A Wedding In Springtime(110)
“Don’t want to!” said Jem with defiance.
“But wouldn’t you like to have meadows to run in, streams to swim in, horses to ride? You could work in the stables.” Genie was doing her best to conjure a picture no active boy could resist.
“I’d like to rides me a galloper, milady,” said Jem with wide eyes. “But I want to stay with you!” Jem crossed his scrawny arms and set his jaw, determined.
“I promise I will visit as often as I can,” said Genie, unsure how far he would be from her home. “And so will Mr. Grant,” she added, cavalierly volunteering him.
“I will at that,” Grant said in happy agreement. “Take you out there myself. Estate belongs to m’father. Stands to reason I’ll visit often.”
Despite these reassurances, the little boy shook his head defiantly. “I won’t go.”
“But whyever not?” asked Genie.
“Because.” Jem looked around and leaned closer to whisper his secret. “Because I’m a mot.”
“A mot?” asked Genie.
“A mot!” cried Grant.
Jem nodded her head.
“What’s a mot?” asked Genie.
“He is a she!” exclaimed Grant.
“You’re a girl?”
Jem nodded. “When the Candyman first caught me, I knew nuthing but bad would happen if’n he knew I was a girl, so I became a boy.”
“Oh, my dear child!” exclaimed Genie and wrapped Jem into a warm embrace. “But what is your name?”
“Jemima Price.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead, milady. And it’s no use asking about my aunts ’cause they’re dead too.”
“But how did the Candyman catch you?” Genie smoothed Jem’s hair out of her eyes trying valiantly to see something of a little girl.
“I was powerful hungry. He offered free sweets. Once he found there was none who’d miss me, I ended up in a cage.”
“Oh, my poor darling,” said Genie, giving her another hug. “How brave you have been.” Genie looked up at Grant with tears in her eyes and he knew a grand gesture was very soon in his future.
“Why don’t you stay with me?” he said with resignation. “I’m sure we need a maid of some sort. But you must only break the bric-a-brac I don’t like.”
“You would have to apply yourself, Jemima,” Genie said, “and of course you must have dresses.”
“I’d like me to wear some dresses,” said Jemima shyly.
“I saw a calico yesterday that would be perfect for your coloring, and we’ll need to get you some new boots and stockings and ribbons and bonnets!” Genie began to pour into Jemima’s willing ear all the wonders of millinery while Grant counted the cost with obliging acquiescence.
***
“There you are!” The Duchess of Marchford rapped her cane on the marble entryway in an irritated manner. Penelope stepped to the side to make sure her toes did not fall victim to the cane.
Grant, Genie, and Jemima arrived at the house at the same time as Marchford returned.
“Did anyone consider they were keeping an old woman waiting?” continued the dowager. “But no, it is of no matter of course, as long as you all were enjoying your amusements.”
“Of amusement such as those, there can never be too few,” muttered Grant.
“You look a sight, the lot of you.” The dowager shook her head. “And have you given any thought to the fact that in a few short hours, several hundred guests shall arrive at our house expecting a ball to celebrate a duke’s betrothal.”
“Can you cancel on such short notice?” asked Pen.
“We must! The prospective bride has married a commoner. It will be a scandal when it gets out. The only thing to do is put a notice on the door that we’ve come down with the pox and retreat to the country—or perhaps the Continent.”
“Napoleon might have something to say about that, Grandmother,” said Marchford.
“He doesn’t have the mouth on him that the Comtesse de Marseille does. At least our woes will provide amusement for some, vile woman.”
“Perhaps we can talk more about this after we have taken care of Miss Talbot,” Penelope suggested. “You appear to have been through a lot today.”
“I fear I look a sight,” agreed Genie, trying to smooth her hair. “I thought I could impose upon you and get ready for the ball here. I wasn’t feeling quite up to facing my aunt, but if you will cancel, I will bid you all farewell.”