“She recently took up a companion, a Miss Penelope Rose.” The man pulled some papers from his case. “The daughter of a country parson, now deceased. She has four sisters, all married. She remains unwed.” The man spoke the last words like an indictment against her.
“I see you have done your best to pry into my affairs. I must remind you that this is my business and none of your concern.” Marchford let his voice drop.
“She has gained access to your house as have others who come to visit you or your grandmother. Any one of them could be a spy. The French can offer enough money for information even my own mother would be tempted to switch allegiances.”
“Then you should be concerned with getting your own house in order and stop meddling in my affairs.”
“Speaking of affairs, you were seen speaking with an opera singer.”
“Thank you for your service to the Crown, Mr. Neville,” said the duke, holding open the door. “Have a good day.”
The dismissal was undeniable. Mr. Neville bowed and quit the room.
Marchford sank into a chair and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth. He had thought he had left this life behind when he returned to London, and yet here he was again, never knowing who to trust. It was ludicrous to think any of his acquaintance could turn against him, and yet the amount of money Napoleon would be willing to give for valuable information might well turn even the most loyal of hearts. That kind of money must be quite tempting to someone of Miss Rose’s circumstances.
As much as he was loathe to admit it, Mr. Neville was right, Marchford needed to keep a wary eye on those around him. It was only a matter of time before he would be the target of a spy.
Eight
After their company departed, Penelope remained in the drawing room, alone with the formidable Dowager Duchess of Marchford. She was uneasy about the conversation regarding the matchmaker and sorely suspicious. Yet the dowager was a daunting woman and Pen’s employer, so she understood she needed to keep her forthright manner reasonably in check.
“I am intrigued by your description of Madame X,” said Pen. “Will I have the opportunity of meeting her?”
The dowager smiled. “Why of course, since you are, naturally, the infamous Madame X.”
“Me?” Pen opened her mouth to say more but nothing emerged. It was not often she was at a loss for words, yet another reason she was still unwed, but now she could do little more than stammer.
“You found husbands for all your sisters. You have notes that will be particularly helpful in finding Miss Talbot a husband.”
“But, Your Grace—”
“Call me Antonia,” said the dowager with a wave of her hand. “If we are going to be partners, we shall need to work together. I shall even arrange for you to receive ten percent of the payment.”
“I do not think—”
“Fine, we’ll split the fee eighty-twenty. With my connections and your book of peers, we can find husbands for anyone.”
“Except myself,” reminded Penelope. “How can I propose to find a match for Miss Talbot when I myself remain unwed?”
Antonia was quiet for a moment, her face unreadable as she studied Penelope. “I will give you twenty-five percent and that is my last offer. We both want to stay in London; this is our chance to raise the blunt we need to do it.”
“But should you be charging your friend money to help?”
The dowager waved a hand. “Bremerton is one of the richest families in England. I shall not be taking bread off her table. Lady Bremerton herself would be most grateful, and it would spare her feelings not to be beholden to me. At the very least, we could give it a try.”
The clock ticked softly in the quiet room as the dowager duchess waited for a reply. Try? Pen had given up trying. All it did was make one wish for something one could never have. Best to face the ugly truth directly and accept it. With a flash of insight, Pen realized she had taken the post of companion to an elderly lady to try to avoid the pressures of the marriage mart and the disappointment it had brought her.
And yet… finding husbands for other people was a skill she apparently possessed. It would be nice to live comfortably for the remainder of her life without the embarrassment of being a burden to anyone. She liked the rationale that they were sparing Lady Bremerton’s feelings by creating a fictional matchmaker, though she suspected there might be a strong dose of convenient thinking. Yet Pen did not doubt Lady Bremerton was desperate to have Genie wed and it might be diverting at least to try. What did she have to lose?
“I suppose it could not hurt to try,” said Pen.
“Good girl! Now, not a word to Lady Bremerton, mind you.”
“Certainly not! And how did you suggest the fee be divided?”
The dowager’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you thirty percent, but that is my final offer.”
“As you wish.” Penelope lowered her eyes and clasped her hands neatly in her lap. It was important to know when to quit.
“Now then.” The dowager cleared her throat, getting down to business. “You did say Miss Talbot told you Grant had arranged for her to be invited to the coming-out party for Miss Devine?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Then we have no time to lose. I shall talk to James about quashing the rumors circulating about her debut. And I must help Cora pick out an appropriate gown. She is addicted to fashion but has not the figure for it anymore I fear. What was that color she was wearing today?”
“Persimmon, I believe.”
“Ghastly,” declared the dowager. “She has not the coloring for it. Now go fetch Debrett’s. We must select a husband for our young Miss Talbot.”
***
Lady and Lord Admiral Devine were the honored hosts of the coming-out ball for their niece, Miss Cassandra Devine. True to Grant’s word, an invitation was extended to Miss Talbot. Lady Devine was a kindhearted lady, generous to a fault, but her motives in inviting Genie were dominated more by the perverse humor of watching Grant dance with debutantes than an abundance of compassion. If nothing else, it guaranteed her ball would be remembered, and that was truly all a hostess could ask for.
