The Marrying Season

by Candace Camp

  “But you just arrived.” The men looked at him, confused.

  “Nevertheless . . .” Myles sketched them a bow and walked away.

  Genevieve gazed out across the crowd as Lady Dursbury and Miss Halford assured one another that the flowers were lovely, the music was melodic, and the crowded room was quite warm. A few feet away, one of Dursbury’s friends was droning on about the carriage he was considering buying.

  The unfortunate fact was that Genevieve found several of her fiancé’s friends and family a trifle boring. Dursbury, of course, ever the perfect gentlemen, was much too loyal and polite to seek more entertaining company. Genevieve suppressed a sigh, reminding herself that only the need for chaperonage kept her and her fiancé constantly surrounded by others. Once they were married, it would be different. They would be together alone.

  A hard knot formed in Genevieve’s chest. She was not sure what it was, but the constriction had made its presence known more and more often recently. She had not told her grandmother; she would not want to worry her, and it was nothing, really. Nor was it odd to be sleeping less these days, to find it hard to fall asleep and sadly easy to awaken.

  “Ah, Lady Genevieve, look who is here,” Lady Elora said, interrupting her thoughts, and Genevieve turned to see that Foster Langdon had joined Elora and Iona.

  “Mr. Langdon.” Genevieve suppressed a groan. Foster Langdon had begun hanging about the past few weeks, professing his admiration and bemoaning his supposedly broken heart at the news of her engagement. Genevieve avoided him as best she could, but Lady Elora seemed to have a soft spot for the man and rarely turned him away.

  “You put the moon to blush for shame tonight,” Langdon told Genevieve now, taking her hand although she had not offered it to him.

  “Indeed, you are too kind,” Genevieve said coolly as she tried to pull her hand from his grasp, finally jerking it free.

  He leaned closer, and Genevieve edged back, wrinkling her nose at the strong scent of wine that rose from him. The man was thoroughly foxed. As if to prove her point, he swayed a trifle and reached out to steady himself. Genevieve slid a few more inches away.

  “Excu—” she began, and at that moment she heard Myles Thorwood’s voice.

  “Ladies,” Sir Myles greeted them cheerfully. “Langdon, I cannot allow you to keep the most beautiful women of the ton to yourself.”

  With relief Genevieve turned to Myles as he inserted himself between her and Mr. Langdon. On the other side of her, Lady Dursbury preened and smiled at their new visitor, her dark, liquid eyes lambent with promise.

  “Sir Myles!” she cooed. “I vow, we have not seen you in an age. You have been sorely missed. I was telling Miss Halford only yesterday that I believed you must be shunning our company.”

  “No, you wrong me, my lady.” Myles bowed to Elora. “I have been out of the city. Pressing matters at home. Rest assured that it was out of no desire to avoid the company of such a lovely lady as yourself.” He turned to Genevieve, his smile rakish. “Lady Genevieve. I trust you missed me, as well.”

  “La, sir, I had not realized you were gone,” Genevieve replied airily.

  Sir Myles grinned. “My dear lady, I know that is a plumper.” When Genevieve raised her brows, he went on, “I believe you once told me I was like a small pebble lodged in one’s shoe. And one is always aware when such an annoyance as that vanishes.”

  Genevieve’s laugh trilled out at his words. Dursbury’s stepmother cast her a surprised glance, but quickly said, “I am sure Lady Genevieve did not mean to insult you, sir.”

  “I fear Sir Myles knows me too well to believe that,” Genevieve put in.

  “Indeed,” Myles agreed. “I have known the lady since she was in braids, and she has always been the bane of my existence.”

  “How unkind,” Genevieve retorted, her eyes twinkling.

  “If I am unkind, then perhaps you will allow me to atone for my sins by taking a turn around the dance floor with me,” Myles said.

  “Of course. ’Twould be most unfeeling of me not to allow you your penance.”

  “Ladies.” Myles bowed to the other two women and offered Genevieve his arm.

  “I must thank you for taking me away,” Genevieve told Myles lightly as they took to the floor.

  “Langdon bothering you?”

