“I need you.”
There was silence and Genie guessed there was kissing occurring in the darkness of the garden.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?”
“I am sure. We have waited too long.”
“It cannot be undone.”
“I know it.”
“I care nothing for your fortune, you know that. I would give it all away. I would not compromise you.”
More silence. Genie once again felt flushed. What might it be like to kiss Grant? Images came unbidden to mind. What would it feel like? Soft? Wet? Genie had seen her brother kiss a neighbor girl, shortly before her father bought him a set of colors and shipped him off to the Continent to fight Napoleon. Genie had thought it looked rather disgusting at the time, but now she found herself becoming more open-minded to the entire kissing idea. In fact, she thought she might just want to try it for herself. The closest she had ever come was a peck on the cheek. She doubted it counted.
“I am yours, wholly and completely,” said the woman’s voice from below. “Now and forever, I wish to be with you. I want to do this. I need to do this. I chose to live my life with you, and after tonight, no other option will be possible. I chose you.”
“Here we are,” said Penelope, opening the doors to the balcony wide, casting light on the garden below. From below in the garden came a little gasp. Genie did not look down in the garden. She already knew who it was.
“I brought you some lemonade,” continued Penelope, oblivious to the scene below. “Sorry it took so long. It is quite the crush tonight.”
Genie motioned forward, and they left the balcony to go back into the ballroom. “Too cold,” explained Genie once they were safely back inside with the doors closed.
Penelope gave a furtive glance at the closed door. “I thought it felt nice after all this heat.”
“Are balls always this crowded?”
“The good ones,” answered Penelope, “at least in the eyes of the hostess. This is quite a crush for a girl’s debut into society. Lady Devine will be thrilled. Though I think it might have something to do with a certain nephew of hers who does not usually expose himself to the machinations of matchmaking mamas.”
“Matchmaking mamas? But I thought Mr. Grant was not considered a respectable man.”
“Respectable? Oh yes, he is certainly respectable. The trouble with Mr. Grant is that he is not safe.”
“I am not sure I understand. I thought he was a rake.”
“Yes, he is but not the bad kind.”
Genie sipped her lemonade, trying to make sense of this. “There are good kinds and bad?”
“Certainly. The bad kind will seduce young innocents and leave them ruined without caring two figs about them. Those kind are not invited to parties such as these nor would they be inclined to come. There are some men in society who believe women are only there to serve their needs, and if a girl is to give them attention, they feel no compunction in enjoying it at the moment and then disregarding the girl. They seduce the innocent, then have the audacity to blame the girl, even if she is frightfully young and he is much older and experienced, and he still won’t offer her his name because he is a vile, hateful creature.” Penelope spoke with such venom that Genie blinked.
Penelope gulped down her lemonade in a single swig. “Just for an example.”
“Yes, an example,” agreed Genie, not believing a word of it. At some point, Penelope must have come across the bad sort of rake. “But you said there was a good kind of rake?”
“Yes, yes, where was I? The good sort does not seduce young innocents. They avoid debutantes as a general course in life and instead associate with women of a different nature. I am speaking of professional courtesans and married women in society who feel free to have additional relationships beyond their husband.”
Genie almost dropped her lemonade. In a few short sentences, Penelope had shared more of the world than she had ever gotten from her mother or brothers. She had thought herself quite wise for having two elder brothers, but none had ever spoken of such things so blatantly.
“Forgive me, I have shocked you,” said Penelope in her direct manner.
“No, well, yes, a little.”
“Now you can see why I remain unmarried. I have a dreadful habit of speaking plainly when I should speak in euphemisms or better yet not speak at all. Yet, I think if a woman is going to enter the married state, she would do well to go into it with her eyes open and choose wisely.”
“Yes, I agree. Though I doubt I shall have to sort through the offers. But please explain to me why the good sort of rake is better than the bad sort.”
“The good sort would not intentionally ruin a girl. A mother can feel safe in that. The risk is more that the girl should become unwisely attached to him only to have her heart broken when an offer of marriage was not forthcoming. You must be wary of sending a girl into a decline. Yet the good sort of rake is also well established in society with pleasing manners and a healthy income. If such a man could be made to come to the altar, any mama would happily marry their daughter to him.”
“So Mr. Grant is the good sort of rake?”
“The best kind. His manners are pleasant, his actions kind, his wallet plump, and he is handsome too. He would make a very nice sort of husband, if he could ever be made to come up to scratch.”
“What would it take to do that?”
Penelope’s brow scrunched into a look of concern. “Please tell me you are not developing a tendre for Mr. Grant. We wish to help you be married, but you must understand, Mr. Grant is not the sort who is going to offer.”
“Yes, of course,” said Genie airily, as if it was of no concern. “I am still just trying to understand London society. It is quite different from home.”
Penelope’s face relaxed. “I completely understand. When my sisters and I first arrived in London, I was sure we had traveled to a foreign country. It took a while before I understood the rules and how to break them. Now let’s see if we can make some introductions for you to some eligible men.”
