Behind a Lady's Smile (28 page)

“Did your father ever mention that your mother had money?”

Genny pulled back and looked at him. He couldn’t see her features, but he could imagine her puzzled face. “No. Why?”

“It was something Mrs. Parsons said. She said the reason the duchess was so protective of you was either because she wished for her dead daughter or to protect the money.”

Genny laughed. “Oh, yes. I’ve pounds and pounds of it hidden in my corset.”

“May I look?” Mitch said, pretending to search and making Genny laugh. And then she stiffened, so sharply Mitch stopped. “What’s wrong? You remember a buried treasure back at your cabin?”

She batted him on the chest. “No. But when my father was dying, after he made me promise to go to England, he said, ‘The box.’ At the time, I assumed he meant the box where my grandfather’s letters were kept, so I could find them. But . . .”

“What?”

“There’s a false bottom. I remember finding it when I was young. It held papers that I didn’t understand, so I put them back and completely forgot about them until now. I wonder if they have something to do with the money my mother had.”

“Wouldn’t your father have told you about it?”

She shrugged, then laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I shrugged. Do you know how many times I’ve heard in the last four days that ‘Ladies do not shrug, Genevieve,’” she said, doing a fine imitation of the duchess. “My father didn’t like talking about my mother or their time in England. Every once in a while, I’d pull out that box to look at the letters from my grandfather or look at my mother’s jewels, and I could tell it hurt him. So I stopped looking.”

He pressed a kiss against her temple. “It doesn’t matter. Rich or poor, we’ll still be happy.”

“But would it not be better to be happy and wealthy rather than happy and poor?” She let out another light laugh.

“Especially since you seem to like pretty dresses,” Mitch said, winning another light bat on his chest. “Let’s go get Tillie so I can start absconding with the lost heiress, shall we?”

“They can’t stop me from leaving, can they?”

Mitch let out a laugh. “They can try, darlin’, but I guarantee you they won’t be successful.”

 

Anne Danforth, the Duchess of Glastonbury, had to acknowledge that her high hopes for her granddaughter were diminishing as each day went by. She was beautiful, yes, and charming in her rustic way, but other than her clothing, she was wrong. All wrong. Even her diction had suffered under the influence of her lowborn father. She shrugged. She burped. And when she was trying not to laugh aloud, she let out the oddest noise. It was disconcerting to say the least.

“She’s hopeless,” she said to her husband, not expecting any sort of reply.

“I rather think she’s wonderful.”

Anne turned her head slowly to look at her husband, annoyed that when he did speak, it was usually to contradict her. They sat together, as they did most evenings, in the blue parlor. It wasn’t that they enjoyed one another’s company; they did not. It was more of a habit, something they did mostly because the old duke had done so. “Then you are blind. It will take months to bring her up to snuff. I’m sending my regrets to the Medfords. Clearly, she’s not ready for the ball. She told me today she only knows three dances. Three!”

“But I imagine she does those three famously.”

Anne closed her eyes, trying to gain control of her emotions. Her granddaughter was nothing like she’d expected. It was cruel of God to create a child who looked so much like Mary only to have her be so completely unpolished. Mary might not have been an obedient daughter, she might have been foolish enough to marry the wrong sort of man, but she had always been the epitome of a fine English girl. Genevieve didn’t seem to know the first thing about how to act properly. She had been completely Americanized. It was dreadful, but in time perhaps Genevieve could be molded into the woman she should have been.

“You’ve always been so blind, Glaston. And weak. If you’d stopped Mary from eloping, none of this would have happened. Mary might be alive today.”

She was gratified to see her words had hit their mark. “She died in childbirth,” he said, the pain of his guilt clear in his voice.

“It doesn’t matter—”

She stopped, interrupted by the sight of her granddaughter entering the room on the arm of her fiancé.

“Who let you in?” Anne asked, feeling her face flush from impotent rage.

