An Embarrassment of Riches (15 page)

‘Has that been long enough for you to have acquired great feelings of loyalty to Miss Hudson?'

‘My feelings of loyalty are adequate for the service I fulfil, sir.'

He suppressed a grim smile. She obviously had a good idea of what was coming and he couldn't help wondering if she had earned extra income similarly before, in previous households. He handed her a sheet of paper covered with Alexander's large, confident handwriting.

‘Miss Hudson is shortly going to be in correspondence with my son. This is his handwriting. When letters from Europe arrive for her, from him, I would be grateful if you could intercept them and deliver them to me.'

She nodded, completely undiscomfited by the impropriety of the request.

‘What is the system for letters leaving the house?' he asked, confident that whatever it was, it would pose no problem.

‘Letters are put in a dish in the hall and one of the footmen takes them to be posted.'

‘Then kindly remove all letters in Miss Hudson's handwriting destined for Europe before he does so.'

‘And bring them to you, sir?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the remuneration?'

He rose to his feet. ‘Fifty dollars for each letter I receive.'

It was as much as Josie Woods'girls received for every client they entertained, but it would be well worth it. It would ensure she kept her mouth shut and it would ensure that she was scrupulously vigilant.

Alexander's first letter had been sent from Southampton and had obviously been despatched within minutes of his stepping ashore.

He had written in vibrant royal-blue ink.

The Atlantic was like a mill-pond. No fun at all. I will be at Gussie Schermerhorn's London home by tonight. Rumour has it that she is more than good friends with the Prince of Wales and so the next few weeks are likely to be extremely interesting. I love you lots and miss you with all my heart.

A second letter came hard on its heels.

Dearest, darling Ginnie, Am now being squired around London by Gussie Schermerhorn and her friends. She's quite a different person away from Charlie's father. Charlie would be surprised! No-one stays put in this country. Every weekend Gussie is a guest at some country house or other. Next week it's to be Chatsworth, which I think is pretty near to Yorkshire. HRH and Princess Alexander are to be the guests of honour. Wonder what he's like in the flesh? Write me in care of Gussie's town house. Will be based there from now until I leave for Waterford. Am missing you like mad, but every day apart is a day nearer to our being reunited. Love me lots, dearest Ginnie. I will love you, and only you, to the day I die.

His third letter was drastically different in tone.

Dearest, darling Ginnie, Why no letters? I'm going crazy not having heard from you. Are you miffed because I made out I was enjoying myself over here? You know better than to think that I could ever truly enjoy myself when you are not with me. This separation is only for a little while, Ginnie. When it's over, we will have the rest of our lives to be together. I love you more than words can say, certainly more than I can possibly write. Only you, Ginnie. For ever.

Victor was well pleased with them. They showed that the Burrage girl was doing a good job, and they showed that Alexander was moving in exactly the sort of exalted circles he had intended he should move in. All he had to do now was to grow exasperated at Genevre Hudson's lack of response to his letters and fall in love elsewhere, preferably with the daughter of an earl.

Genevre's letters he didn't even read. Alexander had obviously told her before he left that his first port of call was to be London and that Gussie Schermerhorn would be acting as his hostess, for her letters were correctly addressed to Gussie's rented town house in Grosvenor Square. Voyeurism was not one of his peccadilloes and he tossed them on to a fire, unopened. They would soon come to an end. To be out of sight was to be out of mind and he expected every day to hear of her name being linked elsewhere.

Genevre had at first been mildly disappointed at the length of time it was taking for Alexander's letters to reach her, and then as the days and weeks passed and there was still no letter, her disappointment turned into dismay, and then distress.

She wrote hopefully at the end of November.

Dearest love, I cannot imagine why you haven't written, perhaps you have just been so terribly busy that you haven't realized how time has passed. I am missing you so much that I can hardly bear it. Please write to me. There is something desperately urgent I need to be able to tell you.

Time and again she tried to write down the words and couldn't.

