Chapter 3 #2
Henry set his teacup on its saucer. “Ginny’s right to be concerned about the Martins, though. We can’t rightfully assume anyone with German ancestry must be sympathetic to their cause, can we, Fisher?”
Something in Henry’s words chastened Stephen. He cleared his throat and his smile to Ginger faltered. “I was merely playing devil’s advocate. It’s good for Ginny to know what she’s up against.”
Under the tent, the clink of silverware against porcelain interrupted the din of conversation occasionally. Guests sat at their tables listening to the strains of the violins while footmen served ices.
She met Charlotte’s encouraging gaze briefly. “I know what I’m up against, Stephen. I’m up against a group of individuals who would rather not bother with the trials that are changing the lives of a few people who they consider beneath them.”
Ginger stood. “If you’re able to help, as Henry suggested in the first place, I’d be grateful for it. Otherwise, I don’t need the education you seem so eager to provide.”
She sped away from the tent, furious for allowing Stephen to rankle her in front of their friends.
Henry would be upset with her for acting impulsively.
A breeze caught her hat. She held on to the brim, her face flaming.
Why couldn’t she control herself? She’d done so well over the Season, being polite and smiling.
Laughing at jokes and even enjoying vapid conversations of no actual substance.
But Stephen’s proposal meant she could no longer pretend it wasn’t all heading into something more.
The sounds of the party faded as she headed into the immaculately landscaped hedges forming a wall around one garden. She pushed a gate to the side and slipped inside, longing for privacy.
“Ginny!” Stephen caught her by the elbow as she moved to close the gate.
Ugh. Why did he always have to follow her? She gritted her teeth. “I don’t appreciate being made fun of. I care about this. What happens to the Martins is about so much more than them. How can we turn a blind eye to the good people caught in this situation?”
He encroached on her space. Slipping both hands onto her shoulders, his fingertips curled over her collarbone.
Too close and intimate. She stiffened. “I didn’t intend to poke fun at you, but I apologize.
I love you, Ginny. I had hoped you would give me your answer by now.
” His thumbs rubbed gentle circles over the tense knots on her shoulders, making goose bumps rise on her neck.
She pulled away and turned, leveling her gaze at him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be married.”
A frustrated look crossed Stephen’s face, and he stepped back.
“Not ready? Ginny, we’re about to go to war.
Who knows what it will mean for me in the coming months?
Either you’ll marry me or you won’t. It’s simple.
We’re compatible in every way. And I’d give you all the privilege and prestige worthy of your name. You’d want for nothing with me.”
The hum of bees amidst the sweet perfume of flowers ought to have been more comforting than it was right now.
“But it’s not simple. I—” She caught her breath, trying to find the right words. He took her hand, his skin feeling cool against hers. His unwelcome touch made her stomach quiver. Staring at his hand, she clenched her jaw. “I want to know it’s the right choice for my life. For both of us.”
He laughed and reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette case. “You know it is. Both our families have always known. There isn’t any doubt in my mind we should be together. I’m astounded you seem to think there is.”
“But this has nothing to do with the Martins. You should help me regardless of whether I agree to marry you. You should help me because it’s the decent thing to do.”
Stephen lit a cigarette and stepped closer to her. “I only want to protect you, Ginny. If you’d let me, I’d have married you years ago. I’ll always dream of you.” His hand slipped behind her back, drawing her in more closely.
He’d ignored her. Burning with latent fury, Ginger craned her neck away from the scent of tobacco smoke. “Did you tell Henry you’d help me in order to corner me like this or because you can actually help?”
Stephen blew a stream of smoke from the corner of his lips. His eyes narrowed. “Cornered?” He took another drag from his cigarette. “Perhaps you should think more carefully about how you’re speaking to me. If I could help, you wouldn’t be so rude, would you?”
She looked him directly in the eye. “Can you help me or not?”
“I can help you.” Stephen ran his fingers over the edge of her collarbone, then traced the back of his knuckle against her jawline.
“It so happens a friend of mine works for the Home Secretary. I can send him an urgent message. Let him know about this situation and see what he can do.” Stephen’s look was stern.
“But I can’t make any promises, Ginny. It will take more than your word alone to assure them the younger Martin isn’t a spy. ”
Ginger longed to step away from him but couldn’t. Not when he held the cards. “What about Mr. Martin?”
“I doubt we can do much for him. His refusal to nationalize won’t speak in his favor. But I’ll ask.” His eyes scanned hers as though gauging her response to his touch.
“Thank you.” The idea of Stephen acting as her intermediary didn’t entirely comfort her. “What’s your friend’s name at the Home Secretary’s office? So I know who to tell my father to send a note to?”
Stephen’s gaze strayed, as though to make sure they were alone.
Would he attempt something like a kiss, knowing he had the means to manipulate her?
She held her breath. A bird’s wings fluttered as it landed in a fountain further in the garden.
The bird tilted its head, watching her with a beady dark eye.
If only she had wings to fly away, like it did.
After a moment, he said, “David Peterson. But tell him to wait until I’ve made inquiries.” He held out his hand. “Now. Since that’s behind us, care to stroll back to the tent as friends? We wouldn’t want everyone to believe we’ve been having any sort of unpleasantness.”
Behave. She resisted the urge to flee. She’d feel less trapped with both feet in a peat bog than she did with him.
She smiled, relieved, and took his hand. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”
As they made their way toward the tent, Ginger searched for Charlotte. She spotted her standing beside her husband, smiling. Robert was in animated conversation with her about something.
Her heart lurched. Charlotte could have married the future Earl of Braddock. She’d rejected Henry for Robert—a man whose family name did not appear in Burke’s Peerage.
She wished she could simply tell him no, be done with it. Defy her father and not worry about the consequences. But was she as brave as Charlotte?