close. Almost unbearably so. But Genie didn’t move. “Yes, but I still enjoyed your performance more,” she said softly so that no one else could hear.
His eyes gleamed. “You flatter me.”
Genie fought to keep the conversation focused on…anything. “How long did it take you to memorize the speech last night in preparation for today?” She kept her voice just above a whisper.
“None.” He also spoke in a low tone. “I committed it to memory years ago. Along with a sonnet or four and a few other favorite speeches from Master Shakespeare’s plays.”
Oh dear, he loved Shakespeare too. “Is Hamlet your favorite?”
“It is indeed.”
“Mine is Much Ado About Nothing. I adore Beatrice and Benedick.”
His lips curled into a brief smile. “A miracle! Here’s our own hands against our hearts.” He lifted his hand to his chest. “Come, I will have thee, but, by this light, I take thee for pity.”
The answering words came to Genie’s mind without effort. “I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”
“Peace! I will stop your mouth.” His gaze settled on her lips.
She leaned slightly toward him before realizing where they were, that Cecilia was back on the dais announcing the next performance. Her pulse racing, Genie moved slowly back.
Satterfield did the same. “If Lady Cosford decides to have another performance, we could do that scene.”
Oh, they couldn’t. She was saved from responding by Mr. Emerson attempting to juggle apples. He was an absolute disaster, and soon everyone was laughing at his antics as apples rolled from the dais onto the floor. Genie was grateful for the distraction.
She was also careful to speak with the person on her right during the next interlude between performances. Mrs. Sheldon was perhaps a decade or so younger than Genie. With dark sable hair and piercing green eyes, she was a beauty.
“You and Lord Satterfield seem to be getting on well,” Mrs. Sheldon said with a warm smile.
Genie didn’t want rumors to start. “As well as anyone. Will you be performing today?”
“Yes. I’ll be reciting a poem.”
“How wonderful.”
“And you?” Mrs. Sheldon asked.
“No.” Further conversation was avoided as Cecilia introduced Mrs. Hatcliff-Lind, who would play the pianoforte.
Genie slid a glance toward Lord Satterfield, who gave her a knowing half smile as the first notes were struck. He mouthed, See, it’s fine.
She couldn’t help but grin and nearly giggled along with it. Oh, she liked him. And if she wasn’t careful, everyone would notice—if they hadn’t already. She wasn’t ready to be matched.
Except she could hear Jerome’s voice in her head: Promise me you’ll marry again, Genie. I can’t bear to think of you alone for so long.
She’d answered, Perhaps I’ll die tomorrow and you’ll recover. Then it’s you who must wed.
He’d laughed, then coughed, and she’d apologized for causing him distress. He’d waved her concern away and taken her hand. If I were to recover—and if you were taken from me—I would try to find happiness again. It wouldn’t be the same. Nothing could ever be. But I would try. I sincerely want you to do the same. Because we both know I’m not going to recover.
Though two years had passed, and Genie had shed more tears than she could ever count, the memory still pulled at her chest. The sting was less, tempered with a bittersweet joy to have had what they’d shared, even if it had been abbreviated.
No, nothing could ever be the same, nor did Genie want it to be. Still, she had ended up promising him she would try.
Stealing another quick look at Lord Satterfield, Genie wondered if she was ready. She honestly didn’t know, and furthermore, didn’t know how she would know. Perhaps that was her answer.
As soon as the performances ended, Genie hastened to her chamber, where she stayed closeted with her uncertainties until dinner.
Chapter 4
Edmund took breakfast in his room the following day. He’d stayed up rather late the night before, carousing with a few of the other gentlemen. That wasn’t how he’d envisioned his night, but when the dowager duchess had been absent from the drawing room after dinner, Edmund had altered his plans. Disappointed, he’d found consolation in brandy and cards.
She’d also been absent most of yesterday, notably after the performances in the ballroom. Edmund couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so aroused, and not just physically—all from simply sitting beside her.
Well, not just sitting beside her. They’d also talked