It would have been different if he had been writing lovingly and

often to her, but he hadn't, and she didn't know the reason why.

‘Please write,' she whispered as she sealed the envelope. ‘Oh Alexander, my love.
Please write!'

It was over two months since she last menstruated and she could no longer fool herself that the cause was a chill or excessive tiredness. She was having a baby. Alexander's baby. Her emotions were in such tumult that she didn't know which of her reactions were uppermost. First had been horror. How on earth would she tell her father? Even worse, how on earth would Alexander tell
his
father? Hard on the heels of her horror had come sizzling excitement. She and Alexander were going to have a child. It had seemed too incredible, too wonderful to be true. Then had come the need to make plans and arrangements. Alexander would have to terminate his Grand Tour in order for them to be married. It would have to be a quiet wedding, though not too quiet in case suspicions were aroused. Perhaps after the wedding it would be best if they returned to Europe together and remained there until after the baby was born. They could stay at her family home in Yorkshire. At the thought of her baby being born in the same room in which she had been born she was filled with such a strong surge of maternal love that she had thought she would die of happiness.

And then had come the long silence from Alexander. At first she had put it down to the unreliability of postal communication between Europe and America. Later she had begun to wonder if Alexander was so caught up in the headiness of his London social life that he had simply not found the time. As the weeks merged into the third month the terrible prospect that he was no longer thinking of her seized hold of her and would not let go.

What was she to do? Unless he knew about the baby he could not possibly return and marry her. With an unsteady hand she had written to him again, telling him of the baby. The letter had gone, unread, into Victor Karolyis's waste-paper basket.

Letters from Alexander to Genevre continued to be delivered to the Karolyis mansion in an unremitting stream. With each that arrived Victor grew increasingly irate. Surely the boy should have taken umbrage by now at her continuing silence? If he didn't do so damned quickly his time in London was going to be completely wasted. Vainly he scoured the letters for mention of a recurring, aristocratic female name. There were names in plenty but none that indicated that Alexander was beginning to take a romantic interest elsewhere. His entire concern was her failure to write to him. Was it because her father had forbidden it? Was she ill? Could she not contact Charlie and ask him to write to him on her behalf? He was leaving England for Ireland in a week's time and if she didn't write to him in care of his Anglo-Irish hosts, he was going to return home instead of continuing on to Germany and Italy. He loved her desperately and he was going out of his mind with worry.

Victor's mouth had tightened into a thin line when he had read his son's impassioned declaration that unless he received a letter soon he would return home. ‘Over my dead body,' he had muttered grimly. With narrowed eyes he reflected that both Alexander and Genevre were proving to be far more tenacious than he had anticipated. Further action needed to be taken in order to terminate the affair once and for all. In Ireland Alexander would be staying with Lord Powerscourt and Powerscourt had three highly eligible daughters whose family tree stretched back to King John of England and made the Schermerhorns, Brevoorts and Roosevelts look like parvenus. Any one of them would be more than satisfactory as a daughter-in-law.

He was still pondering on the problem of what further action he should take in order to put Genevre Hudson out of Alexander's mind, when he received a telegraph message from Powerscourt, REGRET TO INFORM YOU ALEXANDER SERIOUSLY INJURED FALL FROM HORSE WHILST HUNTING LETTER FOLLOWING.

His first reaction had been overwhelming concern for Alexander. A welter of telegraph messages had been issued demanding to know further details. He was informed that Alexander's horse had rolled on him, crushing muscles and tendons, and that it would be many months before he could once again walk. His second reaction, once he had ascertained that there was no reason to fear that Alexander was permanently crippled, was that fate had played him a winning card. If he chose to lie about Alexander's reason for remaining in Waterford, then he could do so without fear of Alexander arriving home in outraged fury. And by the time Alexander did arrive home, the lies told would perhaps be appreciated by him. Or forgotten.

‘And so I thought it only fair to break the news to you myself,' he said gravely to an outraged William Hudson.

