A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Thirty





Grant woke in a groggy stupor, unwilling to be wrenched from the blank unconsciousness only whiskey, with a mixture of whatever other hard spirits he had in the house, can produce. His need overtook his reticence and he forced himself to sit upright, grabbing for the chamber pot. He heaved the roiling contents of his stomach until he feared he may have tossed an organ of some importance. His body shook involuntarily with a sudden clammy chill.

“Are you all right?” asked a woman’s voice from behind him on the bed.

Grant closed his eyes and shuddered again. Had he brought a doxy back home with him? He could not remember it. Then again, he could not remember anything about the night before. He must have been truly far gone to bring back a lightskirt to his mother’s house. Some things one does not do, and this was one of them.

It was still dark outside, which gave him hope. Best to get the girl out of the house before the staff awoke to tell his mother of his exploits. He would like to think they would protect his secret, but he knew better.

“Are you well?” asked the woman again.

He supposed he would have to escort her back to wherever she belonged. His head pounded, and he would have much preferred going back to the dreamless sleep alcohol provided.

“We should get you back home,” said Grant, standing up to find water. His throat burned. He could not remember eating sand, but he sure felt it in his mouth.

“Home?” The female voice raised an octave. “But I thought I would stay here.”

Stay here? Was the woman mad? He really needed to stay home when he drank too much. Odd though, he thought he had intended to do just that.

“No, we need to get you—” Grant turned around. Miss Talbot sat on his bed. No, not on his bed, in his bed. The covers were pulled over her chest, her naked shoulders clear evidence of…

The room slanted and Grant stumbled to his knees. Miss Talbot was in his bed. Genie Talbot was in his bed. How could this be? Was he mad?

Genie pulled a blanket around herself and rushed to his side. “Grant, whatever is wrong?”

“How, how is it that you are here?” he croaked.

“Do you not remember?” Genie blushed.

Blushed! That was not a good sign. His brain spun. He must remember, he must. But no, there was nothing, just a big hole where Genie Talbot was supposed to be.

“I do not know how… I must be mad.” Grant ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “Mother said drink would land me in Bedlam someday. Guess the old gal was right.”

Genie laughed, a merry sound. “You are not mad. I came to you last night. Do you truly remember nothing?”

Grant shook his head. He remembered nothing. That was the point of drinking until he could no longer find his mouth with the bottle, but he had never regretted it so wholly as he did now. The time for self-recriminations would come soon enough; now, he needed to act fast. If the scullery maid were to come and find her naked in his room, he would be forced to put a bullet through his own head and save Genie’s family the trouble.

“We must get you home.”

The light in her eyes died, as if he had smothered it. She clutched the blanket around her with both hands. “I would rather stay with you. I thought we had an”—she paused and took a slow breath—“an arrangement.”

“No, no, we cannot.” Grant stood and offered her a hand off the floor. She rose as dignified as one could without his assistance.

“I see,” she said, but she stared out into nothing, her eyes dull.

He hated himself. Utterly. “I am so sorry. I must see you home before anyone can find you here.”

That seemed to rouse her. “Yes, yes of course.”

“I will remove myself to allow you to dress.” He fled into his dressing room, giving her the privacy he was certain she needed. He could not imagine what turn of events had led her here, but now he was in a pulsing panic to try to make it right and protect her reputation by putting her back where she belonged. Maybe no one would know. Maybe no one would find out.

He dressed fast, without a care to style. Nothing mattered now but getting Genie back. He knocked on the bedroom door and opened it slowly to find Genie standing in the middle of the room dwarfed by a large coat. She was small and delicate, and silently crying.

He was a wretched man. Wretched. He must work fast and get her back. No one could see her like this. No one could find her. He had ruined her, but at least he was going to protect her from others knowing that truth.

He started toward the door, then with great forethought, particularly remarkable since he could still feel the effects of drink, he went quickly to the bed and pushed some pillows under the blankets to make it appear as if he was sleeping.

“Come,” he whispered. “Quietly now.” He opened the door to the hall and crept out, Genie following behind.

He walked as quietly as he could down the corridor. He did not take a light; he did not want to be seen by any of the staff. When did the scullery maids get up to light the fires? He did not know. They were always lit when he woke. He never thought about when it occurred.

Something banged behind him and he whirled around. “Genie?” he whispered.

“Found a wall,” she whispered back.

