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Chapter Fourteen

O n Thursday, Geny was downstairs waiting for Margery so they might visit the Elgin Marbles. When the knock came on the door, she tied her bonnet under her chin and grabbed a parasol. The weather was fine, and she would not need to bring her cloak. The butler opened the door, and Geny stepped forward to exit but discovered Mr. Thompson rather than Margery standing on her doorstep.

“Oh!”

He lifted his hat and bowed. “Miss Buxton is in the carriage, and I took the liberty of coming to knock on your door. I hope you don’t mind my company today, as Mrs. Buxton was otherwise engaged.”

Geny had recovered from her surprise and smiled, taking his presence to be a welcome sign. It meant that he was making headway into Margery’s heart, whether or not she realized it—or even wanted it.

“On the contrary, I am delighted to have you accompany us,” she replied, descending the stairs at his side. “I am sure Mrs. Buxton is gratified to do something more restful than accompanying two troublesome young ladies around London.”

He grinned at that. “I am not certain Mrs. Buxton ever rests. As for two troublesome young ladies, I must dare to contradict you.”

He opened the door to the carriage, where Margery waited inside. She shot her a look of resignation, but Geny was not fooled. She knew her friend well by now, she was almost certain Margery returned Mr. Thompson’s feelings—or was well on her way to doing so.

As they started toward the British Museum, Geny turned to her. “I must tell you—Matthew is home from Eton. There was an outbreak of measles there.”

“Oh dear.” Margery’s fair brow puckered. “Do you fear he has been exposed to it?”

“I don’t believe so. My father sent our footman to bring him home, and he didn’t seem to think Matthew was at risk since they began the quarantine early.”

“I am glad for you that you have his company then,” Margery replied, squeezing Geny’s hand.

After a brief silence, Mr. Thompson opened the conversation. “I have longed to see the Marbles ever since I learned that the earl had sold them to the museum. Now I can combine two pleasures in one.”

“And what is the other pleasure?” Margery asked, clearly without forethought. He gazed at her with a gleam in his eye, and she caught herself. “Never mind. I do not wish to know.”

Geny laughed quietly and looked through the window as they passed the streets of London. Mr. Thompson managed to coax an unwilling conversation out of Margery by allowing her to argue with him. Geny remained quiet, letting them have their pleasure until the carriage deposited them in front of the museum.

“There is a frieze along this wall from the Parthenon, although I believe it’s only a partial.” Mr. Thompson led them in the direction of the exhibit. “I hope you will not think me too high-handed in directing the tour, but I did some research in advance and this was the suggested route for best enjoying the Marbles.”

“Thank you for arranging a pleasant day for us,” Geny replied, catching Margery’s eye. “Very considerate of Mr. Thompson, was it not?”

Her friend returned a look that told her to leave off teasing. It was only fair, she supposed, because her heart was not in the right condition to endure any teasing on the subject of Mr. Rowles. She had not yet told Margery about the kiss, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would. It felt so private. Then again, if she would have to mourn what could not be, she would need the support of her closest friend.

They followed the stretch of marble frieze along the wall, and Geny leaned in to examine more closely the marble, which was expertly crafted though much of the detail had been eroded from the faces. Beyond the frieze were statues of people and horses in various poses. Many were missing limbs or heads, and one statue of a horse’s head had been cut off above the neck. She wondered when they had been destroyed, and whether it had happened in transport or during centuries that had passed.

“Lady Eugenia, what a pleasant surprise.”

Geny turned to find that the voice had come from Miss Lucy Purcell. They frequently met at society events, although Geny never encouraged a friendship to grow between them. A nearby gentleman turned back, and upon seeing Geny, acknowledged her with a bow. It appeared Miss Purcell was walking with Lord Amherst, the Duke of Rigsby’s son—the one whom her father had encouraged her to spend time with.

“How do you do, my lady,” the marquess said with a deep bow. He stood upright, and Geny was able to have a clearer look of him. Her opinion of him did not change since the last time she’d seen him five years ago. If anything, age had not been kind to him.

“It is indeed a pleasant surprise, Miss Purcell,” she replied, greeting both with a curtsy. “How do you do, my lord. I believe you have only just returned to England?”

Margery and Mr. Thompson had moved on, likely assuming their presence would not be welcome to Miss Purcell or Lord Amherst. They would be right, but Geny did not care for such pretension. She did not know why she was so different from the rest of her set regarding who was considered proper to know and could only credit it to her mother’s influence.

