The Marrying Season Page 5

  Genevieve whirled to run, but more quickly than she would have imagined for a man so drunk, he pounced, his hand clamping around her arm and whirling her back around. Genevieve drew her right arm back and launched her doubled-up fist straight at his face, as she had seen Alec do. She hit him square in the nose, sending a shock up her arm and blood spurting onto his white cravat.

  He shrieked, his arms pinwheeling as he sought to regain his balance. He hooked a hand into the neck of her dress just as Genevieve pivoted to flee from him, and her bodice tore as Langdon crashed to the floor.

  At that moment, a shocked male voice said, “Lady Genevieve!”

  Genevieve turned around to see Lord Dursbury, his stepmother, Sir Myles, and several others standing in the doorway, gaping at her.

  Myles had danced with Lady Dursbury, then with the shy Miss Halford. Feeling his duty done, he returned the girl to Lady Dursbury, thinking he would seek out Genevieve if she was not standing with her fiancé. Much as he enjoyed a bit of conversation with Genevieve, he refused to endure Dursbury’s talking about . . . well, it didn’t matter what; any topic, whether it was horses, cards, or the opera, all turned stultifying in his mouth.

  However, when he and Miss Halford strolled into the outer hall, where Lady Dursbury was standing with her stepson and several of his friends, Myles could not, without rudeness, simply leave Miss Halford and walk away, so he suppressed a groan and paused to chat with the group for the smallest amount of time courtesy demanded.

  Suddenly a shriek came from down the hall, and everyone turned and started for the library. The group came to a shocked halt in the doorway. Genevieve stood in the middle of the library, hair straggling down from her once-elegant coiffure, her dress twisted and the bodice torn open, revealing her chemise. Foster Langdon was half-sprawled against the back of the sofa, disheveled, blood streaming from his nose.

  For a moment everyone was too shocked to speak or move. Myles took a step forward just as Lord Dursbury barked out Genevieve’s name. Myles stopped, recalling that it was Lord Dursbury’s place to go to his fiancée’s aid, not his.

  Genevieve, too, had whirled at the sound of Dursbury’s voice and was staring at them all with horror. She grabbed at her bodice, pulling up the torn half to cover herself. “L-Lord Dursbury!”

  “What is the meaning of all this?” Dursbury demanded. “Lady Genevieve, what is going on here? This is most irregular.”

  “What the devil is wrong with you, Dursbury?” Myles stared at the other man in astonishment. When Dursbury did not move, Myles strode across the room to Genevieve. Langdon, seeing him coming, scrambled away, but Myles did not bother to chase him, instead shrugging off his jacket and draping it around Genevieve’s shoulders.

  “Thank you, Myles,” Genevieve said through bloodless lips. Her face ashen, she faced her fiancé, who had come farther into the room. “I—when I came in . . . he . . .” Her voice wavered.

  “Good Lord, man, anyone can see what happened,” Myles told Dursbury. “That blackguard obviously attacked her. And, from the looks of it, she drew his cork.” He regarded Genevieve with pride. “Good girl. I always knew you would show well in a mill. Got bottom.” He gave her a grin.

  Genevieve smiled back somewhat tremulously. “Well, I am a Stafford.”

  “Are you jesting about this?” Dursbury exclaimed incredulously.

  “No, of course not, Dursbury,” Genevieve said a trifle testily, her voice strengthening. “It’s as Myles said: Langdon tried to kiss me, and we tussled.”

  There were gasps from Lady Dursbury and Miss Halford, and Lord Dursbury grew even stiffer. “Tussled? You say it as if nothing happened.”

  “Nothing did happen, fortunately,” Genevieve answered. “I hit him before he could harm me.”

  Dursbury’s eyebrows soared toward his hairline. “Nothing? You think this is nothing?” He swept his arm out as if to encompass the room and all the people in it. “What of your reputation? Your good name? What of mine?”

  Genevieve narrowed her eyes. “Your name? I fail to see that this has anything to do with your name.”

  “You are my betrothed!” he snapped. “It has everything to do with my name. You are the future Lady Dursbury.”

