. When he rode near to the coach window Wess noted that his sister and his betrothed spoke little more than the maid.

He did hear bride clothes mentioned once in a desultory fashion, and he clearly heard Lady Genia mention her reluctance to return to the city. He was aware that her gaze sought him out from time to time during the journey. He was careful to indicate no consciousness of it.

The journey ended before Elmsall House in Portman Square. Wessington dismounted to hand Genia and her new maid from the carriage. Nancy was on the step staring at the house before Genia and Dora had completed their protracted and fond farewells. Wess waited patiently.

Genia appeared startled when he extended his hand to assist her to the ground, but she availed herself of his help without hesitation.

He was amused when she drew him away from the carriage in order to whisper, “I have told Dora that Lanark is no more than my friend ... that he has never made me an offer of marriage. I wish she might believe it."

“I shall endeavour to see that she does. I think we are allies in considering them a good match?"

“They are perfect each for the other.” She seemed suddenly shy and edged toward her home. “I will wait upon you tomorrow,” he said, taking her hand, preventing her flight.

“Very well,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

He had felt the tremor in her slender fingers and lifted a brow to tell her he was not deluded by her assumption of airy disinterest. He saw her to the door, which Nancy by this time had opened, and saw her within. Then he returned to hand his mount over to his tiger and join his sister in the coach for the brief trip to Wessington House.

Lord Lanark was sitting with his young sister in the small drawing room when Wessington and Lady Dora entered their townhouse only minutes later.

“There, you see, I told you they would return today or tomorrow,” he said to his sibling, before rising.

Wessington, eyeing Lanark carefully, noted his well-concealed delight at beholding Dora.

“Welcome home,” Lanark said, and his sister echoed the greeting.

Wessington bent over Julia's hand then clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Kind of you to keep our home's fires burning, Francis. We hope you will accept our apologies for our sudden disappearance."

He was aware that Dora had no wish to remain in company with Lanark. He rather thought that had she been alone with his friend, she might have collapsed into his arms. As that was not possible, he said, “Miss Lanark, will you accompany my sister upstairs? She is weary from the journey, and has much to tell you."

With a grateful look, Dora bore Julia off to supply her with some sort of explanation for her hosts’ disappearance.

Francis held the door for them, then turned back to survey the bruise on his friend's cheek. Without speaking, Wessington stripped off his gloves, and made no attempt to conceal his grazed knuckles.

“What the devil has been going on?” Lanark demanded. “At the beginning of the week all was well and joyous then suddenly you all disappear, and I have only a cryptic note from Lady Genia!"

Before replying, Wessington put his head out the door, and requested Madeira of the footman waiting in the hall. Carelessly, he slammed the door, then flung himself down on a silk covered settee.

“Rawcliffe,” he said then, succinctly.

Lanark said nothing while the footman entered, placed a tray on the table and departed soft-footed. Wessington sat up to pour the wine, waved his friend to a glass and a chair, and reclined with his crystal goblet in his injured hand.

“I almost killed him,” he continued then, without emotion.

“Jackson warned you about that punishing left,” Lanark said. “You can't kill a man and marry his sister."

“I could. He wanted a double wedding. More precisely, he wanted Dora's money, and abducted her to get it. Genia found him out, we followed them, et voila!"

Francis paled. “Is Dora all right? I should have been there. Why did you not allow me to accompany you? Why didn't she stay to speak to me?"

“She is fine. Untouched ... or I would have killed him, have no fear.” Wessington drank deeply of his wine. “I suspect she feared she would weep on your chest if she stayed in the room. And as she thinks you suffering from unrequited love of Genia she believes she must not do that."

“Damn Genia. No, I don't mean that. You think Dora might rely on me?” Lanark looked delightedly overcome. He recovered himself after a moment's reflection. “What about your betrothal? We were interrupted the other day. The ton is a-buzz."

“I make no doubt."

“Well, do you love her, or just desire her? Or are you suddenly chivalrous, and wish to help her?"

Wess said nothing, but only stared at his friend consideringly.

Lanark barked a laugh and returned the stare. “Very well! It is none of my affair, but treat her well, I have an affection there."

“I told you Dora said I should ask, but I was quite certain that my declaration interfered with no plans of yours."

“You were correct, as I told you, and I wish you both happy, I am sure."

“Happiness...” mused Wessington. “Well, we shall see. In any event, I rely on you to inform the ton that our disappearance was nothing of the sort, but a simple trip to Sandown to introduce the prospective marchioness to her new home."

“Mistress of Sandown. How will little Genia manage that?” Lanark wondered aloud.

“You underestimate your friend. Lady Genia is equal to anything.” Wessington filled his glass again, and pushed the decanter toward his friend. “Anything."

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Papa?” Genia stood in the bare library of Elmsall House watching her father and Austin empty the contents of their purses on the worn walnut of the central table. “You will not see Neville for some time."

“Eh?” grunted her father, disinterestedly.

Austin looked up, the expression on his thin face suddenly keen. “Are the rumours true then? Wessington whipped him? Bednall told me. Apparently he found Neville at his country place in a bad way."

Dismay overwhelmed Genia; she had not thought Lord Bednall would take it in his head to visit his dilapidated manor. It had been only two days since their return from Sandown. She wondered if the marquess had heard this talk.

“It is true Wessington was involved,” she said. “Neville insulted me, and Wessington took exception."

“Dashed odd,” said Austin. “Usually a brother's redressing insults, not makin’ em.” He shrugged, apparently not wishing to tax his brain further. The earl appeared to be listening but he made no comment.

“Wessington suggested Neville visit the continent. Did Bednall say if that was Neville's intent?"

Austin shook his head. “Never mentioned it. I say, Genia, Father and I have need of twenty guineas. Wessington will have ensured you have all you need and more."

“He has,” Genia said. “And he has insisted I must not give it you. You are to apply to him, and he will frank you ... perhaps."

“Damme if that ain't degrading ... to be asking your son-in-law for money,” the earl said.

“I am degraded by the Settlement, Papa. I am purchased from my family,” Genia said. “You can afford no inconvenient pride."

She closed the library door with somewhat of a bang on her departure. She stood frowning at her shabby slippers for a moment then lifted her gaze to behold the marquess in the dim and dusty hall. She assumed it was the surprise writ on her face that caused him to laugh shortly.

“Your abigail acted as footman; Nancy opened the door,” he explained, removing his tall beaver hat.

“Another duty she takes on,” Genia said. “She does so much. Though I suspect it was your idea to send food from your kitchen. She informed me mid-morning yesterday that the kitchen here is in an appalling state, and that there are no provisions in the pantry. Which I knew very well. She said she informed you of it. I must thank you again. There is no end to my embarrassment.” She lifted her chin proudly, though her discomfiture was real.

Wessington waved aside her thanks saying, “The blame is your father's, as is the shame. I feared you were hungry and wished some time since..."

Genia did not wish to hear his next words. She hurried into speech. “I have insisted that Nancy sleep in my chamber. It is the only security I can offer her. We have found a trundle...” She peered around the marquess’ broad shoulder, and asked, “But who is this?"

A stocky young man in livery stood near the great door. His lively look stiffened to impassivity as Wessington turned.

“This, my dear, is Edward, one of my footmen. I would be more comfortable if you had someone in your hall. He will do your errands, accompany you when you go out, and generally—ah—assist Rookley."

Genia smothered a mischievous giggle.

Wessington said, “Yes, I have explained to him about Rookley. Edward will respond only to your directions. He can assist Nancy with household matters, and may use one of your attic bedchambers. He is quite looking forward to the change of scene, ‘til we are wed. And he is handy with his fives ... should it be necessary, right Edward?"

“Right, my lord,” the young man confirmed stolidly.

Genia smiled at him. “Welcome then, Edward, and thank you,” she said “You may use your ... er ... fives, as you see fit, but please do learn the difference between Papa and Rookley first. Rookley has more dignity, but Papa has the title. You may not draw the earl's cork."

The footman grinned at her, took the marquess’ hat, and sprang to hold the morning room door for them to pass through.

“You spoil me, my lord,” she said to Wessington, when the door was closed. She surveyed him consideringly, but his quiet reserve enveloped him like an opera cloak.

“I am protecting my investment,” he said. “You looked rather upset when you exited the library. You are none the worse for our adventure?"

He shook his head when Genia waved him to a chair covered in worn velvet, and paced to the end of the dingy chamber and back with long impatient strides.

“I suffered nothing from our journey,” Genia assured him. “Papa and Austin know about Neville.” She answered the quick, frowning question in his black eyes as he paused before her. “Bednall turned up while Neville was still recovering. In any event, they are unconcerned about it, and him. The story, I suspect, is all over town already. Lady Dora's name has not been mentioned I believe. What shall we do if Neville does not go to the continent?"

The marquess’ frown deepened. “Do you fear him?"

“I think I do, a little."

“I shall send someone to discover if he remains at Bednall's manor. He will see the wisdom of a prolonged stay abroad, if he has not already.” He examined her face until colour warmed her cheeks. “I hope Edward will suit you; this is all the more reason for you to have him by you. Nancy says she is well content."

Genia indicated her surprise with a look.

Wessington said, “We spoke when she opened the door. Nancy has a country candour, and she has known me since her infancy. She says she arrived none too soon, and that you have suffered greatly for lack of care."

Genia waved off the comment, but the pale blush tinting her face deepened. “She has become indispensable, for I have numerous appointments already made for bride clothes, and there are a score of invitations come in these past two days. Many from people who have never before acknowledged my existence."

“Choose which you will wish to attend; I will accompany you."

She wondered if he might have said more, but Austin opened the door, and poked his head in.

“Who is that in the hall?” the younger man asked. He did not await an answer but said, “I say, Genia are you certain you have not got twenty guineas? Ah Wessington!” On seeing his prospective brother-in-law, he entered the room.

“Lady Genia may not advance you funds,” the marquess said, his aquiline face aloof. “And that is her footman in the hall."

“Handy with his fives,” Genia said, mischief alight in her face.

Austin looked blankly at her then turned to Wessington. “Genia said she might not lend the ready, but I say, now you're here could you finance a loan?"

“No.” Wessington crossed to the sopha and seated himself lazily. “I have come to see your sister. You will excuse us."

“Dash it Wessington, only twenty guineas."