Poor thing. She had not been walking these halls since she was on leading strings, how did he expect her to know her way in the dark? He felt back for her and grabbed her hand, soft and warm. Very soft. Very warm. He pushed the thought away.

They needed to get her out of the house. He felt for the banister. “Stairs,” he whispered back to her. Softly they crept down the stairs and turned toward the entrance to the garden. They were almost to the door when a light glowed in the corridor from an approaching scullery maid.

Grant grabbed Genie and whisked her into the open door of his study, flattening her against the wall in the dark so as not to be seen. She was warm, and despite everything, his body responded to hers immediately. He wanted to take her back upstairs and keep her forever. He was disgusted with himself. He wanted to kiss her right now. What was wrong with him?

The light grew brighter and he sank deeper into the shadow. The scullery maid came into view carrying a pail in one hand and a candle in the other. He held his breath. If they were caught now, there was nothing he could say to explain it, and the rumor would spread across London before the morning papers arrived on his stoop.

He pressed against Genie, back into the shadows, so close he could feel her heart race, fast and angry. He had hurt her. It was not a thing that could be forgiven. He only hoped he would be given a chance to make it right. He wanted to talk to her, to apologize, but this was not the time.

The light dimmed as the maid went up the stairs. Did she really get up this early to light the fire in his grate? Remarkable.

He took up Genie’s hand again and made their way into his garden and then through the rusty gate into the Bremerton garden. Close to the door of the house, he stopped. He should not go in, that much he knew.

“Mr. Grant, I must speak to you about our agreement,” whispered Genie, her face pale like marble in the moonlight.

Grant winced. Agreement? What had he done? “Genie, this is my fault, mine entirely. I accept full responsibility for it. Please forgive my imprudent words of an arrangement between us. It was foolish and I regret it more than I can express.”

“But last night we talked about—”

“Forget last night!” His whispered words were harsh even to his own ears. “Pretend last night never happened. Go to bed, go to sleep, and pretend it was all a bad dream. Tomorrow—”

Light shone in the window and Grant plunged to the ground scrambling out of view. Retreating the way he came, hidden by the dense foliage, he watched to ensure Genie made it back to the house. The person with the light was there when she entered the house. He hoped she would have the good sense to make up a plausible excuse.

***

“Good morning, miss,” said the maid as Genie walked into the house. The surprise in her eyes was clear. Genie needed to give her an explanation.

I was visiting Mr. Grant, where I was ruined and tossed out like refuse.

“I could not sleep, so I sat in the garden awhile,” said Genie in a dull tone. She wished she could go to sleep and wake up at home, this entire visit to London nothing but a bad dream.

“Are you well, miss?” The young maid’s face revealed concern, not censure.

“Yes.” Genie paused and shook her head. “No, not really.”

“Pardon me saying, miss, but all the staff think Mr. Blakely is a wretched man and you’re best without him.”

“It is most certain that I will do without the man.”

“My mum says men ain’t naught but lying bastards.” The maid averted her eyes to the floor. “Pardon me saying so, miss.”

“Quite right,” said Genie, standing taller. “I believe your mother had the right of it.”

***

Genie cried until the tears stopped. Not that she was no longer miserable, but eventually the tears dry up and you must move on. Her maid thought her red, swollen eyes were due to the loss of Mr. Blakely. Genie did not bother to correct the assumption. She washed in cold water, trying to erase the memory of Grant. All she accomplished was to make herself dreadfully chilled, inside and out.

Men were wretched. Brothers, however, still needed to be tended. Especially George, who was still only a child in a grown body. He must be protected so he could grow to improve the lot of mankind. Surely he would never treat a lady in such a manner.

She met with George early in the morning and gave him every shilling she had along with a promise that she had found a way to get the money. She secured his promise not to do anything until the next day. He was sporting a black eye and a swollen jaw. He had tried to earn his fortune through boxing but failed.

There was only one card left to play. The moneylender. Genie walked to the breakfast room with heavy feet. She knew she must be hungry, but the food turned her stomach.

“Have you seen Louisa?” asked Lady Bremerton. “She has not come down for breakfast.”

“No,” answered Genie. It was the truth.

“Do you know where she is this morning?”

“Sorry, I don’t know.” Also the truth. What Genie did not say was since it was the day of the engagement ball, she was not surprised Louisa was gone. Unfortunately, Genie had her own problems.

“I thought I might visit Miss Rose now,” said Genie.

