A Wedding In Springtime(23)

“I would be most obliged. Does the work of a match-breaker have a fee associated with it?”

“My fee is only the pleasure I have in protecting my friends from wedded bliss.”

“Is that what happened between the duke and Lady Louisa? You worked your dark arts to wither away any affection for the match?”

Grant shook his head. “Theirs is an arranged match, and you are right about a general lack of enthusiasm from either partner for the match.”

“It seems a shame that two people should be bound together for life without any affection from either party.”

“I should be happy if I could inspire even a decent conversation between the two,” remarked Grant without thought.

“Oh yes, do let’s help them!”

Grant could not recall making any such suggestion, but the angel before him lit up with excitement, and any thought to the contrary was vanquished. “Yes, let us see what we can do.”

“Good, what an excellent idea. We should try to get them together, try to encourage them to make conversation.”

Grant, who never once interfered with the romantic interests, or lack of interest, of his friends, found himself nodding in agreement despite himself. Genie beamed in return and Grant decided it was all worth it. Poor Marchford would have to fend for himself.

“So I am to defend you against suitors while trying to inspire romance in the duke.”

“Yes! A lovely plan I think.”

Grant could think of a few other words for it but said nothing. “Whatever else we do, please recall you owe me the first dance. I have paid for it dearly and I shall have it.”

“Indeed, you shall,” conceded Genie.

Grant took her gloved hand in his and kissed it at the edge of the glove, his lips brushing momentarily over her skin. “Until we meet on the morrow.”

“Miss Talbot!” Another young woman, brunette, not at all as pretty as the lovely bundle he was sitting beside, strode down the gallery hall with purpose, Marchford trailing in her wake. He had seen that look in a matron’s eye before and knew it was time to abandon his new prize.

Grant rose and greeted his friend. “Marchford. Came to find you. Kept me waiting outside.”

“I do apologize,” said Marchford, strolling behind the determined female. “Miss Rose, may I present Mr. William Grant. Miss Talbot, I believe you are already acquainted.”

“How do you do?” said Miss Rose evenly. “I am already acquainted with Mr. Grant.”

Grant merely smiled and made his bow. He did remember Miss Rose, but he would have preferred to forget. “You are to be the dowager’s new companion, I understand.”

“Yes, you are correct,” said Miss Rose, moving between him and the lovely Miss Talbot. Not only was she utterly immune to any flirtation, but she also appeared determined to protect Miss Talbot from the same.

“Let me show you back to the drawing room, ladies,” said Marchford. “I fear I must away, as I have kept Mr. Grant waiting.”

“I can escort Miss Talbot back to the drawing room, Your Grace. I fear we have kept you from your appointment.” Miss Rose curtsied efficiently and, linking arms with Miss Talbot, turned to leave.

“Do not forget, Miss Talbot, the first dance is mine!” declared Grant.

Miss Talbot turned back to him. “I would be most obliged,” she said before she was tugged back by the militant Miss Rose.

Grant watched the retreating figures of the women, his eyes roving with pleasure over the flawless form of Miss Talbot.

“Why do I feel compelled to remind you,” drawled Marchford when the ladies were out of hearing range, “that Miss Talbot is the cousin to my intended bride?”

“Merely admiring the view,” said Grant.

***

When Marchford returned from his ride with Grant, he was informed there was a Mr. Neville waiting for him in his library. Marchford frowned. He did not recall having any business with a Mr. Neville, and curiosity getting the best of him, he decided to speak with the man before changing his clothes.

Mr. Neville was a small man with a receding hairline. What hair he had was combed forward over the barren spots in a rather futile attempt to hide what he had lost. Marchford could have no respect for the tailor who had cut the shoulders of Neville’s brown coat too wide in a vain attempt to make his client appear larger. The effect, unfortunately, made the man appear not fully grown. Despite these flaws in appearance, the man surveyed him with the utmost confidence, holding a leather case to his chest with pride.