“Perhaps I shall be in a better mood on my departure!” The marquess indicated the door.

Austin ambled out, closing it behind him.

Genia seated herself on an end of the sopha, having watched the interaction with some amusement.

“Now I wondered...” said Wessington. The door opened again, and the earl wandered in.

Genia suppressed a giggle transforming it to a light cough.

“Ah, Wessington. I have need of a loan—a small one—say twenty guineas.” Elmsall was jovial.

The marquess cast up his eyes. “No. Wait for the Settlement."

“This is urgent. For your papa-in-law."

“Oh, my god!” exclaimed Wessington, fishing out his purse. “Take the whole thing but go away!"

The earl did as he was bid.

Genia laughed bitterly. “That he should have so little pride! Wessington, you should not..."

“I know, and I do mean to restore his dignity if I can, but there is only five guineas in it, my dear. They can share it between them. I must consider making Austin an allowance.” He rose, found the key in the door lock, and turned it.

“Now...” he turned back to her once again. “You look delightfully."

Heat flickered briefly in his dark eyes as he regarded her. Genia shivered and looked away. She had wondered from time to time if he desired her but he had given few indications of it. She had even occasionally thought him cold. Now, it seemed she had proof he was not. Unwillingly, her gaze returned to lock with his but the tell-tale hunger was gone.

She sighed, and thought herself fortunate that he had at least noted her improved appearance. The modiste she had chosen had managed already to supply one gown. It was a soft green sprigged muslin, simple but well designed, and fastened with pearl clasps on the bosom. Her days of altering and modifying clothes were done and she could only be glad of it.

“I have something for you; a necessity in fact,” he said.

He took a jeweler's box from his pocket; it was emblazoned Rundell & Bridges. Opening it, he handed it to her. On a bed of velvet lay a ring; an emerald set with diamonds on a band of warm pink gold.

“It was my grandmother's. Her betrothal ring. Rundell cleaned it and repaired the band.” His face was expressionless, enigmatic.

“It is very beautiful,” she said, and added, as he slipped it on her slim finger, “It fits."

“I thought it might."

“Wessington, why do you do this?” Her expression was serious but she managed a shaky laugh. “Why me?"

“I told you my reasons. They have not changed. Now I must go."

Genia nodded with studied calm, and admired the ring. “What was your grandmother like?” she asked.

“She laughed a great deal,” he responded. He strode to the door as though suddenly impatient to be gone. “Dora wishes to assist you with the arrangements for our wedding. My secretary, Chamberlin, is also at your disposal. May I tell Dora when you will come?"

“Tomorrow,” Genia said after some thought. “I am riding out with Austin this afternoon.” Her glance challenged him. “I have hired him a hack."

“A wise decision.” The words were his only response to the provocation in her voice. “At least it is not Boningale, and you are not driving out; I need not fear for your neck."

He returned to her to kiss her hand and then her cheek. Genia, closing her eyes momentarily, wished unreasonably that he would kiss her lips.

* * * *

Two days later Genia drove with the marquess in his shining dark green curricle to the Park.

She smiled at him provocatively from beneath the brim of a modish chip straw bonnet. She wore yet another new gown, a primrose checked silk, trimmed with primrose ribands and she knew she looked very well. The golden parasol with an ivory handle that lay furled across her knees delighted her with its beauty and she patted it with satisfaction.

Genia gradually became aware that their presence in the Park at the fashionable hour was exciting considerable comment. Her sense of well-being began to fade. Their wedding was a little more than three weeks away, and the beau monde was agog with curiosity, she knew, but this furor seemed excessive. They had not been seen much abroad together for Genia had chosen to accept only a few of the invitations that had flooded into both of their homes. Perhaps, she thought uneasily, they should spend more time together in public and still the speculation.

She glanced at Wessington's aquiline profile. Though he had greeted her with every appearance of pleasure, the marquess now seemed engrossed in watching his horses’ performance. He appeared completely unaware of the flurry of interest around them.

He was nodding to an acquaintance, when Genia burst out, “I wish we were at Sandown."

“You enjoyed the country, then?” He turned to speak with her at last.

“Very much. There is freedom there, such as I have not known for a very long time."

“It is true,” he frowned a little. “You are feeling confined? You have been imprisoned by poverty. Surely wealth offers deliverance?"

Genia did not immediately respond, but studied how best to answer. Then she said, “For gentlemen perhaps. Oh I cannot deny an appreciation for the material goods that fortune provides, but I feel I am being purchased. I am served by your servants, I spend your money on my needs, but I do nothing in return of value."

“You amuse me. You save me from matchmaking mamas, and importunate widows.” Wessington's words seemed careful, as though he hoped to reassure her without further examination. Then he added as though forced, “You will be my marchioness, and my hostess, and you will provide me with an heir. You will earn your comforts."

Genia was silent for long moments in the face of such home truths.

“You are free to end the betrothal however,” he said, without looking at her. He was concentrating again on his horses, ignoring the swirl of society that thronged the park. “I would not be a gaoler."

She shook her head at last. When she spoke she was pleased that her voice was steady despite the anxiety his words had conjured. “I enjoy my new comforts too much. And,” she added with an attempt at lightness, “how would I explain to Papa? He is looking forward so much to the Settlement."

“Be damned to the earl. I am not wedding you to profit him,” Wessington said, uncommonly vehement. “This is scarcely the place for such private conversation, but ... our marriage could benefit your philanthropy. I do not offer it as a bribe and you shall not call it an enticement, but I should be interested in supporting your foundlings. And I would like to discuss with you what other worthwhile projects we might undertake."

Genia, though his words gave her great satisfaction and banished her anxiety to some extent, could think of nothing to say. They drove on in silence, each making an attempt now to acknowledge the greetings called out.

They had accomplished several turns about the Park, when they beheld at the same moment, Miss Julia Lanark walking in the company of Austin Brierley.

Wessington bit off a profane comment. He was already concerned by the odd chatter with which their arrival in the Park had been greeted, and the conversation he had just undertaken with Genia had been unsatisfactory. The last thing he needed, this afternoon, was troublesome youngsters. He had been walking his horses, and he now pulled them up beside the young pair.

Miss Lanark greeted them with happy, oblivious eagerness.

Genia's first words were daunting. “You should not walk alone with my brother, Julia. You require my presence to give you countenance."

“You sound like my brother,” Miss Lanark said. “He would not have me walk out at all."

“She sounds nonsensical,” Austin sniggered. He pulled a face at his sister. “As if Genia Brierley could lend anyone countenance."

Genia said, “I am betrothed, and respectable."

Wess intervened, noting the frosty look she directed at her brother and hoping to deflect an argument. “Lady Genia is quite right. You told Lady Dora you were going to the circulating library,” he said to Miss Lanark.

“I did. And then I met Austin. Why should I not enjoy a little freedom? Lady Genia does,” Lanark's sister retorted saucily. “She may do whatever she wishes."

Genia laughed aloud. “I may not!"

Wessington recognized the astonishment in her laughter, and a smile turned his own lips. “We were just discussing something of the sort,” he said. “Considering the possibility of freedom in betrothal and marriage..."

Julia said, stubbornly, “Betrothal must be very nice, but marriage is the best of all possible states. Except, of course, for children.” She shuddered artistically. “Just think of having a quiverful of babies."

Wess felt Genia shiver. It was the third time the matter had been mentioned. He should not have earlier spoken of an heir; she was obviously discomfited by the idea of bearing his children. He did not find the idea at all repulsive. He caught her eye and she blushed deeply.

Austin was grinning at Julia's candid statement.

Genia said, “Well, there is no freedom in betrothal. I have had to abandon gambling, and I suspect Wessington has warned off my cicisbeos. I've seen none of them for days."

Wess lifted a brow, but did not speak. She had concealed her embarrassment with emphasis.

Brierley said, “I know why. Neville's fate is all over the ton. Your beaus are a fine bunch of cowards and I certainly would not meet him. Wessington has a reputation at Cribb's and Jackson's."

Wess wished that young Austin had not mentioned that. He would have preferred Genia did not consider him a Corinthian. She was staring at him speculatively now—measuring his breadth of shoulder and chest.

“Fisticuffs are not romantic,” Julia said. “A duel—pistols or swords—now that would be an honourable defense."

Austin said, “Wessington's a master of those both as well."

“Brierley, will you stop puffing my consequence?” Wess had had enough. “Lady Genia, you speak of your cicisbeos. You have no liking for those gentlemen, admit it. Don't confuse Miss Lanark. And I have not cautioned them—I've not spoken to any of them."

He could see his meaning was evident to Genia.

She smiled and said to Miss Lanark, “He means that he has never had any desire or need to communicate with such nasty fribble. Julia would you care to walk with me? We will leave my brother and my betrothed to drive on."

The younger girl agreed to the plan with a rapidity unflattering to Austin.

Wessington, was not particularly enamoured of the idea. Temper, combined with her vivid colouring, had bestowed on Genia a rare brilliance. He was loath to let her go. However, he recognized the plan's wisdom.

Austin assisted Genia down before swinging up to the seat beside the marquess.

“We shall go to Cribb's Parlour,” Wessington said. “Put the gloves on and indulge our sporting proclivities."

Austin grimaced.

“My barouche will await your convenience at the park's gate,” Wess said to Genia, looking down at the two ladies. “I thank you for your company."

Genia inclined her becomingly bonneted head with rare dignity, and Julia waved a small hand. They turned away and walked off without a backward glance.

He gave his horses the office to start.

Brierley seemed to relax. “I ain't much in the petticoat line, but she's a jolly chit, is Miss Lanark."

“What can I say? She is, and she shouldn't be, and you should pay her no attentions. Now I sound like a prig, and an interfering brother-in-law before I even wed your sister."

“Aye, well, I know you have the right of it, but town is so dashed dull, especially when you've no blunt and no occupation."

“You hanker after an occupation? You do surprise me."

“I don't mean employment, as such,” Austin assured him. “But something to do. Most younger sons have a choice of church or army, but I have not. Not that I've a particular interest in either. But all I do have a choice of is starving to death or gambling. And I've no aptitude for either of those."

Wessington laughed, and tooled his carriage out the park gates and into Park Lane. “You have adventures with Genia."

