The Unthinkable Read online

  Huntingdon interrupted before she could say too much. “Fanny, I should like to introduce you to someone.”

  Fanny took her eyes off Edmund long enough to finally look at the woman hovering so close to him.

  Already uncomfortably warm in the crowded assembly room, perspiration gathered on Genie’s hands and brow. Fanny’s feelings for Edmund had just complicated things immensely. Fanny knew everything—well, almost everything—about her past relationship with the duke. Could Fanny be persuaded to keep their secret?

  Genie watched as recognition slowly dawned.

  Fanny’s jaw dropped. “You found her!” Incredulity echoed in her voice.

  Noticing the countess’s puzzled expression, Edmund grabbed Fanny’s elbow before she could do more damage. “Fanny, do me the pleasure of this dance.” Not waiting for a reply, Edmund unceremoniously yanked her off toward the dance floor.

  The countess’s eyes narrowed at Edmund’s quickly retreating back. She turned a suddenly distressed gaze upon Genie and Huntingdon. “I think I’m beginning to understand.” Her steady gaze fell upon Huntingdon. “Edmund went to America to attend to some business at your bequest, did he not?”

  Huntingdon’s face betrayed none of the tension that Genie knew lie just below the surface. “He did indeed, my lady.”

  “I seem to recall you were looking for someone.”

  “Why look who’s here, Hyacinth,” came a booming, cheerful voice. Lady Hawkesbury’s recollections were interrupted by the raucous entry of the Viscount and Viscountess Davenport into their small circle. Of middling age and portly stature, the Davenports seemed the epitome of jovial companionship; never far from each other’s side. Genie had admired their unusual proclivity for demonstrative affection from afar. A great rarity in the ton, they were a married couple who enjoyed each other.

  She would welcome them if only for their timely interruption, but she was also looking forward to an introduction.

  Lady Davenport with her heavily rouged cheeks wore the powdered hair and wide hooped gowns of the previous century. Lord Davenport had the ruddy cheeks of a seaman with a long white mustache that drooped down on either side, reminiscent of a walrus. A very happy walrus at that, Genie thought.

  “Fitzie, my boy,” Lord Davenport said, swatting Huntingdon affectionately, if a tad exuberantly, on the back, causing Huntingdon to stumble forward a few steps. Fitzie? Genie had to smother a gurgle of laughter at what was obviously a childhood nickname. Not even Fanny called him that. “Never thought I would see the day that you willingly cross the threshold of the marriage mart twice in one month. Mayhap the rumors are true and you’ve decided to end your prized bachelor days? Every man’s duty to beget the heir, eh, my boy?” The old man needled Huntingdon forcefully with his elbow in the ribs. “Though the begetting part is not all bad,” he said with a leer to his wife, guffawing loudly at his own ribald jest.

  The familiarity and manner of Lord Davenport’s address to Huntingdon suggested a long-held acquaintance. Probably a contemporary of his father’s, Genie thought. Though she could hardly reconcile the memories of the cold, humorless old duke with this brash, inelegant but thoroughly likable man.

  “Leave the poor boy alone, Nigel,” said Lady Davenport, with a fond swat of her fan. “I for one am glad to see his handsome face.” Genie wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t been standing right there, but Lady Davenport actually reached over and pinched the Duke of Huntingdon’s cheek. “Always were a pretty one, even as a child. Oh, your mother would be so pleased to see you married,” she said. “Perhaps she might come out of seclusion for such an occasion.”

  “Now who’s teasing the poor boy, pet,” Lord Davenport chided. “And men aren’t pretty,” he said with exaggerated affront.

  Genie glanced at Huntingdon and was surprised to see a hint of redness in his cheeks. Obviously, he cared a great deal for the Davenports to stand there silently enduring the embarrassing display of affection.

  Genie for one found this greatly amusing. To see the proud, arrogant duke reduced to a blushing schoolboy was well worth the discomfort of having been abandoned to his company. Her spirits improved considerably.

  Lord Davenport extended no mercy to Huntingdon’s proud sensibilities. “Now look, my dear, you’ve embarrassed him in front of this beautiful girl that he can’t keep his eyes off of. Not that I blame him.” He laughed heartily. He took Genie’s hand and, despite his barrel-shaped belly, executed a spry, gallant bow over her hand. “If you ever tire of pretty, my dear, I can still lead a merry turn around the dance floor. Perhaps a waltz…?”

  Despite Lord Davenport’s misunderstanding of the situation, Genie couldn’t help but be charmed. She laughed and mimicked his bow with a courtly curtsy. “It’s an honor, my lord, my lady.”

  “Nigel, don’t tease the poor girl,” Lady Davenport reprimanded at the same time. “You know the waltz is scandalously improper.” Lady Davenport took Genie’s arm and nestled it firmly between her arm and bosom. “Don’t listen to him my dear, he’ll stomp all over those tiny toes of yours.”

  Rather than be offended by her gesture, Genie found strange comfort in the motherly hold. Although affectionate, Lady Hawkesbury was a typical aristocrat and not physically demonstrative. Genie’s mother had been more like Lady Davenport, always free with a hug and a squeeze. Genie didn’t realize how much she’d missed the easy exchange of affection. She rarely allowed herself to think about how much she missed her mother.

  “Mrs. Preston is a guest of mine for the season,” Lady Hawkesbury explained.

  Lady Davenport lifted an eyebrow at that, glancing back and forth between Huntingdon and Genie. “Oh. I thought… Well, never mind.” She waved her fan excitedly, turning toward a young dandy who had just joined them. His cravat was starched so high, Genie was surprised that he could move his neck. But he managed to lift his chin and stare down his nose at her well enough.

  Though not unpleasant of countenance, his expression was one of great boredom and disdain well beyond his years. He couldn’t be much older than her three and twenty. “There you are,” Lady Davenport said. “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Mrs. Preston, this is our son, Percy.”

  Genie had to close her mouth to prevent a startled gasp. The Honorable Percival Davenport could not have been more dissimilar from his parents if he’d tried. Noting the haughty expression extended to his parents, Genie thought that perhaps that was the point. He did not appear to value his parents’ rustic charm.

  Percy greeted Lady Hawkesbury, nodded to Huntingdon and lifted his monocle to study Genie with great condescension. He could have taught Prinny a thing or two, she thought.

  Huntingdon didn’t bother hiding his dislike of the younger man. “Percy,” he said simply, but his voice was full of the patronizing scorn affected by an older playmate.

  The dislike was apparently mutual. “I’m surprised to see you here, Fitz. A confirmed bachelor like yourself gracing the assembly rooms of Almack’s? Finally done scouring the countryside for that little country mouse of yours?” Percy mocked.

  Genie gasped, not believing what she’d just heard. The ton knew about her. If not by name, then as a “country mouse.” What other rumors were floating about? Fear of discovery mixed with humiliation. Tense, every hair stood on end praying for the conversation to take a different course.

  Her prayers were not to be answered.

  Unaware of the pain and embarrassment he was causing, Percy continued on. “You were fortunate to get out of that horrible blunder without irreparable social disaster. Couldn’t have an esteemed peer like yourself marry a little nobody. Think of the precedent,” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Though it was great fun to see you make a fool of yourself over a little ‘dairymaid,’ wasn’t that what you called her? Wonder what ever happened to the silly chit? I’d wager she found herself a nice farmer somewhere, has a dozen brats, and rues the day she let a duke slip through her grasping fingers.”

  Genie felt