A Wedding in Springtime (9 page)

“As you wish.” Penelope lowered her eyes and clasped her hands neatly in her lap. It was important to know when to quit.

“Now then.” The dowager cleared her throat, getting down to business. “You did say Miss Talbot told you Grant had arranged for her to be invited to the coming-out party for Miss Devine?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Then we have no time to lose. I shall talk to James about quashing the rumors circulating about her debut. And I must help Cora pick out an appropriate gown. She is addicted to fashion but has not the figure for it anymore I fear. What was that color she was wearing today?”

“Persimmon, I believe.”

“Ghastly,” declared the dowager. “She has not the coloring for it. Now go fetch
Debrett’s
. We must select a husband for our young Miss Talbot.”

***

Lady and Lord Admiral Devine were the honored hosts of the coming-out ball for their niece, Miss Cassandra Devine. True to Grant’s word, an invitation was extended to Miss Talbot. Lady Devine was a kindhearted lady, generous to a fault, but her motives in inviting Genie were dominated more by the perverse humor of watching Grant dance with debutantes than an abundance of compassion. If nothing else, it guaranteed her ball would be remembered, and that was truly all a hostess could ask for.

Grant noted the exact moment of Genie’s entry into the ballroom with a rush of pleasure. She wore a gown of ice blue with a gauzy overdress of silver. Her blond hair was sleeked back into a high bun with a diamond and sapphire tiara. Her deep blue eyes, pink lips, and flawless porcelain skin could leave no mistake that she was a strikingly beautiful girl.

“There she is,” said the Comtesse de Marseille, who was dressed in a raiment of silk and lace fit to beggar a king. “I cannot believe she has the audacity to show her face in society.”

“That is Lady Bremerton’s niece,” replied a man. “Pretty thing, quite pretty, too bad she has not the manners to match.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Grant, joining the conversation.

“Did you not hear the latest
on-dits
about Miss Talbot? Apparently, she made quite a spectacle of herself before the queen.”

“Ah, you speak of the presentation,” said Grant. “I was there, you know.”

“Do tell!” exclaimed the comtesse with a malicious glint to her eye.

“My Lord Chamberlain made an utter fool of himself by making known the painful result of ill digestion. Truly, I worry for him. The queen was quite put out at his behavior, I must say.”

The Comtesse de Marseille laughed without a trace of mirth. “I heard that young chit embarrassed herself by shrieking with laughter.”

“I heard she fell to the floor with hysterics,” replied the man.

“Sorry to disappoint, but that’s all a hum. Such a lovely girl, she shone in comparison to the other young ladies. Wonder who could benefit from spreading false rumors?” added Grant.

“Jealous mamas, no doubt,” said the comtesse with authority. “They are a vicious breed.”

“I heard it from a reliable source,” countered the man, not ready to give up his bit of gossip.

“As did I,” agreed the comtesse. “The Talbot girl made a fool of herself.”

“The Talbot girl,” said the Duke of Marchford, joining the conversation with stiff hauteur, “is the granddaughter of the Earl of Wainwright and the cousin of my betrothed.”

The group turned to find the duke studying them with the disinterest of a noble. If anyone doubted Miss Talbot’s behavior, it was not going to be discussed before the duke.

“Good show,” said Grant as he watched the gossips promenade away stately in search of safer ground. “You can give a set-down better than most.”

“I fear it is a performance I shall have to repeat all evening.”

“You’ll enjoy that,” said Grant, not at all attending to what his friend was saying. Instead, he watched Genie’s entrance into the ball, the way the candlelight shone in her hair, the soft curve of her hip in the silk gown.

“Grant.” The duke’s voice was threaded with warning, but his companion was enthralled.

“Yes, yes, quite right. Must dash.” Grant made a direct line to the object of his fancy.

***

“I am not supposed to dance with you,” whispered Genie as she followed Mr. Grant onto the ballroom floor.

“Who told you that? The sour-faced companion to the dowager?”

