Chapter Six #2
Genevieve needed to stop this. Immediately. She opened her mouth, intending to say, I don’t want to fight for my life in the ring, but the words stuck in her throat.
*
After the dowager countess sent her son away, she guided Genevieve into an elegant drawing room.
Willing her ragged breathing to steady, Genevieve sat on a luxurious velvet settee the color of the autumn roses that once upon a time grew outside the front door of Thorn Manor. Lady Davenport sat next to her.
“I’m sorry for my son’s behavior,” the dowager said.
“He is a good man, but he can be a bit impulsive. Although his friend Nicolas has always brought out his best, I’m afraid Tristan brings out his worst. They tend to compete, trying to be the most popular man in the room.
Silly, I dare say, but men are ruled by their hubris. ”
Genevieve quite agreed.
“The wager I referenced earlier had to do with turning a beautiful pugilist who was quite rough around the edges into a lady.”
Genevieve supposed this was the Josephine everyone went on and on about.
“I played along for numerous reasons. However, turning a gently bred lady into a bareknuckle fighter doesn’t hold the same appeal.”
Gently bred lady? Surely Genevieve had misunderstood, because no one knew about her upbringing.
“I suppose you are wondering how I know?” Lady Davenport asked.
Apparently, she was mistaken, and her hostess had discovered her secret. Biting her lip, Genevieve nodded.
“Your table manners, the way you glide when you walk, your deportment, your porcelain skin.”
Lawks! She should have lumbered and shoved food into her mouth.
“I also suspect you understand every word we’ve said to you.”
Too ashamed to meet Lady Davenport’s gaze, Genevieve stared at her quivering hands folded on her lap.
“I don’t plan to tell your secret to anyone,” the dowager said, her voice gentle. “But tell me, why are you running, and who are you running from?”
Genevieve wanted to confide in this kind, generous woman. And yet, what was the point? As influential as the dowager was, she couldn’t protect Genevieve from her father, the murderer, or the depraved man he’d given her to.
Soft fingers cradled Genevieve’s chin and gently lifted until she met Lady Davenport’s gaze. “What man did this to you?”
Tears burned Genevieve’s eyes. She swallowed to keep them from cascading down her cheeks.
Lady Davenport held her chin in one hand and her palm in the other. “What’s your name?”
My name is Genevieve Baily, and my evil father murdered my mother because he thought she was unfaithful. But she was loyal and kind. Genevieve swallowed.
“Can you write it down for me?” Lady Davenport asked.
“Yes,” Genevieve mouthed. She didn’t want these generous people to think she was trying to bamboozle them.
Lady Davenport stood and strolled to a side table. She returned carrying stationery, a leather-bound book, and a pencil. She placed the stationery on top of the book and handed it to Genevieve.
Genevieve stared at it.
“You are safe with me,” she said. “I promise.”
She trusted Lady Davenport, but she was not safe anywhere. She simply couldn’t give her real name. She wrote down three letters and angled the book so that the dowager could read her shortened name.
“Gen.” Lady Davenport smiled at her. “Lovely to meet you, Gen. You are welcome to stay here until you feel safe.”
Thank you, my lady, Genevieve wrote. Beneath it, she penned, My dog’s name is Horatio. We met during a rotten potato scuffle.
The dowager read the message and chuckled. “I suppose that really isn’t funny, is it?”
Now that she had food in her belly and she and Horatio were the best of friends, Genevieve found it rather humorous. She laughed.
Someone cleared their throat. “Ladies, may I enter?” The viscount stood at the door, peering in at them.
“Jonathan, come in,” his mother said.
He sauntered toward them, his alluring almond scent ensconcing Genevieve in a heady cloud. He’d added a fancy tailcoat to his ensemble. Although fashionable, he moved with such powerful masculinity that he’d never be considered a dandy.
“Have you ladies bonded?” he asked, his voice rumbling deep inside Genevieve’s bosom.
“We have,” Lady Davenport said. “Her name is Gen, and her dog’s name is Horatio.”
The viscount met Genevieve’s gaze and smiled. “Gen.”
She smiled back. She couldn’t be sure, but his breath might have hitched.
“Why did you name Floppy Horatio?” Lord Davenport asked.
Lady Davenport pointed at the makeshift desk indicating Genevieve should write her response. Genevieve scribbled her answer and handed it to the viscount.
He regarded the message. “I see.” He handed the stationery to his mother.
“Horatio remained a loyal friend to Macbeth when everyone else turned on him,” Lady Davenport read out loud.
“An odd choice for a woman living on the streets,” the viscount mumbled under his breath.
“Indeed,” his mother said, winking at Genevieve.
“Obviously, she understands English,” he said. “So why hide it from me?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” his mother said.
His gaze slid to Genevieve. “Why hide it from me?”
My father is a murderer. Shame washed over her, and she dropped her gaze to the carpeting.
Hmm, he murmured.
If he was recalling all of the secrets he’d confided in her, he was probably irate. She’d never forgive him if the tables were turned. She held her breath, awaiting a scathing rebuke.
“Gen,” he said, “shall we take Floppy for a walk?”
That was not at all what she’d expected him to say. This was the longest she’d been away from Horatio since they’d met, and she missed him very much. She met the viscount’s gaze and nodded. Standing, she placed the writing accoutrements on the closest side table.
“Jonathan,” Lady Davenport said. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Call in the cavalry.” He winked at Genevieve as if sharing a secret with her.
“Scamp.” His mother’s lips quivered as she tried not to smile. “Perhaps we should introduce Gen to Josephine and Franny.”
Genevieve winced.
“Oh?” Lord Davenport asked. “You’ve reconsidered my idea?”
“Heavens no,” Lady Davenport said. “I don’t want to turn her into a pugilist. I’d like her to attend a meeting of The Ladies Autonomy League.”
Overcome by emotion, Genevieve beamed at Lady Davenport.