The Marrying Season (2 page)

“Dursbury’s stepmother?” Genevieve asked. “But she is older than Sir Myles, surely.”

“Three or four years, perhaps. Married young to an old man,” her grandmother summed up succinctly. “I imagine the lady’s charms would outweigh that.”

“It certainly doesn’t seem he finds any fault in her,” Genevieve said tartly.

“And Lady Dursbury returns his interest,” Lady Hornbaugh responded gleefully.

Lady Dursbury’s face was glowing, her eyes sparkling, as she chatted with Myles. The woman leaned forward to put her hand on his arm, smiling up into his face. Genevieve felt a twinge of annoyance, an emotion not uncommon where Sir Myles was concerned, and she turned away, looking out across the large assembly room.

“It’s no wonder,” Lady Hornbaugh went on. “Thorwood’s a handsome young devil. Don’t you agree, Genevieve?”

“What? Oh. Yes, I suppose,” Genevieve said with great indifference, wafting her fan. “I have known him so long, I scarcely notice.”

“Not notice!” Lady Hornbaugh hooted. “Good gracious, girl, now you have me worried about your eyesight.”

“I suggest we cease discussing the man,” her grandmother put in, “as he is making his way toward us right now.”

Genevieve glanced over to see that Myles was, indeed, striding across the floor toward them, smiling. Her spirits rose in anticipation. Her verbal skirmishes with Myles were always invigorating, no matter how irritating the man could be. And, she was honest enough to admit, it was rather pleasant to watch him walk.

“Lady Rawdon.” Myles made a perfect bow to the women. “And Lady Hornbaugh. Lady Genevieve. I cannot believe my good fortune to find three such lovely ladies unattended.”

“Flatterer,” Lady Hornbaugh replied without a hint of displeasure, and rapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. “As if we did not know that ’tis the presence of only one young lady that brought you over to visit us. ’Tis Genevieve who draws the young gentlemen.”

“I fear you mistake Sir Myles,” Genevieve said drolly. “He has no preference for me or any other particular lady. He is like a butterfly, drawn to all the flowers.”

Myles’s eyes gleamed gold with amusement. “Lady Genevieve! You are implying I am fickle?”

“I would not say fickle. Merely . . . indiscriminate.”

He laughed. “My lady, you have a cruel tongue.”

“I would say a truthful one.”

“Nay, I cannot allow you to count yourself so low.”

“Myself? I believe we were discussing you, sir,” Genevieve shot back.

“But if I am indiscriminate in my tastes, then my desire to ask you for this dance would cast you among the vast lot of young ladies whom I admire. And you must know that you are on a level quite above them.”

Genevieve could not keep from chuckling. “You are a complete hand.”

“That I may be. But will you give me
your
hand for this dance?” He extended his arm to her.

Genevieve took his arm, and they started toward the center of the floor. “Rather cocksure of yourself, I must say,” she told him. “Offering me your arm before I answered.”

“Oh, I knew you would dance with me,” Myles said with a grin. “You cannot resist.”

“Indeed?” Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “You count yourself so charming?”

“No, but I know that however obstinate, haughty, and disagreeable you may be, you love to dance.”

Genevieve drew in breath to shoot back a sharp retort, but instead she laughed. “You are an excellent dancer,” she admitted. “Indeed, it was you who taught me to dance.”

“Did I?”

“I might have known you would not remember. No doubt it is more difficult when one has danced with every young lady of the
ton
.”

“One must practice, after all.” Myles grinned and leaned his head toward her in that way he had perfected, as if the woman on his arm were the only woman in the room. “But ’tis always memorable to dance with you.”

“Don’t try to cut a wheedle with me.” Genevieve rolled her eyes. “You just told me you did not recall. It was one summer when you and Gabriel came with Alec to Castle Cleyre. Grandmama had quite despaired of my learning to dance properly. My dancing tutor had left in a snit.”

Myles let out a bark of laughter. “Chased off by the rough edge of your tongue, no doubt.”

“He was an oily little man,” Genevieve shot back indignantly. “He tried to kiss me one day—and I was only thirteen!” She stopped, realizing that Myles’s teasing had led her to touch on a most indelicate subject. It was one of Myles’s many annoying qualities—somehow when she was around him, she found herself blurting out the
most appalling things. Fortunately, Myles rarely seemed shocked, no matter what she told him.

“I am surprised Alec didn’t have his hide.”