  “I am already Genevieve Stafford.” Genevieve’s face was no longer ashen; bright red washed her cheekbones, and her eyes were a piercing blue. “And that is as good a name as any in this kingdom.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you went into the library with a man!”

  “Careful, Dursbury.” Myles stiffened beside Genevieve, his voice hard. “You would not want to say anything you will later regret.”

  “I did not go into the library with a man,” Genevieve shot back. “I came in here by myself and he just happened to be here.” She swung around to point at Langdon, but he was no longer in the room. The door at the other end of the room stood open, indicating where he had gone.

  “Bloody hell!” Myles burst out. “I should have grabbed the cur.”

  “To what purpose?” Dursbury asked coldly. “To create even more of an uproar?” He gestured vaguely to the area behind him, now crowded with people avidly watching the scene. “I think this situation is bad enough already without you beating some fellow senseless.”

  “I think beating him senseless would do a great deal to improve things,” Myles answered. “One can only wonder why Genevieve’s own fiancé doesn’t want to do the job himself!”

  “Because, unlike you and Genevieve and her brother, I prefer to stay away from scandal.” He turned to Genevieve. “Whatever happened, it is quite clear you placed yourself in this situation, my lady. You were alone with Langdon. You have caused yourself to be the subject of gossip. And you have embroiled my family in scandal, as well. It is insupportable. Your behavior is not that of the Countess of Dursbury. I regret, my lady, that I can no longer in good conscience marry you.”

  After an instant of stunned silence, Myles strode forward. “I didn’t get a chance to give Langdon what he deserved. But I can bloody well give it to you.” His right arm shot out, catching Dursbury squarely on his chin and knocking him to the ground.

  Myles turned to Genevieve, offering her his arm. “Genevieve?”

  She stepped up beside him, twisting her engagement ring from her finger. Dropping it on Dursbury’s chest, she took Myles’s arm, and they stalked out of the room.

  Myles whisked Genevieve out of the house, pausing only long enough to tell a footman to inform the Earl of Rawdon that he was taking Lady Genevieve home. Genevieve, humiliatingly aware of all the eyes staring at her with avid curiosity, carefully kept her face a cool mask of hauteur. She would not give any of them the satisfaction of her breaking down . . . or even of looking as if she cared for their opinion.

  Myles handed Genevieve into a hack and climbed in after her. She sank back against the seat, the shame she had refused to show the world washing over her now that she was safe from prying eyes.

  “I am so sorry, Genevieve.” Myles took her hand, and Genevieve surprised them both by curling her fingers tightly around his.

  “Thank you.” She knew he must regret sending her the note that had caused her to wind up in the library, but there was no reason. “It was my own fault for going there.”

  “You couldn’t have known Langdon would be in there.” Myles scowled. “Dursbury’s a fool. Worse than a fool.”

  “Yes.” Genevieve tightened her grasp on his hand. “Promise me, Myles, you must keep Alec from attacking Langdon. Or Dursbury. It will only make the scandal worse. Grandmama will be humiliated.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry about the countess. I am sure she is tougher than any of us. I shall shadow Alec if I have to. But my guess is Damaris will manage him.”

  That statement was enough to bring a faint smile to Genevieve’s lips. She was glad to go along with Myles’s attempt to lighten the mood. “She does have a way with him. No one else has ever managed it.”

  “Lo
ve does odd things to a man, or so I’m told.”

  “Come, Myles. Do not tell me that you have never been in love.” She cut her eyes toward him with the ghost of a roguish twinkle.

  “Oh, no, a hundred times at least,” he said lightly, his hand reassuringly warm and strong around hers. “The problem is I find myself out of love as quickly as I fell into it.”

  “No doubt leaving behind some jeweled trinket as an expression of your esteem.”

  “Dear girl! Wherever did you hear such shocking things?”

  “I am not entirely ignorant, no matter how the world strives to keep a maiden that way. Everyone knows men have their little affairs,” Genevieve said airily.

  The carriage rolled to a halt, saving Myles from having to answer, and they went inside.

  “Have tea and brandy brought to the drawing room,” Myles told the footman, and started with Genevieve for that room.

  “I am fine,” Genevieve protested. “I don’t need a brandy.”