“I should rather have real adventures. Exploring now ... there's the thing. Africa, America—d'ye know how big the Canadian territory is? I should like to see one of those beavers that they make our hats of ... and the Red Indians. Tomahawks and teepees...” he wandered into silence.

Wessington preserved that surprising information with the intention of revisiting it very soon. There seemed more to Austin Brierley than he had thought.

The younger man was staring about the busy streets with absent-minded regard. Wessington could pinpoint the moment when his attention turned to something that bothered him. Austin began to squirm on the narrow seat, tapped his gloved fingers on one bony knee and finally folded his arms, deep in thought.

Wessington surveyed him obliquely and left him to it. If it was for him to know, no doubt Austin would advise him.

The thoughts burst out suddenly after several quiet minutes. They were very nearly arrived at their destination.

“Wessington, we're a bad lot, we Brierleys, without doubt, but well, there's a tale being spread that ain't true."

Wess managed his horses through the press of traffic, merely saying, “Indeed?"

“The tale is Bednall and Genia were lovers. I don't believe it, and you shouldn't either."

“I had heard something of the sort,” Wessington said. In fact, his sister had advised him earlier that morning that a caller had given her the story that Genia had spent days, and nights, at Bednall's manor. Dora had dismissed the tale and the tale's distributor. Genia, she had said to her brother, had not the character for such licentiousness, and besides had no familiarity with Bednall's ruined house. “I know Genia has given rise to much speculation the past two years, but I believe her character to be blameless, despite a penchant for flirting and gambling, and a need to tweak the biddies. I give gossip no credence."

“Good!” muttered Austin and relaxed. “She's all right, Genia is. She's helped me and only tried to have a little pleasure. She's not, she hasn't...” He stumbled, unable to express himself.

Wessington drew up his horses before Cribb's Parlour.

“You need not continue. I understand you, and I have no doubt it is the truth. Your loyalty to your sister is commendable. Now come put the gloves on with me. I believe you are not the coward your brother is."

* * * *

A brief, resonant silence fell in Lady Jersey's huge, glittering, flower-bedecked ballroom that evening when the Marquess of Wessington, his betrothed Lady Genia Brierley, his sister Lady Dorothea Somerton and his friend Lord Francis Lanark were announced. It was replaced within moments by a buzz of chatter that threatened to extinguish the hundreds of candle flames.

Wessington's gloved right hand covered Genia's where it rested lightly on his left arm. He was pleased to see her chin lift as her gaze swept the company. After they had briefly paid their respects to their sharp-eyed hostess and nodded to various acquaintances, he led Genia into the dance.

“I never before realized that betrothal was a means of creating sensation. I cannot like it. We are the focus of all eyes.” Genia essayed a laugh that was unconvincing even to her own ears.

Wessington was considering her thoughtfully. “Try to enjoy all aspects of our betrothal, even the attention it affords you,” he said. “You shall not have this opportunity again."

She raised her brows at his assurance, and said, “I might cry off."

“I am convinced you will not.” He whirled her with practiced ease among the other dancers. “Besides it is not only our betrothal attracting attention; it is also your—unorthodox—activities this morning."

Genia sighed. She might have known his omniscience would not fail him. Now she had to explain, and in the most public of circumstances. She inserted snippets of the story between the movements of the dance. “I walked out with Julia. Dora was to join us but was kept at home by some crisis."

“Crisis indeed. Our redoubtable Forth was threatening to leave our service at one point."

Genia waved away his interruption. “Austin joined us. I felt it acceptable, though I doubt Francis would agree. He began to tease me about becoming dull and respectable, walking out with the infantry. Whereupon Julia, much offended, recounted that her Aunt Hanwood had stated ‘Lady Genia is one who would tie her garter in public—betrothal or no betrothal'.” She mimicked the Lanarks’ redoubtable aunt with vicious accuracy.

Wessington laughed aloud causing nearby dancers to look their way knowingly.

“But of course, I would not, even though Austin teased me—wagered me.” She paused in her tale, watching the spinning reflection of the dancers in the many pier glasses as she was herself spun past them. “He needed money, five guineas. I could not give it him—you did forbid it. When he suggested a foot race, I agreed.” She glanced anxiously at Wessington's face as they separated by the movement but saw only polite interest there.

When he was returned to her by the dance, she said, “It was a short race, and I made sure to lose so I could give him the blunt.” Wessington did wince at her use of Austin's cant. “But I believe I did kilt up my skirt to run—unthinkingly of course—and who should pass but Lady Hanwood. Well, she was outraged, and called Julia to join her in her phaeton. And she's spread the tale over the ton. I don't know what offended her most, the running, or my too visible legs."

The marquess was thoughtful, as the last movement of the dance ended. When the music died away and the conversational murmur rose, he offered his arm for her gloved hand.

Genia waited with an anxiety she would not have admitted for his comment.

“I should like to have seen Austin be-stir himself enough to run. And I should very much like to have seen your no doubt charming legs. But do keep in mind, my dear, your gambling days are over. Unless you wager with me."

It seemed that was all he had to say. He returned her to Dorothea's side, and disappeared into the shifting, silken crowd. Genia watched him go, wishing for ... she knew not what.

“Do dance with Francis, my dear. He is looking quite bereft,” Lady Dora said.

Something in Genia quivered with irritation. “Even young Julia knows that Francis does not love me; she advised me so this morning. You must not live with this delusion any longer."

While Dora was still digesting the information, Genia accepted an offer to dance from a dashing Hussar and hurried away, ashamed of her annoyance with her friend.

An hour later when the marquess sought her out for the supper dance, Genia invited him rather to join her in a quiet ante-chamber. There she exploded into vexed speech.

“I was rude a little while ago to Lady Dora. I did not mean it, I am just so ... so ... Did you know that there is a tale being spread that I have spent days with Bednall at that crumbling estate of his?"

“I did know of that gossip, yes. And I do not believe it."

“I am glad of that,” she whispered, near to tears. “There is another story too. That I am with child by you, and that you marry me under duress."

Wessington's eyes narrowed, but he said merely, “That, my dear, is the sort of ignorance about which we can do one of two things. Either, you can continue to wear gowns like that,” he indicated with a gesture her slim robe of blue silk covered with a cobweb of white lace, “and it will be proved untrue or, we can make the lie truth."

Genia gasped at his final words. “I, oh, how dare you! I shall cry off!” Her slipper-shod foot tapped with nervous irritation.

A look of patently false, ludicrous disappointment crossed the marquess’ face. “And I thought you would offer me kisses, secluded as we are,” he said, his black eyes gleaming.

Genia stopped, choked, and blushed then finally ignored the interruption.

“I have been insulted,” she said. “Insulted with inanities and insincere congratulations, insulted with hypocritical good wishes and these sordid tales. Since I am betrothed to you, even my most insignificant actions are examined. I would be done with it all."

“You will, in twenty days,” Wessington said, inspecting a hideous ormolu clock set on the marble mantel-piece. “Do not forget Papa and the Settlement."

Her bosom swelled indignantly. “Papa,” she said, “may go to the devil. It is the foundlings I cannot forget. Besides, you have been far too generous to my family."

“And you have been far too busy,” Wessington said gathering her hands in his strong ones.

In spite of herself, Genia felt her tense nerves relax. “What a shocking conversation this is."

“Scandalous,” Wessington agreed. “But you began it,” he pointed out.

Genia sighed. “I just..."

“You just are weary. And too bothered by society's inconsistencies. They sneer as they congratulate, do they not? And toady as they descry us. We have to ignore them and cling to our friends, my dear."

Slowly Genia nodded, but a stir in the curtained doorway and a flicker of the candles’ flames interrupted their exchange of smiles.

Without turning his head, the marquess said, “We neither of us have a reputation to lose in an ante-chamber, Francis."

Lanark's pleasant voice was unworried as he replied, “I am aware of that.” He joined them near the unlit fireplace.

“In any event, we are betrothed,” Genia said feeling suddenly much soothed.

Lanark was as sardonic as his cheerful disposition would allow. “The only consolation I derive from that is that you are here together rather than with different partners. But enough! I come to beg a dance with Lady Genia, and advise you, Wess, that the Honourable Austin is seeking you."

Genia laid the tips of her fingers on Lanark's proffered arm. “You should know, Francis, that he walked out with Julia and me this morning. And you have not yet scolded me for my behaviour, so you might as well do it now. But you should also know that I did my best to raise your credit with your sister, to the effect that she now thinks you—on nothing more than my assurance—a notable adventurer."

“Lady Genia you are impossible,” Lanark said. “Thank God I have charge of you no longer."

Wessington uncharacteristically scowled. “She does not require that either of us have her in charge, Francis."

Genia looked at him in surprise. “Thank you, my lord,” she said regarding him quizzically. The frown was a surprise; she was accustomed to his more usual calm tranquility.

The marquess said, “The equanimity I display is a pose, my dear, you may as well know it now. I'll go and speak with Austin; no doubt he needs yet more money. Something has to be done about your brothers, Genia."

Genia shrugged and left the antechamber with Lanark. “Papa has been saying that for years,” she offered in parting.

“I shall call upon you tomorrow morning,” Wessington said in reply.

CHAPTER NINE

Despite the marquess’ stated intention to visit bleak Elmsall House the next day, Genia went riding early that morning. She felt a little regret at possibly discommoding her betrothed, but soon discovered she need not have worried. As she entered Hyde Park she saw Wessington on his unmistakable bay gelding ahead of her. She urged her mount to a gallop, and as she came abreast of the marquess, she indicated she would race. He accepted her challenge with a wave, but the gallop ended without a winner at the bottom of the track.

“I did not know you meant to ride this morning", Wessington said, after they exchanged greetings and both they and their mounts caught their breath.

“I did not know it either; and we ought not to have galloped,” she countered. “I am a creature of impulse I fear ... it fits ill with society."

“Society is insupportable at times,” he said. “Why do you think I spent two years abroad, in countries without ‘polite society'? We wish to live here, and so must endure its irritations, but there must be escape from this round."

Genia was taken aback; she had never considered his reasons for travel abroad.

He seemed pleased by the comprehension he read in her face. “If you wish, we may also travel after our wedding, and be free of all this. In fact, we have not discussed what we shall do in the days following our wedding. Are there bride visits you wish to make?"

Genia laughed without humour. “No,” she responded. She was conscious of uneasiness, for she disliked to consider the future, beyond the wedding.