Grant noted the exact moment of Genie’s entry into the ballroom with a rush of pleasure. She wore a gown of ice blue with a gauzy overdress of silver. Her blond hair was sleeked back into a high bun with a diamond and sapphire tiara. Her deep blue eyes, pink lips, and flawless porcelain skin could leave no mistake that she was a strikingly beautiful girl.
“There she is,” said the Comtesse de Marseille, who was dressed in a raiment of silk and lace fit to beggar a king. “I cannot believe she has the audacity to show her face in society.”
“That is Lady Bremerton’s niece,” replied a man. “Pretty thing, quite pretty, too bad she has not the manners to match.”
“Whatever do you mean?” asked Grant, joining the conversation.
“Did you not hear the latest on-dits about Miss Talbot? Apparently, she made quite a spectacle of herself before the queen.”
“Ah, you speak of the presentation,” said Grant. “I was there, you know.”
“Do tell!” exclaimed the comtesse with a malicious glint to her eye.
“My Lord Chamberlain made an utter fool of himself by making known the painful result of ill digestion. Truly, I worry for him. The queen was quite put out at his behavior, I must say.”
The Comtesse de Marseille laughed without a trace of mirth. “I heard that young chit embarrassed herself by shrieking with laughter.”
“I heard she fell to the floor with hysterics,” replied the man.
“Sorry to disappoint, but that’s all a hum. Such a lovely girl, she shone in comparison to the other young ladies. Wonder who could benefit from spreading false rumors?” added Grant.
“Jealous mamas, no doubt,” said the comtesse with authority. “They are a vicious breed.”
“I heard it from a reliable source,” countered the man, not ready to give up his bit of gossip.
&nbs
p; “As did I,” agreed the comtesse. “The Talbot girl made a fool of herself.”
“The Talbot girl,” said the Duke of Marchford, joining the conversation with stiff hauteur, “is the granddaughter of the Earl of Wainwright and the cousin of my betrothed.”
The group turned to find the duke studying them with the disinterest of a noble. If anyone doubted Miss Talbot’s behavior, it was not going to be discussed before the duke.
“Good show,” said Grant as he watched the gossips promenade away stately in search of safer ground. “You can give a set-down better than most.”
“I fear it is a performance I shall have to repeat all evening.”
“You’ll enjoy that,” said Grant, not at all attending to what his friend was saying. Instead, he watched Genie’s entrance into the ball, the way the candlelight shone in her hair, the soft curve of her hip in the silk gown.
“Grant.” The duke’s voice was threaded with warning, but his companion was enthralled.
“Yes, yes, quite right. Must dash.” Grant made a direct line to the object of his fancy.
***
“I am not supposed to dance with you,” whispered Genie as she followed Mr. Grant onto the ballroom floor.
“Who told you that? The sour-faced companion to the dowager?”
“No!” insisted Genie, who felt allegiance to her new friend as one of the only people in London who would claim a friendship with her. “Well, yes,” she amended. Upon reflection, she decided there was no use in denying it. “But she is hardly the only one. I do wish to thank you for securing this invitation for me, but my aunt, my cousin, oh, everyone from the chambermaid to the groomsman has warned me not to go anywhere near you.”
“I am flattered to know my reputation has finally made its way into the gossip of the chambermaids.”
“You are quite incorrigible.”
“My dear girl, if you insist on flattering me in this manner, I fear I shall have to make you my new favorite.”
“Mr. Grant, I would beg that you stop funning me. The only reason I am standing up with you is because you made it impossible for me not to.” Grant had come up to Genie and her aunt alongside the Duke of Marchford. Aunt Cora could hardly cut her future son-in-law, so she watched helplessly as Grant led Genie out to the dance floor.
“Again, your flattery is too much.”
“These are serious matters, Mr. Grant. After my disastrous presentation at court, my reputation is in shreds. I cannot be seen dancing with a known rake. No respectable person will speak to me.”
“You should thank me then. All the respectable people I know are dreadfully dull.”
Genie was prevented from making a stinging retort by the start of the music and the necessity to attend to her steps as she skipped forward for the country dance. “I am trying to be respectable,” she hissed when they crossed paths for the dance.
“You greatly disappoint me.”
“Good!” She twirled and skipped until she was once more standing before him. “Now please do not force me to dance with you again. Being known as a favorite of yours would be the end of my reputation.”
“Whatever do you mean, Miss Talbot?” asked Grant, his silver eyes wide and innocent.
“You know exactly what I mean. A carte blanche. An offer without the protection of marriage.”
“Miss Talbot!” exclaimed Grant with false shock.
They separated for the dance again, and Genie knew she had been nettled into speaking of things a blushing debutante should know nothing about, or at least pretend she knew nothing about.
Grant spun back to her, graceful and natural. He took her hand. It was merely part of the dance, one she had done countless times before, but never had she been more keenly aware she was holding a man’s hand.
“You shock me,” whispered Grant. “Are you attempting to make me an offer?”
This time, Genie knew better than to rise to the bait. “You are a rake and a rogue, Mr. Grant.”
“Guilty, my dear.”
