Chapter Sixteen
Genevieve inspected the word shield she’d created one last time.
She’d had a lot of failed attempts, so it had taken her a few days to turn the pasteboard, ribbon, foolscap, thread, glue, and fabric that she had gathered from the Davenport’s staff into her vision.
She was especially proud of the gold embroidered letters on the ribbon.
She’d stayed up late last night, taking care that each stitch was meticulous.
One of the benefits of working so hard on her project was that it kept her from obsessing about her almost first kiss.
Her strenuous boxing lessons also provided respite from her obsession with Jonathan’s lips.
In fact, she’d been training so aggressively that Franny insisted she take tonight off to let her muscles rest.
As much as she enjoyed the every other day runs beneath Mother Nature’s exquisite sunrises, they were just another reminder of how much she ached for Jonathan Davenport to press his lips to hers.
Jonathan might poke fun at his running ability, but the truth was, he was exceedingly athletic, and his silly acrobatics, which included leaps, tumbling somersaults, and handstands during the middle of their road work, were immensely entertaining, endearing him to her further.
Woefully, although he was sometimes flirtatious, he had kept his physical distance since that late afternoon almost a week ago.
She’d visited his study every day since, and there had been no icing licked from her finger or strong arms pulling her close.
And yet, he always seemed pleased to see her.
His smile was broad, and his eyes twinkled whether they were in his study, enjoying a meal, playing with Horatio in the small garden, or training at the gymnasium.
A few days ago, Lady Davenport had provided her with a fine drawing book bound with ribbon, and Genevieve had sketched pictures of animals in advance. She’d reported to his study, shown Jonathan the pictures, then spelled the animal beneath her drawing in big letters.
“Cat… Dog… Rabbit…Owl.” He’d gotten every word correct until she’d held up a picture of a cow. “Camel,” he said.
She shook her head.
“That is the bloody worst sketch of a camel I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And you misspelled it. It’s not C O W.” For a moment, she’d been confused, but then she realized he was teasing her. She was rather an abysmal artist.
“Mayhap you draw better with icing.” He’d smirked. “I can offer any part of my body you would like as a canvas.”
As in his back, where his shoulders were broad? Or his chest, where muscles bulged?
Not only had her cheeks heated with embarrassment, but her body had also caught on fire. Despite his suggestive offer, he still hadn’t tried to kiss her again.
“Gen,” he had eventually said, his tone deadly serious, “I appreciate your effort, but I can read the words in isolation. Well, most of the time, and if there aren’t too many letters.”
He had tapped at the pile of documents on his desk. “These are what I have to read, and I must find a trustworthy man of business to help me with them. I’ve interviewed a couple of men, but no one suits.” He sighed. “There are so many words and letters moving about.”
At least now she knew that he was conducting interviews for a man of business.
She hated to see him glowering, and his pile seemed to grow every day.
If someone didn’t help him, he would soon drown in a tidal wave of ledgers and documents.
She wanted to offer assistance more than anything in the world.
He was doing so much for her that she had to return the favor.
He’d proven that he could decipher single words.
He’d also indicated the letters moved around and were sometimes backwards, and more than once he’d said, “… so many letters and words.” Is there a way to trick his brain and eyes into thinking the documents have fewer words?
she’d pondered. And that was when her idea for a shield was born.
Returning from her memories to the task at hand, she placed her invention atop a page of Emma.
Designed for documents, her shield hung over the edge of the page.
Still, she gently tugged on the ribbon, revealing one word at a time.
Once she reached the end of the text, she lowered the shield and pushed the slider all the way to the left.
With a gentle tug, she started over, unveiling one letter, then the next, until the entire word was visible.
Pausing, she turned from her small escritoire to share her moment of triumph with Horatio. Sprawled out on her bed, his chin resting on a pillow, he watched her through sleepy eyes.
“Horatio, it works,” she said. And even though it wasn’t the perfect fit, it was enough. “I hope it helps Jonathan.”