“No!” insisted Genie, who felt allegiance to her new friend as one of the only people in London who would claim a friendship with her. “Well, yes,” she amended. Upon reflection, she decided there was no use in denying it. “But she is hardly the only one. I do wish to thank you for securing this invitation for me, but my aunt, my cousin, oh, everyone from the chambermaid to the groomsman has warned me not to go anywhere near you.”

“I am flattered to know my reputation has finally made its way into the gossip of the chambermaids.”

“You are quite incorrigible.”

“My dear girl, if you insist on flattering me in this manner, I fear I shall have to make you my new favorite.”

“Mr. Grant, I would beg that you stop funning me. The only reason I am standing up with you is because you made it impossible for me not to.” Grant had come up to Genie and her aunt alongside the Duke of Marchford. Aunt Cora could hardly cut her future son-in-law, so she watched helplessly as Grant led Genie out to the dance floor.

“Again, your flattery is too much.”

“These are serious matters, Mr. Grant. After my disastrous presentation at court, my reputation is in shreds. I cannot be seen dancing with a known rake. No respectable person will speak to me.”

“You should thank me then. All the respectable people I know are dreadfully dull.”

Genie was prevented from making a stinging retort by the start of the music and the necessity to attend to her steps as she skipped forward for the country dance. “I am trying to be respectable,” she hissed when they crossed paths for the dance.

“You greatly disappoint me.”

“Good!” She twirled and skipped until she was once more standing before him. “Now please do not force me to dance with you again. Being known as a favorite of yours would be the end of my reputation.”

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Talbot?” asked Grant, his silver eyes wide and innocent.

“You know exactly what I mean. A
carte
blanche
. An offer without the protection of marriage.”

“Miss Talbot!” exclaimed Grant with false shock.

They separated for the dance again, and Genie knew she had been nettled into speaking of things a blushing debutante should know nothing about, or at least pretend she knew nothing about.

Grant spun back to her, graceful and natural. He took her hand. It was merely part of the dance, one she had done countless times before, but never had she been more keenly aware she was holding a man’s hand.

“You shock me,” whispered Grant. “Are you attempting to make me an offer?”

This time, Genie knew better than to rise to the bait. “You are a rake and a rogue, Mr. Grant.”

“Guilty, my dear.”

Despite her best efforts, his careless words of endearment curled up warm and happy in her chest, making themselves at home. With a tingle of warning at the back of her exposed neck, she realized she might be in real danger. He was a master of flirtation, and she was just a country girl in considerably over her head.

The dance separated them again, and Genie used the time to get herself back under regulation. She might be the daughter of a country gentleman, this might be her first ball in the excitement of a London season, but she knew who she was. And she was not going to let some slick-talking rake make her doubt herself.

“I do not need your assistance, Mr. Grant,” said Genie when they linked together once more.

“Is that so?”

“It seems your goal is to ruin me. Trust me, Mr. Grant, I can do that quite well on my own.”

Grant burst with mirth, laughing so hard he stopped dancing despite the odd stares of assembly.

“Please, Mr. Grant. The last thing I need is to make a spectacle of myself.
Again
,” hissed Genie, chastising him to move.

Grant started up the dance again, but this time his eyes never left hers. For a while they danced without speaking, but Grant’s eyes followed her throughout the dance. A warm look glowed in his eyes that Genie had never seen before. Despite being in a ballroom crushed with people, she felt isolated in his attention, as if they were dancing alone.

Although her intention was to appear nonchalant and distant, she too could not see anyone but him. He was a handsome man, of average height but of near perfect form. He was everything a gentleman should be, in appearance at least. Despite her best intentions, she slid into the magic of the moment. She was a young debutante in London, dancing with the most attractive and notorious rake in all of society. She smiled with delight.

He returned the smile, slow and true. “I fear it is I who may be ruined.”

Heat flushed through her, leaving her skin hot and her mouth dry. She wished for a retort but could think of nothing to say. He took her hand, sending another jolt tingling up her arm to her spine, which somehow made her ankles weak. They had stopped any pretense of dancing and were standing before each other in the middle of the ballroom.

