The Unthinkable Read online

  Perhaps London was the answer after all. Anxious to leave after the wedding, Fanny had traveled to London with Lady Hawkesbury. In London, Genie would convince Fanny not to disclose her scandalous secret.

  Also in London, Genie could focus on her plans for the manor in Gloucestershire.

  She reached her chamber and began instructing her lady’s maid on the preparations for their trip. Resigned to leaving the happiness of the country behind her, Genie was determined that in London she would begin to make reparations.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dampness clung to the darkened streets like a shroud of black pitch. Genie buried her nose in the heavy wool of her hooded cloak, trying to smother the overwhelming stench of bedpans that threatened to spill the contents of her stomach. This was a part of London that Genie was not supposed to know existed: the world of the underclass.

  She jumped, startled by the sound of loud voices arguing across the windows above her. Besides the horrible stench, the noise was the first thing that struck her. Shrill voices raised in every perversion of the King’s English imaginable pierced the night air. People who spent their days fading into the background made up for their silence at night with a raucous clamor. Yet oddly, despite the squalor, Genie found something comforting about all the activity.

  Hugging the shadows, she wound her way through the narrow streets, her hand securely fastened on the gun in her reticule. Her neck prickled with apprehension. It felt as though someone was following her. She spun her head around, but no one was there.

  She shivered and quickened her pace. She knew what she was doing was dangerous, but she’d put off her vow for too long.

  Gravely injured from the vicious beating that she’d received at the hand of her employer, Genie wandered the streets of Boston’s waterfront, finally collapsing at the door of a notorious brothel run by Madame Solange.

  It was the first lucky thing to happen to her in a long time.

  The generous women scorned by polite society took pity on her, taking her in and gently nursing her back to health. With their bawdy humor and stoic acceptance of the brutal card that fate had dealt them, they gave Genie the strength to survive.

  She vowed never to forget their kindness.

  Genie knew that there was very little separating her from the “whores” at Madame Solange’s. There were precious few choices available to a woman cast out, alone, without fortune. With beauty like hers, the choices were even fewer. Were it not for the timely arrival of Edmund, Genie knows she might well have found herself forced into a life of prostitution.

  Luck in the form of Edmund had given her a choice they hadn’t had. Genie wanted to do as much for other girls caught in the same trap. Her plan was simple: She offered employment and education at the manor in Gloucestershire. She didn’t judge them if they refused her offer, her aim was to give them a choice—not make one for them. She’d already hired the small staff that had worked for the previous owner of the manor, but she would find space for as many additional girls as came to her.

  In the week since they’d arrived in London, Genie had only had a few opportunities to escape the watchful eye of her husband. She’d visited a handful of notorious brothels passing out a card with the name and address of her solicitor, speaking to anyone who would listen. There weren’t many. So far, two girls had contacted her solicitor. Not as many as she’d hoped, but it was a start. She squared her shoulders and raised her hand to knock on the door. At least she was doing something, not simply waiting around for scandal to hit. Fanny had avoided her thus far, but she was due to dine at Huntingdon House later that evening. Genie had to convince her to hold her silence.

  Before the knocker fell, a large hand grabbed her arm.

  The little fool. Thank God he’d followed her. She’d disappeared so many times Huntingdon had grown suspicious. Now, to find her in the East End, standing at the door of a notorious brothel…

  She’d better have one hell of an explanation.

  He took her by the arm, intending to startle her—or perhaps shake some sense into her, he was so rattled. She gasped, turning on him as if she meant to fight him. Before recognition hit. Eyes that had been wide with terror only moments before narrowed angrily across her tiny nose.

  “You frightened me,” she accused.

  “Good.” Huntingdon tried to control his own burgeoning anger—his based on fear. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is in this part of town?”

  She jerked her arm away. “Of course I do. I’m not a fool.”

  He made a sharp sound, as if he would argue that point.

  She squared her jaw defiantly. “I’ve taken precautions. I have a gun.”

  He couldn’t believe this. “Aside from the obvious question of where you obtained the weapon, which I assume is in that reticule you were clutching so fiercely, I could point out—if I hadn’t already so aptly demonstrated—that a gun is of limited value if you are grabbed from behind.”

  “Edmund gave me the gun.” Her lips pressed together stubbornly. “And if you’ll recall, I know how to defend myself.”

  Huntingdon didn’t answer, but pulled her away from the door, practically dragging her to his carriage. Wisely, he kept her knee at a safe distance. He headed around the block, where he’d instructed his driver to wait.

  Her eyes shot daggers at him. “I haven’t finished my business,” she argued, trying to shrug him off.

  He lowered his voice and spoke in a tone that did not bode disagreement. “Yes,” he breathed menacingly, “you have.”

  Genie remained stubbornly silent on the ride home, her face carefully hidden in the shadows. When he thought of what could have happened, of the danger she had put herself in… he could throttle her. Or pull her into his arms and hold her so tight she could never put herself in danger again.

  Alone in the most dangerous part of London. Without even a maid or footman. He felt sick. Anything could have happened. What could she have been thinking?

  By the time they’d reached the sanctuary of his library, he’d managed to force his anger under some modicum of control. She refused to sit, so they stood facing each other across his wide desk. He crossed his arms and frowned, obviously forbiddingly because her hands twisted nervously in her skirts.

  “Stop trying to intimidate me.”

  Despite the circumstances, he admired her spirit. “I hope you have some explanation for why I found my wife at the door of a place where no lady should be?”

  Her hands clenched into tight fists. She visibly bristled at the word lady—as if he were personally disparaging her. She lifted her chin, some of the defiance returning. “I have been in such a place before—whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

  Although she’d meant it to shock him, her words had a very different effect. They made him think about why she would put herself in danger. There had to be a connection to her past. “Does this have something to do with the place where Hawk found you?”

  Their eyes met. His heart clenched at the pain in her expression, for a moment he forgot his anger. She turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Perhaps he was beginning to. “Try me.”

  She stared at him for a long time, apparently weighing her words carefully. She took a deep breath. “I want to give those girls a choice.”

  Thrilled that she’d chosen to confide in him, he forced the skepticism from his voice. “What kind of choice?”

  “I’ve offered employment and an education to anyone who applies.”

  He couldn’t hide his horror. She smiled wistfully at his expression. “Don’t worry, at my manor in Gloucestershire.”

  Relief that she wasn’t filling Huntingdon House with doxies gave way to sudden understanding. Whatever had happened to her in America, for whatever reason she’d found herself at a brothel, it had had a profound effect on her. Enough that she wanted to help girls in similar circumstances. He winced, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction in the face of her compassion. Something e