  “Well, I do.” But when the butler brought the tray of drinks, Myles poured a healthy dollop of the fiery alcohol in Genevieve’s cup, as well. She took a sip, grimacing at the sharp taste, and sat down. A large, white puffball of a cat came into the room and stopped just inside the doorway, as if posing for an admiring audience.

  “Xerxes!” Genevieve smiled, beckoning to the cat.

  “Oh, the devil!” Myles said under his breath. The cat and Myles regarded each other balefully for a moment. Then, with a twitch of his tail, Xerxes turned, dismissing Myles, and stalked over to jump into Genevieve’s lap.

  Tears threatened Genevieve again, but she swallowed hard and ran her hand down Xerxes’s back. The cat narrowed his eyes to slits, a low rumble rising from his chest, and Genevieve’s tightly held shoulders relaxed as well, as she continued to pet him.

  The front door slammed open, the noise reverberating through the house, and Alec strode through the doorway. “Genevieve? Myles? What the devil is going on? Morecombe’s footman gave us your message; we thought Genevieve had taken a fall or some such thing.”

  Genevieve let out a snort. “I took a fall, certainly, though not the sort you mean. I am surprised no one told you.”

  “Everyone was buzzing, but we left without pausing to speak to anyone.” Damaris came into the room behind Alec, the dowager countess beside her.

  “Well?” Alec looked from Myles to his sister. “Is anyone going to bother to explain?”

  “Foster Langdon made improper advances to your sister, so she planted a facer on him,” Myles summarized.

  “The devil you say!” Alec scowled. “That sneaking little scoundrel. I always knew he was a loose fish.”

  “He was in his cups,” Genevieve said, “or I don’t think he would have dared try to kiss me. He never has been anything but annoying before.”

  Damaris went over to Genevieve and knelt beside her chair, laying her hand on Genevieve’s arm. “Are you all right, dear? Did he hurt you?”

  “Only my pride. He was drunk as a wheelbarrow, and he assumed when I went into the library that I had come to see him. He was stretched out on the couch, and I didn’t see him until he sat up or I would never have gone in. He was most importunate when I started to leave, though in fairness, I do think it was an accident that he tore my gown.”

  “Tore your gown!” Alec thundered.

  Genevieve cast an appealing look at Myles, and he rose, going over to his friend.

  “Don’t erupt, Rawdon. Genevieve stopped him. She must have landed a damn fine punch, too. His blood was flowing like wine.”

  “Yes, I did, and no one would have known about it if the stupid man had not shrieked like a girl when I tromped on his foot.”

  “Ah, so you crippled him as well.” Pride mingled with laughter in Myles’s voice, and even Alec smiled faintly.

  “Where the devil does Langdon live?” Alec turned toward Myles.

  “Alec, no,” all three women chorused at once, and Damaris rose, laying both her hands on his arm.

  “Don’t be a fool,” his grandmother added sharply. “If you challenge him to a duel, it will only make the scandal worse.”

  “Duel? I wouldn’t challenge that worm to a duel; he isn’t enough of a gentleman for a challenge. I’ll use my fists.”

  “It won’t help to beat him to death, either,” Damaris pointed out, fixing her lovely, large eyes on Alec’s face, and she laid her palm on her abdomen, adding, “I don’t want our baby’s father in prison or having to flee to the Continent.”

  “That isn’t the worst of it,” Genevieve added.

  “There’s more?”

  “Yes.” Genevieve stood up, as if she must face them on her feet. “Dursbury and several others came running when Langdon screamed. And when he saw us, he—Dursbury repudiated me.”

  Alec and Damaris stared at Genevieve. Genevieve’s grandmother made an odd noise, like air escaping from a balloon, and sat down on the nearest chair.

  “I know where to find Dursbury.” Alec swung around and started toward the door.

  Damaris wrapped her arms around his arm and hung on. “Alec, stop. Think. You will make the scandal far worse if you go charging about beating everyone to a pulp.”

  “She’s right,” Myles agreed, positioning himself between Alec and the doorway. “It would only be harder for Genevieve.”

  Alec cursed, balling his fists at his sides in frustration.

