A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Thirty-seven





Genie prepared for the ball in Marchford house. Runners had been sent to collect her gown and she had been handed over to efficient ladies’ maids who ensured she was bathed, dressed, and sparkling (thanks to a few loaned baubles from the dowager). Genie felt she should be more tired and upset, given all she had endured that day, but instead all she could feel was relieved.

She had received a note from Grant that he had found her brother and informed him that the debt was eliminated. Her brother was safe. She was safe. Grant was safe. Those things alone were enough to convince her it had been a good day.

The guests had arrived, but she remained upstairs and out of sight. Rumors had spread fast and wide about strange goings on in the Bremerton household, and though she doubted anyone could imagine a falsehood more inconceivable than the truth, she did not look forward to her reintroduction to society.

Instead of heading down to the ballroom, Genie went up the back staircase to the servants’ quarters. Marchford had allowed Jemima to stay the night until she could be given over to Grant’s housekeeper in the morning. She wanted to say good-bye to the child. Little did she know, when she showed mercy to the urchin in the street, the child would later save her life.

“Thems some nice sparklers,” commented the young Miss Jemima. She was sitting up in a plain, wooden bed, unrecognizable in a white night rail after a bath and a significant scrubbing. Now that she was no longer concerned with concealing her identity, she had accepted the bath with zeal.

“The necklace is pretty. A loan for the night from Her Grace,” said Genie.

“And don’t you worry none. I won’t nick the lob. I’m done with that lay.”

“Yes, well, if I understand you correctly, it would be good of you to refrain from stealing in the future.”

“No point in it anymore. Candyman’s dead, right?”

“Yes, well. The less said about that unhappy incident the better.”

“I’ves seen a man been killed before, but never one I wanted to be killed. I’m dang sure I’m demned for it too, but it’s just hows I feel.”

“No more talk of this, Miss Jemima. If you are going to improve your situation, you must learn to speak with a bit more…” Genie paused, considering the right word.

“No more thieves cant ye mean. I knowed the ways I talk ain’t right. But I just don’t know the right way.”

“You must try to learn it from the housekeeper. Do you think you can be a quick study?”

“Oh yes, ma’am!” Jem smiled brightly, her shocking red hair, which had emerged from the wash in bold curls, bobbing about her head for emphasis. “Why, when the Candyman teached me the art of the knuckle, I took to it real natural. Could nick a dummie and thimble off a flash cove wi’out him a’knowing what’s what.”

Genie gave her charge a weak smile. “That’s lovely,” she responded without conviction.

The orphan’s smile never faded, so certain she was to please Genie.

“Now, let’s get you to sleep.” Genie tucked in the rescued urchin.

“Never thought I’d see the day I’d sleep in a bed. A real bed!” Jemima snuggled under the white comforter and ran her hands along the coverlet. “And a pillow too. Bless me, it’s like being in heaven, yes it is. I wish my mama were alive to rest next to me. She woulda loved this, just fer one night even. I feel right set up for life!”

It was a simple bed, but scrawny Jemima was almost entirely swallowed up, her red curls in a sea of crisp white the only evidence of her presence. Genie smoothed the curls and gave the large-eyed waif a smile. “Go to sleep now.”

Genie extinguished the lantern and made her way out of the room to the hall before the first tear fell. What a sad life for the poor girl, who had never even slept in a bed. She made her way quietly down the back stairs, to the corridor leading to her guest room.

“Something the matter?” Grant’s voice was rich and smooth, sending shivers shimmering down her spine. He was in shadow, leaning against the wall as if he had been waiting for her.

“No, well, yes, I suppose. I was sad for that poor little girl who has known nothing but hardship. I feel I must look after her and had the thought to take her home with me, but I am not sure my parents would quite approve. I expect they were hoping I’d return with a husband, not a street urchin.”

“If they thought that, they could not have known your kind heart. No one could know you and be surprised if you came home with a passel of orphans.”

“Oh! Do you think I could bring home them all?”

“No, my dear. But it does you credit to consider it.”

“I’m not sure it does those orphans any good.”

“It has been a trying day. Perhaps we can tease ourselves with this problem later?”

Genie was flooded with a warmth that pinched at her cheeks. He had spoken of them as “we” and her response was ridiculously swift. “Yes, of course.”

“Something I should like to show you,” said Grant with a smile, stepping into the light and offering his arm. He was, as always, a fine figure, though more refined in his choice of color pallet, with a blue superfine, double-breasted coat and white silk waistcoat over white breeches.

Genie accepted his proffered arm. For good or ill, she would go with him anywhere. They went down the staircase together, and then, instead of turning right to descend the main stairwell into the ballroom, they turned left and Grant whisked her down the servants’ stairs.

“Where are we going?” Genie had a suspicion Grant had brought her to a secluded place to exchange a kiss or perhaps something more. And why should he not suspect her willing? She was a fallen lady after all, and with Grant, she might even be convinced to fall again.