“I did not tell him, of course. I was afraid he might kill the little weasel, and I would not have wanted Alec to go to gaol, of course.”

“Of course. Why didn’t you get Alec to teach you to dance?”

“He wasn’t as good a dancer as you. Gabriel was quite good also, but I had such a mad
tendre
for him that I stumbled all over my feet whenever he was near.”

“Your girlish dreams were for Gabe and not me?” Myles raised his hand to his chest dramatically. “Lady Genevieve, you wound me.”

Genevieve laughed. “Then you may take consolation in the fact that you rank well above Gabriel now.” She glanced over to where Lord Morecombe and his wife, Thea, stood talking and laughing with Alec and Damaris.

“Ah, Genny . . . can you not forgive Gabe yet?” Myles asked in a more serious tone.

“He turned against my brother.” Genevieve’s blue eyes flashed in a way Myles had witnessed often enough in Rawdon, reminding him how close the Staffords still were to their fierce and autocratic ancestors. “The Morecombes broke Alec’s heart, and it was not just Jocelyn’s tossing him aside that did it. Alec believed Gabriel was his friend. You do not know how it was, growing up in the castle. There were no children of proper birth
anywhere around, and a Stafford could not be friends with a servant or a tenant’s child. Father would have had his hide.”

“I think it was not only Alec who found it lonely at Cleyre,” Myles said gently.

“Oh, well . . .” Genevieve glanced at him. Myles could be disconcertingly perceptive at times. She shrugged carelessly, erasing the heat from her voice. “I did not feel it as Alec did. When he went off to school and you and Gabriel befriended him, it meant a great deal to Alec. For Gabriel to accuse him of frightening Jocelyn into running away—even going so far as to suggest that Alec might have harmed the silly girl! It wounded Alec deeply.”

“Yet Alec has forgiven him.” Myles nodded toward the two men, deep in conversation.

“Yes. Well . . . Alec has a warmer heart than I.” Genevieve smiled ruefully. “Mayhap he has more of our mother in him. It is enough for him that Gabriel apologized for his accusations.”

“Gabriel was in a good deal of pain himself at the time,” Myles reminded her. “He feared his friendship for Alec had led him to push his sister into the engagement.”

“Gabriel’s sister was as foolish as she was selfish, and the fact that she died as a result does not change her into a martyr. For Alec’s sake I will try not to dislike Gabriel. But I shall never forgive Jocelyn.” Genevieve’s eyes flashed, her jaw setting.

“What a lioness you are! I can only pray that I will never be the object of your enmity.”

“Don’t be absurd. You would never turn your back on Alec. No one can deny your loyalty.”

“Despite my many other shortcomings.” Myles grinned. The music struck up behind them, and he held out his hand. “Enough talk of feuds past. Come, Genny, let us dance.”

Genevieve smiled and went into his arms.

When Myles returned Genevieve to
her grandmother’s side, Lady Rawdon had been joined by Alec and Damaris, as well as Lord and Lady Morecombe. Morecombe bowed politely to Genevieve, though he shot her an ironic glance that said he knew full well her true feelings about him. Genevieve returned his greeting without the iciness she would normally have employed. After all, she had told Myles she would try to like him, and since his wife was Damaris’s best friend, the Morecombes would clearly often be around. She smiled at Gabriel’s wife with more warmth. Genevieve had been around Thea several times the past few days as the wedding preparations demanded, and somewhat to her surprise, she found herself liking the woman.

Alec was smiling, as he had been all day, and his blue eyes, even lighter than Genevieve’s, were bright with happiness. Impulsively, he reached out and pulled his sister into a hug, the affectionate gesture surprising them both.

“I am very happy for you,” Genevieve told him quietly.

“Thank you.” Alec released Genevieve, grinning. “No doubt ’tis a great relief for everyone, given the state of my company the last few weeks.”

“You were a bit of a bear,” Genevieve agreed drily. With Damaris here in Chesley the past month preparing for the wedding, Alec had roamed the halls of Castle Cleyre like a ghost—albeit a testy and combative specter.

“He is
always
a bit of a bear,” Damaris put in, smiling up at Alec in such a way that it turned her words into an endearment.

“I suppose I was a trifle irritable,” Alec allowed, earning a derisive laugh from the others.