  “Besides, Myles already hit Dursbury,” Genevieve told them.

  “Good.” Alec nodded at Myles.

  “The important thing now is Genevieve,” Damaris said, and turned toward her. “I am so sorry. I know this must be a terrible blow, but, truly, it is better you found out what sort of man Lord Dursbury is before you married him.”

  “Oh, Dursbury!” Genevieve said contemptuously, shrugging a shoulder. “I care not about losing him. Any more than he obviously cared about me. But my—” Her voice hitched. “My reputation is ruined now.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Alec told her.

  “Don’t be a fool, Alec,” his grandmother told him tartly. “We must worry. Genevieve’s future is at stake.”

  “It will blow over,” Alec said. “These things always do. The ton will move on to some other gossip.”

  “It is all very well for you to be careless about scandal,” Lady Rawdon said. “For a young, unmarried girl, this is disastrous. Surely you remember what happened to Caro Godfrey after she and Mowbry were found alone in the Willhavens’ garden last year.”

  “No.” Alec looked at her blankly.

  “Well, I will tell you: he would not marry her, and everyone dropped her. She’ll never make a decent marriage now. And they were not even found en flagrante. That Nettleton girl, the one who came out when your mother did—her fiancé jilted her, and she could never show her face in the ton again.”

  “She’s right,” Genevieve agreed heavily. “Langdon had his arms around me; my dress was torn. You know everyone will believe that we—we were—” She stopped, her voice choked.

  “No one who knows you would believe that,” Damaris assured Genevieve, going over to put an arm around her comfortingly.

  “Of course not,” Myles agreed.

  “You know better than that, Myles,” Genevieve said scornfully. “Alec may not follow the rules, but you understand them.”

  Myles shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and said, “It could have all been smoothed over if Dursbury had not been such an imbecile.”

  “Yes, of course,” the countess agreed. “If only Dursbury had stood by her, it would not be irreparable. There would have been a scandal, but the wedding could have been moved up, and soon the tongues would have stopped wagging.”

  “But he did not,” Genevieve said bitterly. “No one will believe that I was innocent now. Dursbury as good as confirmed to the world that I am a trollop. Not only that, they’ll say that the horrid scandal sheet was right, that he seized the first opportunity to throw me over.”


  “I know how to deal with anyone who spreads such rumors,” Alec said grimly, his fists knotting.

  “You may shut people up, my boy, but you cannot make them accept Genevieve,” Lady Rawdon said flatly. “You cannot keep them from cutting her in public. You cannot make them send her invitations or come to call on us.”

  “Surely they would not dare offend you so, ma’am,” Damaris protested.

  “Society is unforgiving. Few would snub me, of course, but am I to go where my granddaughter is not invited? I think not.” The old lady stood fiercely straight.

  “I have brought scandal on the whole family.” Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away. “I am so sorry, Grandmama.”

  “I know, dear.” The countess sighed. “But I fear nothing could save your reputation now but marriage.”

  “She has to marry that maggot Langdon?” Alec thundered.

  “No!” Myles exclaimed, shocked.

  “I will not,” Genevieve declared. “I’d rather be a pariah the rest of my life than marry that swine. And don’t say you will force Dursbury to give me his ring again, Alec. I refuse to marry him, either.”

  “Then the only thing for you to do is retire to Castle Cleyre,” their grandmother said.

  “Surely not,” Damaris said in dismay.

  “Lord Turnbury married a bird of paradise,” Myles argued. “They didn’t flee to his estate.”

  “Oh, him,” the countess said witheringly. “It’s not as if the woman was received. Anyway, no matter how outrageous it was, it remains that they were wed. Marriage cures a multitude of sins. It covers a woman with the cloak of a gentleman’s good name. It gives one respectability, just as marrying a scoundrel colors one with his misdeeds.”

  “She’s right,” Genevieve said colorlessly as she sank back down into her chair. Silent tears spilled from her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks, but she kept her lips clamped together, refusing to break down into sobs.

  “Genny, no . . .” Myles turned to Genevieve’s grandmother. “It doesn’t have to be Langdon or Dursbury, surely. If Genevieve marries another man, it would save her reputation, would it not?”