Page 21

Chapter Twenty

“ M iss, if I may say so, you don’t look yourself.” Charity paused in uncharacteristic solicitude beside the bed.

“I am a bit tired, that is all.” Geny threw off the covers. She could not remain in bed all day no matter how heartsick she felt. “However, it is fortunate it is not my day to go to the orphanage, for I will have some rest.”

“Yes, and the young master will be returning to Eton today.” Charity pulled out the stool for her to sit in front of the mirror. “Brantley told me.”

Geny swiveled to look up at her maid in surprise. “I did not know.”

“The earl just gave the orders to Higgins, miss.” Charity stopped, and a worried look came upon her face. “But perhaps I’ve stepped out o’ line by telling you.”

Geny knew it was more likely that her father had taken a high-handed approach and had ordered his heir’s removal without even informing Matthew himself. She could not blame her maid. “It is all right.”

Charity began brushing her hair, working in silence, a kindness Geny appreciated. She could not bear any idle conversation at the moment with her heart so sore. The night before had been her second one in tears, with each morning pressing cold metal spoons to her eyelids to remove the swelling before anyone would see her. Tears that should be wasted, given how unworthy Mr. Rowles—Mr. Aubin—had turned out to be.

She had sent her chocolate back to the kitchen, requesting tea instead, and she sipped it now. The hot, perfumed beverage seemed her only solace since she could scarcely manage to choke anything else down.

Yesterday, she had stayed at the orphanage long enough only to see that Mr. Aubin had left the premises. She could not give her heart to the orphans at the moment, not when it was so broken. The rest of the day she had spent at home going over their every encounter and trying to analyze everything he had said to see if she should have guessed.

The decision of whether she should tell her father about his true identity was not an easy one. She had not done so yet and even wondered if the delay was a wise decision. Her father ought to know by all rights, but there was something that stopped her. A misplaced loyalty to Mr. Aubin, most likely. She was a fool.

“Shall I curl the sides of your hair, miss?” Charity asked, taking the tongs from where they had been heating in the fire.

“No. Pull everything back, so that it’s neater.” Geny watched, her somber expression accentuated by the severe hairstyle, as her maid followed her instructions.

John had fully felt the pain of the consequences of his actions yesterday. She knew he had, for she could see it in his eyes. And he had spoken to her with details about her father’s ill dealings that showed he at least had believed himself to be in the right. Her initial reaction had been disbelief, but with the night’s reflection, she was no longer quite so sure. Her father had always had an irreproachable reputation, but did this not come from his own assertions rather than an abundance of good deeds? How could she be so sure he was the innocent man he claimed to be, when she scarcely spent enough time in his presence to know for sure?

“Thank you.” Geny got to her feet, leaving her food untouched. “You may take that back to the kitchen.”

“Yes, miss.” Charity began to gather the dishes, and Geny went downstairs in search of Matthew. He was sitting in the library, swinging one foot on the armchair and staring off into space.

“Good morning. I have just learned you are to return to Eton.” She sat at his side. “Were you aware of it?”

Matthew turned to look at her, his face inscrutable. “Betty is packing my trunk right now. Father left a message with Higgins to have the carriage hitched, and the footman came to give me the orders. He said Father has gone north for some reason, so he will not be here to see me off.”

“Father is gone?”

Geny felt disoriented by all these decisions being made without her knowledge, especially after the upsetting experience at the asylum. Now, even if she wished to tell her father about what happened, she could not do so. If only he communicated with her more, she would not be left in such a state of confusion.

“When do you leave?”

“Within the hour,” Matthew said, sighing.

“ Hmm .” The despondency in her brother’s expression made her forget her own troubles in her anxiety to relieve his. “Why don’t we play a game of cards to pass the time?”

Although he did not return an enthusiastic reply, he stood and walked over to a side table where a deck of cards was held. She dealt them and searched for something to say, all while looking at him with fondness. He was growing up, but it meant he was not as confiding as he once was .

“They have begun to repair the wall in the orphanage. I think you would have liked to have seen it.” She glanced at her cards, then over at him as she lay down a card. “Timothy is following the mason and learning everything he can about the trade. I think I know what future lies ahead of him.”

