A Wedding In Springtime(38)

“Certainly, I can tell you often it is the lady of the house who runs afoul of her vowels,” added Grant.

“Vowels?” asked Genie.

“A gambler’s term for IOUs,” explained Grant with a wink to Lady Bremerton.

“Honestly, Mr. Grant, you ought not speak of such things to Genie. She is backward enough as it is.”

Grant glanced at Genie, but she accepted the insult without qualm. He got the distinct impression her aunt was frequently critical. He did not care for the way Genie’s quiet acceptance made her eyes dim. He did not care for it at all.

“Shall we all go for a ride in the park?” he asked, surprising nobody more than himself. He could not remember the last time he did anything as flat as taking ladies for a ride in the park.

Marchford raised an eyebrow at him. “A ride in the park?”

“Why yes, it is a lovely day for it,” exclaimed Lady Bremerton, ignoring the dark clouds framed in the window before her.

“I believe a ride in the park would suit me. Do let’s go, Cousin,” said Genie, lending support to Grant’s scheme.

Lady Bremerton encouraged all the young people to go along, while bowing out of the ride herself. It was rare that Grant found himself on the same side as a marriage-minded matriarch, but in this case, his plan to provide Genie some time to escape the house coincided nicely with Lady Bremerton’s goals of putting her daughter into Marchford’s company.

Several minutes later, they were seated in the stylish barouche, open to the weather, trying to ignore the brisk wind and the drop in temperature. It may have been late spring, but the London weather could be unpredictable, and Grant hoped to have some time with the ladies before encroaching rain put an end to the proceedings.

During the short ride to St. James Park, it was clear Grant and Genie were going to be responsible for the majority of the conversation. Marchford responded only when directly called upon to do so, and Lady Louisa spoke not at all.

When they arrived in the park, Genie declared her interest in taking a stroll, so the entire party alighted while the groom walked the horses.

“Shall we walk the length of the canal to the ordnance?” asked Genie. “I read in a guidebook that on the north side is a Turkish piece of ordnance brought here by the British Army and I have been desirous to see it.”

“It is too far,” stated Louisa, revealing that she could speak after all, if only to shorten the excursion.

“Surely it cannot be as far as all that,” protested Genie with a winning smile. “My guidebook also suggests venturing into the garden to see the landscaping. It says it must not be missed. Perhaps I could walk ahead, for I am a fast walker and I’m sure I could return soon.”

Grant paused a moment at this speech. Fast walker? This was St. James. People came to be seen, not to rush about in an uncivilized manner. Yet for all her lack of polish, Miss Talbot was a vision to behold, so he said, “I shall walk, er, quickly with Miss Talbot, and we shall return in a trice.”

Before either Marchford or Louisa could offer protest, Grant offered Genie his arm and they sallied forth, leaving the inarticulate affianced in their wake. Fortunately for Grant’s sensibilities, Genie’s pace was only slightly faster than was socially acceptable and she showed no tendency to scamper.

Genie cast yet another glance over her shoulder at Marchford and Louisa.

“Surely you are not wishing to return?”

“Oh no,” breathed Genie. “I only wished to see if perhaps they would initiate conversation after we left.”

“It appears that Lady Louisa is not much of a conversationalist.”

“Oh, but she can be. We have had lovely talks. She has been very kind to me, even when my aunt, well, you know how I have been a disappointment.”

“Not to me.”

Genie looked up at him, her blue eyes and blond curls framed by her bonnet. “Thank you.”

Grant had the sudden urge to kiss her. Her full, rosy lips drew him toward her. How could he possibly resist? Her eyes widened and her lips parted. He leaned closer and… realized what he was doing.

He pulled back and found that they had stopped in the path, Genie looking up at him wide eyed. He must have lost his mind. She was a debutante, the marrying kind, not his type at all. “Pardon me, your bonnet, who made this lovely creation?”

“I did. Do you like it? I thought, compared to the beautiful bonnets I’ve seen in London, this might seem a bit shabby. I did put on fresh ribbons.”