A Wedding In Springtime(59)

Mr. Saunders’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared into his hairline. “Your personal account?”

“Yes, yes,” said Grant. “And write to tell them I have a new member for their family.”

Another crash was followed by a loud thump. “Should check on the crystal,” said Grant. “My mother does like that.”

“But I don’t believe the rental house has any crystal.”

“Should hope not with boys infesting the place,” said Grant over the sound of splintering wood. “Must dash!”

***

The Duke of Marchford arrived home to a different sort of chaos—his grandmother standing on the front step.

“Grandmother?”

“Ah, Marchford, you are home. I was looking to see if the constable had arrived. We best call a surgeon too.”

“What is wrong?” Marchford swept his field of view, looking for danger.

“It is the footman. Hurry!” The dowager led him to the study.

Upon reaching the scene of the crime, Marchford stopped and scanned the room with an efficient mental sweep. A footman lay on the floor, blood covering his head. Penelope knelt beside him, applying pressure to his head wound with a thick, white bandage. One of the windows had been broken and his papers that had been on his desk were scattered across the floor. The butler stood guarding the wall safe, which appeared untouched.

“What is his condition?” asked Marchford.

“He breathes,” said Penelope. “He mumbled he heard the window break and went into the study to investigate and was struck from behind.”

“Send for a surgeon,” Marchford instructed one of the interested staff who had gathered outside the door.

“The document?” Marchford asked the butler.

“It is safe,” he answered. “I heard the commotion and came running. I saw the man leave out the window, but I did not see the face.”

Marchford surveyed the scene around him with cold displeasure. One thing was for certain—the traitor would not stop until the document had been stolen.

It was time to trap a spy.





Nineteen





Genie walked into the drawing room conscious that all eyes were on her. She arrived with her aunt, uncle, and cousin, yet she appeared to be the center of attention. Within the drawing room was the Duke of Marchford, looking, as always, stiff and unapproachable; the dowager; Penelope; and five men of varying ages, all giving her a once-over like she was a prize heifer. She had to resist the urge to turn around slowly and show her teeth.

“Here, dear, have a seat.” The dowager indicated a chair and the young men flocked around her like buzzards to a fresh kill.

All were solicitous. All were attentive. But she was not sure if they were interested in her beauty, her dowry, or whether she would make another social faux pas.

Her aunt had dressed her in virginal white for dinner, a lace sheer layered over silk with a lovely blue silk ribbon at the high waist. It was a beautiful, expensive gown, which made her feel sophisticated, but the neckline was lower than she was accustomed, revealing more décolletage than ever before. It was fortunate her father and brothers were not there to comment, for she feared they would never have let her leave the house.

Her assets, now firmly on display, were causing a minor sensation. Many of her suitors appeared to be addressing her breasts in conversation. It was, of course, everything her aunt could have hoped, but would it be enough to cause one of these lusty lads to lose his head and pop the question? And if he did, what would her answer be?

After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room to allow the men time to enjoy their port at the table.

“I do thank you for your efforts to help repair my damaged reputation,” said Genie in a soft tone to Penelope. They sat in a stately drawing room slightly apart from the dowager, Lady Bremerton, and Lady Louisa.

“It is my pleasure to help,” said Penelope. “Did any of the men meet with your approval?”

Genie smiled back the truth. Mr. Grant came unbidden to mind. He met with her definite pleasure, too bad he was considered unsuitable. “I have been introduced to many men of late, but I have not known any long enough to form an opinion. I fear people are still wary to be long in my presence.”

“Give them time to forget. Never fear, another topic of gossip will emerge soon. The best way to make people forget one scandal is to have a bigger story come along. As my grandmama said, ‘folks dinna care fer a coon when they can eat veal.’”