“I see that you have been seized with the notion to visit the Marbles as well,” Geny said, determined to be amiable and conversational. Her father might not be able to force her to marry a man of his choosing, but there was no reason to act churlishly toward someone whose company she did not particularly enjoy.

“Indeed, indeed.” Lord Amherst continued, “I had hoped to bring you to see them, but I did not receive a response when I left my card at your residence and therefore had no chance to invite you.”

An awkward silence fell as even he realized his blunder, and a dull flush spread from his neck up to his cheeks. He had just announced to the woman he was walking with that she was his second choice. Geny would have found it funny had she not felt some pain for Miss Purcell. She might not wish to deepen their friendship, but nor did she wish her ill. She searched for something to say that might bring harmony back to their conversation.

In end, it was Miss Purcell who smoothed over the blunder. “My lady, will you be attending the opera tomorrow night? I have not seen you lately. What have you been keeping yourself occupied with?”

Lucy Purcell was a gentleman’s daughter, and although she had no claims to the peerage except through a distant cousin, she was extremely wealthy and ran in the same circles as Geny. Therefore, she did not suffer the same fear as many young ladies of appearing too familiar. In truth, Geny had not attended society events lately because her father had not been there to force her too.

“I have been busy with the foundling asylum. As you know, it is a project dear to me. However, I will indeed be attending the opera. My father returns tomorrow morning from our estate and has expressed a wish to go.”

“I hope you will allow me to come and visit you in your box,” Lord Amherst said, dipping his toe back in the conversation.

“Of course you may,” she said, perfectly aware that it was precisely what her father wished for, even if it was not what she did. She turned to Miss Purcell, adding, “And I hope you will come too.”

There! She had succeeded in showing favor to Miss Purcell and tempering the marquess’s thoughts in her direction by making it clear she had no designs to share a private conversation with him. If she could help it, she would not be forced to refuse a proposal she did not encourage or wish for.

“Excellent.” Lord Amherst looked around. “But, may I ask, with whom have you come today?”

Geny cast her gaze over the exhibit and found Mr. Thompson and Margery on the far end. She pointed in that direction. “I am with Mr. Thompson and Miss Buxton standing there.”

“Thompson? I don’t know the name—unless it is the Thompson whose name appears on the underside of my tea set.” He chortled at his own joke.

“Precisely the one,” Geny said with a broad smile. “Mr. Thompson’s family is in ceramics.” She challenged him with her gaze, and Lord Amherst’s flustered look returned .

“Now, if you both won’t mind, I will rejoin my friends and leave you to enjoy the Marbles.”

She dipped into a curtsy and walked away, but not before catching some of the murmured words that Miss Purcell let fall on not being too careful about one’s company. Geny did not even mind that. If it had not been for her own mother’s kindness, she might very well think exactly as Miss Purcell did.

“This is quite the fashionable place,” Mr. Thompson mused when she rejoined them.

“It is all the rage. My father said I must go so that I would have a topic of discussion at parties.” Geny exchanged a droll look with Margery, and they both smiled. Margery could read exactly what she was thinking.

They continued along the exhibit, and as they went, marveled at the age of the statues and how wonderful it was that they could look upon something that had been created so many centuries prior. When they had seen everything, Geny was satisfied that she would be able to tell her father she had indeed visited the exhibit when he returned. It was an agreeable feeling when her father was pleased with her, and she attempted it as often as she could while remaining true to her convictions.

She turned to Margery. “I had forgotten to tell you. Part of the wall in the stable came down, and it hurt one of the orphans. Do you remember Gabriel, who is now twelve?”

Margery thought for a moment. “Is he not one of the sponsored orphans?”

Geny nodded. “He was standing too near the wall when it fell, although I believe he poked at the hole with a stick, which was not the wisest of him. He is a good boy, and I regret that this should happen to him.”

“Is he all right?” Mr. Thompson asked.

His concern caused Geny to send him a grateful look. There were too few gentlemen who were truly concerned with an orphan’s welfare. Her mind went back to the way John had sprung into motion when it happened. He rushed over to see that Gabriel was more comfortable and seemed annoyed that he was not able to fetch the surgeon for himself. The memory brought a sensation of longing and chagrin. That she should have such strong feelings for him—and that they should have shared such an intimate embrace without a proposal or any promise—was not only shocking, it was agonizing, for she could do nothing to bring a proposal about.

