A Wedding In Springtime(103)

“I do. Once they discover the paper is blank, they will come back after me for it.”

Penelope paused before the front entrance. “What will they do to Miss Talbot?”

“Nothing until they get their hands on the letter.”

“And after that?” Penelope asked with some reluctance. She probably didn’t want to know.

“We will find her first.”

Penelope was right; she did not want to know. Considering the risks, she guessed it would be best for Marchford to focus on the many problems at hand. Of course, that left her telling the dowager about Louisa’s marriage.

“My grandson has gotten himself into some kind of mischief,” said the dowager when Penelope walked into the drawing room. She sat straight as a dagger, holding her cane before her like a weapon.

“How would you know?” asked Penelope.

“I know. It is in his nature. His mother was the same, nothing but mischief and intrigue, and of course you know where that got her.” The dowager’s eyes flashed in a manner that did not invite question.

“I wonder where Lady Bremerton has got to. She planned to come for tea to discuss the ball. Silly woman,” muttered the dowager. “I shall find her tedious when Marchford and Louisa are to be wed.”

“I should very much doubt they will wed,” said Penelope, shifting nervously in her seat. “I fear I have news you may not like.”

“What is it, gel? Speak up!”

“I fear Lady Louisa has been secretly wed to another.”

The dowager was still for a moment before exhaling a large sigh. “Oh thank heaven. I am relieved Marchford will not be saddled with that missish little thing.”

Penelope felt her jaw drop. “But I thought the union had your full support.”

“Lady Louisa was intended for Frederick. She would have made him a lovely bride had he lived. Unfortunately, the marriage contracts were drawn up such that with his passing, Louisa was bound to marry James. But they would never have suited. Could you not see that?”

“Well, of course, anyone could see that. They were most unsuited for each other. But why did you not speak out? Why not disband the union?”

“It was not in our power to do so, even James understood that. If the contract was to be broken, it could only be so from the side of the future bride. Marchford could in no way dissolve the union and keep his honor intact.”

“I wonder that Lady Louisa’s parents did not dissolve the union,” said Penelope.

“Louisa was engaged to a duke. I should wonder very much if they had broken that alliance!”

“Even if the parties involved would not make each other happy?”

“What has that got to do with anything? Honestly, Penelope, sometimes you can be so dreadfully bourgeoise. Whom did Louisa marry?” The dowager prepared the tea, speaking of the elopement as if it were commonplace.

Penelope took a breath to keep herself in check. “Your physician, Dr. Roberts.”

“Well, now, a common doctor. That will give Cora’s nose a tweak.”

“I believe he is an extraordinary doctor,” said Penelope. In her estimation, Dr. Roberts had earned more respect for his profession than society’s elite, who did nothing but gamble, drink, and feel superior.

“Now don’t get your hackles up, gel. I will own that I have the greatest respect for him. Though if Louisa married him behind everyone’s back, she has more pluck than I gave her credit for. We will need to find a way to gammon off the gossips.”

“That will be a challenge indeed.” Penelope accepted the tea, feeling restored by the strong flavor.

“When does James want to cancel the ball?”

“He is in his study. I believe he is engaged with another matter at present.”

“Please inform him I need to speak to him about what to do tonight. You may be called upon to take ill. Something with spots and hideously contagious so we can quarantine the house.”

“Must it be spots?” sighed Penelope.

“Without a doubt. Spots.”

***

Grant woke up groggy and aching. He tried without success to open his eyes. As if coming back from a deep sleep, Grant struggled to regain consciousness.

“Grant? Grant!” said a familiar voice, followed by a persistent shake.

“Stop,” mumbled Grant, sitting up. “You’ll crumple my cravat.”

“Thank heaven you are alive,” breathed Genie.