“Lucky him,” Matthew said, playing his card and taking the trick.

“Did you wish you could become a mason?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

“No, but I wish I could be as free as those orphans. I could live in the same place without going anywhere and have lots of friends. And I could work at something simple.”

Geny knew how futile it was to tell him that it wasn’t quite as carefree as he imagined. “I understand.”

“And they have Mr. Rowles,” he continued, clearly bent on carrying on his diatribe. This time his words inadvertently hit a mark.

Geny took the next trick and asked quietly, “Why do you speak of Mr. Rowles? What is it about him?”

“He seems honorable. I like him better than all my masters combined and wouldn’t mind training under him.”

His blond hair stood up in front in a stubborn cowlick, and she attempted to pat it in place across from their table. He submitted to it.

“Well, I know this is not what you want to hear, but the wisest course is for you to go to school and do your best there. I promise the future will be brighter than it is now.” She attempted to believe her own words.

They played until the footman came in to announce that the carriage was ready. Geny stood and held out her arms and Matthew slipped into them, allowing her to give him a hug. She forced her emotions down so that she did not alarm her brother with her tears. But it was with an overly bright smile that she said, “Farewell. Don’t forget to write to me. ”

“I won’t,” he said, following the footman out the door. He would forget, of course, but their time together had seemed to exercise a positive effect on him. He was chatting with Brantley as he went to the carriage.

Within minutes following his departure, the house had grown as silent as a tomb, and Geny walked around the library looking at the shelves she knew by heart. There were no books that interested her.

Your father has the appearance of goodness, but whether his actions can stand scrutiny is another matter. John’s words came back to her, and she wondered once again if there was any truth to what he said. If only she could know.

An idea then seized her which was so daring it sent her breath out of her lungs in a whoosh . If her father had gone north and her brother was no longer home, then she was the mistress of the house. Who was there to stop her from going into her father’s study? Her decision was made, and with resolute steps she exited into the corridor and walked toward the study. She opened the door and looked around.

The study was her father’s domain, and she had not set foot in it above five times in her whole life. It had all the masculine trappings of leather and dark burgundy curtains with lingering cigar smoke. An intimidating room. However, now that she had determined her course, she wasted no time in going over to his desk. If she was to find any clue to what sort of man he was, it would most likely be here. She glanced through the papers on top of the desk and found nothing of note. Then, she began opening the drawers, which somehow seemed like a greater trespass; it made her heart beat painfully fast. Her father would be extremely displeased should he ever find out.

The first drawer held bills and some stationery products, such as fresh wax and pen nibs, and the second drawer was more of the same. It was in the third drawer that she found more sentimental items, and as she sat on his chair, she pulled out the first stack with trembling hands. These were perfumed letters with nothing written on the outside. When she opened the first one, her eyes fell on her mother’s familiar handwriting.

Her shoulders slumped in relief. He had kept her mother’s letters! This was not the action of an unkind, unscrupulous man—her father was merely being judged for his reserve.

Out of respect for her parents’ intimacy, she decided not to read her mother’s letters but turned her eyes to the bundle underneath. These were done in a different handwriting and were also perfumed. She gulped, dropping them on the desk as though they were hot and put her fingers over her mouth, staring at them.

No, no. I cannot look at those . I do not want to know. Geny shook her head. What am I doing?

She had just decided to stop her investigation when a solitary letter at the bottom of the drawer caught her eye, this time again in her mother’s handwriting. The familiar loops unleashed something in her that made her go back on her decision not to read her mother’s letters. Just to read one—to hear her mother’s voice again through the words written long ago—would fill the aching void inside of her that had become too great.

She seized it and opened it to discover that it was dated only a fortnight before her mother’s death. With parted lips, she hurriedly skimmed the lines, desperate to learn the state of her mother’s mind before she died.

Franklin,

I am obliged to write to you in your club, because you have not been home these past five nights, but there is a pressing matter you must be informed of. The blacksmith from Windsor came to the house today asking for you. I received him in the parlor in your absence, and yes—I am sure you have already surmised what I am about to tell you.

