A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Ten

“There you are!” accused Lady Devine.

Grant flinched at his aunt’s words—not at the caustic tone, because he knew what was coming next. He turned from his card game to his aunt, her pursed lips and raised eyebrow a clear indication of her displeasure. She was about to ring a peal over his head, and he had done nothing but deserve it.

“Have you forgotten the promises you made me?” demanded Lady Devine.

“No, no, I was just taking a moment’s reprieve,” soothed Grant.

“A moment? I’ll have you know that moment has taken at least four sets!”

“No, surely not that long.”

“Indeed you have. I am sorry to break up the loo table, but with the cards you hold, you should be thanking me.”

Grant sighed and tossed his cards to the table. “Gentlemen, I thank thee. Duty calls.”

“Every debutante,” reminded his aunt as they proceeded back to the ballroom. “You promised to dance with every debutante if I would invite Lady Bremerton’s foolish protégée.”

“Have you met Miss Talbot, Aunt?” asked Grant.

“Yes, briefly. She is a pretty young thing. Exactly the kind whose company you’d enjoy.” She stopped for a moment in the corridor and lowered her voice. “I should not have to warn you, but I will not have you losing your head and making that gel some indecent proposal.”

“Aunt, you shock me!” said Grant in mock horror.

“I am in earnest. Miss Talbot is under the protection of Lady Bremerton, and no matter how foolish the chit is, she is not a candidate to be your next doxy.”

“Dear Aunt, you amaze me. I have never preyed on young debutantes.”

“That is not entirely true,” said his aunt, raising her eyebrow once more. “Do you recall the incident with Lady Stockton?”

Grant smiled in return, a charming, disarming, utterly false sort of smile. This was the trouble with family—they knew your past a little too well. “She was not Lady Stockton when the offer was made,” said Grant in a low voice. “Besides, it was a trifling matter, completely forgotten.” It was true that few people knew it had occurred and fewer still remembered it at all. Grant himself had tried to drink the memory away but found the incident could not be forgot.

“Just see to it, my boy, that you dance with all the debutantes and give their mamas a thrill.”

Grant bowed to his aunt. “I shall meet my fate with the courage of an Englishman.”

“Good.” She gave Grant a little pat on the shoulder and a nudge toward the ballroom. “I’ve met this year’s crop and you are going to need it!”

***

“Lemonade?”

Genie turned to find Mr. Grant holding two cups of the sweet libation. “Thank you, yes. I had thought you had gone to play cards.” After hours of speaking and dancing with a half-dozen eligible men of various ages and situations in life, the sight of the charming Mr. Grant was a welcome one.

“Indeed I did but was flushed out by my aunt.”

“You poor dear. And now here you are, drinking lemonade.”

“I believe in trying everything at least once. How bad can it be?” Grant raised his glass to her and took a hearty gulp. Instantly, he started to gag. “Good heavens, what a dreadful concoction!”

“Lemonade does not agree with you, sir?” asked Genie, taking a sip.

“Not agree? Why, who could agree with such a wretched drink? And to think they make poor, unsuspecting young ladies drink this. I am horrified.” Grant put his drink down on the table and eyed it suspiciously as if it might strike back.

Genie could not help but laugh.

“There now, that is a good sight better.” Grant smiled at her.

“Stop, please. My aunt has informed me that I must never laugh again. Indeed, I am to appear a very serious lady.”

“How dull. Worse than the lemonade. If this is how we are raising our young people today, we might as well surrender to France.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“At least they know how to enjoy some amusement.”

“And you are not amused by this soiree?”

Grant’s eyes met hers. “It has not been without amusement.”

Genie turned back to the ballroom where a mass of people milled about, waiting for the musicians to return from their break. She was once again feeling unusually warm, a sensation that seemed to be related to the close proximity of Mr. Grant. “Have you seen Lady Louisa?” She wished to change the subject and her mind flitted naturally to her cousin, about whom she had growing concerns.

“No, not recently. Why?”

“I was wondering if we could begin trying to bring Louisa and the duke to speaking terms.”

“Is Lady Louisa feeling neglected?” asked Grant.

“Not as much as she should,” murmured Genie. “But Lady Bremerton certainly feels the sting.”

“I am not sure what can be done,” hedged Grant.

“A dance might not be inappropriate at a ball.”

“Marchford rarely dances.”

“Perhaps he could make this one of those special occasions?”