“Well, if you agree, I should like to spend some time at Sandown. I have been away so long. Then later, we may travel. There are many places I would like you to see."

“I should like that, above all things,” she replied with eagerness. She met his gaze with an odd ache in her breast. “I have much to thank you for."

The marquess swung down from his horse, and looping his reins, lifted Genia easily from hers. He did not release her when her booted feet touched the ground.

She shifted nervously, very conscious of his strong gloved hands on her waist.

“I wish you will not thank me,” he said. “My reasons are entirely selfish."

She lifted her eyes to his face, but glimpsed it only briefly as his dark head bent and he kissed her lips for the first time. Her gloved hand lifted to his cheek of its own accord, and then her arm slipped around his neck, drawing him closer when he would have moved away. The kiss deepened and something that had only before smouldered flared between them—a shimmering, elusive thing.

“Ah-hum!” The unexpected cough broke them apart.

The marquess, not at all discomfited, glanced about them then threw back his head and laughed.

“Ah, Genia, I have heard you are wont to dismiss your groom, but today ... today of all days you brought him!"

She saw the humour and joined his laughter, her lips still burning with his kiss.

The groom looked offended, but Wessington simply handed him the reins of both mounts and indicated they would walk a little.

He did not speak of the kiss but asked, “Now how may I help you through these next weeks?"

“There is little enough to be done really,” Genia replied, regaining her composure. “Mr. Chamberlin has been of great assistance. I believe you saw the guest list Dora and I drew up. It is short but I have no wish for a great crowd. Few of the ton have ever wished me well."

He nodded, and said, “I agreed with it completely. Chamberlin has written the invitations from it and they are sent. He has the license also, which I obtained, from a friend."

“A friend?"

“A friend who is a Bishop,” he confirmed.

Genia shook her head in surprise, but continued without comment, “Dora and I arranged the wedding breakfast, to be held at Wessington House, with Cook and your housekeeper. Mrs. Barrett is most excited; she says she was parlour maid at Sandown when you were a boy and she never thought to see this day."

The marquess cast up his eyes to the aqua blue sky above. “Heaven preserve me from devoted servants."

“Nonsense,” Genia contradicted. “Your comfort would be gone without them."

He raised a black brow at her tone, but smiled only, and said, “So how may I help?"

“I have three concerns,” she said. “I have but one idea. One concern is my Papa, and it is about him that I have an idea. I am acutely aware of his many faults and difficulties, but I have a duty to him. And I have a wish for my mother's sake to see him comfortable. He should be in lodgings, with some sober, kindly man to do for him. Then the townhouse might be sold, and Rookley pensioned."

“This can be easily done if you wish,” Wessington said. “Before or after the wedding?"

“After. Another concern is Austin. I have never known what he would wish of life."

“I have an idea or two of my own about Austin. I think you need not worry about him, if you will trust me."

They paused on the banks of the Serpentine. Ducks hurried over, only to be disappointed when they were ignored. Genia stared unseeingly at the flowers bursting to bloom, realizing how very much she did trust him.

“And your other concern?” Wessington removed his tall beaver, and bent his handsome head to hers.

“Dora."

“Dora?"

“I shall not like to feel that Dora is being pushed from her home, because I am entering it. Where will she go? Would she live with us? I should like that, of all things."

“I should not! I wish to share my home with my wife, not my sister and her friend.” His response was swift and emphatic.

“That cannot be of consequence. Ours is a marriage of convenience, surely.” Even as she spoke, Genia was thinking of the kiss they had just shared.

There was a silence; the marquess’ face was unreadable. “Of course, you are right,” he said formally. “But the issue will not arise. Dora has been thinking of what you said about Lanark and I have a belief that her future is soon to be settled. If I am wrong, she still will decide for herself. She has her own ideas and private means."

Genia was curious about what Francis might have told him, but she had no opportunity to pursue the matter.

Wessington said, “Now, I have another matter on which to consult you. Will you return with me to Wessington House?"

“Of course. But what is this other matter?” Genia indicated her willingness, her curiosity amplified.

Wessington gestured for the groom to bring the horses, and tossed Genia into the saddle.

“Will you not satisfy my curiosity?” she asked, one hand lingering on his broad shoulder.

“No.” He moved to mount his bay.

They left the park by Cumberland Gate and made their way to Grosvenor Square by North Row and North Audley Street. By the time they gained the square, Genia was aggrieved.

“Does everyone have to be so obvious?” she said, as they approached Wessington House.

The marquess aided her dismount. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

They trod up the steps as a groom led the horses away. “You know very well what I mean. You must have seen all the knowing smiles and looks from all those—acquaintances—I will not call them friends. Every person we passed believes I set my cap for you. They believe all the stories about me. They know this is not a love match. Can they not see...” she halted abruptly both speech and movement.

“See what?” Wessington asked.

Genia only shook her head as Forth opened the door. She maintained her silence as the marquess handed his hat and crop to the butler.

Wessington issued instructions. “Advise Lady Dora that we are returned, and will come to her later. We shall be in the bookroom; ask Chamberlin to join us in a few moments."

Genia frowned a little, but when he offered his arm, she laid her hand upon it and accompanied the marquess down the silk-hung passage to his library. She was only just seated by his great desk when the secretary entered carrying a box; a mahogany, brass-hinged box that inhibited his bow to Genia. He set it on the desk carefully.

The marquess said, “Thank you. Please return in half of an hour."

“My lord,” Chamberlin bowed, freed of encumbrance. “My lady."

The marquess flipped opened the lid of the box and turned it to Genia. “I do not know how to approach this delicate matter. So, quite simply, these are my family's jewels. You have none, and we are invited to a host of engagements. These will be yours on our marriage. If you should wish to make use of them now, you would be most welcome."

Genia looked at the silk velvet trays of coruscating jewels, and raised her eyes to the marquess’ calm face. “I am truly playing the beggarmaid,” she tried to laugh and failed.

“I have no wish to make you feel it,” Wessington said. “I am no Cophetua."

“Then I must thank you. You are very kind."

He dismissed that with an abrupt wave of his hand.

Genia collected herself. “I cannot make use of these, for I cannot have them at Elmsall House. My father and my brother could not be trusted,” she said, shamed for her family.

“I thought you might say that and if I may...” he offered her a paper, on which were listed all the jewels. “When you wish to wear something, send Edward with a note. Don't thank me again,” he warned as she opened her mouth.

“I shan't,” she retorted, her eyes sparkling. “But may I take that amethyst pendant for my walking gown this afternoon?"

They left the library shortly after and strolled in perfect amity up the wide stairs to the drawing room.

They entered to hear Miss Lanark say, “Lady Genia is his sister; she is more wild, and Wessington is to wed her!"

Genia's smile faded, and Julia flushed a wild-rose red.

There was a second's awkward silence, then the marquess said, “Gossip has painted Genia wild, Miss Lanark. She is not. May I assume Austin Brierley was under discussion?"

“You may,” Lord Lanark said, rising to bow over Genia's hand.

She looked about the room and saw Lady Dora also present. She crossed to sit beside her friend on the Adam sopha.

Lanark sank back into his chair and said, “I passed young Brierley on the doorstep on my way in. I inquired of Forth if he visited here often. He was noncommittal, so I've asked Julia the same question. She has not answered me, except to say that he often attends Lady Genia on outings."

Lady Dora spoke for the first time. “I ventured to say that Mr. Brierley seems to me to have little real harm in him, although he may be a trifle wild."

“I can only answer to that that you, of all people, know how dangerous Rawcliffe is. Why should we think young Brierley any different?” Lanark dropped into a chair. It was apparent that he was appalled at what he had just said.

Lady Dora was silent, her glance lowered to the embroidered scrap of handkerchief that was clenched in her fingers.

“Austin is just a foolish boy, more childlike than anything, and always ready for adventure,” Genia said, into the resounding silence.

“He is entertaining, and at least he talks to me,” Julia said. “The rest of you are all so preoccupied with balls, betrothals and weddings. Look at me, I have a new gown, and a charming new haircut. I am not a child! But no one cares about me. Austin make me laugh; no one cares about him either. He has no money, and he longs ... longs ... for adventure, as I do."

Lord Lanark found his tongue again. “Julia, if you make any more trouble—any problems for Lady Dora—I shall return you to that school myself, and ensure that they lock you up for years!"

His words were directed to his sister, but his glance, full of apology was aimed at Lady Dora.

“Julia is no trouble,” she said. “And we have neglected her. We have all been preoccupied with the approaching nuptials. I well remember the bustle surrounding my own wedding and Wessington's is no less. I quite understand Julia's feelings of neglect for she thought she was come for a holiday. I also recall that the year before one's comeout is most trying."

“I, like Austin, am in favour of adventures, even mild ones,” Genia said with brisk kindness. “Julia, let us go out and have an ice at Gunther's. I have a fancy to see Bullock's Museum again. Run dry your face and fetch your bonnet."

“I shall join you,” Lady Dora said, departing without a backward look at Lord Lanark.

“You well and truly put your foot in it there,” Wessington said to his friend as the door closed after the ladies. He crossed to the tray of decanters reposing on a pier table. He poured a generous measure of wine into two glasses and returned to hand one to his friend.

“I did,” agreed Lanark, shaking his head. “I shall apologize most humbly. Your sister is the most delightful creature on earth, and I had to remind her, and so roughly, of that ghastly incident with Rawcliffe. I think it is time to remove Julia to Rowde Hill."

“Oh, leave her,” Wess directed as he deposited his length in a deep chair. “She entertains Dora, and if Dora is busy, I have more time with Genia."

“And you wish for that? You must be out of your mind. You are welcome to her."

“You should tell Dora that. She still thinks you pining for love of Genia, despite that Genia tried to disabuse her of the notion."

Lanark coloured. “She ... I ... I think not. She could not. She confuses my affection for Genia with her own illimitable devotion to Somerville."

“You think so?"

“She tells me she will remove from Wessington House immediately following your wedding. That she wishes to set up her own establishment. She even spoke of the close bond that she and her late husband had had."

“No doubt while pointing out that Genia and I do not share such a bond?” Wessington questioned, swirling the wine in his glass and watching it with half-closed eyes.

