Chapter Four #2
This felt so wrong, like treachery of the worst sort.
If he chose to confide in her once he knew she understood every word he said, that would be different.
She had to find a way to tell him she’d lost her voice.
Well, mostly lost it. When no one was around she could whisper to Horatio.
And she could talk to her siblings. If only they were here.
She swiped at the tears suddenly dripping down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Blue,” he said. “You’ll get soil, and lord knows what else, in those pretty eyes. And besides, we are home.”
*
Jonathan helped Genevieve down from the carriage as if she were a genteel lady, which she supposed she no longer was.
Of course, if she were, her carriage ride across town with a gentleman without a chaperone would destroy her reputation.
But no one cared about a filthy street woman’s reputation.
Tragic, truly. What a cruel world this was.
“May I present Greenpark House,” he said with a gentlemanly bow.
Swallowing another lump in her throat, Genevieve sniffled.
How was she to get a hold of her emotions when he’d referred to Greenpark House as home?
Especially since the white four-story brick townhouse reminded her of a larger, grander version of her family’s Terrace Place.
It even boasted an ornate second-floor bowed window, and a wrought iron fence spanned the length of the elegant building.
The front door opened, and a man in his middling years, wearing a banyan and holding a candle, stepped to the side so that they could enter. Genevieve and Horatio padded into a grand foyer of polished marble, fresh flowers, and softly glowing wall sconces.
“Peters, my good man, I’ve told you that you don’t need to wait up for me. But tonight, I’m glad you did. We have guests.” Jonathan swept his arm, presenting the filthy duo. “Miss Blue and Floppy.”
Peters, who must be a stellar butler, regarded her without a hint of emotion on his face. Genevieve didn’t detect even the slightest questioning brow, or an offended nostril sniff.
“Put them in the front room,” Jonathan directed. “Wake whoever you need to assist you and see that they both have a bath. Have Diana deliver some of Caroline’s old dresses to Miss Blue, and make sure she also has a pair of clean breeches and one of my shirts.”
“Yes, sir,” Peters said. “Should I wake the dowager viscountess?”
It seemed Jonathan Davenport was a viscount, which did not surprise Genevieve in the least.
“Not this time,” Lord Davenport said. “Let my mother sleep. But as soon as she wakes up in the morning, let her know that we have guests. We shall have a formal breakfast.”
“Yes, sir,” Peters said.
Did not this time mean Jonathan usually had his mother awakened when he showed up in the middle of the night with house guests? And what about his wife, the viscountess? If the pretty woman was indeed his wife, was she also to be alerted to Genevieve’s arrival?
“Have a tray of food sent up to Miss Blue’s room right away,” Lord Davenport said. “Add some fruit, biscuits, and sweetmeats. I promised Floppy bacon, and he needs a large bowl of water.”
“Of course, sir.” Peters turned to Genevieve. “Miss Blue, would you prefer tea, chocolate, or brandy?”
Oh, how she loved chocolate. Although tea might be nice. Then again, brandy might help her sleep.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Lord Davenport said. “I haven’t discovered where she is from yet. Mayhap she is Italian. Do you speak Italian, Peters?”
“No, sir. But the Easterly’s cook is Portuguese.”
“Portuguese,” the viscount said. “Hmm. Interesting. Could be.”
This was ridiculous. What if he spent the next few days trying to talk to her in every language there was? Meanwhile, she would continue to nod her head and stare at him like a nincompoop. Sometimes she truly hated herself.
“Why don’t you send up chocolate, tea, and brandy?” the viscount suggested. “And don’t forget, water for the mutt.”
“Of course, sir.” Peters pursed his lips, showing emotion for the first time.
“What is it?” Lord Davenport asked.
“I mean no disrespect, sir, but do you know why she is dressed as a man?”
Genevieve’s cheeks once again heated.
Lord Davenport tilted his head and looked her over from head to toe. “Mayhap to protect herself. The streets are rough. Deadly for a woman.”
Genevieve wanted to yell, Yes! You are correct. However, she was too nervous to do anything but stare like a dolt.
Her host shrugged. “Whatever her reasons are, we should respect them. See that she has her choice of both men’s and women’s clothing.”
What a kind-hearted, free-thinking man. His wife, or fiancée, was so fortunate.
“Good evening, my lord.” Peters bowed dutifully. “Come along, Miss Blue. Please bring your dog.”
Genevieve and Horatio left a shameful trail of muddy prints behind them as Peters escorted them up the stairs and down a hallway.
Peters halted in front of a door. “I hope you are very comfortable, miss.” Opening the door wide, he entered behind her.
He used the flame from his candle to light the lamps, and then presented a feminine room decorated in shades of green and rose.
“Make yourself comfortable while I see to the preparations. It should not take long. We are getting quite good at this.”
Obviously, there was nothing special about her, or her blue eyes, and Viscount Jonathan Davenport had a habit of showing up in the middle of the night with women requiring hot baths and clean clothing.
Her heart only hurt for a moment because she would not allow herself to feel anything but grateful.
Willing Peters to understand that she was sorry for both making a mess on the pristine floors and keeping him awake, she sent him a mental message.
However, before she’d finished her thought, he’d backed out of the room, leaving her and Horatio alone.
She removed her boots so that she didn’t muck up the plush carpeting.
As much as she desired to crawl beneath the warm counterpane, she didn’t want to get the bedding dirty.
She snuggled into the viscount’s coat and settled herself cross-legged on the floor beside the door.
Horatio tracked big sticky paw prints around the perimeter of the room.
Eventually, he turned in two circles and curled up beneath the large window.
Someone knocked on the door, then entered before she had a chance to stand. A woman about her age, wearing nightclothes, carried a half dozen dresses.
“Miss Blue, I’m Diana,” the maid said nonchalantly, as if it were commonplace to find vagrants sitting on the floor of the viscount’s guest chamber.
Genevieve nodded and smiled.
The woman crossed the room to hang a couple of dresses in the wardrobe. She carried a nightdress to the bed and draped it over the gilded footboard.
“’Tis been so boring since Miss Josephine left. His lordship showed up with her just like he did with you. But she didn’t have a dog. Oh, my, she was trouble at first.” Diana laughed. “But we all came to love her. There isn’t a day we don’t miss her.”
Genevieve assumed that Caroline was the viscount’s sister, so who was Miss Josephine? Was that the curvaceous woman who’d been with him earlier in the evening?
There was another knock on the door. Diana opened it for two men carrying a tub. Three other men also entered, then proceeded to chase Horatio around the room. Eventually, they tethered him to a rope, then dragged him toward the door.
“We’ll return him when he is clean,” one of the men called to her.
Sights, sounds, and smells whirled around Genevieve as servants charged in and out of the room, delivering hot water, food, and drinks.
Someone even started a fire in the hearth.
Someone else scrubbed the muddy paw prints from the carpeting.
Once the action quieted, Diana and another maid peeled away the filthy rags that mud and dirt had adhered to her body, but not before she saved her precious letter and deposited it in the escritoire in the corner.
Once she was alone, Genevieve nibbled on a delicious almond biscuit while sinking into the steaming bathwater. After she scrubbed layers of filth from her body, massaged a rose-scented soap into her skin, and washed her hair, she closed her eyes and relaxed.
One thing had become quite clear—her handsome savior had a habit of bringing home strays.