“He was hurt,” she told Mr. Thompson. “He has broken his arm, but the surgeon set it easily and promised he would have full use of it afterwards. So he was very lucky. It could have been much worse if he had been hit on the head, for instance.”

“What a relief,” Margery exclaimed. “I would not like for anything to happen to him, or any of the orphans.”

“Matthew was there,” Geny said, remembering it with a shudder. “I warned him not to draw near and thankfully he heeded my advice.”

“Will your father be able to repair the wall?” Mr. Thompson asked her. They had begun walking toward the entrance of the museum, and he offered an arm to both women.

“The steward—Mr. Rowles,” she added, glancing at him to see if he recognized the name. He nodded as though he did. “He and I had found a mason to repair the wall when it seemed there was only a little work to be done. Now the budget for fixing it will be much greater, for the foundation will have to be strengthened in addition to the repairs. I am concerned that the donations are not enough at present to undertake such a large project.”

A look came over Mr. Thompson’s face that she would not have caught had she not been looking at him then.

“I hesitate to say this, my lady. Actually, it is not in my nature to…” He looked uncomfortable, and Margery’s curiosity must have overcome her, for she pulled him to a stop and peered up into his face. He looked at her, then Geny .

“Last week, I donated five hundred pounds to the orphanage, and I am hoping that this will be enough to cover the project. It should be. There should be no problem with the asylum’s finances at the moment.”

“You donated to the foundling asylum?” Margery asked, a look of disbelief and admiration in her eyes.

He nodded and lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck, as though he did not like the attention. Geny was very sure he did not, but she would not hold back from expressing her gratitude.

“Please know how very grateful I am that you have done such a thing. We are greatly in your debt.”

“Well…” Mr. Thompson seemed unsure of what to say next and cast his gaze around desperately, then his look brightened. “I have just had a splendid idea. Let us go to Gunter’s and have some ice, shall we? The day is warm enough for it, wouldn’t you say? And I heard there is even pineapple to be had.”

Margery and Geny exchanged another glance and both nodded and smiled at him.

“That sounds lovely,” Margery said. She was the first to slip her arm back into Mr. Thompson’s.

The next day, Geny waited for her father in the sitting room for fear she would miss his arrival, and he would closet himself in his library without seeking them out. Matthew strolled in minutes before their father’s voice sounded in the entryway.

“It’s Father,” he said, starting toward the door.

He was still young enough to expect to be received with paternal affection; she had cause to be more wary. Then again, he was the heir and did receive more consideration than she.

“Well, Son, no signs of illness, I hope,” the earl said .

“None, sir.” Matthew grinned up at him. “But I will likely need to stay at home for another month or two to be sure.”

The earl gave as close to a smile as Geny ever saw. “A month, you say? It sounds more like you are trying to shirk your studies. However, I am not eager to send you back until there is no risk of contagion, so you may rest easy.” He looked at Geny. “Eugenia, how have you been? Have you visited the Marbles?”

“I have, Father.” She stopped short, neither wishing to say in whose company she went, nor wishing to say who she met while she was there, lest her father remind her of his expectations. He did not need the reminder.

“I have not forgotten that I want to have you spend time with Lord Amherst. We will invite him for dinner. See Cook about preparing a menu. Let’s say for next week.”

She sighed quietly. He had remembered. Perhaps if she informed her father about his request to visit her at the opera, dinner might be avoided.

“As a matter of fact, Father, I crossed paths with Lord Amherst at the British Museum, and we spoke for a bit there. He said he would come to our box at the opera tonight.”

Her father moved toward the drawing room, and they followed. “Very good. You may extend the invitation to him then if you wish.”

She did not wish, and an oppressive air seemed to settle in the room. Her father had never been so intent on a match as to force a dinner invitation. He rarely entertained after her mother died, and when he did, it was his own friends that were invited.

“A part of the wall fell down in the asylum,” Matthew said, bringing her back to the moment. “It will have to be repaired, as it weakens the structural integrity, the new steward has said.”

“I trust him to take care of that. That is precisely what I pay him for.” Their father took out a glass and poured some brandy. Their butler had rushed to see that it was ready, knowing the earl’s habits well .

“I was there when it fell, Father,” Matthew continued. “One of the orphan boys got hurt.”