“Well, yes.” Lanark obviously did not care to pursue that topic. He hurried on. “I did tell her I did not care to picture her in widow's lodgings."

“Try telling her that you picture her at Rowde Hill,” suggested Wess, pinning his friend with an acute glance.

Lanark, who had taken a mouthful of wine, choked.

When he recovered he said with some dignity, “There are some new tales spread about town that you should know of."

Wessington allowed him to ignore the subject of Dora. “Tell me,” he said, grim concentration transforming his face.

* * * *

What Lanark told him took Wessington to call upon Genia early the next morning.

She was seated before a newly laid fire in the cold drawing room at Elmsall House, studying a variety of correspondence, when Edward ushered him in. Her greeting was quiet.

He lingered over her hand, studying her face, which was pale, before seating himself.

“How do you go on?” he asked.

Nancy bustled in with a shawl for her mistress. “She was caught in a shower of rain twice this past week. I expect she has caught a chill.” The maid traded on her familiarity with him to interrupt with country candour.

He smiled at her but his glance chided her. She withdrew without further comment.

When Genia did not answer his question, Wess asked another. “Did you enjoy Randalls’ rout last night?"

Edward bore in a tray of crystal and drink.

Genia did not reply until the door finally closed behind the servants. “I did enjoy it. But did I fancy it, or was there a particular buzz of curiosity in the room?” A shadow lurked in the depths of her grey-green eyes.

He considered his reply for a moment. “It was not your fancy,” he said at last. “There are more unpleasant tales circulating about you."

She seemed unsurprised, but could not keep the trouble from her face. “In the past, much gossip has centered on my supposed activities, but it has not been vicious."

“And now it is,” he agreed. “In fact, this latest purports that you bore a child, before even you appeared in society two years ago. There is more, which I shall not even repeat to you. It seems it was ensured that I hear these tales."

He had shocked her into silence. He could understand it; the tale was more than distasteful.

“Who would spread such lies?” she found her voice. Wide-eyed she questioned him, “Why? I believe I have never injured anyone; how can I have enemies? Who hates me so? You do know they are lies."

“I do,” he confirmed. “Can you think who has suffered at our hands?"

“Neville,” Genia said. “But, for all his unkindness, I never thought he hated me, that he would want to hurt me so."

“He does not want to hurt you especially,” Wess said. “He wishes to harm me; you are merely the instrument. If he can humiliate me, make me look a cuckold before even I am wed, if he can make me cry off and look a fool, would he not feel recompensed for what I did to him?"

Genia looked stricken. “He would. But he did say—weeks ago—that he would spread tales if I did not do as he told me."

“Did he indeed? Then our mystery is solved; he did not go abroad. Where will he be?” Wessington asked. There was no anger, no expression at all, in his voice or face; he knew it. And he recognized the deadly calm he felt.

“You said once you would kill him and still marry me, but that was if he harmed Dora."

“It may still hold true; he is harming you, his own sister, in the most cowardly way. Where might he be?"

She rose and paced the room. “You must not meet him; I could not bear it, could not live with you if...” She paused in front of him, and met his gaze squarely. “I do not know where he is. I might not tell you if I did, but in truth I do not know."

“I will find him,” Wessington stated.

* * * *

Genia, on rising two days later, found herself overcome with dizziness. When Nancy entered, she was clutching a bedhanging, her cold toes curled on the threadbare India rug by her bed.

“You have taken a chill, my lady,” Nancy exclaimed.

“But I am never ill,” Genia whispered, between sneezes.

“Mayhap this is the first time, my lady. But it is ill you are, no doubt. Your face is as flushed as one of my Da's beetroots. Back into bed with you.” She straightened the bed clothes and offered a helping hand when Genia obeyed her. “Now there you will remain, with me to look after you."

“I have engagements; I must write some notes, if I am not to be allowed out,” Genia said.

“You must not write,” Nancy said. “Edward shall go to Wessington House, and inform them there of your plight. His lordship will wish to know, and Mr. Chamberlin will take care of making your excuses.” She bustled about, deftly building up the fire against the damp chill, as more rain streamed down the windows. The delightfully sunny days of May had been replaced by rain for a week and more.

When Edward returned from carrying the news to Wessington House, Lady Dora accompanied him. She followed Nancy upstairs after a brief exchange.

Genia was only hazily aware of her friend's entrance. “You should not have come,” she managed to say.

“So Nancy said. But you should both know me well enough to know that I am not afraid of sneezes, or coughs,” Dora said.

“I am ashamed to have you see my home,” Genia said, in a random, feverish fashion.

Dora made no polite protestations but said, “I am happy that Wess is removing you from this place. It is no fit home for you.” She continued to speak, but more quietly, to Nancy.

Genia heard only a few words ... Dr. Felknap ... physician ... Edward ... comforts. She could make nothing of them. “Dominic,” she said. “I should like to see Dominic."

Genia was no better when Wessington called later that afternoon, but she was no worse.

She was restlessly asleep when he entered.

Conscious somehow of his presence, she woke and essayed a weak smile. “I am not entertaining, my lord,” she said. She tried to laugh, but ended by coughing.

“I know it. Nancy has done her best to keep me from you. And I have horrified her by entering your bedchamber and seeing you en deshabille. She is even now guarding your virtue.” He waved a hand towards the maid who stood, rigid with outrage on the other side of the bed.

“I scarcely think his lordship would wish to seduce me at this moment, Nancy,” Genia ventured. She had a thought that her appearance must be dire.

“Perhaps not, but it is remarkable how enchanting you look even with a red nose,” he said in a conversational tone.

She shook her head with a weary smile.

“Were you satisfied with Dr. Felknap? Have you everything you need?"

“Yes and yes. Nancy looks after me very well.” She closed her eyes, but two fat tears crept down her cheeks.

“I know it. Rest easily, my dear. You have naught to do but recover,” he said, bending over her. He kissed her cheek very gently.

Genia opened her eyes, and lifted her hand to trace his close-shaven jaw.

He straightened suddenly. “This is not how I imagined our first encounter in a bedchamber, but it will suffice. Rest easy this night, my dear. Dora or I will return tomorrow."

He was as good as his word, and he visited each day, sometimes bringing Dora, sometimes visiting alone. Two days later, Genia was much improved though still keeping to her bed. With gloom and dampness continuing outside, Nancy had made the chamber most bright and cozy, with a fire every day and every dainty treat she could cajole from Wessington's kitchens. Lord Lanark had sent flowers and Julia the latest edition of the Repository of the Arts. Lady Dora had sent linens and coverlets, and brought a soft Norwich shawl.

Genia was looking forward to the marquess’ daily visit, when she heard a disturbance in the hall. Nancy was not with her, so she could not discover its cause, but voices were raised and she rather thought one of them was that of Wessington. Then the great oak door crashed closed, and quick, booted footfalls sounded on the uncarpeted stairs.

Wessington entered abruptly after the briefest of knocks, and Genia sat a little straighter in bed as he glared at her.

It was evident he was holding in check a ferocious anger. “Nancy is not with you. I expected not,” he said. “When you entertain in your bedchamber, it is only your betrothed that she is instructed to deter from entering. I did not believe, did not want to believe, that gossip of you was founded on truth, on wanton behaviour. Now I see I must."

Without knowing why he was so angry, Genia's own temper flared. “What are you talking of? And why do you make such accusations? I do not entertain in my bedchamber; you are allowed because you would not be gainsaid. And if you believe my behaviour to be impure, then you had best cry off from our betrothal, for we should not wish to have your great name or your succession sullied."

“You know very well of what I speak!” Her sarcasm seemed exacerbate his anger. “I met Boningale in the hall. You should have warned him that I attend you each day. You could have been more discreet, more careful."

“I have not seen Boningale,” she said in a tightly controlled voice interrupted by a cough. “I don't like him; I never did. You have begun to believe the rumours my own brother spreads!"

“How can I believe you when I saw Boningale?"

“You must choose who you will believe. Leave me! Now!"

Wessington did not move, but stared at her consideringly. The door to the bedchamber swung open and Austin lounged in, followed by Nancy.

“Stop acting like a jealous husband,” Austin recommended insouciantly to the marquess.

Wessington frowned blackly at him. “This is not your affair,” he snapped.

Genia gasped, tempted both by laughter and by tears.

Nancy bustled to her mistress’ side.

“This is my sister,” Austin said. “And Boningale was visiting me. I have made no bargain to give up my friends, and you cannot berate my sister while I stand by."

“Bravo!” said Genia, deciding to laugh. “I had not thought you would ever have courage or inclination to defend me to Wessington. I thank you, my dear Austin.” That worthy flushed, shrugged and departed the room.

“Lord Boningale spent the morning with the Honourable Austin in the library, my lord,” Nancy spoke up bravely also. “I have been in and out of my lady's chamber half a dozen times ... she has been alone since Lady Dorothea's visit earlier. I took coffee to the gentlemen. There can be no doubt of it."

The marquess stalked to the window, running a hand through his black hair.

“I have behaved very badly,” he said, turning back moments later. Nancy busied herself at Lady Genia's dressing table, as he approached the bed.

Genia studied him. He had been jealous, but jealousy implied deep attachment and that surely was out of the question. “You did,” she agreed.

“My heartfelt apologies,” he said offering his hand. After a moment she placed hers in it and he raised it to his lips. “I shall not make the mistake again,” he promised, retaining her hand.

“If you do, I shall cry off,” she said. “You have long ago stated your expectations of me. I declare mine of you now. You must not believe me wanton, as gossip describes. You may in fact believe me pure. You have my word on it. No matter what tale Neville spreads."

He bowed, his face shuttered, and said his farewells. Nancy accompanied him out of the room, saying, “I shall fetch you some chocolate my lady."

“Wait.” Genia stayed her, as the marquess disappeared. “Ask my brother to attend me again, please."

Austin came promptly, but with wariness in his face.

Genia would have laughed to see it had she felt at all light-hearted. But she did not. “I thank you again for championing me,” she said. “I thank God I have one brother on whom I can depend. And I am grateful that I discovered the fact early on. I need more help also, Austin. Do you know where Neville is?"

Alarm appeared as well as wariness in her brother's thin face but he said nothing.

“You must know that he is spreading the vilest of tales about me, in an effort to injure Wessington. He did not go abroad."

