A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Thirty-six





“But I don’t want to go wi’ the boys!” wailed Jem and cleaved to Genie as immovable as a limpet.

“Very well,” soothed Grant. “You can stay with me for a few more days until we all ride out to the country.” He handed Genie into the hack and lifted Jem in as well. Grant sat beside Jem, wishing there was not an urchin between him and his beloved, and gave the direction to the driver.

“I suppose I must go back to my aunt’s house, but really I wish I did not have to,” sighed Genie.

“Did your aunt kick up a fuss when Louisa ran off?” asked Grant.

“You know?”

“Yes, and what’s more she got herself hitched.”

“Well, now! To whom?” asked Genie.

“Some doctor.”

Genie put her hand to her head. “I feel I’ve been in the cellar for days. Poor Aunt Cora will be in high dudgeon.”

“Got a better idea.” Grant gave the direction to Marchford’s house. “Get ready for the ball there. Send for your clothes.”

“Are they still going to have the ball?” asked Genie.

“Don’t know,” said Grant in all honesty. “If not, better be there than with your aunt anyway.”

“True. I suppose I will have to go back soon enough,” sighed Genie.

“Why can’t you live with Mr. Grant like me?” asked Jem.

Grant also planned to ask Genie the same question but thought that the presence of an urchin between them made the circumstance less than ideal, so he refrained.

“Jem, I need to go home to the country, and you also will have a new home in the country,” said Genie.

“To stay with you?”

“No, dear. I will go home and you will go to your new home with the other boys.”

“Don’t want to!” said Jem with defiance.

“But wouldn’t you like to have meadows to run in, streams to swim in, horses to ride? You could work in the stables.” Genie was doing her best to conjure a picture no active boy could resist.

“I’d like to rides me a galloper, milady,” said Jem with wide eyes. “But I want to stay with you!” Jem crossed his scrawny arms and set his jaw, determined.

“I promise I will visit as often as I can,” said Genie, unsure how far he would be from her home. “And so will Mr. Grant,” she added, cavalierly volunteering him.

“I will at that,” Grant said in happy agreement. “Take you out there myself. Estate belongs to m’father. Stands to reason I’ll visit often.”

Despite these reassurances, the little boy shook his head defiantly. “I won’t go.”

“But whyever not?” asked Genie.

“Because.” Jem looked around and leaned closer to whisper his secret. “Because I’m a mot.”

“A mot?” asked Genie.

“A mot!” cried Grant.

Jem nodded her head.

“What’s a mot?” asked Genie.

“He is a she!” exclaimed Grant.

“You’re a girl?”

Jem nodded. “When the Candyman first caught me, I knew nuthing but bad would happen if’n he knew I was a girl, so I became a boy.”

“Oh, my dear child!” exclaimed Genie and wrapped Jem into a warm embrace. “But what is your name?”

“Jemima Price.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead, milady. And it’s no use asking about my aunts ’cause they’re dead too.”

“But how did the Candyman catch you?” Genie smoothed Jem’s hair out of her eyes trying valiantly to see something of a little girl.

“I was powerful hungry. He offered free sweets. Once he found there was none who’d miss me, I ended up in a cage.”

“Oh, my poor darling,” said Genie, giving her another hug. “How brave you have been.” Genie looked up at Grant with tears in her eyes and he knew a grand gesture was very soon in his future.

“Why don’t you stay with me?” he said with resignation. “I’m sure we need a maid of some sort. But you must only break the bric-a-brac I don’t like.”

“You would have to apply yourself, Jemima,” Genie said, “and of course you must have dresses.”

“I’d like me to wear some dresses,” said Jemima shyly.

“I saw a calico yesterday that would be perfect for your coloring, and we’ll need to get you some new boots and stockings and ribbons and bonnets!” Genie began to pour into Jemima’s willing ear all the wonders of millinery while Grant counted the cost with obliging acquiescence.

***

“There you are!” The Duchess of Marchford rapped her cane on the marble entryway in an irritated manner. Penelope stepped to the side to make sure her toes did not fall victim to the cane.

Grant, Genie, and Jemima arrived at the house at the same time as Marchford returned.

“Did anyone consider they were keeping an old woman waiting?” continued the dowager. “But no, it is of no matter of course, as long as you all were enjoying your amusements.”

“Of amusement such as those, there can never be too few,” muttered Grant.

“You look a sight, the lot of you.” The dowager shook her head. “And have you given any thought to the fact that in a few short hours, several hundred guests shall arrive at our house expecting a ball to celebrate a duke’s betrothal.”

