Page 16 of A Sporting Affair (The Corinthians #1)

The only sound to be heard in the drawing room at Devington Priory was the sighs of Mrs. Slade as she attempted to embroider, a skill she did not possess nor wish to possess, but a skill she insisted she feign when expecting callers. For callers to see her working a needle and thread was enough. Mr. Slade was pacing before the window. Genevieve slumped in a chair, drumming her fingers on the arm and wondering if Philomena would be interested in a ride to the tower. Neither Cecilia nor Theia were present, however much they wished to see Mr. Headley again. Mrs. Slade had banished them from the room. A good thing, too, as Genevieve did not think Mr. Headley would wish to be overwhelmed by the doe-eyed stares of two schoolroom-aged girls.

Mr. Headley was certainly handsome enough to tempt any woman, but now that she tried to recall his features, she could not. The only face that signified was Rafe’s. This would not do. She was trying to end the betrothal, not begin a romance. Peculiar—she could not immediately recall why she wished to end it.

The front door knocker echoed in the distance.

Mrs. Slade dropped her needle. Mr. Slade cleared his throat and snatched a book as a prop. Genevieve sat up straight, eyes fixed on the drawing room door.

Good heavens. What was wrong with her? It might not be him. It could be anyone. Just because he had promised to call did not mean he was doing so presently. Nevertheless, she was flustered. Her cheeks warmed; her hands fidgeted; her stomach somersaulted.

The door opened. Rather than the butler announcing the guests, Rafe stepped in with a flourishing bow. Her parents eagerly welcomed him, forgetting they were trying to look busy and important and not at all as though they had been waiting for him to call. Rafe, in turn, made a grand show of his arrival by kissing both Mrs. Slade’s cheeks, pumping Mr. Slade’s hand, and then kissing the air above Genevieve’s knuckles.

“My second family,” he said, mirth in his voice. “I have brought you the surprise of good company. But wait, where is Miss Cecilia and Miss Theia?”

Mrs. Slade waved her embroidery absently. “I’ve sent them away. No one wants children in the drawing room.”

“They shall be missed, but I understand.” Turning to the doorway, he said a little louder. “Now, for your surprise.”

Miss Headley stepped into the room first. Before Rafe could announce her or say ought about her, she rustled into the room to take Genevieve’s hands between hers and sit next to her new friend, already launching into animation.

“You must join us for archery practice tomorrow afternoon,” she said, flashing a quick smile to Mama and Papa before turning back to Genevieve. “It is all arranged, and you cannot say no, but if you do say no, I will not accept it and find a way to lure you away from the house, although I know you will accept because you would not wish to disappoint your new friend.”

So rapidly she talked, and with such earnestness, Genevieve missed Mr. Headley’s entrance.

Only when she heard the deep tones of male voices did she realize he had already walked across the room, greeted her parents, and was in discussion with her father and Rafe, alongside Mr. Thorpe, her mother rising from her chair to join their conversation, not to be left out.

Genevieve turned back to Miss Headley.

“This will be my first ever frolic,” said Miss Headley. “I’ve wished to participate for years, but first I was too young, or so said Rupert, which is complete nonsense because children of all ages participate, although I grant you, not in archery, which did not apply last year when they had lawn bowls for the ladies, but then I was not allowed because Rafe was at university and Rupert could not be certain he would return for the frolic, which of course he did because Rafe never misses a frolic, and then…”

Genevieve jerked her head to stare at her parents, missing whatever else Miss Headley said.

Mr. Thorpe ?

Her jaw dropped.

Her eyes widened.

Mr. Thorpe ?

She could not immediately understand how he had arrived in the drawing room. But then—elation! He had come! He had come in response to her request!

Then panic. But no —he had come.

Why was he here with Rafe? Oh, dear heavens. Had he already spoken to Rafe? How was this possible? Oh, please, please, do not let the two of them have spoken yet. This would ruin Rafe’s opinion of her! She needed to speak to him first, to explain the situation and what she needed from him. Without her guidance, Mr. Thorpe would not know what to say and could undo all her hopes by saying all the things he ought not say. Then, what were her hopes? Her gaze shifted between Rafe and Mr. Thorpe.

She strained over Miss Headley’s chatter to hear what was being said. Something about Rafe inviting his dear friend to the competition only to discover his dear friend already knew the Slades—what a coincidence! Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. So convincing he was, she questioned if he really did know Mr. Thorpe and had not said before because he did not realize it was the same Mr. Thorpe.

Oh, this was dreadful. Their one hope of salvation from this mockery of a betrothal, and Rafe had already claimed him as his friend. Then, did Rafe not want to end the betrothal, as well? Did she ?

“Miss Slade!” interrupted a voice.

Genevieve shook the thoughts from her head and looked back at Miss Headley, whose attention was now fixed across the room at the figure walking towards them. Mr. Thorpe .

Trying not to look too eager, too pleased, too panicked, too everything she was feeling, Genevieve rose and extended her hand. “Mr. Thorpe. What brings you to Grant Lindis?”

This was not how she had envisioned their reunion, not when they both knew what brought him here.

“You’ve not heard, then,” said Mr. Thorpe. “Mr. Fitz-Stephens is an excellent secret keeper. He’s invited me to the competition. I’m to… to swim. When he discovered his Alan Thorpe was the same as your Alan Thorpe, he… he insisted I join him to… to call on you. Imagine our mutual surprise!”

Yes, imagine indeed.

Her heart went out to poor Mr. Thorpe, who, despite his brave words, was not a convincing actor. His surprise sounded forced, his volume a trifle too loud, and his voice stilted, the weight of the tale carried by a too-broad smile. She glanced at her parents. So enraptured by whatever Rafe and Mr. Headley were saying, they did not appear to mind Mr. Thorpe’s presence nor show signs of suspecting he was here by her request. How could it not be obvious to them?

She shook Mr. Thorpe’s hand and said, “An unexpected surprise, I agree. I hope we will have the opportunity to exchange our adventures, discover what each has been doing since last we met. As you can see, I’ve moved again. Oh! But how rude of me.” She turned to Miss Headley. “You’ve both been introduced, I presume? Seeing that you’ve arrived together?”

Miss Headley tittered and shook Mr. Thorpe’s hand just as he was saying that yes, they had met on the way here. Ignoring what he was saying, she pressed, “It’s good to meet you again ! I never dreamed it would be so soon.”

Mr. Thorpe chortled at the silliness, as did Genevieve. The latter exhaled her relief. She had not yet devised a plan for how to get him into the house or convince her parents of a pre-existing understanding, short of eloping, that was, which she knew Mr. Thorpe would never agree to, no matter how kindhearted he was or how much he wished to help her. Yet here he was.

In her periphery, she caught Rafe winking at her.