A Wedding In Springtime(19)
“I would have liked to explore the library too, but I did not dare,” whispered Genie, falling into step beside Pen.
Pen smiled at her. “You must come back, and we will explore it together.”
Genie gave a tight smile. “Thank you. Though I warrant I will be returning soon to the country. I cannot possibly allow my aunt to pay such an amount and I know there is no way for my father to pay her back.”
“Begging your pardon, but you may have some difficulty controlling what those two old campaigners do.”
“You are very right,” conceded Genie. “Might there be any hope for my reputation?”
“There is always hope. I have seen the most outrageous behavior tolerated by the haut ton from one of their favorites.”
“I doubt I shall be graced with the honor of being a society favorite,” said Genie, her eyes growing bluer.
Pen gave Genie a bracing smile as they followed the duke into the spacious ballroom. “You never can tell. My sisters received considerably more attention than we thought possible. I am learning the Duchess of Marchford holds her own power in society. Do not pack your gowns quite yet.”
“Thank you, Penelope. I am so glad I have met you today. You have given me hope!”
A sudden silence caught the ladies’ attention. The duke had ceased his rapid narration and stood before them the picture of maligned dignity, one eyebrow aristocratically raised. “I do hope I am not disturbing your conversation.”
“Not at all,” blurted Pen. “Your home is truly impressive.” The ballroom in which they stood was well lit with windows along the far wall. Several crystal chandeliers hung from the ornately painted ceilings. Pen could only imagine the splendor it would be when lit at night. The ballroom appeared to open into a courtyard garden in the back. Pen was curious to have a peek, but Marchford was already walking back to the door.
“I do like the gold and blue wallpaper,” commented Genie.
Marchford turned and glanced around at the walls as if noticing them for the first time. “Yes, I believe my grandmother had everything redecorated in my absence.”
“Then Her Grace has done quite a bit,” commented Pen.
“Yes. She has quite taken command of the house,” replied Marchford, a slight bite to his tone.
“It shall be very hard for her to leave it,” said Pen with more feeling than she ought to have.
“Indeed, I imagine it will be.” This was spoken with cool disregard, and Pen could not help but be annoyed. She opened her mouth in defense of her new mistress, but Marchford stalked out of the ballroom. “The gallery is upstairs.”
Pen bristled under the weight of his disregard. The Duchess of Marchford deserved more compassion than what he deigned to show, and certainly no family member should be cut off from her accustomed funds and banished to the country. Pen followed him into the entrance hall and up the white marble staircase. Marchford walked quickly with long strides and she had to hustle to keep up, with Genie trailing along behind.
At the top of a white marble staircase, the gallery was a long hall, running the length of the spacious house. Large windows illuminated the long row of portraits along the far wall and the elegant marble statues situated artistically throughout the gallery. The sun shone brightly, giving the marble a rosy hue. Marchford strode down the length of the hall, circumventing the marble statues as if an inconvenience, impatiently swatting his riding crop against his thigh.
Pen was forced to pick up her skirts and run a few steps to catch up with him. A glance behind ensured that Genie was sufficiently out of hearing distance, giving Pen the opportunity to speak her mind.
“Forgive me, for it is not my place to say,” began Pen, “but I am shocked at your disregard for what your grandmother will suffer. Forcing her to leave her home, which she so carefully maintained in your absence, is a hardship no person, even such an esteemed person as yourself, should impose on his own grandmother. And leaving a note declaring your intentions to cut off her funds should she disobey you is as cowardly as it is cruel.”
The duke looked down at her with cool civility. “You are right. It is not your place to say.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off down the hall. She had been given the cut direct, which, considering her rather inappropriate outburst, was well deserved. She sighed and walked after him. She was always speaking her mind in a manner most unbecoming in a female. Her outburst was impolitic too, since she had rather hoped to remain in the house more than a few days. She hustled to catch up with him again, knowing what she must do.