“Later perhaps. It is too early to be making calls.”

“But I’d like to coordinate with Penelope about the ball tonight.”

“Fine,” said Lady Bremerton, distracted. “But have the groom drop you off. I’ll need the coach later. Marchford can send you home.”

On the short ride to Marchford house, Genie considered her options again until she was resigned she had only one thing left to do. The coldness would not leave her.

***

Penelope was surprised to be told Miss Talbot was waiting for her in the drawing room. Why would she be visiting so early? A keen sense of dread nipped at Pen’s heels as she walked to the drawing room.

“Thank you for seeing me so early,” said Genie when she was seated opposite Penelope in the drawing room. The dowager, no early riser, did not join them.

“It is not too early for me, though perhaps it is a bit unusual,” said Penelope. “Is there something wrong?” Pen could not help but notice Genie’s red puffy eyes and overall downcast appearance.

Genie gave a weak smile. “No, just a little tired.”

“You should not lose hope that things did not work out with Mr. Blakely. In fact, Madam X has another potential suitor for you.”

Genie’s shoulders slouched. “The last thing I need—”

“I know it is easy to be discouraged, but let us keep hopeful. You are a beautiful girl inside and out. Helping to settle you creditably should not be so difficult.”

“Forgive me, but at this moment, I feel like something you would scrape off a shoe. I am not at all interested in adding another man to my troubles,” declared Genie with feeling.

Penelope could understand if Genie was discouraged by the disaster Mr. Blakely turned out to be, but it only made Genie’s need for a proposal that much more urgent. “This man is a nice one. He is a parson and lives not far from London, so you could enjoy the benefits of Town whenever you like.”

“The benefits of Town are limited in my estimation.”

“You must not be so negative. Mr. Oliver is a kind man. He should arrive soon. He is acquainted with the family and is coming for the engagement party this evening.”

On cue, the door opened and the butler announced Mr. Oliver. In walked a young man with sandy hair and bright eyes.

“Good morning to you ladies.” Mr. Oliver gave a bow. “I am honored to be invited to the engagement ball for the Duke of Marchford. I was quite surprised to see the carriage he sent this morning.”

“Think nothing of it.” Pen waved off the comment sincerely hoping he would forget to thank the duke—particularly since the duke was not the responsible party for his mode of transportation. After the disastrous situation with Blakely, Pen and the dowager had devised a swift new plan—bring in a man from the country.

“May I present Miss Eugenie Talbot?” said Penelope.

Genie gave a tepid smile and Pen could not help wishing her friend did not look quite so fatigued. She had hoped to amaze the young parson with the dazzling beauty of Miss Talbot, but Genie was more frazzle than dazzle at the moment.

“How are you acquainted with the family?” asked Genie absently after the initial pleasantries were uttered.

“Mr. Oliver took over the parsonage from my father,” explained Pen. He was also young, handsome, available, and they were running out of other candidates.

“Whose shoes I can only hope to someday be able to fill,” said Mr. Oliver kindly. “And yet I think we have another connection. I believe the Duke of Marchford’s intended is graced with the family name of Munthgrove. I had the occasion to marry a Miss Munthgrove a few months ago. A family member I believe. I hope to see her at the ball.”

Genie nodded politely, but Penelope froze. It could not be, could it? Surely she would not have done anything so stupid. “I think I heard of the marriage,” said Pen, taking care to keep her tone conversational. “She married a Dr. Roberts?”

“Yes, indeed. Will they be attending the party do you think?”

Pen held her hands tightly in her lap to refrain from jumping up. “I should hope not. That is to say,” Pen amended to Mr. Oliver’s startled face, “I doubt I shall see her, but I would very much like to.”

She needed to excuse herself now. But how to get rid of her guests? Mr. Oliver was obliviously cheerful and Genie looked as though she might cry.

“Mr. Oliver, you must be tired from the road, especially having to rise so early. Let me show you to your room. Genie, would you be able to entertain yourself for a while?”

“Oh yes. I will show myself out. You need not worry on my account.”

Pen hustled Mr. Oliver up to a bedroom, which took longer than she anticipated because he had a habit of stopping at beautiful works of art and wanting to make conversation or ask questions. Since the illustrious home of the Duke of Marchford boasted many extraordinary works of art, this process was lengthy. After answering or deflecting all his questions, she left him in the capable hands of the housekeeper.

Pen hustled off to find the duke. The ball had to be called off!