“I believe our set is complete,” said Grant in a low tone.

It was another moment before Genie could register the words. In a flash, the ballroom came back into view. The dance was completed, and the gentlemen were leading their partners off the dance floor. Genie glanced around, nervous someone had noted her odd behavior, and indeed there were a few matrons staring at her and whispering.

“Yes, thank you,” said Genie briskly, gripping Grant’s arm, so anxious to leave the center of attention she ended up dragging him off the floor. Genie marched with purpose back to where her aunt was standing with Penelope. Nothing to shock a body back to propriety like her aunt’s sour look. “Thank you, sir,” said Genie in a clipped, businesslike tone. “I hope you will enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“I always do,” said Grant with a wicked grin. He bowed and disappeared back into the crowd.

Nine

Genie took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The hot, stale air only made her head swim more. The crush of the ballroom and stifling air made her a little dizzy.

“You should not look so much at him when you dance,” chastised her aunt. “One would think you were encouraging his advances and nothing could be more fatal. Do not think your behavior has not been noted. Vicious women these mamas are. They will not think twice about ruining your reputation so they can push their own less favored daughter. You need to… good heavens, child, are you all right?”

In truth, Genie was light-headed and swaying. The swarm of colors and tiny lights of the numerous candles in hanging chandeliers all seemed to swirl together. “I am a little hot; the room is so crowded. Perhaps a little air?”

“Yes, go to the balcony. For heaven’s sake, do not faint where everyone can see you.”

“I will help. Come with me.” Penelope took her elbow and led her competently through the maze of people until they reached a double door that opened onto a small terrace balcony.

“Lean against the railing and take some of the night air. The coolness will do you good. I will fetch some lemonade for you,” said Penelope.

“Thank you,” murmured Genie, her senses revived in the cool air. She leaned against the balcony and closed her eyes. The night air functioned as an effective restorative and soon she was feeling back to herself. She was not prone to vapors or other such episodes that seemed to afflict some women. Once again, her troubles were the fault of Mr. Grant. She was not exactly sure what he had done to have such an ill effect on her, but she was certain he was to blame.

The evening was pleasant, with no moon, the only light shining through the door from the ballroom. The balcony opened onto a courtyard garden, popular for large homes in London. A few crickets started to chirp, and Genie immediately thought of home. She missed the happy sound of crickets chirping and the frogs singing. She leaned slightly over the edge and listened intently.

“Did anyone see you leave?” whispered a male voice.

Genie straighten and scanned her surroundings but saw no one.

“No, I do not believe so,” whispered a familiar woman’s voice in return.

Genie realized the voices were coming from the garden below. She did not wish to intrude, but if she moved, the inevitable swish of her skirts would announce her presence.

“How long do we have, my love?” asked the man.

“An hour, no longer. I told my mother I was going to dance for the next two sets. She was sitting down to play a hand or two of whist with friends, so I should not be missed. But more than that, I do not dare. I must return to her soon.”

“Must you? Let us leave this place. Run away with me,” said the man, his voice thick with emotion.

“You know I cannot.”

“I will not let him marry you. Marriage contract be damned. I will not allow it!”

“Hush, my darling. I swear to you, I will not marry him. How could I? You know it to be impossible.”

“I need you.”

There was silence and Genie guessed there was kissing occurring in the darkness of the garden.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?”

“I am sure. We have waited too long.”

“It cannot be undone.”

“I know it.”

“I care nothing for your fortune, you know that. I would give it all away. I would not compromise you.”

More silence. Genie once again felt flushed. What might it be like to kiss Grant? Images came unbidden to mind. What would it feel like? Soft? Wet? Genie had seen her brother kiss a neighbor girl, shortly before her father bought him a set of colors and shipped him off to the Continent to fight Napoleon. Genie had thought it looked rather disgusting at the time, but now she found herself becoming more open-minded to the entire kissing idea. In fact, she thought she might just want to try it for herself. The closest she had ever come was a peck on the cheek. She doubted it counted.