  “The man is always turning up and mouthing fulsome compliments.”

  “Some ladies enjoy fulsome compliments,” Myles pointed out.

  “Not I. And it is so difficult to get rid of him. I believe he is a trifle thick.”

  “I would say so if he has not realized your dislike of him. I could see it twenty feet away.”

  “I am glad for that.” She smiled. “Did I really tell you that you were like a pebble in one’s shoe?”

  He laughed. “Indeed. ‘Insignificant yet infinitely annoying,’ I believe were your words.”

  “My, I must have been quite irritated. What had you done?”

  “I? Why must I have done something?”

  “Because I find that you usually do,” Genevieve teased. No doubt she was grinning too broadly, but at the moment she could not find it in herself to care. It felt too sweet, too carefree, to be circling the floor in his arms.

  He shook his head in mock dismay. “My lady, you wrong me . . . and after I have rescued you.”

  She smiled. “Very well. I shall say nothing else bad about you.”

  “Genevieve!” He widened his eyes. “No, think! You may do yourself harm.”

  Genevieve laughed. “It has been forever since we danced together. Was it at Alec’s wedding? No, surely that’s not right.”

  “I believe it was the Twelfth Night ball.” He gave her a rueful grin. “But you may be excused for forgetting. I believe you had other matters on your mind that night.”

  “What—oh, of course.” That had been the night Dursbury proposed. How foolish of her to have forgotten. “Where have you been since then? What have you been doing? Lady Dursbury is right; you have not been at any of the parties.”

  “I spent some time at home. I am surprised you missed me, involved as you must be in wedding plans.”

  “Indeed. But I believe Grandmother is enjoying it a great deal more than I.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “It is rather fun to watch her and Lady Dursbury square off about the details.”

  “My money would be on your grandmother.”

  “You would be right. Although Elora did win on the subject of the location. She is insisting it be at the cathedral in Ely.”

  “No doubt Lady Rawdon wanted it to be at Durham Cathedral.”

  “Oh, no. She wanted it in the chapel at Cleyre.”

  “And what did you prefer?”

  “I did not really care. The chapel was not large enough; Elora was right about that. I think that was partly why Grandmama wanted it, so they could exclude some of the Dursbury relatives—there are hundreds of them, it seems. Of course, I could not go against Grandmama.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “In the end, Alec told her he’d be damned if he’d have all those benighted people bothering him at Castle Cleyre. And Grandmother no longer likes to travel so far, anyway.”

  “Alec enjoys his solitary life,” Myles mused. “I was surprised to hear he and Damaris were in London.”

  “I believe Damaris wished to shop.”

  “Ah.” Myles smiled. “He is happy?”

  “Oh, yes. He and Damaris are as mawkishly in love as ever. One hardly dares step outside one’s room for fear of finding them in the hall, embracing . . . or worse.”

  “Spoken like the cynic that you are.”

  “I am not cynical!” Genevieve protested, a little stung. “I am merely . . . practical.”

  “Naturally.” His brown eyes danced with laughter, and Genevieve, looking up into his face, had to smile. “Speaking of true love, where are Gabriel and Thea? This is their party, is it not? I haven’t seen a sign of them.”

  “I have no idea where Gab
riel is. But Thea and Damaris were talking about the baby—”

  “Matthew?”

  “Yes. They brought him with them. They take him with them everywhere,” Genevieve added in a tone of amazement.

  “Some people are oddly fond of their children.”

  Genevieve shot him a repressive look. “Most people leave children at home with their nurse or a governess.”

  “I believe I often traveled with my parents.”

  “Yes, and look how you turned out,” she gibed with a grin.

  “A fair hit, my lady.”

  “Thea said she was going to slip away to the nursery before Nurse put Matthew to bed, and Damaris decided to go with her, leaving me no recourse but to chat with Miss Halford and Lady Dursbury.” She frowned at the memory.

  “Not your favorite occupation, I gather.”

  “No.” Genevieve sighed. “I am a vinegary wretch, am I not? No doubt I shall eventually become one of those old crones, rapping my cane on the floor and snapping at my relatives.”