“Did he?” Lord Goodwin took a sip of his brandy, then went over to sit.

“Yes, you remember Gabriel Smith?” Geny said. “He is twelve.”

The earl’s eyes flicked upward, and she noted a look of surprise in them. It must have been because Gabriel was one of the first orphans to arrive that her father remembered him.

“Was he gravely injured?” her father asked. Although his tone was casual, she thought he seemed intent on the answer.

“He broke his arm, but the surgeon said he will make a full recovery.” Matthew took the seat next to the earl, prepared to launch into as much discussion as their father would allow.

Lord Goodwin’s features eased, and Geny was touched to find he cared so much about the orphan. However, his patience for children came with limits. He put up with Matthew’s conversation for the time it took to finish his brandy and then said that he had work to do in the study. A look of discouragement came over Matthew’s face, but he bravely hid it.

That night, Geny waited with her companion for her father to come into the drawing room so they might attend the opera. She had not needed Miss Edwards while her father was away, since she had not gone out for even one evening, apart from the Sookholme ball. Her companion was a timid woman—speaking little and only when the earl was not nearby unless it was to answer a question—and they waited in silence.

Lord Goodwin entered the drawing room and gave Geny an appraising look. “That color suits you.” He gave a nod of acknowledgment to her companion.

Geny warmed under the praise. She did look her best tonight in a silk champagne-colored gown simply adorned but of the finest material. Her father did not spare any thought for how she dressed during the day, but he expected her to be well turned out when they were seen together in the evenings. He had already reminded her that she would be meeting the marquess that evening and that she should look her best. She privately thought the effort was wasted on Lord Amherst and wondered what John would think of her appearance. Would he be tempted to kiss her again despite declaring that it had been a mistake? This sent a wave of frustration and longing through her again.

“Did you accomplish everything you wished to at the estate?” she asked, once they were settled in the carriage.

“Yes.” He pulled out his timepiece and glanced at it in the dim light, then snapped it shut.

“I am glad.” And the conversation died from there.

The opera was thronged with people, because they were to hear Mozart’s Don Giovanni for the first time. Not even her father had heard when it debuted in London thirty years prior. She followed the earl to their box seat, allowing him to navigate the crowds while Miss Edwards clung to her arm. Geny appreciated the opera more than she did the parties and balls, for she liked music. And she could lose herself in its notes while not being required to converse with anyone. Other than the commonplaces she exchanged with her companion, she was able to do just that until the first intermission brought their first visitor.

“How do you do, my lord?” Lord Amherst bowed, and her father returned the greeting, warm with praise. She did not know why he had settled on this man above all the others. She had not thought her father so exalted as to choose a match for her simply because the man was heir to a dukedom.

Her father had leaned in to speak to Lord Amherst, but she was able to catch his words.

“I shall not bring up investment matters here, but the time to purchase the shares is running out, and you will certainly regret having missed them. ”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the marquess glance her way. “I might be persuaded to do so under certain conditions.”

“We have much to discuss then.” Her father spoke in a more audible tone. “Well, I shall take advantage of the intermission to drink some champagne while you enjoy time with my daughter. After all, is that not why you are here?” He left the box, just as Miss Purcell was entering it. She curtsied and murmured her excuses, then pulled back to allow him to leave.

Geny resigned herself to a dull intermission, although she was grateful that Miss Purcell would be there to remove some of the tedium and focus from her. She had launched into a story, when Geny glanced down into the pit, allowing her gaze to roam over the crowd. One face was turned upwards, and his eyes seemed to be fixed on her. She held her gaze there until recognition dawned. Mr. Rowles.

She gasped and jumped in her seat.

“What is it, my lady?” Miss Purcell asked as Miss Edwards laid her hand on Geny’s arm.

Lord Amherst took a step toward her. “Are you quite all right? I hope no one has had the temerity to stare at you,” Lord Amherst said, glancing down into the pit, as though he were ready to challenge the man.

“No, no.” Geny could no longer see John in the crowd, but she was sure it had been him. “I merely…thought I saw someone injured in the crush, but it turns out I was mistaken.” She turned back to Miss Purcell. “Please, do go on.”

Now, her eyes were fixed on Miss Purcell, but her thoughts were fully consumed by Mr. Rowles. He had not only been at the opera, he had been staring at her . That meant he could not be as indifferent as he claimed to be.