A Wedding In Springtime(115)

“Mother, may I present my soon-to-be bride, Miss Eugenia Talbot.”

Mrs. Grant was an attractively plump woman with rosy cheeks. She beamed first at her son, then at Genie.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Grant,” said Genie.

“Oh, but I must kiss you too!” Mrs. Grant gave Genie a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, my dear. How is it I have never met you?”

“Genie is visiting her aunt, Lady Bremerton,” supplied Grant.

“How beautiful you are, my dear. Oh, I love you already!” Mrs. Grant smiled at Genie. “We must sit somewhere and you will tell me how you induced my darling boy to propose.”

“Yes, but first let me make introductions.” Grant introduced Genie to his father and several sisters. Genie smiled and shook hands and felt much like she was standing in the middle of a wonderful but befuddling dream.

“Genie!” George ran up and gave her a huge hug. “I am so happy for you!”

“And you? You are well?” asked Genie.

“I am now, thanks to everything you’ve done for me.”

“George, are you not in hiding anymore?”

“No. I’m sure I’ll catch it from Father, but I deserve it! I could not miss this evening, not for the world.”

People pressed toward them, all talking, all wanting to know how Genie landed the most elusive bachelor of the haute ton, with varying degrees of tact in their questions.

“Wait, wait!” demanded Grant, and all was still again. The crowd held their breath as if waiting to see what the next excitement would be. “My dear Genie. You have consented to be my wife. With the consent of your aunt and uncle, I would like to be wed tonight.”

The lords and ladies of fashion gasped again and all heads turned to look at Lord Bremerton.

“I have no objection to the marriage, but the banns must be read, dear boy,” said Lord Bremerton.

With a flourish, Grant pulled a paper from his pocket. “I present a special license. If there is a parson in the assembly, I would call upon him to come forward.”

“May I?” Genie did not wait for a reply and snatched the paper from Grant’s hand. She unfolded it with trembling hands. Carefully, she read the elaborate script. Though unversed in what a special license might be in appearance, she had no difficulty finding her name next to Grant’s.

“You really do wish to marry me.” Genie’s eyes were filled with liquid emotion.

“Most passionately.” Grant held her close and whispered in her ear, “Last night cannot count because I was deep in my cups. Tonight I drink nothing but the fruit of lemons and I will claim you in my bed.”

Genie shivered with something that had nothing to do with cold. Grant’s eyes were no longer mildly distracted; now, they were focused and intent. Her skin burned wherever his gaze went. The response of her mutinous body was instantaneous, without heed that they were the center of attention in a crowded ballroom.

“Yes, yes quite.” Genie smoothed her hands on her white silk gown. “Let us be married at once!”

Grant’s seductive smile turned a languid that made her almost willing to lift her skirts immediately.

“Mr. Grant, I presume.” A trim, well-proportioned man stood before them. “I am Mr. Oliver, a parson, but this is all very irregular.”

“You will wish to see this.” Genie handed him the marriage license.

Mr. Oliver glanced it over. “Yes, well, it all seems to be in order.” He looked back and forth between Grant and Genie, hesitating.

“I am ashamed to say it,” Grant whispered into Oliver’s ear, “but if you marry us, it would save me from sin tonight.” Grant gave the parson a knowing smile.

“Well, I suppose, in that case, I must proceed.”

Eugenie Talbot and William Grant were married by special license in the home of the Duke of Marchford. Several hundred guests were in attendance. The bride wore white, almost the same color as the pallor of the groom. Despite some last-minute bets made in poor taste by some of the young bucks in the room, the groom did recite his vows creditably and did not collapse in a dead faint. If his voice shook, it was only for a moment, and considering the occasion, no one could think the less of him for it.





Thirty-eight





“Bremmy, you sly dog!” An older, distinguished man walked up to Lord and Lady Bremerton, who were stoically standing next to their daughter and new son-in-law to the side of the ballroom. The dowager and Penelope stood with them in a rather vain attempt not to look awkward.