A Wedding In Springtime(65)

“Miss Fanny?” read Blakely. “Seems a rather tame name for a lioness.”

“Look, there’s a panther named ‘Miss Peggy,’” giggled Genie. “I had a friend by the same name. I should like to visit her.”

“Yes, let’s! What a helpful guidebook this is.”

“Thank you!” Genie was pleased someone finally recognized the value of her volume.

They passed an enjoyable afternoon reading about the various glories in London, including St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, Kensington Palace, and many other notable sites. Genie was desirous to stroll through Hyde Park, which had apparently been recently planted with trees. Blakely confessed an interest in visiting the armory at Carlton House, the residence of the Prince of Wales, which according to the guidebook was the finest in the world.

After an hour, Blakely reluctantly stood to take his leave. They walked to the front door, Penelope discreetly following behind as any good chaperone should do.

“Well, hallo there!” called a familiar voice.

Genie turned to find Grant strolling down the grand staircase. “Grant! Are you visiting the duke?” Despite her concerted effort not to care a fig for Grant, her heart beat a little faster and a smile sprung to her face.

“Just leaving,” he said with a smile, but as he approached, she noted he had an unusually disheveled appearance and, if she was not very much mistaken, was wearing the same mustard waistcoat he had worn the day before. “I see you have been visiting with your new friend.” Grant’s smile dimmed.

“Yes, we were reviewing my guidebook.”

“How… edifying.”

“May I drop you back at Bremerton house, Miss Talbot?” asked Mr. Blakely.

“Actually, I was hoping to visit Hookham’s library. I have arranged to be picked up there later.”

“Why, Hookham’s is exactly on my way!” declared Grant. “You must allow me the pleasure of taking you.”

Despite a furious glare from Penelope, Grant insisted he be given the role as squire and soon Genie was sitting next to him on his phaeton.

“You seem to be on friendly terms with Mr. Blakely,” said Grant in a manner slightly less than cordial.

“He seems a very nice man,” said Genie, not sure what to do with the winter in Grant’s tone. “Tell me how does Jem do today? I saw him earlier this morning.”

“Then you have seen him more recently than I,” replied Grant. “He’s a squirrelly fellow. Never seems to stay where I put him.”

“Little boys are like that,” laughed Genie. “He needs a place to run.”

“Might have found a place. Bunch of Quakers take in orphans on a country estate.”

“Yes, it sounds exactly like what Jem needs, as long as the people there will be kind to him. I believe country living is a good choice for young boys. I should have known you would find the right place for our Jemmy.” A bump in the road threw her against Grant. She straightened but left her shoulder touching his. For balance, she told herself.

“Here we are.” Grant pulled up in front of Hookham’s Lending Library. He jumped from the phaeton and lifted Genie neatly to the ground, his hands almost encircling her small waist. He lingered a moment longer than he should have, his eyes meeting hers, his hands on her waist. Genie forgot to breathe, looking into his silver-blue eyes and unshaven face.

“Thank you again,” murmured Genie, heat crawling across her face and down into unmentionable regions.

“I am always at your service.” Grant walked her to the door and left her with a bow.

Grant returned slowly to the phaeton, watching Genie through the window of Hookham’s. She looked around for a moment, then threw open her arms wide to give a long embrace to a handsome young man.





Twenty-one





“I think these are all good candidates,” said the dowager over tea that afternoon. She examined sorted cards Penelope had created with the names, positions, and significant information for the potential bachelors they wished to put into the running for Genie’s hand.

“I agree. These five would be good potentials. I should think Mr. Blakely is the frontrunner. They had a nice visit together over that guidebook. I believe they could become good friends,” replied Penelope.

“Friends? What difference does that make? She is choosing a husband not a lover.” The dowager carefully chose a biscuit from the tray.