Horatio blinked.
She probably shouldn’t refer to the viscount by his given name. But what did it matter? He’d never hear her do so, and Horatio certainly didn’t care. “Shall we take it to him now?” she asked.
Her pup sat up and smiled.
“Come along, then,” she said as she gathered the shield and the heartfelt, truthful note she’d written earlier.
Horatio at her side, her materials clutched to her bosom, and butterflies fluttering in her chest, she strolled down the hall, immersed in her thoughts.
Life was perfect. Well, almost perfect, besides her overwhelming attraction to a man who didn’t seem to share her feelings. Deep inside, she couldn’t help but wonder if he still saw her as the filthy boy from the alley.
And then there were the nights she cried herself to sleep, her fragile, smudged note from her brother on her nightstand. Somehow, someway, she had to find the courage to sneak back to Terrace House to see if Christopher had sent her a message.
Lately, she’d been feeling brave. Perhaps she would go tonight, since she had the evening free.
If Kilsby happened to stumble upon her, she would bloody his nose.
According to everyone at The Silk Knuckles, her combinations were sharp and quick.
Once she pummeled the dickens out of him, she would run away. There was no way he could catch her.
“Who would have guessed that such a small package could contain such power,” she’d overheard one of the male pugilists at the gymnasium say.
“Technique, work ethic, and passion go a long way,” Coach Valentine had said.
Apparently, she missed her siblings so much that now she was even crying in the middle of the afternoon, because tears trickled down her cheeks. She had been so excited to present Jonathan with a gift. It would not do to give it to him while she boohooed. She swiped her tears and composed herself.
They reached the study, then hesitated. What if her invention didn’t help? It was unsophisticated and not very sturdy. So much for feeling pride.
Horatio stared up at her, his head tilted as if asking, Why are you standing here when we have a viscount to jump on and lick?
After one final sniffle and swipe, she knocked.
The last few days, it seemed as though Jonathan had been prepared for Horatio’s jubilant greeting. Today was no exception. He opened the door and ushered them in.
“What ho, Floppy?” he said, bending down to pat the pup. Once they’d thoroughly fawned over each other with kisses and a few, “Good, good boys,” Jonathan stood, and Horatio curled up in his favorite light beam.
“How are you this afternoon, Gen?” Jonathan asked.
It had only been a few hours since they’d had an afternoon repast, during which the Davenports had practically force-fed her cauliflower, carrots, and beef.
“We must put weight on you,” Jonathan had declared, like he did every meal.
“Muscles,” he’d added as he folded his bicep and grunted.
His muscle strained the fabric of his tailcoat.
Genevieve had tried not to giggle at the table but had failed.
Meanwhile, Lady Davenport had pursed her lips, but her eyes had been as mischievous as her son’s.
Muscles, blubber, it did not matter; if Genevieve continued to consume piles of food, she’d no longer fit into her borrowed dresses.
But that was a concern for another day because currently, her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear Jonathan’s gentle voice over the increasing pace of the thump, thump.
He frowned. “Were you crying?”
She wanted this to be a happy moment, so she shook her head.
His brow rose as if he didn’t believe her.
Shoving her homesickness for her siblings deep and hoping to distract him, she smiled. She may also have fluttered her lashes.
He seemed to shake off his skepticism, because by the time he strolled around behind his desk and faced her, he was smiling.
“What lesson do you have for me on this fine afternoon?” He tapped on the back of a chair that he had pulled beside his, then pulled it out, as a gentleman should. “Please, join me.”
She approached, arranged her skirt, and sat.
“No icing, pictures of animals, or color cards today?” he asked as he sat beside her.
Lawks, the color cards had been a disaster, just another way she’d treated him as a dimwit instead of an intelligent peer of the realm. In her defense, her heart had been in the right place, and she wasn’t a trained teacher.
She handed him the word shield.