“I shall make the suggestion to Marchford,” promised Grant.

“Would you?” Genie touched his sleeve and smiled with gratitude. “Thank you. Might there be anything else we can do to help?”

“I shall think on it, never fear. Perhaps I could arrange to bring Marchford for a visit?”

“Yes! That would be quite the thing.”

“Then it shall be done! I do apologize, but I must dash. Promised for the next set!” Grant bowed and disappeared into the sea of bodies. She caught sight of him once more leading out to the floor a plump debutante with pouty lips and spots. The sight ran tingles down her spine. He was not joking when he said he had promised to dance with every debutante to secure an invitation for her. Grant covered a wince with a smile after his foot was trod upon by the graceless young lady.

“Poor man,” murmured Genie. She had been wronged by him but now saw the scales had shifted and she was in his debt.

***

What on earth had become of him? He grimaced as his footwear again suffered attack. A few days ago, he was a notorious rake, a leader of society, carefree, and easy. Now he was standing up with an adolescent who snarled at him every time she made a mistake. What had dragged him to such depths?

He caught sight of Miss Talbot and resisted the urge to wave. Blasted girl. One look at those blue eyes and angelic face and he would promise her the crown jewels and his own head on a platter. His foot again suffered attack, his punishment for taking an interest in a debutante.

At length, the dance ended and Grant slipped away, back to the card room. His conscience pricked him again, and he knew he was not going to enjoy himself, but to meddle into his friend’s affairs, an occurrence so unprecedented he was forced to take some liquid courage.

Marchford was found in a dim corner of the card room, winning a game of piquet.

“So have you spoken with your prospective bride tonight?” Grant asked Marchford as he sat down to play a round with his friend.

“Plenty of time to talk after we are married.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like your grandmother.”

Marchford leveled a glare. “What are you about, Grant?”

“I know you do not wish to marry Lady Louisa,” began Grant, “but do you not think you should at least be on speaking terms?”

Marchford opened his mouth for what Grant expected to be a strongly worded rebuke. Marchford had returned from war colder than he had left, and he was a tad cool to begin with. Marchford clenched his jaw and played his card. “You are correct. I have not thought much of Lady Louisa except to know that we must marry. It always seemed…” Marchford played another card. “Lady Louisa was intended for my brother. They spent years together and I know she was very kind in helping to care for him. When Frederick died, it felt unseemly to marry his intended.”

“You miss your brother.”

“I do. I never wished to inherit his title, his bride. I will do what I must, but I do not wish…”

“You do not wish to appear to be enjoying the privileges meant for your brother.”

Marchford nodded.

“How do you think Lady Louisa feels about this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps, my friend, it is time to ask her.”

Marchford stared long at his cards, considering the prospect. “Yes, you are right. I have stayed away too long.”

“She is here, no time to waste. Go see her now!”

Marchford narrowed his eyes. “Are you concerned with my marital prospects or are you trying to get out of a bad hand?”

“I am outraged. Of all the years of our friendship, I would not have thought you could think so low of me. I now know your true opinion of me. And here my only concern has been for your welfare.” Grant somehow managed to keep a smile from his face, but he could tell Marchford was unimpressed by the performance.

“Bad run in cards?”

“Horrid. Now go talk to that bride of yours and leave me to my whiskey.”

Marchford stood in a calm, fluid motion. He was like that, always thinking and revealing nothing. It was one reason Grant reasoned Marchford needed him. Who else would give him the nudge into breaking that impenetrable shell and doing something relatively human? Marchford had been a spy too long. Not that Marchford had ever told Grant the nature of his work for the Foreign Office, but Grant knew. He just did.

“Perhaps you should see that pretty face you were dancing with earlier this evening.”

“Was I? Which one?” Grant asked with utter nonchalance, but he knew exactly who Marchford meant.

“Deception does not become you. Especially when you do it so poorly,” Marchford observed without emotion.

Another man might be offended, but Grant merely laughed. Marchford was right as usual, but Grant was much too practiced a bachelor to fall for easy bait. He had met many a charming, pretty face. It would take more than that to catch him.

And yet, as he forced himself back to the ballroom to dance with more simpering females, he easily recognized that no woman had ever inspired him to do something so undignified. If he was a wise man, he would take care to avoid Genie in the future. Yes, indeed, his flirtation with Miss Eugenia Talbot was officially at an end.

At least, if he had any sense, it would be.