Penelope led Genie to where the Dowager Duchess of Marchford was playing whist with Lady Bremerton and some other friends. The game concluded with the dowager the winner. Flush with her victory, the dowager turned her considerable powers toward introducing Genie to the eligible males at the ball. Penelope somehow managed to wrangle the men to visit the dowager, who then made the introductions. Penelope and the duchess must have been working with the elusive Madame X, since they kept her busy introducing her to eligible bachelors, one after the next.
“Miss Talbot, may I present Mr. Blakely,” said the Dowager Duchess of Marchford.
Mr. Blakely bowed. Genie curtsied.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Mr. Blakely. In a dark suit of unremarkable tailoring, there was nothing about Mr. Blakely that initially either intrigued or repulsed Genie. He was a youngish man with brown hair cut in an average manner, had brown eyes, and was of average height and build.
“Have you been in London long?” asked Genie.
“No, not long. A fortnight perhaps.”
Genie nodded as if she was interested and then no longer knew what to say. She had met so many men, she was growing tired of polite conversation. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“There do seem to be a lot of people present.”
“Yes, quite a crush, from what I understand,” said Genie. “The hostess should be very pleased.”
“I could not say.”
Genie waited to see what Mr. Blakely could say, but apparently that was more than she should have hoped for, so she continued the conversation. “As a newcomer to London, I have been most intrigued to see the sights. I hear the British Museum is fascinating.”
“I have never been.”
“The guidebook said it was highly recommended.” Which was more than she could say for the conversation.
“Thank you for that suggestion.”
“You are most welcome.”
And so their conversation dragged on, one of the most innocuous, dull conversations that had ever been uttered. Genie prided herself in making good conversation, but she found it difficult to determine his feelings on any topic. He seemed content to accept the most banal opinion on any subject. It was not that there was anything wrong with Mr. Blakely. His facial features were acceptable, common perhaps. In fact, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him.
And yet, he was a good potential husband. She could not identify any feature that was wrong with Mr. Blakely, and he certainly did not ask her impertinent questions or make her feel flushed and dizzy. A definite improvement, she must say.
“The next set is beginning,” said Penelope, rejoining them. “I do hope, Mr. Blakely, that you enjoy dancing as much as Miss Talbot.”
“I could not say,” answered Mr. Blakely, but he got the broad hint. “Shall we dance?” he asked Genie, though she did not detect any sliver of interest. Yet she was learning that in society, showing strong emotions was considered gauche. If a bland demeanor was fashionable, then Mr. Grant was correct—respectable people were dull.
Ten
“There you are!” accused Lady Devine.
Grant flinched at his aunt’s words—not at the caustic tone, because he knew what was coming next. He turned from his card game to his aunt, her pursed lips and raised eyebrow a clear indication of her displeasure. She was about to ring a peal over his head, and he had done nothing but deserve it.
“Have you forgotten the promises you made me?” demanded Lady Devine.
“No, no, I was just taking a moment’s reprieve,” soothed Grant.
“A moment? I’ll have you know that moment has taken at least four sets!”
“No, surely not that long.”
“Indeed you have. I am sorry to break up the loo table, but with the cards you hold, you should be thanking me.”
Grant sighed and tossed his cards to the table. “Gentlemen, I thank thee. Duty calls.”
“Every debutante,” reminded his aunt as they proceeded back to the ballroom. “You promised to dance with every debutante if I would invite Lady Bremerton’s foolish protégée.”
“Have you met Miss Talbot, Aunt?” asked Grant.
“Yes, briefly. She is a pretty young thing. Exactly the kind whose company you’d enjoy.” She stopped for a moment in the corridor and lowered her voice. “I should not have to warn you, but I will not have you losing your head and making that gel some indecent proposal.”
“Aunt, you shock me!” said Grant in mock horror.
“I am in earnest. Miss Talbot is under the protection of Lady Bremerton, and no matter how foolish the chit is, she is not a candidate to be your next doxy.”
“Dear Aunt, you amaze me. I have never preyed on young debutantes.”
“That is not entirely true,” said his aunt, raising her eyebrow once more. “Do you recall the incident with Lady Stockton?”
Grant smiled in return, a charming, disarming, utterly false sort of smile. This was the trouble with family—they knew your past a little too well. “She was not Lady Stockton when the offer was made,” said Grant in a low voice. “Besides, it was a trifling matter, completely forgotten.” It was true that few people knew it had occurred and fewer still remembered it at all. Grant himself had tried to drink the memory away but found the incident could not be forgot.
“Just see to it, my boy, that you dance with all the debutantes and give their mamas a thrill.”
Grant bowed to his aunt. “I shall meet my fate with the courage of an Englishman.”
“Good.” She gave Grant a little pat on the shoulder and a nudge toward the ballroom. “I’ve met this year’s crop and you are going to need it!”
***
“Lemonade?”
Genie turned to find Mr. Grant holding two cups of the sweet libation. “Thank you, yes. I had thought you had gone to play cards.” After hours of speaking and dancing with a half-dozen eligible men of various ages and situations in life, the sight of the charming Mr. Grant was a welcome one.