“Place I wish to show you.” Despite their secluded location, Grant maintained the standard of high propriety. Grant opened the stair door into the hot bustle of the kitchen and led her through to the back door into Marchford’s new garden.

A gentle breeze had blown away much of the London haze, so the moon was actually visible, wreathed in an ethereal glow. The gardens were indeed a showpiece, the flowers in bloom, a sweet scent swirling through the lush greens. New flowering plants had been added to the straight hedgerows; lavender, lilies, roses, rhododendrons, and violets brightened the garden.

Grant led her a ways through the garden until they reached the doors leading back to the ballroom. The music of a country dance floated through the garden, but thick curtains covered the windows so they remained unseen. Genie was struck at the intimacy of enjoying the delights of a ball in the privacy of their own private garden.

“Shall we?” Grant held out a hand and Genie took it. Grant led her in the steps of the dance until Genie’s heart pounded with more than just the exercise.

Grant gradually moved slower, until his hands encircled her waist and they embraced, revolving in slow circles. The music had died out and Genie could no longer hear any sounds from the ball. It was as if everyone were holding their breath for this moment.

“Mr. Grant, I cannot express enough how grateful I am that you came to find me, to save me.” Genie smiled. “When I was in that cellar, I feared no one would miss me or care that I had gone.”

Grant smiled down at her. “I will always be there to rescue you. Though with how you handled yourself today, you may be the one rescuing me.”

“Well,” said Genie taking a step back. It was time to gain some distance or her heart would truly break when it came time to say good-bye. “Despite how the day started, and all the chaos that ensued, my brother was saved, and we seem to have escaped without scandal, except for Lady Louisa and the duke. I do feel sorry we were not able to help their case, but we did try.”

“Indeed we did. Hopeless case from the start.”

“Since Louisa was already married, yes indeed. I admit it’s more gumption than I thought she had. I am sorry for the gossip, but I do wish her every happiness.”

“I have a plan to help reduce the gossip.”

“Do you? I wish you well in it. You are very clever.”

Grant paused with a rueful smile. “I have been called many things, but clever? Not that.”

“Oh, but you are!”

Grant shook his head. “Trouble with you is that you only see what you wish to see. I have never in my life met a woman as artless as you. I thought I knew women, but indeed, I either know nothing of your gender or you are a new sort of breed altogether.”

Genie suppressed a grin. “I believe I can assure you I am a female.”

“Yes, yes, of that we have proof, much to my enduring shame.”

Genie’s smile faded. “Do you regret our… err, last night?”

“Indeed I do!” Grant spoke with feeling. “If I had been anything but deeply, most vilely drunk, I would have marched you home immediately.”

“I am sorry,” said Genie in a small voice, her hands clasped before her.

“Well, you should be. You have ruined me. Utterly ruined. I used to have a reputation, a certain notoriety about Town, and now since meeting you, everything I once was has been wrenched from me. I can look at nothing the same way. I have feelings in my chest I cannot recognize. And now this!” Grant took a small flask from his interior coat pocket and thrust it at her.

“A flask?” asked Genie meekly.

“Drink it!” he demanded.

“But I don’t drink—”

“Drink it, I say!”

Genie thought Grant in a strange humor and decided it best to oblige him. She took a sip and swirled the tart contents around her mouth. “Lemonade?”

“Lemonade!” he declared savagely. “And I lay the blame for my downfall entirely at your feet.”

“I suppose I should say I am sorry?”

“But you are not, I see. You have ruined me utterly and completely and rejoice in your success.” If Grant was jesting with her, he did not look it. He was agitated, perspiration on his brow. Even locked in the cellar he had not appeared in such distress.

“Do not worry yourself over me. I shall return home soon, there can be no doubt of that.”

“No, no you will not. You will not be returning to your parents’ home any time soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Grant paused and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He took a deep breath as if searching for courage and took Genie’s hands in his. “What I mean is…” A candle flickered in the window, which seemed to agitate him even more. “No time. Must show you.”

Grant pulled Genie into his arms and kissed her, softly at first, then harder, with more urgency. Genie wrapped her hands around his neck and leaned into him for stability when her knees turned weak. Grant may have his shortcomings, but the art of kissing did not count among them. Genie pressed closer and returned the kiss until her toes curled.

With a sudden flash, they were bathed in light and the sound of a collective gasp shattered her ears. Genie pulled back to see the shocked faces of her aunt, uncle, brother George, and a veritable who’s who of London society. She had done it now. She was utterly ruined.

Grant never took his eyes from her. He got down on one knee and took her by the hand. “Miss Talbot, you are the most amazing woman of my acquaintance. I thought my life complete, but it was nothing but a mere sketch. You have given my life color. Would you do me the greatest honor and consent to be…” Grant paused and swallowed compulsively. “If you would consent to be… that is to say.”

The crowd began to titter and crept closer. Grant glanced at the crowd and immediately turned his head away. “My mother and sisters have returned,” he whispered to the ground.