“Did you make this?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Interesting.” He ran his finger over the gold embroidery. “Lovely stitching. JD. My initials, so I assume this is for me.” His baritone soft, he thanked her. “A blue ribbon. You remembered my favorite color.”
She never forgot anything he said.
He turned it over and then held it upside down.
She suspected that he had no idea what it was, and he didn’t want to inquire and sound ungrateful.
She reached for the document that was on top of the Pile of Despair and folded it in half.
Demonstrating, she placed the fabric-covered pasteboard on top of the paper.
She gently tugged on the ribbon, which in turn moved the fabric-encased foolscap.
Like magic, the letter M was revealed in the slim cutout window.
She continued until the word Manor was visible.
Meanwhile, the rest of the document remained hidden.
“Fascinating,” Jonathan said. “So, this only reveals a letter, or a word, or a line of text at a time?”
Nodding enthusiastically, she demonstrated how to reset each line and move it down the page.
“’Tis ingenious. I shall give it a try. I suppose you folded the document in half so that I only read half a page at a time.”
He understood perfectly. So far, this was going exactly as planned. Before she could change her mind, she traded his document for the note she’d written to him.
“You want me to read this?”
She nodded.
Jonathan took hold of the ribbon and slowly pulled it to the side, reading out loud as he slowly deciphered each word.
“I want to talk, but when I try, it feels like someone is squeezing my neck, so the words get stuck. It also feels like there is a heavy weight on my chest.” He paused to swallow, the spark in his eyes gone.
“My throat is paralyzed, and I freeze, and if I do manage to talk, the sound is so horrible it is humiliating.”
He struggled a bit with the word paralyzed but eventually sounded it out.
“Oh, Gen,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “I am so sorry. I assumed as much but thank you for explaining your circumstances to me.”
She hadn’t meant to depress him, but she had to tell him the truths she could. Pointing at the note, she encouraged him to go on. Meanwhile, she held her breath because he was about to read one of her secrets out loud.
He slid the shield down the page, then reset the slider and read, “I could talk until I was 10 years old. That is when I watched my mother die. Dear God. You were so young.” He met her gaze, his expression and tone sympathetic. “Did…did Kilsby… murder her?”
She should have anticipated that he would ask that, but she hadn’t.
She had expected him to assume her mother had died of consumption or a fever and not to jump to murder immediately.
But as awful as Lord Kilsby was, to her knowledge, he wasn’t a killer.
The evil malefactor was her father, the Earl of Shipley’s brother. She shook her head vehemently.
“I’ll kill Kilsby,” he roared so loudly that Horatio sat up. “I’ll wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze. Hell, I’ll cut out his heart and shove it down his throat. I’ll slice off his bollocks—”
“Jonathan,” she softly said as she pressed her finger to his lips. “No.”
Jonathan clamped his lips closed, his eyes so round they reminded her of carriage wheels. Then his lips parted. “Gen, you just spoke.”
By God, she had, and she’d shocked herself as much as she’d shocked him.
“Jonathan,” she said again, his name spilling from her lips like the anticipated first chords of an orchestra.
Realizing that her finger was still pressed to his lips, she dropped her hand.
She’d disclosed too much, too soon. What had made her think this was a good idea?
Someone should slap some sense into her.
And the worst part was he still hadn’t read the last line.
Although now that she had come this far, there was no turning back.
They sat in silence, the only sound her thudding heart. The air seemed to grow heavy with emotion and unsaid words.
Before she could change her mind and snatch her note back, she stood and moved the shield down the page.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
She had no idea, but she couldn’t stay here, watching him decipher this message.
She’d wither away to nothingness if his jaw tensed or he gawked at her as if she were a sentimental goose.
Or even worse, told her he could never return the sentiment.
Gathering her skirt in her hands so that she didn’t trip as she fled, she hurried to the door.
Horatio sneezed in indignation but followed her.
“Gen,” Jonathan called.
She ignored him, leaving him to read the rest of her message on his own.