Despite her best efforts, his careless words of endearment curled up warm and happy in her chest, making themselves at home. With a tingle of warning at the back of her exposed neck, she realized she might be in real danger. He was a master of flirtation, and she was just a country girl in considerably over her head.
The dance separated them again, and Genie used the time to get herself back under regulation. She might be the daughter of a country gentleman, this might be her first ball in the excitement of a London season, but she knew who she was. And she was not going to let some slick-talking rake make her doubt herself.
“I do not need your assistance, Mr. Grant,” said Genie when they linked together once more.
“Is that so?”
“It seems your goal is to ruin me. Trust me, Mr. Grant, I can do that quite well on my own.”
Grant burst with mirth, laughing so hard he stopped dancing despite the odd stares of assembly.
“Please, Mr. Grant. The last thing I need is to make a spectacle of myself. Again,” hissed Genie, chastising him to move.
Grant started up the dance again, but this time his eyes never left hers. For a while they danced without speaking, but Grant’s eyes followed her throughout the dance. A warm look glowed in his eyes that Genie had never seen before. Despite being in a ballroom crushed with people, she felt isolated in his attention, as if they were dancing alone.
Although her intention was to appear nonchalant and distant, she too could not see anyone but him. He was a handsome man, of average height but of near perfect form. He was everything a gentleman should be, in appearance at least. Despite her best intentions, she slid into the magic of the moment. She was a young debutante in London, dancing with the most attractive and notorious rake in all of society. She smiled with delight.
He returned the smile, slow and true. “I fear it is I who may be ruined.”
Heat flushed through her, leaving her skin hot and her mouth dry. She wished for a retort but could think of nothing to say. He took her hand, sending another jolt tingling up her arm to her spine, which somehow made her ankles weak. They had stopped any pretense of dancing and were standing before each other in the middle of the ballroom.
“I believe our set is complete,” said Grant in a low tone.
It was another moment before Genie could register the words. In a flash, the ballroom came back into view. The dance was completed, and the gentlemen were leading their partners off the dance floor. Genie glanced around, nervous someone had noted her odd behavior, and indeed there were a few matrons staring at her and whispering.
“Yes, thank you,” said Genie briskly, gripping Grant’s arm, so anxious to leave the center of attention she ended up dragging him off the floor. Genie marched with purpose back to where her aunt was standing with Penelope. Nothing to shock a body back to propriety like her aunt’s sour look. “Thank you, sir,” said Genie in a clipped, businesslike tone. “I hope you will enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“I always do,” said Grant with a wicked grin. He bowed and disappeared back into the crowd.
Nine
Genie took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The hot, stale air only made her head swim more. The crush of the ballroom and stifling air made her a little dizzy.
“You should not look so much at him when you dance,” chastised her aunt. “One would think you were encouraging his advances and nothing could be more fatal. Do not think your behavior has not been noted. Vicious women these mamas are. They will not think twice about ruining your reputation so they can push their own less favored daughter. You need to… good heavens, child, are you all right?”
In truth, Genie was light-headed and swaying. The swarm of colors and tiny lights of the numerous candles in hanging chandeliers all seemed to swirl together. “I am a little hot; the room is so crowded. Perhaps a little air?”
“Yes, go to the balcony. For heaven’s sake, do not faint where everyone can see you.”
&nbs
p; “I will help. Come with me.” Penelope took her elbow and led her competently through the maze of people until they reached a double door that opened onto a small terrace balcony.
“Lean against the railing and take some of the night air. The coolness will do you good. I will fetch some lemonade for you,” said Penelope.
“Thank you,” murmured Genie, her senses revived in the cool air. She leaned against the balcony and closed her eyes. The night air functioned as an effective restorative and soon she was feeling back to herself. She was not prone to vapors or other such episodes that seemed to afflict some women. Once again, her troubles were the fault of Mr. Grant. She was not exactly sure what he had done to have such an ill effect on her, but she was certain he was to blame.
The evening was pleasant, with no moon, the only light shining through the door from the ballroom. The balcony opened onto a courtyard garden, popular for large homes in London. A few crickets started to chirp, and Genie immediately thought of home. She missed the happy sound of crickets chirping and the frogs singing. She leaned slightly over the edge and listened intently.
“Did anyone see you leave?” whispered a male voice.
Genie straighten and scanned her surroundings but saw no one.
“No, I do not believe so,” whispered a familiar woman’s voice in return.
Genie realized the voices were coming from the garden below. She did not wish to intrude, but if she moved, the inevitable swish of her skirts would announce her presence.
“How long do we have, my love?” asked the man.
“An hour, no longer. I told my mother I was going to dance for the next two sets. She was sitting down to play a hand or two of whist with friends, so I should not be missed. But more than that, I do not dare. I must return to her soon.”
“Must you? Let us leave this place. Run away with me,” said the man, his voice thick with emotion.
“You know I cannot.”
“I will not let him marry you. Marriage contract be damned. I will not allow it!”
“Hush, my darling. I swear to you, I will not marry him. How could I? You know it to be impossible.”
Amanda Forester Page 7