“You do not have to do this,” whispered Genie, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, yes I do.” Grant looked up, meeting her eyes. He cleared his throat and said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the parlor, “Genie Talbot, will you marry me?”

A wave of something hot washed through her and wrenched her breath away. She was frozen, unable to respond, unable to breathe.

Grant squeezed her hand, concern growing in his eyes. “Say yes,” he mouthed to her, “please.”

Genie shook her head. “I never meant to trap you,” she whispered.

Grant stood and clutched her shoulders, drawing her close. “My dear girl, it is I who have trapped you. Please be my bride.”

Genie smiled; she could not help it. How could she say anything but, “Yes!”

Grant reached into his pocket and produced a ring. It was a very old and unusual ring, made of three strands of metal plaited together, gold, silver, and steel. “This ring has been handed down in my family for generations. It is only to be given to one’s true love.” Though his voice was strong, his fingers trembled when he put the ring on her finger. “Genie, you are my one true love.”

Grant drew her close for another kiss even as the crowd began to cheer. At first, Genie clamped her jaw shut, self-conscious to be kissed before strangers, but within seconds, Grant’s soft lips made her forget they were being watched.

“William, my dear boy, my dear boy!” cried a woman with emotion heavy in her voice.

Genie broke from him at the words that could only be from Grant’s mother. Genie’s heart raced faster with anticipation of censure. What must his mother think of her?

“Mother, may I present my soon-to-be bride, Miss Eugenia Talbot.”

Mrs. Grant was an attractively plump woman with rosy cheeks. She beamed first at her son, then at Genie.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Grant,” said Genie.

“Oh, but I must kiss you too!” Mrs. Grant gave Genie a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, my dear. How is it I have never met you?”

“Genie is visiting her aunt, Lady Bremerton,” supplied Grant.

“How beautiful you are, my dear. Oh, I love you already!” Mrs. Grant smiled at Genie. “We must sit somewhere and you will tell me how you induced my darling boy to propose.”

“Yes, but first let me make introductions.” Grant introduced Genie to his father and several sisters. Genie smiled and shook hands and felt much like she was standing in the middle of a wonderful but befuddling dream.

“Genie!” George ran up and gave her a huge hug. “I am so happy for you!”

“And you? You are well?” asked Genie.

“I am now, thanks to everything you’ve done for me.”

“George, are you not in hiding anymore?”

“No. I’m sure I’ll catch it from Father, but I deserve it! I could not miss this evening, not for the world.”

People pressed toward them, all talking, all wanting to know how Genie landed the most elusive bachelor of the haute ton, with varying degrees of tact in their questions.

“Wait, wait!” demanded Grant, and all was still again. The crowd held their breath as if waiting to see what the next excitement would be. “My dear Genie. You have consented to be my wife. With the consent of your aunt and uncle, I would like to be wed tonight.”

The lords and ladies of fashion gasped again and all heads turned to look at Lord Bremerton.

“I have no objection to the marriage, but the banns must be read, dear boy,” said Lord Bremerton.

With a flourish, Grant pulled a paper from his pocket. “I present a special license. If there is a parson in the assembly, I would call upon him to come forward.”

“May I?” Genie did not wait for a reply and snatched the paper from Grant’s hand. She unfolded it with trembling hands. Carefully, she read the elaborate script. Though unversed in what a special license might be in appearance, she had no difficulty finding her name next to Grant’s.

“You really do wish to marry me.” Genie’s eyes were filled with liquid emotion.

“Most passionately.” Grant held her close and whispered in her ear, “Last night cannot count because I was deep in my cups. Tonight I drink nothing but the fruit of lemons and I will claim you in my bed.”

Genie shivered with something that had nothing to do with cold. Grant’s eyes were no longer mildly distracted; now, they were focused and intent. Her skin burned wherever his gaze went. The response of her mutinous body was instantaneous, without heed that they were the center of attention in a crowded ballroom.

“Yes, yes quite.” Genie smoothed her hands on her white silk gown. “Let us be married at once!”

Grant’s seductive smile turned a languid that made her almost willing to lift her skirts immediately.

“Mr. Grant, I presume.” A trim, well-proportioned man stood before them. “I am Mr. Oliver, a parson, but this is all very irregular.”

“You will wish to see this.” Genie handed him the marriage license.

Mr. Oliver glanced it over. “Yes, well, it all seems to be in order.” He looked back and forth between Grant and Genie, hesitating.

“I am ashamed to say it,” Grant whispered into Oliver’s ear, “but if you marry us, it would save me from sin tonight.” Grant gave the parson a knowing smile.

“Well, I suppose, in that case, I must proceed.”

Eugenie Talbot and William Grant were married by special license in the home of the Duke of Marchford. Several hundred guests were in attendance. The bride wore white, almost the same color as the pallor of the groom. Despite some last-minute bets made in poor taste by some of the young bucks in the room, the groom did recite his vows creditably and did not collapse in a dead faint. If his voice shook, it was only for a moment, and considering the occasion, no one could think the less of him for it.