“Indeed I did but was flushed out by my aunt.”
“You poor dear. And now here you are, drinking lemonade.”
“I believe in trying everything at least once. How bad can it be?” Grant raised his glass to her and took a hearty gulp. Instantly, he started to gag. “Good heavens, what a dreadful concoction!”
“Lemonade does not agree with you, sir?” asked Genie, taking a sip.
“Not agree? Why, who could agree with such a wretched drink? And to think they make poor, unsuspecting young ladies drink this. I am horrified.” Grant put his drink down on the table and eyed it suspiciously as if it might strike back.
Genie could not help but laugh.
“There now, that is a good sight better.” Grant smiled at her.
“Stop, please. My aunt has informed me that I must never laugh again. Indeed, I am to appear a very serious lady.”
“How dull. Worse than the lemonade. If this is how we are raising our young people today, we might as well surrender to France.”
“Indeed, sir!”
“At least they know how to enjoy some amusement.”
“And you are not amused by this soiree?”
Grant’s eyes met hers. “It has not been without amusement.”
Genie turned back to the ballroom where a mass of people milled about, waiting for the musicians to return from their break. She was once again feeling unusually warm, a sensation that seemed to be related to the close proximity of Mr. Grant. “Have you seen Lady Louisa?” She wished to change the subject and her mind flitted naturally to her cousin, about whom she had growing concerns.
“No, not recently. Why?”
“I was wondering if we could begin trying to bring Louisa and the duke to speaking terms.”
“Is Lady Louisa feeling neglected?” asked Grant.
“Not as much as she should,” murmured Genie. “But Lady Bremerton certainly feels the sting.”
“I am not sure what can be done,” hedged Grant.
“A dance might not be inappropriate at a ball.”
“Marchford rarely dances.”
“Perhaps he could make this one of those special occasions?”
“I shall make the suggestion to Marchford,” promised Grant.
“Would you?” Genie touched his sleeve and smiled with gratitude. “Thank you. Might there be anything else we can do to help?”
“I shall think on it, never fear. Perhaps I could arrange to bring Marchford for a visit?”
“Yes! That would be quite the thing.”
“Then it shall be done! I do apologize, but I must dash. Promised for the next set!” Grant bowed and disappeared into the sea of bodies. She caught sight of him once more leading out to the floor a plump debutante with pouty lips and spots. The sight ran tingles down her spine. He was not joking when he said he had promised to dance with every debutante to secure an invitation for her. Grant covered a wince with a smile after his foot was trod upon by the graceless young lady.
“Poor man,” murmured Genie. She had been wronged by him but now saw the scales had shifted and she was in his debt.
***
What on earth had become of him? He grimaced as his footwear again suffered attack. A few days ago, he was a notorious rake, a leader of society, carefree, and easy. Now he was standing up with an adolescent who snarled at him every time she made a mistake. What had dragged him to such depths?
He caught sight of Miss Talbot and resisted the urge to wave. Blasted girl. One look at those blue eyes and angelic face and he would promise her the crown jewels and his own head on a platter. His foot again suffered attack, his punishment for taking an interest in a debutante.
At length, the dance ended and Grant slipped away, back to the card room. His conscience pricked him again, and he knew he was not going to enjoy himself, but to meddle into his friend’s affairs, an occurrence so unprecedented he was forced to take
some liquid courage.
Marchford was found in a dim corner of the card room, winning a game of piquet.
“So have you spoken with your prospective bride tonight?” Grant asked Marchford as he sat down to play a round with his friend.
“Plenty of time to talk after we are married.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like your grandmother.”
Marchford leveled a glare. “What are you about, Grant?”
“I know you do not wish to marry Lady Louisa,” began Grant, “but do you not think you should at least be on speaking terms?”
Marchford opened his mouth for what Grant expected to be a strongly worded rebuke. Marchford had returned from war colder than he had left, and he was a tad cool to begin with. Marchford clenched his jaw and played his card. “You are correct. I have not thought much of Lady Louisa except to know that we must marry. It always seemed…” Marchford played another card. “Lady Louisa was intended for my brother. They spent years together and I know she was very kind in helping to care for him. When Frederick died, it felt unseemly to marry his intended.”
“You miss your brother.”
“I do. I never wished to inherit his title, his bride. I will do what I must, but I do not wish…”
“You do not wish to appear to be enjoying the privileges meant for your brother.”
Marchford nodded.
“How do you think Lady Louisa feels about this?”
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps, my friend, it is time to ask her.”
Marchford stared long at his cards, considering the prospect. “Yes, you are right. I have stayed away too long.”
“She is here, no time to waste. Go see her now!”
Marchford narrowed his eyes. “Are you concerned with my marital prospects or are you trying to get out of a bad hand?”
“I am outraged. Of all the years of our friendship, I would not have thought you could think so low of me. I now know your true opinion of me. And here my only concern has been for your welfare.” Grant somehow managed to keep a smile from his face, but he could tell Marchford was unimpressed by the performance.
Amanda Forester Page 8
