A Wedding In Springtime(7)

“Stop trying to gammon me. I can see you are quite a rogue.”

“True, but now that your reputation is ruined, you can dance with me at the next ball.”

“But you do not go to balls attended by debutantes,” reminded Miss Talbot. “Besides, I find it very unlikely I will receive any invitations after my shocking lack of propriety.”

“Leave it to me. My fault you’re in this fix. Must set it right!” Grant took her gloved hand and held it between his hands, delighting in the way her slender fingers naturally curled around his. “I hereby claim the first dance, and I will have it.”

“I do believe we have waited long enough for Marchford’s return,” called Louisa. She may have appeared to be engrossed in her work, but nothing escaped her notice.

“Yes,” agreed Lady Bremerton, breaking from her novel. “I think it is time to return home.”

“Ah, dear Marchford, poor boy, he has been gone long,” said Grant. “Wonder if he has survived abandoning his grandmother.”





Three





Penelope Rose had mastered the art of weddings. After standing up four times with each of her sisters, Pen had perfected a look of doleful reverence while watching the happy couple exchange their vows. This fine Saturday morning was her youngest sister Julia’s turn to stand before the altar. The momentous occasion also marked the day Penelope officially became a spinster.

As the only Rose sister still unmarried, Penelope followed her sisters out of the church. Now that her youngest sister, six years her junior, had wed, it was definitely time to start wearing frilly caps and sitting with the chaperones and other old maids.

“Oh, Pen, is it not wonderful?” Julia turned her energetic embrace to Penelope. “I am the youngest but not the last to marry!”

“Yes, quite the glad event,” said Pen, valiantly trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“I am so happy!” Julia clasped her hands in front of her and smiled like an angel. “Oh, Pen, I think I left my reticule in the ladies’ retiring room, but we must leave now. See? They are waiting. What am I to do?”

Penelope gave a small sigh. “You go now, and I will go back for the reticule. Send the coach back for me after you are delivered to the reception.” She had taken care of the details for her sisters for so long, it was simply expected she would be the one to run errands and fix problems.

Pen returned to the church and hustled down to the dressing area for the brides. They had to stick to a tight time frame, as another wedding party would arrive soon. It was wedding season in Mayfair, and St. James was booked by the hour. Within the dressing area, Pen located the missing reticule and scooped the spilled contents back into the bag. Turning to leave, she noted an elderly lady sleeping in a chair in the far corner.

Pen looked around the room, but no one else was visible. The sleeping woman was not familiar to her, but her silk gown and ruby necklace proclaimed her a lady of means. Pen remembered the lady being there in the confusion before the wedding, when women from the previous nuptials were in the room.

“Hello? Is anyone else here?” Pen called to the area of the room that was curtained for privacy. The only sound that greeted her was the soft snoring of the elderly lady. Who was she?

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Pen softly. No response. She drew closer. The elderly woman’s mouth was slightly ajar as she snored. “Pardon me,” said Pen, giving the woman’s arm a slight shake.

“Oh!” The elderly lady woke up with a start. “What are you doing, gel? You wish to give me a fright?”

Pen took a good step back. The woman who had been peacefully snoring a moment ago now appeared ready for battle, her bright blue eyes gleaming.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but the wedding is concluded. May I help you to your coach?”

“Thank you, no,” said the white-haired woman with grave politeness. “They should return soon to let me know the carriage is ready.”

“Are you with the groom’s family?” asked Penelope, trying to find to whom this lady belonged.

“Gracious no!” She stopped short and gave Pen a polite smile. “Are you from the groom’s side, dear?”

“N-no. I am the bride’s sister.”

The lady arched one eyebrow. “You claim to be the sister of Lady Beatrice?”

“Lady Beatrice? No, I am Penelope Rose. Lady Beatrice was the wedding before ours.”