A Wedding In Springtime(2)
“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind Genie.
“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.
“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant by comparison.”
“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking her head to one side, which forced her to use both hands to steady the plume of white feathers rising from her head.
“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”
Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.
With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency to look sheepish. He waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, with high cheekbones that gave him an impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.
“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man with a disarming smile.
“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf to feign good humor when she had none to give.
“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”
“You are charity itself.”
“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”
“I can forgive your words. You are no doubt correct that my aunt is at this moment trying to find a penal colony for me at the greatest distance from London. What I cannot forgive is your shocking wink that caused this trouble.”
“Surely this affair is not my fault! It is my Lord Chamberlain who embarrassed himself beyond redemption.”
“If you had not laughed, I would have been able to calm myself.”
“How could I not be amused? Honestly, I do hope the poor man survives the night.”
“But no one caught you laughing,” said Genie, getting at the heart of the injustice. “They were only looking at me.”
“Naturally they were looking at you. Between the two of us, there can be no comparison.” The man’s easy smile turned flirtatious, but Genie was accustomed to flattery regarding her appearance and considered herself immune to its charms. The magnitude of her failure weighed down her shoulders. She wished she could tear off the heavy headpiece, but she had brought upon herself enough scandal for one day—all thanks to the man before her.
“I do wish I had never seen you,” said Genie in uncharacteristically clipped tones. “And since you are no doubt correct that my aunt is even now booking my passage to the Americas or Botany Bay, I will take comfort in the fact that I will never see you again. Good day, sir!”
With fortuitous timing, Genie was called to join her aunt and she practically flew into the coach on the plumes of her own headdress. Unfortunately, her sweeping exit was hindered by the logistics of maneuvering three hoop skirts belonging to herself, her aunt, and her cousin, which was done with such haste Genie feared her gown would be sadly crushed. Her aunt demanded the curtains be drawn, as if the mere sight of Eugenia Talbot was so offensive the whole of London must be protected.
“Disaster! Oh, how could you do this to me?” Lady Bremerton lay back on the plush squabs of the town coach as it jolted forward, her hand on her forehead for dramatic flair. “I should have known you needed more training, more tutelage. After all, your father’s family can have no concept of what is expected in higher society, let alone what is proper in court.”
Genie swallowed down a retort. She had intended to prove she was every bit as polished as the other debutantes. Acting the hoyden before the queen revealed otherwise.
“I am sorry, Aunt Cora,” said Genie, her contrition a tight knot in her chest. “Sorry, Cousin Louisa.” Louisa’s eyes were sympathetic, but her aunt would give no quarter.
“Sorry will not do you any good, nor will speaking to a known rake,” chastised her aunt.