  “I should like to see that.” He chuckled. “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “The waltz is about to end. I suggest we nip up to join Damaris and Thea.”

  “In the nursery?”

  “Why not? I’ll warrant ’tis livelier there. I’d lay odds we’d find Gabriel and Alec, as well.”

  “No doubt. They are never far from their wives. Oh, Myles, you must not tempt me.”

  “Mustn’t I?” His golden-brown eyes lit up, and Genevieve felt an odd quiver. The music came to a halt, but Myles retained possession of her hand. “Come, leave with me.”

  Genevieve nodded, giving a guilty little giggle, and Myles whisked her out of the room.

  Three

  Myles led Genevieve down the hall and up the back staircase, both of them laughing like naughty children escaping the schoolroom.

  “How do you know where to go?” Genevieve asked, a little breathless from the climb up two flights of stairs.

  “You forget—I have known Gabe since we were lads. We usually gathered here or at my house.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Genevieve replied a little wistfully. “Alec was always running off to join you. I was quite envious.”

  “Were you?” He glanced at her, surprised.

  “Of course! You were having fun, no doubt engaging in all sorts of forbidden things, and I was stuck with my governess and my grandmother, keeping my back straight and learning how to walk appropriately.”

  “If only I had known that you were interested in forbidden things.” His voice held an odd, husky quality, and Genevieve glanced at him sharply. His mouth was curved up in a slow, sensuous way he had never smiled at her before, and for an instant, heat flashed in his eyes. Then he dropped her hand and opened the door for her.

  Maddeningly, Genevieve felt a blush forming on her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide it from him as she slipped through the doorway. She stopped, Myles right behind her, as they took in the sight before them.

  They were in the nursery wing of the town house, where the corridor was narrower and the ceiling lower. At the opposite end of the hall were Thea and Damaris. Next to his wife, Alec lounged against the wall, his pale blond hair almost brushing the low ceiling, his face relaxed and mellow. All three of them were laughing as they watched the fourth member of their group, Gabriel, Lord Morecombe, romping on the floor with a shrieking, giggling blond-haired tot.

  Genevieve glanced at Myles, her eyes brimming with laughter, and they kept their silence, gazing at the handsome aristocrat, coat off and dark curls mussed, on all fours acting as “horsey” for the merry boy on his back.

  After a moment, Myles murmured, “Damaris is in the family way, isn’t she?”

  “What?” Genevieve turned to him, startled. Damaris was not even showing yet, and she herself had had no idea until Damaris had divulged the happy news to her the day before. “How did you know?”

  He shook his head. “You forget, I have five sisters—and innumerable nieces and nephews. She simply looks . . . the way they looked.”

  “Well, it’s scarcely something you should be talking about!” Genevieve told him sharply, not sure whether she was more shocked that he had brought up such an indelicate subject or that he had so easily been able to see what she had not. “ ’Tis most inappropriate.”

  “You cannot think I would broadcast their secrets,” he protested. “You are Alec’s sister.”

  “I didn’t mean you would gossip. But a gentleman shouldn’t know such things.”

  Myles’s eyebrows soared upward. “My dear girl, I am not blind nor, I hope, dull witted. After all the times that Amelia and Daphne and Meg—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Genevieve cut into his speech hastily. “You have a veritable flock of sisters. But you could at least pretend not to know such things about women.”

  “I hope you realize how absurd you sound.”

  “Oh, hush.” Genevieve scowled at him.

  Their argument had attracted the attention of the two couples at the opposite end of the hall, and they greeted them happily. “Genevieve! Myles!”

  “Come join us.”

  “Yes, do.” Gabriel reached back and scooped the child off his back, rising lithely to his feet. The blond boy let out a cry of protest before he spotted Myles and Genevieve. He pitched forward so suddenly and sharply that Gabriel would have dropped him if he hadn’t had a firm grip on him.

  Matthew waggled his hands excitedly, crowing, “Myse! Myse!”

  “What is he saying?” Genevieve asked as they started toward the others.

  “My name,” Myles replied.

  “He calls you mice?”