You will therefore not be surprised to learn the purpose of his visit, although it came as a great shock to me. Now that his daughter has died, leaving behind a child whose parentage he said was yours, he has come to request that you continue to send the monthly allowance, so he might raise the orphan. He was referring, of course, to Gabriel Smith, the foundling you had placed in the asylum that I had naively praised as showing such promise.

I suppose a woman of my station must expect infidelity. But I confess that I did not imagine you to be so base as to carry on this liaison whilst I was recovering from the loss of our second child. You told me that important affairs were keeping you away from London, but that was not it, was it? It was to carry on with the blacksmith’s daughter. It is the timing of your affair for which I shall not forgive you…

Geny could not keep reading; her eyes were filled with tears at her father’s utter betrayal and the gut-wrenching pain her mother had felt which carried through her words. She remembered her mother’s convalescence from her lung infection. She had been on the way to recovery before she suddenly took a turn for the worse. It must surely have been this revelation that overset her and caused her to give up her will to live.

Geny laid the bundle of papers on the desk, dropping her face in her hands so that she only heard—and did not see—the door open. She lifted her head in time to see her father on the threshold of his study, looking thunderstruck.

“What in the blazes are you doing here, Eugenia?”

Such a reception would normally cow Geny, but she was too distraught at the information she had just learned to give her father his usual reverence. She lifted the letter her mother had written.

“Is it true? Did you father an illegitimate son—the orphan Gabriel—during the period when Mother was suffering from the loss of her baby?”

Geny remembered that period of mourning well. Her mother had been several weeks along and had announced to the household that she was expecting a baby, much to the joy of everyone, even—Geny had thought—her father.

She had been looking forward to a younger brother or sister when news of the bleeding spread throughout the household. It had taken her mother many weeks to recover physically from the ordeal and much longer for her emotional pain to disappear. In the years following her mother’s loss, Geny had almost forgotten about it, first because Matthew’s birth had erased much of that sorrow, and then because the pain of losing her mother had engulfed all else. But now it had all come rushing back.

“How dare you go through my things?” he demanded, moving toward her.

Geny stood her ground. “Answer me, Father. I am hearing all sorts of rumors about misplaced funds in the orphanage, and now this. I could overlook almost anything, but I am convinced that your indiscretion is what caused Mother to deteriorate so rapidly. You are responsible for her death.”

The earl snatched the letter out of her hands. “You do not understand the way of the world. You remain purposefully ignorant by burying your nose in the asylum rather than attending to your duties as is befitting the daughter of an earl. How dare you lecture me?”

For the first time in Geny’s life, she saw the sign of weakness in him that he attempted to cover with bluster. It was a look of shame that he would conceal at all costs if he could to save face. She stared at him, realization dawning as she saw him clearly for the first time in her life.

“But is it true?—”

“I am not obliged to answer any of your questions, and I will thank you to leave this room at once. I had not thought it necessary to lock the door to the study located in my own home. Evidently, I must begin doing so now. ”

Geny walked to the door, knowing she would have nothing satisfactory from him. No confessions, no apologies.

“I thought you had gone on a sudden trip north,” she said dully.

“So that is why you decided to raid my study?” He was stuffing the letters back in the drawer. When she offered no response, he lifted his eyes to hers.

“I was on my way but had forgotten something. I am leaving straight away and will be back in a fortnight. I trust I have made myself clear about going through my things.”

“Yes, Father.” Geny left the room.

There was no point in attempting a conversation or hoping for any sort of reconciliation with him. This would be the end of the matter. She would be expected to sweep any disagreements under the rug and continue as before. Fine, then. She would do so. But for the moment, she would also keep the news of Mr. Aubin’s infiltration of the orphanage to herself.

Geny sat quietly knitting new stockings if only to keep her hands occupied. It was the only thing she could do to ease her mind, although her thoughts continued to jump erratically from one sorrow to another with no relief in sight. She had heard the sounds of her father’s departure earlier, and the gloom of the day oppressed her. Was it possible she could ever feel happy again when she had been betrayed by the man she loved, then again by her father whom she had respected and trusted—after she had just bid farewell to her brother, the only family member for whom she felt true affection?