“I did. We’re leaving. Tonight.” Genevieve didn’t seem to know that she was supposed to be meek. Her granddaughter lifted her chin, resembling Mary so much at that moment, Anne felt like screaming at the unfairness of life. She took a calming breath and forced a smile.

“I see. I suppose it’s not unexpected.”

“You lied to me, Your Grace. He came every day to see me. You told me he’d left.”

“Every day?” Anne asked. “I don’t think so. And we were informed that he had left. I do apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“The only misunderstanding, ma’am, was Genny, here, thinking you have her best interests at heart.”

Anne gave the American her coldest smile. “Very well. Before you rush off, Mr. Campbell, could you spare a moment please? Out on the veranda will do.”

The two young people exchanged a look. “All right,” Mr. Campbell said, with a confidence that Anne found exceedingly irritating. He turned to Genevieve. “I’ll be right back.” The way her granddaughter looked at the man, as if he could stop the earth on its axis, was sickening.

Anne, her back ramrod straight, her emotions in turmoil, walked through the French doors to the small veranda that overlooked the side garden. When the two were alone, Anne turned to the young man, trying to maintain her composure. Everything about him was abhorrent to her, from his American accent to his working-man’s clothes. He was so far beneath what Genevieve should have, it was unimaginable that they should marry.

How could Genevieve be so blind? She could almost understand Mary running off with James; they’d known each other since they were children. But this man, he hadn’t even met Genevieve until a handful of weeks ago.

Ever since she’d heard his story, something hadn’t rung true. Why would a man go out of his way to escort a girl he didn’t know all the way across the country? It made no sense. And when things made no sense, it meant there had to be another, better explanation. Anne was quite certain she’d solved the puzzle of Mr. Campbell.

The American leaned negligently against the railing in a way that made her want to grind her teeth together. “Are you truly in love with my granddaughter, Mr. Campbell?”

“Yes, I am.” How convincing he sounded.

“That is unfortunate for you. But it should be comforting to know that love is a fleeting emotion. Once you’re back in New York, you’ll soon forget all about Genevieve.”

He straightened off the railing, but if he thought to intimidate her, he was sorely mistaken. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll be leaving here tonight without her. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t forget her anytime soon.”

Her nostrils flared at his coarse language. “You will. And she will forget you. We’ve already heard from several families with eligible sons. She’ll be married within the year. There’s no reason she cannot marry as befitting her station. Mr. Campbell, look around you. Could you ever give Genevieve the kind of life she deserves?” She looked him up and down. “Of course you cannot.”

Mr. Campbell shook his head, looking at her with what almost seemed to be pity. “I can’t give her a mansion, no. But I can make her happy. I’m as sure of that as I’m sure you’re a conniving old biddy.”

Anne smiled, ignoring his insult. “I wonder,” she said, “what your real reason is for wanting to marry Genevieve. I do hope you’re not under the misapprehension that we will give her money. We will not. She has nothing, Mr. Campbell. I can’t help but think that a young man who drops everything to escort a girl to England is after something more than, let us say, special privileges. You didn’t love her when you met her, yet you left your position, spent hundreds of dollars of your own money, and for what? Because you are a kind and good man?”

When she saw him dip his head and his cheeks redden, she knew she had him pegged correctly.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

His head snapped up. “What did you say?”

“I’ll give you ten thousand pounds tonight if you leave and never return. You have to promise only one thing: no one must ever know the circumstances of her journey here, nor how she was living in America. Her chances of a good marriage depend upon it. If word got out that she spent days alone with a cowboy”—she held up a hand to stop him from explaining that he was not a cowboy—“she would be ruined. In your world, appearances are not important, but here they are everything. No man would want her and no family would accept her. I just wanted you to understand the importance of this.”

“I understand. And you should understand that I’ve no interest in your money.”

“Have you told anyone about her history?”

“No, ma’am.” He smiled, and something about that smile made her blood run cold.

Her eyes sharpened. “You hesitated.”

