Page 2 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

If she weren’t so defective, maybe she could have told someone the truth.

But who? The doctor who’d lied and said her mother had hung herself from her bedroom chandelier? A butler loyal to her father? An uncle who hadn’t visited since her father sent him away at pistol point? No one ever inquired after or cared about what had truly happened. Forced into silence, Genevieve’s secret turned into toxic bile that burned and choked.

A few days after her mother’s death, Genevieve had a new stepmother. Almost ten years later, that unfortunate woman was found in a field with bruises around her neck.

“A nefarious blackguard strangled my wife while she was out for a constitutional,” her father had told the magistrate as fake tears streamed down his face. If anyone else doubted the story, to Genevieve’s knowledge, they did not say so. The truth was that their stepmother did not take constitutionals. Ever. But a few days before her death, her father’s attention had become focused on their young maid. Kitty was constantly shaking as if she’d caught a chill. Meanwhile, her father watched the quivering servant with a lecherous glint in his eyes and dragged her into his chamber every chance he got.

Enough of her macabre thoughts on this glorious day. Right this minute, Cook was probably preparing a delicious meal they could enjoy without their terrifying patriarch. After they ate, they could curl up in front of the fire in the drawing room and listen to Christopher tell ghost stories.

Genevieve stood. “We should head home now.” Her soft voice was barely a whisper over the chirping birds and the babbling brook. Even animals and water were better at communicating than she was.

Sophia intertwined her fingers with Genevieve’s, and they strolled side by side, their hands swinging between them, Christopher bringing up the rear.

They picked up their pace as Thorn Manor came into view. Since their stepmother’s death, invasive brown vines had taken over the right side of the old structure. For the first time, the irony hit Genevieve; just like her mother and stepmother, both she and their estate were being strangled to death.

A visitor’s carriage was parked on the far side of the drive, but their guest hadn’t bothered to untether the horses. Hopefully, this meant they weren’t staying.

Unlike Genevieve, Sophia seemed delighted by the prospect of a visitor and her eyes brightened. “Who do you think it is?”

Christopher shrugged, and Genevieve balked. They rarely had company these days. Unless it was one of their father’s friends, most of whom Genevieve considered unpalatable. However, if their father was hunting, she had no idea who might be calling.

Sophia tugged on Genevieve’s hand. “Hurry. Let’s see who it is.”

“You go on ahead, Mouse,” Christopher said.

Sophia dropped Genevieve’s hand and scurried toward the main entrance, her short legs pumping and her arms swinging by her side.

Christopher chuckled. “Imagine that. All we had to do to make her move faster was announce visitors.” His good-humored laugh turned into a low moan. “Gen, what if it’s Lord Kilsby? There is aKon the side of the carriage.”

Genevieve squinted, then winced. Sure enough, the sunlight glinted off the top of an ominous blackK.

“Why in the devil does Father allow him to torment you?” Christopher asked.

If her brother was referencing Kilsby’s lecherous stares, risqué words, and unwanted touches, it was because their father was as cruel as Satan. On second thought, their father made the king of hell seem like a benevolent angel instead of a fallen one.

“Don’t worry, Gen,” Christopher declared. “Since Father isn’t here, I shall send the nasty bugger on his way.”

If only Christopher could, but he was the son of the second son of an earl, and Lord Kilsby was an actual earl. Besides, the last time Christopher had intervened to protect her, their father had taken a switch to his back.

Swallowing, Genevieve clasped her brother’s hand. Together, they followed Sophia into the foyer.

Melvin, their butler, stood inside the door, his jaw tense and his lips pursed like he’d just licked a lemon. “Miss Genevieve, your father is requesting your presence in the drawing room.”

“But Father isn’t here,” Christopher said.

“He returned whilst you were out,” Melvin said with his nose so high in the air it was a wonder he didn’t inhale feathers regularly. “Directly ahead of Lord Kilsby.” The man might want to temper his arrogance since butlering for her father was no great honor. Over the years their staff had dwindled, and currently they only had four servants left. Three, if poor Kitty suffered an apoplexy brought on by nerves.

“Our company is Lord Kilsby,” Sophia said with an exasperated sigh.

“Go to your bedchamber, Mouse,” Christopher said. “I’ll come and get you when it is time for the evening meal.”

Sophia frowned, and her nose wiggled as if she really were an adorable large-eared mouse, searching for an elusive hunk of cheese.

“Lock the door,” Genevieve said, her voice raspy and her throat straining.

Sophia rested her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“Because we told you to,” Christopher declared in a tone that brooked no argument.