“I knew of the rumours. I could not think who might be the author, for you said Neville had gone abroad. But I am certain you are correct, and he did not go."

“Austin, I must stop him. And I must find him before Wessington does."

“Why? He deserves whatever Wessington wishes to do to him. To injure us like this shows even less decency than the little with which I credited him."

Genia pulled her shawl more tightly about her. “Austin, for my sake, help me find him. I do not wish there to be more trouble for Wessington, for Lady Dora. And I do not want the marquess to be the author of Neville's fate, not when I am to wed him."

“Very well,” her brother said. “But I don't either care to be the designer of Rawcliffe's future, especially if it means crossing Wessington."

“Leave that to me,” Genia said.

CHAPTER TEN

In the days that followed the fine June weather returned, but Genia was still weary from her illness. Austin had little success discovering Neville's whereabouts. Dora would say nothing about the gossip circulating but Julia, allowed to visit without her hostess, regaled her with every morsel of tattle. Genia found herself prey to fear and doubt, and without a confidant. The marquess had returned to his customary charming, urbane and remote behaviour. Her friend Francis was barred by propriety from her bedchamber.

Despite the knowledge that her brother had championed her cause, she felt very alone as she stood one afternoon, in her half-made bridal gown. The white silk half-robe was fashioned with lace sleeves and bodice; and it fastened over a slip of corded opalescent silk with diamond clasps. The modiste had required a fitting and they were working in Genia's shabby bedroom before the great mirror that Genia had saved from her mother's effects.

“It is very beautiful, my lady,” Nancy sighed, looking up from organizing the long gloves and cobweb stockings which Genia would also wear on her wedding day. White satin slippers with long ribands sat daintily on the stained and damaged table near the window. In the dressing room next door, the dressmaker was searching for something, rustling papers, busily unpacking bandboxes.

“I do not wish to be wed,” whispered Genia, staring sightlessly in the mirror. Nancy rocked back on her heels. “You heard me aright. I meant you to hear.” Genia looked at her, and added, “I have no one in whom I can confide but you. What shall I do?"

She knew that Nancy saw the weariness in her face when she brought a stool. “You shall sit down my lady, and have a nice dish of tea as soon as I may get it. This is naught but wedding nerves. I have heard tell all brides get them. His lordship is a fine man, a good man; my old Da always says so."

“He is a good man. And so he deserves better ... better than this, better than me and a loveless marriage. I am truly the beggarmaid and he Cophetua."

The maid stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment then disregarded the allusion. “His lordship knows very well what he is about; never does anything without being sure of it, that I know. It is you he wants, my lady, never fear. His jealousy the other day, for that is what it was, proves it."

Without being reassured, Genia shivered.

The modiste came bustling into the room. “I unpacked the boxes while I looked for the pins, my lady. The blue gauze is finished, also the green pelisse, and the three muslin morning gowns. I have brought them. The riding habit shall be brought tomorrow; only the braiding is to be done, and the nightdresses and shifts the next day. The golden cream ball gown shall be completed for Saturday, and the two silk walking dresses by week's end. And of course, the bride gown for Wednesday week.” She hovered about pinning and tucking as she spoke, until satisfied with every fold of the gown.

Nancy had gone for tea, and Genia stood quite still for the seamstress's work. A marriage without love, a quiverful of children, a casket full of jewels, and a dark handsome face jumbled in her mind. She felt the air sparkle with tiny stars and her limbs tremble.

Nancy, returning to the chamber, caught her as she crumpled. She hustled the seamstress from the room, carefully removed the bride gown and wrapped Genia in a warm bedgown. Genia drank her tea and allowed Nancy to tuck her into her bed, like a sick child.

Then she spoke again. “Am I exchanging one cage for another, Nancy? One shabby for one gilded?” she gestured wearily.

Nancy worked quietly about the room, tidying, straightening, thinking before she spoke. “His lordship and Sandown a cage, my lady? His lordship never could bear to see anything caged. He was used to let the rabbits out of their hutch, into my da's garden. And Sandown? His lordship loves it. Belike we will spend a deal of time there. You enjoyed it did you not? It was on a fine June day such as this that his lordship fell out of an oak tree. After a kitten of Lady Dora's he was and he broke his arm.” Genia turned her head on her pillow to stare at her plump maid. “Mad as fire, he was, for he was to have played cricket that same day in a village match. He said his side would lose, and so they did."

“Did you see the marquess often? What was he like?” Genia asked. She felt sleep clouding her queries.

“He was ever such a handsome lad,” Nancy said. “My father being the kitchen gardener you see, and in charge of the succession houses, we was always up near the great house. And his lordship was all over the estate—ever so active—except when absorbed in his books. My mam said His Lordship and Ladyship had their hands full, but my da he always told her not with such a good lad, even though he had a temper. They was ever such a happy family; my da used to say almost as happy as us. As a matter of course, his lordship got in mischief, but never hurtful, not of anyone, if you take my meaning. And I do recall only once he gave anyone concern. He did not come home for nearly two days and him only sixteen. He was down from Oxford on holiday, and my da said he got in liquor with his cronies in the neighbourhood. He'd rolled off his horse into a dung heap, and took more than a day at his old nurse's cottage to clean up, so embarrassed was he."

Genia chuckled, as Nancy had intended, suddenly feeling much improved. She stared drowsily at the flickering fire and drifted into sleep.

* * * *

Genia rested late the next morning and was only just dressed, when Austin burst into the room after a quick knock. One look at his restless face made Genia say, dismissively, “Thank you, Nancy I am much better today.” The girl curtsied and departed.

Austin said, with suppressed triumph, “I found him."

Genia jumped to her feet, her vivid face alight, and clutched him excitedly.

“I say...” he grumbled, removing his sleeve from her grasp.

“Where? Where is he?"

“At an inn near Tothill Fields. Turned out Boningale knew all the time, but Neville had sworn him to secrecy. Well Bonny was in his cups last night, and I wasn't. And out it popped."

“Well done...” Genia praised him while hauling a plain spencer from her press. “Well done! Now go and get a job chaise, there's a good brother. You will come with me?"

She stopped at the horror on his face. “Oh Austin, you aren't afraid of him? He will not hurt us; I am certain of it."

“I will get you a carriage,” he volunteered hesitantly. “Oh very well, dash it Genia. But if he hasn't disappeared, he'll likely draw my cork."

“He doesn't like fisticuffs."

Austin looked unconvinced.

“I shan't let him hurt you,” Genia assured him, so he clattered off down the stairs. She followed more sedately, formulating a tale for Nancy and Edward.

By the time the job chaise was at the door, the servants were accepting of Genia's abrupt change of plans for the day. Previously she had said that she might visit Lady Dora, or walk out with Miss Lanark. Now she told them that she was driving out with her brother.

As Edward closed the door behind her, she heard him say, “She's proper disordered!” And she heard Nancy respond, “She's bound to be with the wedding only a week away."

She had forgotten their indulgence however, by the time the West End, then St. James Park and Westminster disappeared. The drive seemed to take forever, and she did not dare to peer from the window. She had no wish to disgrace Wessington with her visit to the stews of the city.

The streets became poorer and interspersed with bits of sad countryside, as they neared their destination.

“I say, have you any money?” Austin said in a sudden panic.

“Yes, be calm,” Genia replied, taut with nerves herself. “You must tell the jarvey to wait, at all costs.” She handed her brother several coins. “Give him something for his trouble, promise him the rest.” They prepared to disembark as the coach lurched to a halt.

The inn was a dismal affair. Its sign hung crookedly, and its dirty windows caught no ray of sunshine.

Genia set her teeth and stepped down from the noisome coach. She put her hand on Austin's arm for support, and to ensure that he did not disappear.

The innkeeper, flattered by his elegant visitors, led them without question to a shabby chamber above stairs, in answer to their query.

The door was yanked open in response to Genia's knock, and they both were heartened by the utter astonishment on the viscount's still bruised face.

He took a step back and Genia was quick to enter. Austin, emboldened by his older brother's confusion, closed the door after entering and leaned his narrow shoulders against it.

Neville, however, recovered rapidly. “Yet another family party,” he sneered, turning away from them to seat himself in the chamber's only chair.

Despite her anger with him, Genia felt a pang to see him limp, presumably still lame from his encounter with the marquess.

“Wessington is looking for you,” Genia said. She thought that his unhealthy face paled still further.

“And you shall say you have found me. Damn Boningale!” he snarled.

Austin began to look uneasy, and straightened from his slouch.

Genia remained where she was. “I have not decided if I will tell him. Neville, why have you spread such tales about me? Do you hate me so?"

“You know very well why,” he said, not bothering to deny spreading the tales. “But your marquess must be lost in lust or infatuation for he has stood by you through it all. I have failed again—can't even manage to achieve revenge."

“He is not infatuated,” Genia assured him. It saddened her to admit that the lust that Neville spoke of might be real. “He is an honourable man, and he knew the stories were not true."

“And Austin is become good and sedate, a benevolent brother, in fact,” Neville said with a fierce sneer.

“Not exactly.” Genia found herself nearing an hysterical laugh. “But he has helped me, and been kind. Oh Neville how could you do it? Could you not know how it would hurt me? What of Mama?"

To his credit, Rawcliffe flushed uneasily.

Tears coursed down Genia's face. “When I was a little girl, once I fell. It was in the country, before Brierley Hall was sold. I don't know how I had wandered so far alone, but I cut my arm on a stone on falling, and then suddenly you were there. I had never had much to do with you, for you were so much older, but I remember that day you bound my wound with your handkerchief and you carried me all the way back to Mama. You said all would be well."

“It was not, ever,” he said.

Genia's heart ached for the bitter expression in his eyes.

“I will go to the continent,” he said. “I shall not trouble you again. If you have funds I stand in need of the ready. You can pay my shot here and give me enough for passage.” He would not look at either of their faces.

Austin left the door to stand with Genia. She scrabbled in her reticule and withdrew the purse of guineas she had brought. She also withdrew a handkerchief for the tears she had carried inside her for so long streamed down her face. Austin's face was sombre, and it was he who put the money on the table at Neville's elbow.

“Now get out,” said Neville.

Without another word brother and sister obeyed, Austin with his arm about Genia's shaking shoulders.

