A Wedding In Springtime(10)

“And this”—the dowager waved her hand toward her grandson—“is the current Duke of Marchford.”

Of course he was. Penelope took a sharp breath before dropping another curtsy. Now she was not only a spinster but would probably be banned from London proper. Could a duke banish you from England entirely? After her shocking lapse in propriety, she might have to start a new life on the Continent.

“James, we will take Miss Rose home. How long will it take you to pack, child?”

Penelope looked up and realized the dowager was speaking to her. Was she being ousted from the country immediately?

“Pack?” Penelope choked on the word.

“Yes, dear, pack to come live with me. James, see to it that her things are removed from wherever she lives and placed in the blue bedroom. Or are you more partial to yellow?”

Penelope opened her mouth but no sound emerged. She turned to the duke who returned her openmouthed gaze.

“She is to stay with us?” The duke found his voice first.

“Yes. Please welcome my new companion!”





Four





Mr. William Grant entered the halls of White’s flanked by his friends, James Lockton, the Duke of Marchford, and Duncan Maclachlan, the Earl of Thornton.

“I was of the understanding you were trying to separate yourself from female company, not add to their ranks in your household,” said Mr. Grant with a drawl only one as fashionably attired as he could deliver. In a long-tailed coat of claret superfine, he could have put any dandy to shame, had it not been for his rebellious blond curls, which were a bit too natural for a true aficionado of fashion.

“If you are referring to the opera singer, I was merely enjoying the view, not offering a carte blanche,” replied Marchford, taking his customary seat in the hallowed halls of White’s gentlemen’s club.

“I ken he is referring to the companion yer grandmother recently employed,” explained Thornton with a slight lilt to his voice, even though the Scottish lord had been educated in England. More somber in appearance, with his short, black hair and gray eyes, Thornton’s olive green coat and gray waistcoat were a drab contrast to Grant’s colorful attire.

“If I recall correctly, you said not days after you returned that Granny would be removed to the dowager house within a week,” said Grant with a smirk.

Marchford was spared the indignity of replying by the timely arrival of his burgundy, served to the Duke and Lord Thornton. Mr. Grant, naturally, was offered his preferred whiskey, the fault, he had claimed, of a Scottish ancestor. Though Marchford may have wished it, Grant was not inclined to drop the topic.

“Not that I mind your inefficiencies. I made a bit of brass on your tardiness,” said Mr. Grant.

Marchford paused, his burgundy halfway to his lips. “You bet against me, old friend?”

“You cannot expect me to pass on the prospect of easy blunt,” said Grant with an unapologetic smile. “You have been away too long. Your grandmother has ruled London society and the Marchford household for how many years now? Why ever since—”

Marchford’s eyes flashed, and Grant exchanged a glance with Thornton.

“Give or take the past four decades,” Grant amended vaguely. “If you think the Dowager Duchess of Marchford is going to pack up and leave London in the middle of the season, you must have bats in your attic.”

“I am only asking her to do what she demanded of me. Has she not written me often asking me to return and take up my responsibilities? I cannot bring a wife into the house with grandmother reigning supreme.”

“I doubt yer grandmother thought yer marriage would require her to leave London,” observed Thornton.

“Lady Louisa cannot possibly manage the household with grandmother there. You have met the lady. A more timid creature I have never beheld. I fear she will be bullied by the housemaids, let alone the dowager,” said Marchford.

“Perhaps yer bride and the dowager could forge an alliance,” suggested Thornton, always one to promote a steady course.

The duke shook his head. “No. My grandmother will not share the reins. I will not do that again.”

Having been his friends since their Eton days, Thornton and Grant knew well the fights between Marchford’s mother and grandmother, which eventually led to his mother’s demise. The men became engrossed with their respective drinks, and the subject was dropped.

“Ye visited yer intended?” asked Thornton, breaking the silence.