A Wedding In Springtime(4)

“How could it?” asked Louisa. “It was a little thing, soon forgot.” Louisa gave Genie a tentative smile, which Genie quickly returned. Though cousins, they had never met until a few weeks ago. Louisa’s naturally reserved style made growing acquainted a slow process. Her support at this moment of Genie’s greatest defeat meant a lot.

“Soon forgot?” Aunt Cora tsked at Louisa like a naughty child. “I should think not. Why, this story will circle London before the day is done, mark my words. I only hope it should not make the duke think ill of you.”

“Do you think he would break the engagement over this incident?” Louisa’s eyes went wide.

“No chance of that,” replied her mother. “I saw to the engagement contract myself. He will not be wiggling out of it no matter what he should like to do.”

“I should not like to marry a man who does not wish to marry me,” murmured Louisa.

“It makes very little difference either way,” retorted Lady Bremerton. “What would you do? Follow your own fickle fancy of the moment? We have seen today the fruits of that decision.”

Genie let out a whoosh of air as if she had been punched in the gut. Aunt Cora could never forget that her sister, Genie’s mother, the infamous Lady Mary, had gone against the wishes of her family, broke an arranged engagement, and eloped with a gentleman farmer. In her aunt’s eyes, Genie would always be the result of the unholy union between an earl’s daughter and a lowly commoner. Genie’s presentation at court was supposed to redeem her, but she had only confirmed the whispers of her bad blood.

Men’s voices were suddenly heard in the hall, and a tall man in a superbly cut dark blue coat entered the drawing room, instantly commanding attention. His broad shoulders, aristocratic nose, and assured presence gave Genie no doubt that she was in the presence of the Duke of Marchford.

“Marchford, my dear!” exclaimed Lady Bremerton, rising from the settee. “It is wonderful to see you. You have been so busy lately we have had hardly any time together.”

“Yes, sorry. So busy, just getting back in Town, you can hardly imagine,” said the duke, slightly taken aback to find Lady Bremerton and his intended in his drawing room.

“Certainly, we understand, do we not, Louisa? But we hope to see you much more often in the future.” Lady Bremerton beamed in a manner not shared by the stoic Marchford nor the shy Louisa. They acknowledged each other in silence.

“Marchford, have you visitors?” Another well-dressed man sauntered into the drawing room. He had changed his silk breeches for a nankeen pair that so hugged his muscular thighs Genie averted her eyes. It was none other than Mr. Grant.

“Hello! We meet again!” Much to her horror, Mr. Grant walked up to Genie directly. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you are not on your way to Botany Bay,” said Mr. Grant, his impish silver-blue eyes gleaming. “Marchford, I insist you introduce me to this divine creature at once!”

Marchford, having yet to meet Genie, confessed he was at a loss, and Lady Bremerton was forced to make the introductions, though her reluctance was clear.

“Miss Talbot.” Grant bowed over Genie’s hand. “How much better you look without your plumage.”

“I could say the same for your purple britches,” Genie said sweetly. She had endured enough jabs for one day.

“Just so, just so!” laughed Grant. “You have a real spitfire for a niece, Lady Bremerton.”

“Yes, how true,” agreed Lady Bremerton with a smile that was not so sweet.

“Have you come to visit my grandmother?” asked Marchford, businesslike and direct. He took a seat farthest from his intended, who for her part focused on her embroidery and never raised her eyes.

“Yes,” answered Lady Bremerton. “Your butler informed us she was expected shortly.”

Marchford nodded in agreement and gave a quick glance at the door. “She was attending a wedding this morning. I trust she will return soon.”

“Perhaps she is attending the breakfast afterward.”

“No, she does not care much for the groom’s family. I wrote my cousin to escort her from the church.”

“You don’t mean Jonathan, do you?” asked Grant. “I heard this morning he was dreadful sick. His mother was going on about how she hoped it was not contagious, but unless you can catch it from that bottle of blue ruin he was nursing last night, I expect he shall be right as rain by the morrow.”