Page 9 of A Sporting Affair (The Corinthians #1)

When the next day’s endless rain kept the Slade family indoors, the girls grew restless. Genevieve knew not a moment’s peace. Cecilia and Theia begged her to escort them into the village at the first sign of sun, which did not peek from behind clouds until the day after.

Thursday morning began with an ominous, leaden sky, so dark, the girls whined in the morning room, then pouted in the drawing room, then hounded Genevieve to join them for a round of billiards. They made it halfway through the house on their way to the billiard room before the sun’s rays filtered through the windows. A blessed sight.

And so, Genevieve upheld her promise and accompanied her sisters into the heart of Grant Lindis.

There was not much in the way of shopping. They would need to go north to Sidonia or west to Sidbury to browse. Grant Lindis did have a lovely tea garden, however, as well as a millinery, haberdashery, and draper.

However quaint, the village bustled with activity. The liveliness was not due to the shops, the girls soon discovered, but preparations for the Fracas Frolic. One might have thought this frolic was taking place this afternoon. Alas, not for another week and some days. What was the Fracas Frolic? What did this signify? Asking someone would brand outsider across her forehead, and so she feigned excitement.

Who she should ask was Mr. Fitz-Stephens. That would initiate conversation, however. The least desirable outcome was to become better acquainted with him. Rather than befriending him with questions and conversations, she needed to bide her time for Mr. Thorpe to receive her letter.

Not knowing did not dim the sisters’ excitement, for the only topic to pass their lips on the walk home was this frolicking mystery.

When they arrived home, Papa must have heard them trampling about in the entrance hall. He greeted them directly. “I’m pleased to share that Mr. Rafe Fitz-Stephens will join us for dinner.”

“Must he?” Genevieve asked.

When all eyes turned to her, she paled. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud?

“Yes, he must,” Papa said. “Word of the betrothal must spread. Everyone will accept the match, seeing as how we are living in the Fitz-Stephens’ house and I am a long-standing friend of Squire Fitz-Stephens. Soon we’ll be invited to dinner by Quality. Let us see if Papa can find matches for all my girls, shall we?”

Cecilia and Theia protested.

Genevieve remained silent.

If he were already thinking of their marriages, did that mean he planned to settle at last? Somewhere near here? The girls were only children, after all, or as good as, too early to wed by Genevieve’s estimation. But if he made connections now, that would open the door for good marriages when they were out…. Unless her father had gone mad and planned to marry them off this year, regardless of age.

Peevish, she said, “I refuse to believe you’ll enforce this marriage. I don’t even know him.”

“All the more reason he should come to dinner. And often.”

With a huff, she retreated to the safety of her bedchamber. She did not wish to become acquainted with him, however divine his perfume, sweet his smile, and kind his attempts at discourse.

Before she had a chance to change, sit, or meditate further, a soft knock interrupted.

Genevieve cracked open the door.

“May I?” Cecilia begged entry.

Widening the gap, she invited her sister in, then closed the door behind her. For sisters who only had each other, they ought to have been closer. That could not be further from the truth, however. Cecilia had made friends easily wherever they moved and never seemed the least disappointed to leave them behind, the game always to form new friendships rather than keep established ones. Theia was not bothered by friendships or otherwise, entertained by her music and art. Genevieve was the one who always felt alone. Friendships were not easy for her to form, especially knowing the acquaintance would end with the next move—there never seemed a point to form anything lasting.

Cecilia sat on the edge of the bed before bunching her skirt to draw her legs beneath her. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Genevieve stood with her back against the door, arms crossed.

“ Is he your lover?”

With a strangled cry, Genevieve scolded, “That is not appropriate, Cecilia. How do you know that word? Stop staring at me like a mouse after the cheese. He isn’t .”

“Looked like it to me. I was there, remember. He was in his shirtsleeves, trying to dress in the dark!”

“No, he was not . That is not what happened. He mistook my room for his. In case you’ve forgotten, this is his house, and this was his bedchamber.”

Cecilia gazed around the room as though searching for a piece of evidence to catch her eye, a stack of love letters, perhaps, or his hat left behind after one of their trysts. “If it was an honest mistake, why did he propose? Sounds like lover’s guilt to me. Papa wouldn’t have twisted his arm if it was an innocent misunderstanding.”

“Yes, Papa would have because yes, Papa did. Mr. Fitz-Stephens agreed only because he’s a gentleman, and that’s what gentlemen do. They are true to their word, do all they can to protect a lady’s reputation, and make the best of bad situations.”

“Why should his mistake affect you? A simple apology would have sufficed.”

She did not readily answer. She could not. She did not know the answer. Guilt could be a convincing influencer. Obligation to correct his mistake? But then, as Cecilia said, why should it affect her life? It was all grossly unfair.

“Because that’s how things are done,” Genevieve answered noncommittally.

“So… this works out for everyone. You will marry your lover , and I will move into this room. It’s twice as large as mine.”

“I’m not married yet, and he’s not my… my… you know.”

“Lover?” Cecilia enunciated with a gurgle of mirth.

“That isn’t a word a lady should know, much less utter. And I will not marry him if I have any say about it. Marriage should be based on friendship, two people who rub well together. I can’t build a friendship with him, not with marriage banns looming, and besides, why would I wish to befriend a Londoner with a penchant for sneaking into bedchambers?”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t marry Mr. Thorpe.” Cecilia wrinkled her nose.

“How did you…”

“Listened at the door, of course. I wouldn’t have missed that conversation for the world!” Rising from the bed, she snatched a shawl hanging over the back of the chair. “May I borrow this? I want to wear it to church. It’ll match my new bonnet.” Without waiting for Genevieve’s response, Cecilia waved her sister out of the way of the door and left with the shawl trailing behind her.