There was a knock on the front door, and she was about to tell the butler that she was not at home, when she heard the sounds of Margery’s voice. It was unexpected at this hour, for Geny had thought she would be preparing for one of her mother’ s many social engagements. She put down her knitting and stood, waiting for her friend to come into the room. Margery was all smiles until she caught sight of Geny’s face.

“What has happened, Geny?”

She waited until the butler left—he would know to send for tea—and allowed Margery to settle down and take off her bonnet. But then, because she didn’t know where to begin, she moved over to sit beside her, needing the comfort. Without a word, she rested her head on her friend’s shoulder.

Margery put her arm around her. “You are alarming me. Please tell me what has happened.”

“Mr. Rowles is indeed Mr. Aubin, as your Mr. Thompson had thought. He kissed me, all while working to expose my father for some corrupt dealing he thought him to have done. I told him to leave the asylum and never to come back.”

“Oh.” Margery said this on a quiet sigh.

“And before leaving, he accused my father of a litany of scandalous deeds, which I rejected outright,” Geny continued.

“Why, there is not a man in London with a more pristine reputation than the earl!” Margery exclaimed, indignant.

“Except that it turns out he was correct, at least in part.” Geny could not bear to speak even to her best friend about the things she had learned, but she had to let this truth fall.

After a moment, Margery tightened her embrace. “I am sorry.”

“And Matthew has just left.”

“So, in other words, a colossally bad day.” Margery pulled back to look at Geny, who now sat upright.

“Yes.” Her eyes filled with tears despite herself, but she went back to her own seat and lifted up her knitting, although she did not continue her project. She wiped her tears away and met Margery’s regard.

A maid entered, carrying the tea tray. She laid everything out and withdrew quietly. Geny stirred in the tea leaves and let them steep as she held out the plate for her friend to take a cake. Margery shook her head.

“You don’t have to refuse out of sympathy for me,” she said.

Margery smiled in response. “I promise you, I am not.”

There was something in her voice, and Geny studied her face more closely. Although she was consumed with her own pain, it was evident that Margery was not acting quite herself. Apart from offering Geny some much-needed consolation, her best friend seemed nervous—and then she had refused the cake.

“Something has happened.”

Margery blushed and smiled enigmatically, but shook her head.

With growing conviction, Geny said, “Oh, but it has.” Suddenly, everything was clear. “Mr. Thompson has proposed, and you have accepted him.”

Margery covered her cheeks. “I did not want to tell you, not with the day you have been having.”

Geny looked at her with slight exasperation, despite being touched by her thoughtfulness.

“What do you mean? This news has redeemed the day. I am happy for you. And all this while, you were the one who said you would never marry. Now you are to be married first.”

She added silently, And perhaps will be the only one to do so .

“It is just that I like him so much. I hadn’t the heart to say no when he came to propose to me. He was actually nervous, and I never see him nervous.” Her eyes twinkled. “I think that was what made up my mind.”

Geny sighed but accompanied it with a smile. At least somebody would have a happy ending. And she would not begrudge such a thing of a friend who had always been there for her. They drank their tea and spoke of wedding plans whenever Geny had her way. Margery, on the other hand, kept directing the conversation away from the subject, and she knew it was for fear of causing her pain .

When at last a silence fell, Margery studied her. “Did Mr. Aubin’s explanation enlighten you in the end? Do you think he is innocent of any matter of which he is accused?”

Geny looked down, remembering the conversation, and the pain she saw on his face. She said softly, “I think he was honest at least in his feelings for me.”

“Well, there is that at least.” Margery folded her hands and made her mouth into a straight line. “For that reason, I will refrain from despising him.”

Another silence fell, then Geny laughed suddenly.

“When we left the meeting room—both of us in the height of emotion—who should be standing there but Mr. Dowling, eavesdropping on our entire conversation.”

Margery’s eyes widened as Geny continued, “And John floored him with one punch.”

“What?” Margery said, bringing her hand up to cover her laughter.

“He informed Mr. Dowling that should he hear any rumors concerning me or my family being spread about, he would invite Mr. Dowling to choose his weapon.”

Margery smiled broadly. “Now that is something I would love to have seen. Mr. Aubin may be a rake, but he knows how to be a gentleman.”