A Wedding In Springtime(32)

Marchford was found in a dim corner of the card room, winning a game of piquet.

“So have you spoken with your prospective bride tonight?” Grant asked Marchford as he sat down to play a round with his friend.

“Plenty of time to talk after we are married.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like your grandmother.”

Marchford leveled a glare. “What are you about, Grant?”

“I know you do not wish to marry Lady Louisa,” began Grant, “but do you not think you should at least be on speaking terms?”

Marchford opened his mouth for what Grant expected to be a strongly worded rebuke. Marchford had returned from war colder than he had left, and he was a tad cool to begin with. Marchford clenched his jaw and played his card. “You are correct. I have not thought much of Lady Louisa except to know that we must marry. It always seemed…” Marchford played another card. “Lady Louisa was intended for my brother. They spent years together and I know she was very kind in helping to care for him. When Frederick died, it felt unseemly to marry his intended.”

“You miss your brother.”

“I do. I never wished to inherit his title, his bride. I will do what I must, but I do not wish…”

“You do not wish to appear to be enjoying the privileges meant for your brother.”

Marchford nodded.

“How do you think Lady Louisa feels about this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps, my friend, it is time to ask her.”

Marchford stared long at his cards, considering the prospect. “Yes, you are right. I have stayed away too long.”

“She is here, no time to waste. Go see her now!”

Marchford narrowed his eyes. “Are you concerned with my marital prospects or are you trying to get out of a bad hand?”

“I am outraged. Of all the years of our friendship, I would not have thought you could think so low of me. I now know your true opinion of me. And here my only concern has been for your welfare.” Grant somehow managed to keep a smile from his face, but he could tell Marchford was unimpressed by the performance.

“Bad run in cards?”

“Horrid. Now go talk to that bride of yours and leave me to my whiskey.”

Marchford stood in a calm, fluid motion. He was like that, always thinking and revealing nothing. It was one reason Grant reasoned Marchford needed him. Who else would give him the nudge into breaking that impenetrable shell and doing something relatively human? Marchford had been a spy too long. Not that Marchford had ever told Grant the nature of his work for the Foreign Office, but Grant knew. He just did.

“Perhaps you should see that pretty face you were dancing with earlier this evening.”

“Was I? Which one?” Grant asked with utter nonchalance, but he knew exactly who Marchford meant.

“Deception does not become you. Especially when you do it so poorly,” Marchford observed without emotion.

Another man might be offended, but Grant merely laughed. Marchford was right as usual, but Grant was much too practiced a bachelor to fall for easy bait. He had met many a charming, pretty face. It would take more than that to catch him.

And yet, as he forced himself back to the ballroom to dance with more simpering females, he easily recognized that no woman had ever inspired him to do something so undignified. If he was a wise man, he would take care to avoid Genie in the future. Yes, indeed, his flirtation with Miss Eugenia Talbot was officially at an end.

At least, if he had any sense, it would be.





Eleven





Lady Louisa Munthgrove, esteemed only daughter of Lord and Lady Bremerton, was surprisingly difficult to find. Despite having ignored her completely for the past three years of their official engagement, Marchford somehow expected her to be standing patiently along the wall of the ballroom, waiting for him. She was not. Nor was she eating a brief repast or playing at cards or walking in the garden. It occurred to him that he actually knew very little about Lady Louisa, except that she was a demure girl who was challenging to find. What did she do with her time? Where did she go? Where was she now?

Marchford strolled out into the garden, a rush of cool air pleasant after the heat of the ballroom. Grant was right; he needed to at least be on speaking terms with her. They were going to be married after all, no way around that. He had looked into the contract and spoken to Louisa’s father. His plan to quietly end the contract after his brother’s death had been met with fierce opposition. The Earl of Bremerton wanted his only heir to marry a duke, and it really did not matter which one.