Chapter 30
THIRTY
“So, what’s he like, the American?” Rory asked when Geneva met him the following day.
His gaze was anxious and searching, and she knew he was desperate to ask her other, more personal questions, but now wasn’t the time. And as before, she had no answers to give him, at least not ones he’d like.
“Not as awful as I thought he would be,” Geneva confessed.
“Should I be worried?”
The question was asked in jest, but Geneva couldn’t formulate a reply quickly enough to satisfy Rory, and he bristled.
“You’ve changed your mind about us,” he said accusingly.
“I haven’t,” Geneva protested, but even she knew there was little conviction in her voice.
“You have. You came running to me when you thought all was lost, but, now that the heir apparent is handsome and charming, suddenly you are presented with a more attractive option.”
“Rory, I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he snapped. “I understand. Marrying this man will solve all your problems. You will retain your status, your home, and the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.
You won’t have to sacrifice a thing. You can be married at St. Michael’s, in the presence of your approving family and lifelong friends,” he added angrily.
“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? My religion. ”
“In part, yes,” Geneva retorted. “And if you tell me that the difference in our faiths is of no consequence, I won’t believe you. It matters, Rory.”
“Then let’s talk about it. Properly this time. We’ve been dancing around the practicalities since the day you came to my cottage. Let’s get it all out in the open.”
“Rory,” Geneva began, but suddenly realized she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.
He was right. On paper, Jesse was unquestionably the right choice, even if family and friends would whisper behind their hands that he was not quite the right sort—little better than a peasant when measured against the pedigree and accomplishments of his British forebears.
In reality, the situation was more complicated, but things would be just as complicated, if not more so, with Rory.
She could hardly tell him that it wasn’t merely his faith that prevented her from giving him a firm answer; it was everything.
Nothing about it felt right, and she regretted what had happened at his cottage.
It wasn’t entirely his fault. She had led him on, allowed him to believe she loved him and had welcomed his proposal, but she had led herself on as well.
She hadn’t been thinking clearly, and in her desperation she had made a mistake.
Now she lacked the courage to tell him the truth. Or perhaps she simply wanted to keep him dangling, in case things went wrong with Jesse, which they very well might. Jesse owed her nothing, and she had yet to discover whether there was someone waiting for him back home.
“Rory, I need time.”
Rory nodded and walked away without another word, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the lane.
He was understandably angry, but so was she.
It wasn’t as simple as marrying the man she loved and walking away from a situation that made her miserable.
For one thing, she didn’t even know if she loved Rory.
She liked him, had felt drawn to him before that fateful night, but was that love?
She had nothing to compare her feelings to.
She had never been in love before—had scarcely even been in like.
Rory was her first romantic experience, and what she felt for him bore little resemblance to her expectations.
But what could she have expected? All she knew of love came from books and the cinema, and that was not real life—at least not her life.
They were hardly Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw, or Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester.
And in truth, that was not the sort of love she desired.
She did not yearn for storms and anguish, but for something gentler and steadier, a love that was lasting and kind, not a relationship rooted in falsehood, tragedy, and despair.
And at this moment, she needed to set her own feelings aside and focus on the coming weeks—and on the party her father was so determined to host. They all knew it would be his last public appearance, and if he wanted to introduce Jesse as his successor and say goodbye to the people he’d known all his life, then it was up to her to fulfill his final wish and put a good face on it.
Geneva returned to the hall to find Honor and Jesse in the conservatory.
They were walking side by side among the plants.
Honor was talking excitedly, while Jesse listened and nodded at the appropriate times.
Honor’s anger seemed to have dissipated, and, if not wholeheartedly welcoming, she was at least friendly.
Geneva wasn’t certain if it was Honor’s personality or her age—or maybe a bit of both—but she bounced across the spectrum of human emotions as if she were a tennis ball.
Or maybe it was because Jesse was good-looking, and charming, and had seemed to find the right approach to Geneva’s capricious little sister.
“And we have to have music,” Honor was saying. “We have a gramophone, of course, but the records are not suitable for dancing. It’s mostly Mozart and Bach. And Strauss.” She made a face that reflected her horror, and Jesse laughed.
“They have their place,” he said. “I imagine many a couple first felt the stirrings of attraction while partnered in a waltz.”