‘Engaged!'
William bellowed.
‘Engaged!
You are as well aware as I am that your son and my daughter have a long-term understanding, sir! Only your own inexplicable objections have prevented their already marrying. I will not believe in any engagement elsewhere until I receive news from Alexander himself.'

With great difficulty Victor assumed an expression of deep embarrassment. ‘If my son had any intention of communicating with either yourself or Miss Hudson he would have done so already. As it is, he has left me to be the bearer of his news. The wedding is to take place almost immediately and Alexander and his bride will be remaining in Ireland indefinitely.'

William forgot that he had latterly come to the conclusion that Genevre's relationship with Alexander Karolyis was not, after all, in her best interests. He forgot that it was a relationship he himself had intended somehow severing. As a footman showed his unwelcome visitor from the house all he remembered was the number of people who knew of Alexander's intention of one day marrying Genevre. And now he was jilting her. His eyes bulged and his face burned. Both for himself and Genevre, it was complete and utter humiliation. By sanctioning the relationship when Victor Karolyis had not done so, he had been made to look a fool. At the thought of the gossip and the laughter that would now be taking place in polite New York drawing-rooms he took the stairs to Genevre's room two at a time.

‘I don't believe it,' Genevre said steadfastly, her face ashen. ‘It's a lie … it has to be a lie!'

‘It's the truth!' William roared, his rage increasing by the moment as he thought of the gossip that would be taking place around high-society dinner-tables. ‘You've been publicly jilted! The whole of New York knew what your hopes were!' He slammed a closed fist into an open palm. ‘We're not staying here to be sniggered at by every Tom, Dick and Harry! We're going back to Yorkshire, where a man knows where he stands. We're going back
immediately
!'

‘I can't, Papa. I can't leave New York.'

‘Stuff and nonsense,' her father said, seething at his own idiocy. Why on earth had he supposed that a marriage would eventually take place? Victor Karolyis had made his opposition quite clear right from the first. How could he have been so blind as not to see that he and Genevre were being publicly slighted? Men like August Belmont and Leonard Jerome had befriended him, but Belmont and Jerome were not Old Guard New York society. By dint of his marriage to a Schermerhorn, Karolyis was, and he had made it quite clear that Mr William Hudson of Yorkshire was in no way his social equal.

‘We sail on the first available ship,' he said, aware for the first time of what a fool he must have often made of himself. ‘The sooner we leave this snob-ridden city behind, the better!'

Genevre had been sitting at her writing-desk. Now she rose and faced him, her face bloodless. ‘I can't, Papa. Not without hearing from Alexander.'

‘You can and you will,' her father said flatly. He had indulged her too much and too often, and the result had been social annihilation. Much as he loved her, he hadn't the slightest intention of indulging her any further where Alexander Karolyis was concerned.

Genevre wondered fleetingly if she was going to die. Certainly it felt as if she was about to die. The blood was singing in her ears and there was an iron band around her chest so tight that it was impossible for her to draw breath. She knew that when she next spoke she was going to destroy everything there had ever been between them. She would never be his kitten, his dear little love, ever again.

‘I'm having a baby, Papa,' she said, and wondered how she could have ever thought the news wonderful.

Five days later they left New York aboard the Collins steamship
Adriatic.
William Hudson did not stand on deck as the ship eased its way out of New York Bay towards the Narrows. He remained in his cabin, aged and heartsick. Genevre's words had nearly killed him. When the first, crucifying shock had receded he had been certain of one thing. No-one in New York would ever know. Certainly Victor Karolyis would never know. There would be no gossip. Not in America or in England. Genevre would enter a convent until the baby was born and he would live unobtrusively in a small town in Sussex or Hampshire. Not until the child was suitably disposed of would he make it known to friends and relatives that he and Genevre were once again in the country.

As the ship neared open sea he passed his hand across his eyes. Whatever the future held for them, it would never be the same again. Alexander Karolyis had destroyed both their lives and he prayed with all his heart and soul that one day he would suffer for his actions – suffer as he and Genevre were suffering.