* * * *

Genia wept all the way back to Portman Square. Austin took himself off after awkwardly patting her shoulder at the door of Elmsall House. She assured Edward and Nancy that she wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and she immured herself in her bedchamber. She was scarcely aware of Nancy creeping in and out that long night, making up the fire and bringing food and drink, which she ignored.

At dawn she washed and changed her gown, then she sat by the fire until it was possible to present herself at Wessington House. Nancy, weary, worried and protesting, accompanied her.

The marquess, Genia was informed in the entry by Forth himself, had not yet come down. Nevertheless, after bidding Nancy to sit in the hall, he led her to the library. He closed the door behind him with utmost delicacy.

For several minutes, Genia paced the room. Then she paused, and pressed her fingers to her temples. She had forgotten her gloves, she realized, and wondered that Nancy had not noticed. They were both of them exhausted, she realized. She had spent the night recounting to herself every moment, every word and encounter of her acquaintance with Lord Wessington. At dawn she had realized she could not marry him.

She forced herself to relax, to select a book from the crowded shelves. She took it to the great desk and sat in the marquess’ leather chair. It was formed to his body and enfolded her disturbingly. She wished she had not chosen to sit. She cast the book aside after discovering she had selected Juvenal's Satires. She was about to resume her pacing, when she realized that before her on the desk lay Wess’ manuscript.

Travels in the Near and Middle East it was titled in his strong, sloping hand. She turned that first page, and was presented with one of Wessington's evocative sketches. He had captured a desolate desert, a camel and a lone palm with his charcoal.

Words accompanied the drawing. Dedicated to all those who seek adventure. May they find it in abundance. She wondered over that, then turned again and began to read.

She had read for quite some time when a slight sound startled her. The marquess stood beside the door watching her, his expression impassive, his long arms crossed on his chest. She had no notion of how long he had been there. Her bemused gaze sank to the swinging tassels of his Hessians, away from his black stare.

Her mind was a jumble. Her sleepless night had been a waste; her resolve had crumbled. Reading his work, considering his drawings, had been a revelation. She knew him now and realized that she loved him.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped, and condemned herself for the inadequacy of the words.

“For what?” he asked, moving away from the door.

She rose from his chair, trying to gather her thoughts and scattered convictions, as he approached.

“For reading your manuscript.” To her further confusion, he halted very close before her.

“It was never a secret. I meant to ask your opinion of it before it went to John Murray."

She gripped her hands together. Her anxious eyes met his, seeing a gentle concern there that was almost her undoing. She took a deep breath but did not say what she had come to say.

Instead, she found herself telling him, “Neville is going to the continent."

“You have seen him!” Wessington exclaimed. “And you did not tell me."

“I could not let you do whatever you would. I ... had to see him. Austin was with me. Neville was pathetic. I could not have wed you had you harmed him again. Though he tried so hard to harm you through me. I am quite illogical at times I fear."

“Quite,” he said, taking a step nearer. He seemed to have nothing more to say about Rawcliffe.

The secretary, Chamberlin, entered the room and halted in dismay. “My lord, my lady, I had no notion. It is so early ... my apologies, my regrets.” He bowed himself out of the room.

Genia could have wept at the interruption. She thought—she hoped—that Wessington might have kissed her. She looked down at her clenched hands. “I came this morning to cry off from our betrothal, to tell you that our marriage was impossible and offer you my apologies. But I cannot."

“Why did you wish to cry off?” he asked. There was no more than casual curiosity in his voice.

She could imagine his intent gaze, but she would not look up. Her emotions were confused, and also her reasoning, she knew it but she tried to explain. “I cannot believe that I can bring happiness to you, and I am surprised that despite your perspicacity you cannot see it."

“I believe we create our own happiness."

He was so close now she could hear each breath he drew, feel the heat of his body. “Well, I will still marry you. I cannot deny myself the adventure.” She hoped he would not touch her, and he remained motionless as if she had spoken the thought aloud.

“I am glad, but I regret you have gone through these agonies of indecision. I do not pretend to understand.” He smiled in an effort to lighten the situation. “My reputation would not have recovered had you decided to cry off."

Genia smiled back with confused constraint, and seized the moment to escape the room. She found herself chattering. “I must go. Did you see Nancy in the hall? We will be away to have my bride gown fitted a final time."

“I look forward to seeing you in it.” He followed her to the entry hall. “You will be a very beautiful bride."

She blushed at his possessive tone, and greeted Nancy with something akin to relief.

“You still wish to attend Countess de Lieven's ball this evening?” he queried when they were at the door. Forth stood beside it unblinking.

“What? Oh, oh yes,” Genia nodded. “Indeed, until later.” She thought that perhaps he was laughing as she left but she thought, at least, it would not be unkind laughter.

* * * *

Two days before the wedding, well after noon on a sunny day masquerading as summer, Lord Lanark was ushered into Genia's small drawing room by Edward. He had seen her poverty before, so she was unworried by his arrival.

It was immediately apparent that he laboured under some distress, and burst into speech. “Julia is not, of course, with you?"

“Indeed she is not. Why? What has happened?” Genia had a horrid suspicion that she already knew.

“She is not at Wessington House, but left a tale that Aunt Hanwood had sent for her. I happen to know that Aunt Hanwood went into the country two days ago. Lady Dora has gone alone to Lackington's and Wess is gone into the city. No one saw Julia leave and she took nothing with her."

“Oh dear...” Genia said. Her wedding concerns faded. “Austin...” She fairly dashed to the open door, closely followed by Lord Lanark. “Edward—my brother Austin—when did you last see him?"

The footman considered for a moment. “This morning, my lady, early it was. He was in a bustle, begging your pardon; even had me hire a coach and pair."

“Did he say where he was going?” Genia held her breath.

“Not a word, my lady. Mum as an oyster, as you might say."

“It is of no matter. Edward, will you go to Lord Wessington's stable and ask them to saddle the roan for me? I should like to ride."

She withdrew Francis into the parlour, knowing that he was about to explode with vexation.

“Why are you going riding?” he asked obviously labouring to contain his temper.

“I am not, you gudgeon. I wanted Edward out of the way, while we determine Austin's whereabouts."

“Austin ... you said ... you all said he was harmless, childlike someone said. Well if they're children, where the devil have they gone, for I'll wager they're together."

“They will not have eloped, if that's your fear,” Genia snapped. “They are neither of them romantically inclined.” She bit her lip as deep in thought she stared from the grimy window.

“Where would Austin go looking for adventure, as Julia calls it?” she muttered to herself.

“With only two horses it cannot be too far.” Lanark, now a little calmer, was pacing the chamber. “You are certain they will not have set out for the border?"

“Of course, I am not certain,” Genia said. “But Julia is no fool, she'll not marry Austin. They'll be looking for excitement, only for a day. Some short trip into the countryside, I should imagine..."

“Some ruin or other; a pic-nic?” Lanark looked more hopeful.

“No, not our pair, but a fair perhaps?"

“The big fairs are all in the autumn,” he objected.

“But a small one might do as well. Ah, Nancy is gone out on a commission, she would have known about fairs. Well, mayhap Rookley will know.” She led the way to the gloomy depths of the kitchen.

After Rookley was roused from a doze by the unswept kitchen hearth, he divulged that Austin had indeed queried him about fairs. He had told the young man of the gypsy fair at Merton every spring, he said, and stared at them in puzzlement.

They left the old man to return to his nap.

Genia laid plans as they returned to the drawing room. “We must each excuse ourselves from Wessington's dinner tonight, and send a note. And you must fetch your chaise for I will not be seen in your curricle. I am to be wed in two days."

Lanark found time to bark a laugh. “I am pleased to hear your concern for the conventions. Can we not confide in Wessington?"

“You said yourself he is from home. He need know nothing of this. Besides I would not have him serve Austin as he did Neville; you must not either. I have an affection for this brother."

“I make no promises,” he said, with ominous grimness. “Thank God, Merton is not too far distant."

“Hurry, Edward will not be gone out long.” Genia urged him on his way as she made for the stairs to prepare herself. “Hurry!"

“If I had more brothers I should spend all my time rescuing unfortunate females from them,” Genia commented when they were seated in Lanark's chaise and bowling along, nearing Putney Hill.

“Knowing Julia, Brierley may require the saving,” Francis said, his honesty and humour somewhat restored.

“I am pleased you have recovered your temper,” Genia retorted.

“Only partly, my dear,” Lanark shook his head. “Will your family never learn wisdom?"

“What of your sister?"

“Oh, Julia. I think she never will. What of you? And my friend Wessington. Shall you rub along tolerably, or make life a misery for each other?"

“I was going to cry off, not a week since,” she confided. He turned a startled face to her. “Oh, I didn't; I could not. I know not what the advantages are to him, but to me they are too great to be ignored.” She could not speak of her new found love for Dominic. “I will be a good wife. Did you ever think to see it?"

“Watching your career over the past two years, I did not,” he admitted. “Yet I am glad to have this opportunity to speak with you, despite my sister's folly. For in the past two months you have changed, and I think are more true to yourself. I do not pretend to know Wess's reasons for marriage, but it may suit very well."

“And what of you?” Genia asked, concealing her great curiosity.

“What do you mean?"

“Dora fears your heart is broken because I am unattainable."

“Ha!” exclaimed Lanark without mirth. “She is over-sensitive because her own heart was buried with Somerton."

“Was it?” Genia asked. “I am not so certain. I had rather thought she had come alive again in the last weeks. Indeed I think she may have realized that life will go on, given proper encouragement."

Francis looked elated. “Do you think so? That is welcome news,” he said, appearing much taken with the idea.

Genia laughed.

* * * *

Wessington was met by Dora in his fine entry hall as he was arriving from a meeting with his man of business. He smiled at her with genuine warmth and absently handed his hat and gloves to Forth as she burst into speech.

“I have had a note from Genia. She has the headache, and will rest at home tonight rather than come to dinner. She has sent regrets to Lady Hartford also. Do you know, she has looked quite pale these last few days, since her illness, and has been very quiet."

Her brother had been handed a note by his butler and looked up from breaking the seal. Forth had discreetly disappeared. “You think so?” he asked, having thought much the same himself. He returned his attention to the paper in his hand, unfolding and reading it. “This is from Lanark. He cannot attend us either; his aunt has commanded his attendance as well as Julia's."