“Can you cancel on such short notice?” asked Pen.

“We must! The prospective bride has married a commoner. It will be a scandal when it gets out. The only thing to do is put a notice on the door that we’ve come down with the pox and retreat to the country—or perhaps the Continent.”

“Napoleon might have something to say about that, Grandmother,” said Marchford.

“He doesn’t have the mouth on him that the Comtesse de Marseille does. At least our woes will provide amusement for some, vile woman.”

“Perhaps we can talk more about this after we have taken care of Miss Talbot,” Penelope suggested. “You appear to have been through a lot today.”

“I fear I look a sight,” agreed Genie, trying to smooth her hair. “I thought I could impose upon you and get ready for the ball here. I wasn’t feeling quite up to facing my aunt, but if you will cancel, I will bid you all farewell.”

“Nonsense, child. Stay and refresh yourself. But what is this creature you have with you?” asked the dowager.

“May I present Miss Jemima Price,” said Grant. “She is responsible for saving all of our lives.”

“It needs a bath.” The dowager called for her personal abigail and a flock of ladies’ maids to attend to the needs of the weary ladies.

When Genie had withdrawn, Jemima in hand, Grant also confessed a great need for a bath. “Sorry to leave you in such a tangle with a missing bride,” said Grant.

“If only Napoleon would invade or some such,” said the dowager. “The best way to avoid scandal is to give the gossips something else to chew on.”

“It is a shame Napoleon cannot be more obliging,” said Marchford.

Grant bowed and turned to leave but stopped and searched his coat pocket. With a smile, he strode back, waving the special marriage license in his hand. “Got a plan to save all our reputations.” He gave a foolish grin. “Except mine. I’m ruining myself!”

***

Marchford stood in front of the curtain concealing the garden, ready for the boldest performance of his life. If he failed tonight, the reputations of many would be in tatters. “Ladies and gentleman, distinguished guests.”

The noise and bustle of the ball subsided and several hundred of the most notable people in the land turned their attention to the duke. This was the moment for which they had been waiting. A salacious rumor being whispered was that Lady Louisa had run away, but most in the ballroom were waiting to hear the official news from Marchford himself.

Marchford resisted the urge to adjust his cravat. He prided himself in maintaining his composure no matter what the circumstances, yet this many eyes gave him pause—especially when he was not quite sure how to express himself without inviting scandal. He decided to start with the mundane. “I have behind me a project into which I have put a great deal of personal effort and from which I have derived a great deal of personal satisfaction.

“This new garden boasts several new species that have traveled here from such remote places as Spain, Italy, and even the Far East. I am particularly pleased with the flowers which have flooded the gardens with a heavenly aroma. I do hope all of you will have an opportunity to stroll the gardens to appreciate the beauty of the natural world.”

Marchford took a deep breath. It was time. “But first, I would like to say a few words to some important guests. It is my pleasure that the Earl of Bremerton could be here with his wife and their daughter, Lady Louisa.”

On cue, Penelope opened a side door and out walked Lord Bremerton and his family with expressions more appropriate for a public hanging than a society ball. Marchford had convinced them to pretend approval for their daughter to avoid scandal, but they were none too happy about it.

“As many of you are aware, our families have long been close. We have supported each other through times of great joy and great loss, and our two houses have always maintained close ties. Over the years, I have come to feel for Louisa as a brother would feel for his sister. Therefore, it gives me great joy to announce the marriage of Lady Louisa and Dr. Roberts.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

Marchford smiled as if he had not just heard the stunned shock of his friends and relations. Penelope ushered Dr. Roberts out the side door and he walked to stand beside Louisa.

“I am greatly pleased with this union,” said the dowager, joining the nervous couple before the crowd. “I wish them great joy.”

Marchford motioned for the servers to come forward with the champagne. “If you will all charge your glasses, I would like to propose a toast to the happy couple.” The guests were silent as they accepted flutes of champagne, as if waiting to see the crowd’s reaction to such startling news.

“To my dear friends, Lady Louisa and Dr. Roberts. May your union be long and prosperous. I truly wish you every happiness.” Marchford saluted the tense couple with his glass and took a small sip as the crowd began to stir.

“And now, my friends,” Marchford regained their focus. It would not do to let the gossips begin their commentary now. “Let me present to you the main attraction and the primary reason why I have invited you all to this ball.” Marchford glanced at Pen, who gave him a small nod. Everything was ready. Marchford pasted on a smile and raised his voice. “And now for the unveiling of what I believe to be my finest work.”

Marchford gave the signal and the curtain fell.

The ballroom was once again filled with a loud, collective gasp.