“Why would they?” Honor asked, clearly surprised by Jesse’s observation.
“Because it’s a socially sanctioned opportunity to get very, very close,” Jesse replied, an amused grin tugging at his mouth. “Have you ever waltzed with anyone?”
“No,” Honor said rather sulkily. Then her expression brightened. “Will you show me?”
“Maybe not just now,” Geneva interrupted as she walked towards them down an avenue of palmettos.
“Spoilsport,” Honor said, but there was no rancor in her voice.
And the way she glanced at Jesse made it obvious that he’d given her something to think about.
“Back to the New Year’s party, then,” she said.
“We need something modern and lively, but there’s nowhere to buy records.
Father bought all his favorite records in London. ”
“If your father would permit me to borrow the car, I will find us new records,” Jesse said.
“You’ll drive down to London?” Honor asked.
“I’m sure there is a closer record shop. Where’s the nearest town?”
“There are several, but I think Barrow-in-Furness would have a record shop,” Geneva said.
“Then that is where I will go. Will you two accompany me? I will need your help to choose the best tunes. We can make a day of it,” Jesse suggested.
“I would love that,” Honor cried and clapped her hands. “I never get to go anywhere since my sister makes sure to steal away before I can ask her if I might come along.”
“I said I was sorry,” Geneva muttered.
“Did you? I don’t recall receiving an apology.”
“I’m sorry. I will never steal away again.”
“We’ll see about that,” Honor said, not sounding convinced. “Can we have a pub lunch?”
“What do you say, Geneva?” Jesse asked.
“Someone should stay here and look after Father.”
“Nurse Jeffries can look after him,” Honor replied. “She arrived while you were out. He seems to like her.”
“How can you tell?” Geneva asked.
“He didn’t ask her to leave.”
“That’s something, I suppose. I should go upstairs and say hello. And ask Father if we can go out for the day.”
“Do you need his permission?” Jesse asked. “You are of age.”
“It’s a matter of courtesy,” Geneva replied.
“Father won’t mind,” Honor said again.
Honor had a point. Douglas would hardly notice they were gone, since he spent so little time with them these days, and she could hardly allow Honor to go off with Jesse unchaperoned. It was an outdated concept, but what did they know of his character or past experiences with women?
“All right,” Geneva agreed. “We can go tomorrow, if you like. Or any day this week.”
“Swell,” Jesse said. “I don’t suppose you will permit me to drive?”
“Not a chance, but you can crank the motor,” Geneva conceded with a smile.
The grin slid off her face when she recalled that, as soon as her father was gone, Jesse would own both the motorcar and the crank, as well as everything else she now thought of as theirs.
“I want a new dress for the party,” Honor announced. “All my frocks are old-fashioned and childish. I’m no longer a little girl.”
“No, you are not,” Jesse said and grinned at her in a way that made Geneva want to slap him.
“I doubt Mrs. Harmon will have enough time to sew a new gown,” she said.
“I don’t want some fuddy-duddy gown, Genny. I want a sleeveless, knee-length frock with sequins and beads,” Honor countered and jutted out her chin defiantly. “There’s bound to be a dress shop in town. And if there isn’t, I will order a new frock from a catalog.”
“I doubt it will arrive in time for the party.”
“It will.”
Jesse smiled awkwardly and backed away. “I don’t think I have anything of value to add to this discussion. I will see you both later.”
“Where are you going?” Honor demanded.
“I’m going for a walk along the shore. Alone,” he added when she looked like she was about to offer to come along.
Jesse bowed formally and strode from the conservatory.
“He’s actually rather nice,” Honor said as soon as he was out of earshot. “All this time I was expecting some hideous gargoyle. I was horrid to him last night,” she admitted with a sheepish smile.
“He is nice, isn’t he?”
“I think we frightened him off.”
“I expect he has much to think about,” Geneva said.
“What’s there to think about? He has everything a man could possibly want.”
“And what do you know about what men want?”
Honor’s gaze was far too knowing for a girl of her years. “He has money and choices, Genny. What more could a man want?”
Geneva couldn’t argue with that. Jesse Bellamy did have choices, and his every decision would affect their lives in ways they couldn’t begin to predict.