George sank down onto a stone bench and put his head in his hands. His cravat was loose, his clothes crumpled, and he smelled strongly of stale smoke and liquor. "I should never have come. I am ruined now."
Genie sat beside her brother, alarmed. "Tell me what has happened. Come now, sit up, there's a good lad. It cannot be as bad as all that. You need to rest. You look like you've been up all night."
"I do believe I have been awake for days, but what of it now? I've lost everything."
"Did you lose at gambling?"
George looked up, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "I did not know the amounts we were playing for. They were saying three and four, I thought it was hundred."
"You lost four hundred?" Genie gasped.
George laughed, a mirthless tone. "I lost four, then I wanted to make it up, but I lost another three. I had good hands, Genie, I had been winning and winning with much worse hands. I panicked. I knew I didn't have the money, so I played again, trying to win it back, but every hand I lost."
"How much did you lose, George?" A cold chill seeped through the stone bench into her bones. How could her brother get himself into such trouble?
George put his head down again and shook it.
"George, tell me the truth. How much did you lose?"
"Twelve," mumbled George in a small voice.
"Twelve hundred pounds? Oh George!" Genie put her hand to her chest.
But George shook his head. "That's when they told me they were not playing for hundreds. They were playing for thousands."
Genie stood up, gaping at him. "Twelve thousand pounds?"
George nodded miserably.
Genie sat back down hard on the cold bench.
Twelve thousand pounds.
"George, that is impossible! You could never raise that kind of money. Even Father could not raise that money."
"He must never know!" George grabbed her hand with his cold one.
"George, you are freezing out here. Come inside."
He shook his head, a more miserable boy she had never seen. "Aunt Cora would send off a post to mother straightaway. Genie, I am sorry, but I'm going to need to ask for those emeralds back."
"Yes, yes of course. I'll just be a trice."
Genie stepped lightly up to her room. She grabbed the box with the emeralds and paused to take one more look. Grant had complimented her on them. She did think they looked fine. She swallowed back regret and put the lid back on the box. It was time to be responsible and do what she needed to do to save her brother. Her decision was made. She would marry Mr. Blakely. What need could she have for sparkly ornaments?
Squaring her shoulders, she returned to the garden. She was a farm girl at heart, strong and hearty. She would meet this challenge directly and take care of her family. She would be respectably married and her fiancé would no doubt help to discharge her brother's debts. Mr. Blakely was a nice sort of man. This was the best choice. This was her only choice.
Her brother took the emeralds from her without looking her in the eye. His shoulders were stooped, giving her rise to an uncharacteristic flash of anger.
"Do you know what I think, George? I think these men set a trap for you. They allowed you to win at first and then lured you into thinking you were playing for lower stakes, getting you to bet big. You should just explain to them that there was a misunderstanding."
George let out a choking laugh that sounded more like a rasp. "You do not understand. This is a debt of honor, one I must pay."
"There must be some way to have this debt forgiven."
George turned toward her, his eyes hollow. "No, Genie. It is a debt of honor." He stepped back and faded from view, in danger of being swallowed whole by the thick morning London fog. "If I cannot pay it … "
Cold shot through her and true panic rose in her throat. Her brother was in danger. She felt it from the hairs on the back of her neck to the tips of her frozen toes. "George, you must promise me you will not do anything rash. I will not have you jumping off a bridge because someone cheated you at cards. I will help you, I promise. Let us not give up hope."
"I must go see what I can get for these emeralds," said George in a dull voice.
"Promise me, George. Promise you will keep yourself safe. You cannot even contemplate hurting Mother like that."
The fading shape in the garden bowed his head, smaller and fainter. He was disappearing. "I promise, for now. I love you, Genie. You have always been a good sister to me."
"George! Promise you will meet me here tomorrow morning." Genie heard nothing from the dense fog. "George? One day, just give me one day."
"As you wish." The metal gate creaked and he was gone.
Genie sank back down on the cold stone bench. Twelve thousand pounds. It was a fortune. She had heard the stories of young men being routed in gambling hells and then, unable to pay the debt, "putting a period to their existence." She could not and would not let that happen to her brother.
"What am I do to?" she murmured to herself.
"Your brother is under the hatches deep," said a small voice.
"Jemmy?" asked Genie.
"Aye, milady." The small form of Jem stepped out of the mist.
"Should you not be at breakfast?"
Jem shrugged. "You need a gullgroper. Only one I know can tip that kind of blunt."
"Jem dear, I haven't a clue what you are talking about."
"A gullgroper whats lends money to gamesters."
"I see," said Genie quietly. She had no idea even an hour ago that she would be in need of this type of information.
"The Candyman can tip you the blunt you need."
"Candyman? Where would I find this person?"
"Chocolate Shoppe in Piccadilly." Jem recited the address and Genie stored it away for future reference if needed.
"Thank you, though I hope this information will not be needed. Go on back to your breakfast now. You shouldn't be out in all this damp air."
"Aye, milady." Jem shuffled back into the fog but turned and scampered back.
"Don't go there, milady," he whispered. "Don't go see the Candyman. He's a mean cove."
"Thank you, Jemmy. Go on back now." Genie listened until the footsteps disappeared in the direction of Grant's house.
Grant was next door to her. Was he sleeping now? Probably. Desire to run and tell him what happened and ask for help washed over her. But she should not, could not. Mr. Grant was a shining dream, but he was not her future.
***
Grant could not remember when he had acted more like a horse's arse. His behavior toward Genie, Miss Talbot to him from now on, had been incorrigible. His shocking words and actions revealed clearly he had drunk too much. The fact that he remembered every painful detail proved he had not drunk enough.
Had he really asked Miss Talbot, an innocent debutante living under the protection of the Earl of Bremerton, to be his mistress? He put his aching head in his hands and groaned. So she met a man in the lending library. So she encouraged that dull boy Blakely. None of it could excuse his own behavior.
He had always been careful to avoid any situation which would force him into marriage. He had avoided schemes, entrapments, plots, and intrigues, and yet here he was, tripping over his own stupid self. If any situation ever called for an immediate proposal of marriage, this was it. All those years of trying to avoid the matrimonial noose and here he had put his head in one of his one making.
He was going to do it. He was going to ask Eugenia Talbot to marry him.
Grant waited for the usual feeling of dread that generally accompanied the mere thought of wedding bells, but instead he felt lighter, happier, and, despite the obvious contradiction, freer.
Grant sat up and rang for his valet. It was 2:00 p.m., time for an early start for the day. Today's agenda was to get dressed, look sharp, and ask a girl to marry him. And not any girl. Genie. His Genie. He could mentally call her that now that he had decided to wed her proper. Genie who made him laugh. Genie his wife. Genie in his bed.
"Hurry man," Grant demanded to his valet. "I have important business today!"
So unusual was that declaration that the valet came to a full stop, as if ascertaining whether Mr. Grant was really his employer or had been replaced by a changeling overnight.
Once Grant had been dressed to his satisfaction, he went first to his mother's rooms. Rummaging through her jewelry boxes, he found what he was looking for. His mother had once shown him a collection of rings that had been in the family. Many were beautiful and could be used as an engagement ring. There was one kept in a small, wooden box hundreds of years old. It was a simple band of braided gold, silver, and steel, symbolizing the union between God, a man, and a woman. According to his mother, it was a love ring only to be given to one's true love.