  “The lad is only two; I fear that the pronunciation of l’s has not yet come to him.” As they reached the others, Myles held out his hands to the boy, saying, “Master Matthew!”

  This greeting seemed to delight the child, for he launched himself into Myles’s outstretched hands with no regard for life or limb. Myles swung him upward and wiggled him about in the air. Genevieve drew in her breath in alarm and glanced at the other couples, but none of them betrayed the slightest concern, even when Myles turned the boy upside down.

  Matthew apparently found it wonderfully amusing, for he erupted into giggles, and when Myles settled the boy on his hip, Matthew bounced and demanded, “More! More!”

  “You young devil, you’re insatiable,” Myles told him, adding regretfully, “But I’d better not. Your mama will have my head if you cast up your accounts.”

  “Little worry of that.” Thea laughed. “The boy has a stomach of iron.”

  “A true Morecombe,” Gabriel added.

  “Then I suppose he will have a head of iron, as well,” Alec commented with a smile, looping his arms around Damaris from behind and nestling her against him, his chin resting on her head.

  Genevieve gazed at her brother. He looked happy and contented, self-satisfied in a way she had never before seen. When he and Damaris had announced that she was pregnant, love and pride had beamed from him. Genevieve’s heart clenched within her chest, filled with happiness for her brother, but also with a peculiar twinge of sorrow.

  “He already has that,” Thea joked, and began to recount an amusing story about Matthew’s stubborn insistence on having a toy on the trip to London and the subsequent stop by the side of the road while they searched through their trunks to find it. As he listened, Gabriel wrapped his arm around Thea’s shoulders.

  Genevieve shifted uncomfortably as her eyes went from one couple to the other. It felt strange, standing here amid such open displays of marital affection. It simply was not done—though clearly that caused none of the others any discomfort. She felt, as she often did, different from the others. Wrong. Nonsensical, of course, for they were flouting convention, not she. Yet they seemed happy and relaxed while she hardly knew where to look.

  She turned toward Myles, still holding the baby. Young Matthew had a firm grip on the lapel of Myles’s
coat in a way that would have horrified him had someone else done it, and with his other hand, Matthew was busily exploring Myles’s tiepin and watch fob.

  “Now I understand why Gabriel looked so disheveled,” Genevieve murmured to Myles, and he laughed, a sound so merry that Genevieve had to join in.

  “Lady Genevieve?”

  Everyone turned. There, at the top of the main stairs, stood Lord Dursbury. He gazed at the group with an air of astonishment. A hush settled on the hall.

  “Oh! Lord Dursbury.” Genevieve was suddenly, forcefully aware of the odd picture they must present, standing about so casually, laughing—the men’s arms around their wives, Myles and Gabriel rumpled from their tussles with the baby. Her color rose. “I—um—we were just—”

  “I fear it is my fault, Lord Dursbury,” Damaris said, stepping forward with a smile. “I so wished to see Lord and Lady Morecombe’s child that I persuaded them to bring us up here. ’Tis terrible, I know, for us to sweep your betrothed away, too . . .”

  To no one’s surprise, Alec moved to stand by his wife, looming over everyone else, his face settling into its old arrogant lines. “I am sure Lord Dursbury understands.”

  Clearly Dursbury did not, but he gave them a perfunctory smile and bow. “Yes, how, um, nice. Lord Morecombe. My lady.” He turned toward Genevieve. “Lady Genevieve? Shall we return to the ballroom?”

  “Yes, of course.” Genevieve went to take her fiancé’s arm. She cast a polite smile at Thea. “Thank you, Lady Morecombe, for letting us see Matthew.”

  “My pleasure. You must visit us again.”

  Genevieve walked away with Dursbury. As they went down the stairs, she could hear the others begin to talk and laugh again.

  “Odd, gathering in the nursery,” Dursbury said mildly.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Nothing against your brother, of course.”

  “Of course,” Genevieve agreed. “I believe they are all very fond of young Matthew.”

  “Rather peculiar behavior, though, for Lord and Lady Morecombe, given that they are hosting the party. Not quite the thing, I’d say.” He glanced down at Genevieve. “Are you tired, Lady Genevieve?”