“There may have been an article in the newspaper. My mother talked to a reporter the day before we left. I didn’t think any harm could come of it, especially since the article wouldn’t run until after she’d left.”

The duchess felt herself grow pale. “What newspaper?”

“The
New York Times
. To be honest, the reporter said he was from a small newspaper. I have no idea how the story ended up in the
Times
.”

“Oh my God.” She staggered slightly.

“It came today. I had no idea the hotel would carry American newspapers. Fascinating reading, by the way.” He opened his jacket and removed a folded newspaper. “Would you care to take a gander?”

Anne took the newspaper, feeling numb, and let out a small sound of dismay at what she saw—the perfect likeness of her granddaughter on the front page beneath the headline: Duke of Glastonbury’s Long Lost Granddaughter Found.

“Oh my God.”

“You want to read it now or save it for later?” Mr. Campbell asked, all affability.

Anne moved blindly into the parlor, her eyes scanning the article. With every word she read, her dread only grew. “She’s ruined.” It was over. Genevieve would not save them, could not replace Mary. And it was obvious her daughter and that scoundrel she’d married had spent every dime of Mary’s sizeable inheritance. Why else would he have left what had been a rather opulent home in Philadelphia to live in the wilderness? In a shack. She shuddered just thinking of it. The cad had likely gambled the fortune away.

God, how she loathed him. James had not only ruined Mary, but his actions had also ruined Genevieve.

And Anne had had such hopes that Genevieve could somehow turn back the hands of time. How foolish her hopes seemed now.

Given what the article contained, Anne knew she was being almost eerily calm. The article detailed Genevieve’s trip from a one-room shack in California, where she’d lived alone of all things, to New York in the company of a single man. It mattered not that they were now engaged. Just the fact that a newspaper article had been written at all was scandal enough, but that it contained such a disgraceful story and that it was entirely true . . . There was no hope for Genevieve now. No man would want her; no family would welcome her.

And
this man
, whose mother was apparently an
actress
(that was, perhaps, the worst revelation found in the article), had the audacity to claim he could make Genevieve happy.

“It certainly is detailed,” she said, throwing the offending article to the side.

“What’s this?” the duke asked, picking up the newspaper. He scanned the headlines, stiffening when he saw the likeness of Genevieve. “Oh, good God.”

Anne waited, livid beyond reason. The joy she’d felt when she’d heard that her granddaughter was not only alive but coming to live with her was replaced by utter desolation.

“Our granddaughter certainly has lived an interesting life,” the duke said, winning a scathing look of derision from his wife.

“I think it’s past time we left,” Mitch said. “We’ll go as soon as Tillie is finished packing.”

The duchess sat, her legs suddenly unable to hold her, and she turned her head until her eyes rested on the newspaper and the damning article. A wash of humiliation made her almost ill.

“Genevieve, you are no longer part of this family.”

“Anne, no,” Glastonbury said, finally getting his gumption up. How
charming
.

“You have no say in this. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened. She is ruined and this article has humiliated us all. She is a whore, just like her mother.”

Anne should have known her granddaughter, hoyden that she was, would object.

“How dare you speak ill of my mother! At least she was married to a man she loved. I feel sorry for you. For both of you.”

 

Genny had never in her life been angrier at another person, and to think this anger was directed at her grandmother, a woman she’d dreamed of meeting for so long. What a horrid, horrid person she was.

“Miss Hayes, you’re all packed,” Tillie said, still in character.

“Tillie, call me Genny. We’re leaving.”

Tillie looked slightly confused, then gave a little whoop. “Can’t get out of this stuck-up place fast enough,” she said, smiling.

The three of them turned to go, Genny holding Mitch’s arm like a lifeline.

“Genevieve, wait.”

Genny looked back, surprised to see her grandfather coming toward her.

“Yes?” Beside her, Mitch squeezed her hand, giving her courage.

“Wait, Genevieve, please. I . . .”

To Genny’s surprise, the old man’s eyes teared up.