“She is already gone to Lady Hanwood. I have not seen her since I've come in. Dominic, this is very odd, is it not?"

“Perhaps not my dear; just simple coincidence?"

“Did you see Genia today?"

He shook his head. “The mantuamaker was to deliver her bride gown this afternoon. She has seemed, as you have said, quiet and has looked perhaps tired."

“I think we should go and see her,” Dorothea said. Her uneasiness was apparent.

“I do not believe it necessary. Nancy will advise us if there is need."

“I cannot be easy; there is something afoot,” she insisted.

“Very well, we will go to her.” Wessington recalled Forth, repossessed his beaver, and ordered his curricle. “But you must explain our sudden appearance to her."

But there was no need for that explanation. When the marquess and his sister arrived at Elmsall House both Nancy and Edward were stood in the hall, with the earl.

“Eh? Oh, it's you,” grunted the earl at Wessington when they were admitted. “Here! These fools cannot find my girl, and are in a twist. You'll sort it out, won't you lad? I'm on my way out."

With that the old man nodded to Lady Dorothea and departed down the steps with a thankful air.

Edward closed the door behind him, and joined Nancy to face the marquess.

“I've come home from doing my errands, my lord, and my lady is gone. Simply not here and she always takes one of us nowadays,” Nancy burst out.

“Lord Lanark was here earlier my lord,” Edward told his part of the tale. “Lady Genia sent me to fetch the mare. When I returned, she wasn't here but there was a note to be taken to Lady Dorothea. I delivered it, and then Nancy came back."

“When was this discovered?” Wessington snapped, his relaxed attitude transformed.

“An hour since..."

“Nearer two, my lord,” Nancy corrected.

Lady Dorothea clutched her brother's arm, and whispered, “They have gone off together."

“Nonsense."

Nancy sniffed uncertainly, and offered, “My lady said the other day, bride nerves, I'm sure it was, as how she did not wish to be wed."

Wessington's frown deepened. “Have you seen Rookley, Nancy? Perhaps he may know something. Edward, think; was there anything notable about his lordship's visit?"

Nancy sped off and Edward was deep in thought.

“What if Genia has persuaded Francis to rescue her from your loveless match,” Lady Dora was whispering again. “You were wrong to do it, Dominic; I thought so from the first. Now she has taken Francis, whom she does not love either; and all our lives are ruined."

Wess took a deep controlling breath and answered his sister in a tight voice. “There will be an explanation, of that I am sure, Dora. And no one's life will be ruined, I promise you. This is unlike you; take a moment's quiet reflection."

Nancy returned, pink and annoyed. “That man is sotted with drink; he keeps only muttering on about Merton, when pressed."

“Merton!” exclaimed Edward. “Mr. Brierley said something about Merton yesterday."

“Merton it shall be,” Wessington said, relieved to have something to pursue. “Edward inform the earl, should he return, that Lady Genia is not missing. Go to Wessington House and inform Forth we shall not require dinner, but will return this night, possibly late. We may rely on your discretion, I know,” he added as he shepherded his sister back out to his curricle.

“Perhaps you should go alone,” she protested as he handed her in. “For after all it has nothing to do with me."

“It has a great deal to do with you, as you very well know, my dear,” Wess mocked. “So say no more, for this drive will require all my attention."

Had she not been familiar with his driving skill, she would have worried as they rolled through the busy streets and reached the countryside more quickly than seemed possible.

“Dominic, why would they go to Merton?” Lady Dorothea broke the silence to pose the question, as they bowled up Putney Hill.

Wessington, who had been deep in thought, shook his head. “I have no notion, Dora, none at all. But it is the only clew we have; let us hope it is not a false one."

“Julia might have known something."

“Julia should be at Lady Hanwood's, and we had as well tell the world our business, as speak with that aunt of Francis'. I have some speculations Dora, but they are not worth discussing. When we arrive at Merton, we shall try among the inns and posting houses to find them. Merton is not so large; we should discover them quickly."

“I do hope you are right,” his sister said anxiously, surveying the sun beginning to lower in the west.

They arrived at Merton in the glow of sunset, and made two fruitless stops. Even Wessington was not so sanguine as they made their way to yet another inn. Good fortune was theirs however for Lord Lanark's chaise stood in the innyard.

“I do not know with whom I am more angry,” Dora said, as her brother lifted her from the curricle. “Genia for her perfidy, or Francis for his stupidity."

“Contain yourself, my dear,” Wess said. He had recovered his good humour and equanimity. “We do not yet know the circumstances of this adventure. But it will be Genia's last adventure without me."

On their entrance to the inn, in response to their inquiry, they were led to the only private parlour it contained. There within were Lady Genia and Lord Lanark, deep in discussion. They looked up in surprise, and began to smile seeing the unexpected visitors.

Lady Dora burst out, “Whatever you are planning, you must not!” She was uncharacteristically impulsive.

“The only thing we are planning is dinner,” Genia said laughter dancing in her eyes. She looked from Lady Dora to the marquess and what she saw in his gaze took her breath away.

He took two quick strides to her side and took her hands. “Good girl,” he murmured, holding her gaze. “I knew it must be something else. Julia?"

“And Austin,” Genia nodded unable, and unwilling, to disentangle herself from his intent look. “Searching for adventure."

“Then you are not eloping,” Dora was looking at Francis, her heart in her eyes. “Not helping Genia escape this loveless marriage?” She sat down suddenly on an ancient settle.

“Good God no,” Lanark looked at Genia with undisguised horror. Then he returned his attention to Lady Dora, and sat beside her. “How could I,” he said, “when it is you whom I love."

She burst into tears.

Genia discovered Wessington's arms about her, and she rested with contentment and a quiver of awareness against his broad, hard chest. “And I love you,” she said to him, looking up to his handsome, intent face. “I have for some time, but I only discovered it the day I read your manuscript. All I could think of traveling here was you. I was wishing you were at my side. Yet I was hoping contrarily that you would not hear of this silly escapade and so think even less of my family and me."

“I would not, and this has never been a loveless marriage,” he shook his head and assured her. “I have been enchanted since the first moment I saw you, but I was a coward."

“You could not trust me?"

“When I was no more than a green youth, I promised undying love to a precocious maid, who married someone else within the year. When I was older and should have known better, I was mistaken in the character of a young woman with whom I spoke of love. After those experiences I vowed never to speak of love to a woman again, unless she had first told me of her emotions."

He smiled ruefully. “I saw no sign that you loved me. But when I saw your circumstances I had to remove you from them. I decided to wed you and hope you would come to love me later, at safe leisure."

“I had no idea that you cared for me,” she marveled. “I thought you desired me a little. I would not—could not—examine my own feelings,” she clung to him. “I dreaded our marriage knowing it was without love, without trust. I have been distracted by the thought these past few days. That was the reason I came very close to crying off. But then I read a little of your manuscript and I could not; it told me things about you that I could not forfeit. I must have loved you all along. I did not recognize love for I have never experienced it or seen it. And you have been so remote, so distant these past weeks."

“If I had not been distant, I should have seized you and covered you with kisses,” he muttered, his hands warm on her back. “Thereby, I thought, destroying all my careful plans."

“But it would not have destroyed anything, except our doubts. Do it now,” she coaxed. She was reward with a crushing embrace.

It was some minutes later that he said close to her ear, “Two days. It seems an age to wait."

“We are the fortunate ones,” Genia reproved him with a throaty chuckle. “Look!” She pointed to the settle where Francis and Dora were exchanging adoring looks. “They shall have to wait at least a month. Francis’ family will never permit a swift and quiet wedding."

“Happy, my dear?” Wessington inquired of his sister, keeping Genia close in his arms.

“Very,” she confirmed, her eyes sparkling, “and you knew, of course."

“We both knew,” said Genia. “We wondered how you both could be so blind. Of course we did not recognize our own love and our own blindness."

“And what were the others about, coming to Merton?” Dora finally remembered to ask.

“Julia and Austin decided to come to the gypsy fair for a little excitement,” Genia said.

“We found them easily, for Austin had run out of the ready. Julia is in a chamber abovestairs,” Francis added.

“Much chastened,” Genia interpolated, rubbing her cheek against Wessington's broad shoulder. She could not bear to step away from him.

Lanark smiled, feathering a kiss on his beloved's brown curls. “And Austin is out wandering the streets."

“Without funds to return to London without us,” Genia finished. Wessington was urging her chin up, brushing her cheek to find her lips again.

The two miscreants entered the chamber some moments later. They had met in the hall, and greeted each other gloomily, with a strong sense of ill-usage. They were alike in their astonishment to discover their party increased.

“Oh, famous!” squealed Julia surveying Lady Dora hand in hand with Francis.

“By Jove,” exclaimed Austin in disgust, at sight of the close embrace being shared by his sister and Wessington.

The marquess was the first to recover, but Genia kept her face hidden in the snowy folds of his cravat. He did not release her, but linked his hands in the small of her back.

“Austin, if I were to settle 500 a year on you, would you go to the colonies and seek diversion and adventure there?"

“Which colonies?"

“Any of them!” said Wessington in amused exasperation.

“I should think so. I say you aren't bamming me?"

“No, not at all."

“And Julia,” Lady Dora offered, drawing the younger girl over to the settle, “if you will return quietly to school or Rowde Hill for one year, Francis and I will bring you out next Season. You will have all the excitement you could wish."

Julia gasped in ecstatic disbelief.

“Enough,” said the marquess. “Let us order that supper you were planning. We shall dine, then return to London. It will be late to drive, but there is a full moon and the roads are dry."

Genia lifted her head, her expression luminous and carefree. “We have a wedding to attend,” she said with a delighted laugh.

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lesley-Anne McLeod has loved all things British for longer than she can remember. So it was natural that when she turned to writing fiction she should write Regency romances, those uniquely English historical romances in the tradition of Jane Austen.

Lesley-Anne has been writing for twenty-five years and has written five Regency romances and several Regency short stories. She has published articles on antiques and collectibles, and has also free-lanced in business writing. Book-selling was her career for nearly ten years; she owned her own bookstore for three of those enjoyable years. She belongs to the Saskatchewan Romance Writers and treasures the support and friendship that group offers.

Lesley-Anne is married and has one daughter. She lives on the prairies of Canada which are distant from Regency England in time and thought, but which retain an echo of Great Britain in history and tradition.

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