As the group chatted, laughing, Genevieve saw Thea draw Sir Myles aside. Thea spoke a few words to him, nodding toward the other side of the room. Genevieve looked in the direction she indicated and saw a young woman sitting stiffly beside an older lady, watching the dancers. Myles nodded, smiling down at Thea, and excused himself. Genevieve watched as he strolled across the room and bowed to the young lady, then led her out onto the floor.

“That was kind of you,” Genevieve commented as Thea moved over to stand beside her.

“Oh. ’Twas little enough. I can always rely on Myles’s good nature.” Thea absently reached up to stuff a cinnamon-colored curl back into place. Genevieve had yet to see Lady Morecombe when at least one or two of her wildly springing tresses weren’t trying to escape their moorings. “I intend to steal you away as well.”

“Me?” Genevieve asked, surprised.

“Yes. We must whisk Damaris from Alec’s side—no easy task, as you can see—and help her change into her traveling dress.”

“Oh,” Genevieve said blankly.

“That is what the friends of the bride do, isn’t it?”

“Oh. Well, yes, I—I suppose so. I’ve never—I haven’t any—” Genevieve stopped, flushing. “I mean, I have friends, of course. Just not of that sort.” With every word, she was making more of a fool of herself. It was so difficult talking to people she did not know, particularly when, as Thea was apt to do, they did not follow the well-worn grooves of polite chitchat. Genevieve pulled herself straighter, retreating into the cool reserve she had always used to cover her awkwardness. “One does not, really, in the city.”

“No doubt it is different here in Chesley,” Thea agreed cheerfully, taking Genevieve’s arm in a firm grip and pulling her toward Damaris.

Startled, Genevieve went with Thea and watched, somewhat bemused, as she slipped an arm around Damaris’s waist, then, laughing and shaking her head at Alec’s protests, led the new Lady Rawdon away. Thea and Damaris chattered merrily as they went up the stairs, and Genevieve followed behind them, uncomfortably aware that she should enter into their conversation, yet unable to think of anything to say.

They were talking about Damaris and Alec’s upcoming honeymoon trip to the Continent. Traveling abroad was a topic on which Genevieve knew she could say something, unlike the books the two had discussed yesterday, but every sentence she came up with sounded stilted in her head, and by the time she had formed one that did not, the topic had changed to Damaris’s trousseau.

“I hadn’t nearly enough time to buy a full one,” Damaris said with a sigh as they entered her bedroom. “But at least I managed a few new dresses.”

Spread out on the bed was her carriage gown, a handsome creation of vivid blue in a high-collared, vaguely military style, accented by large frogged fastenings down the front. Genevieve sucked in her breath in a spontaneous burst of admiration.

“Oh, Damaris! It’s wonderful.” Genevieve went forward to examine the dress more closely. Dissimilar as the two of them were, Genevieve and her new sister-in-law found common ground when it came to fashion. She reached out to smooth her fingertips across the material. “Such a beautiful color. It will look perfect on you.”

“When I return, you must borrow it sometime,” Damaris told her, adding with a sparkle of humor, “After all, I wore your frocks often enough at Cleyre.”

“I wish I could.” Genevieve sighed. “But you have the coloring for it. I would look like a ghost walking. Years ago, when I first came out, I wanted desperately to wear something bright.” She heard the wisp of longing in her voice and quickly added, “But of course Grandmama was right. Pale colors suit me best.”

“You should wear it anyway,” Thea told her firmly. “I have foresworn all my old dull dresses.”

“I have heard love does that to people,” Damaris said with a teasing glance at her friend.

Thea laughed. “Yes, I suppose it does. I recommend it for everyone.”

“Well, all one has to do is move to Chesley. You met Gabriel here, and I met Alec.” Damaris turned toward Genevieve. “You should look around, Genevieve; your future husband may be among the guests.”

Genevieve was not certain what Damaris meant but smiled politely.

“It isn’t Chesley,” Thea protested. “It’s Saint Dwynwen.”

“Saint who?” Genevieve asked. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Her. She was a Welsh saint.”

“The patron saint of love,” Damaris added. “There is a statue of her in the church. Did you see it? In the side chapel, where the tombs are.”

Genevieve vaguely remembered a rather battered wood sculpture. “It’s, um, rather old?”

Thea laughed. “Older than old. We have no idea when it was carved. A local knight took it from a Welsh shrine during some campaign or other in Wales. He also brought home a Welsh bride. He was quite smitten with her, you see, and claimed that his prayers to this saint had been rewarded.”