A Wedding In Springtime(75)

It was amusing in a way. Was it not he who broke hearts by enjoying the company of many ladies? Who was he to judge behavior that so clearly reflected his own? He had thought her an innocent, but her attention was not for him alone. No, her affections were shared with others, as her embrace with a man in the lending library so clearly showed.

He should see her, talk to her. Perhaps there was an explanation. He laughed at himself as he searched through the crowd. How many times had he felt this desperation in the eyes of a young miss who came to him, hoping for some other explanation than what was plainly obvious? Grant never lied, never made false promises, but that never stopped unrealistic hopes. Genie also had not lied to him. She made it clear they sought a husband for her.

Marriage. Grant reached for his flask to swallow down the bitter taste the word left in his mouth. He had sworn he would never fall prey. The last time he had decided to break this rule his heart had been ripped out, torn asunder, and left for the dogs to eat. He had made the mistake of falling for a Rose girl. He thought them naive, defenseless, but had underestimated the power of—

“Good evening, Mr. Grant.” Miss Penelope Rose. She stood before him in crisp muslin, straight and formidable as any soldier. Napoleon’s army was nothing to fear compared with this quiet lady of influence and control.

“Miss Rose,” Grant nodded. He didn’t have the strength to pretend a smile. She wanted to tell him something; she would not have spoken to him otherwise.

“I understand you are to thank for the vouchers to Almack’s. I would like to thank you on Genie’s behalf.”

“She can do that herself.”

“Naturally, I am certain she will. Her presence here will certainly help restore her credit amongst society, and I have hopes that soon we shall hear wedding bells.”

“Do not toy with me, Miss Rose. Is Genie to be married?”

“I should hope so.”

“Have you picked a bridegroom yet?”

Penelope paused. “Not as yet.”

“I see.”

“Do you? You are a very charming man, Mr. Grant. I do not like to bring up the past, but more than one young lady has had their head turned by you only to fall prey to disappointment.”

“Yes, let’s not dredge up the past.” All these years, Miss Rose had been under the impression his offer to her sister had been less than honorable. The cruel irony was that he had intended marriage, but before the miscommunication could be resolved, Lord Stanton proposed and effectively left Grant in the cold. Grant allowed the misconception to hide his broken heart.

“No, let us not dwell on the hopes you have dashed.”

“You know I never make false promises,” said Grant.

“Which is why I am unclear why you have pursued Miss Talbot. She is an impressionable young girl and fond of you. But since you have declared yourself adverse to the institution of marriage, and she is in a position where marriage is a pressing need, I cannot see what purpose further friendship between you two could serve.”

“You just cannot help but to meddle in affairs which are not yours,” said Grant warmly.

“The affairs of my sisters and friends are my concern,” said Pen with so much frost in her tone he almost shivered from the cold.

“Thank you, madam. You have made your position clear enough.” Grant left her before he lost his composure, which he never did. He took another swig of whiskey to settle his nerves. Another thing he rarely did. It was becoming a night of firsts. Perhaps he could pass out drunk on the floor of Almack’s and really make a spectacle of himself.

He was more than a bit drunk, of uncertain temper, and not fit for public viewing. A wise man would go home. Instead, he took another swig.





Twenty-five





It was getting late and Genie took another wide sweep of the ballroom, looking for a familiar figure. The more she pondered the proposal from Mr. Blakely, the more she wished to speak to Grant. Perhaps she could compare how she felt when she was with Blakely to when she was with Grant.

“Looking for someone?” asked a male voice behind her.

She swirled to find the immaculate figure of Mr. Grant. His ivy-colored coat and white breeches were so formfitting and well tailored they might have been painted on. For one horrible moment, Penelope’s question invaded her consciousness and she did imagine herself in bed with Grant. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, covering her lips with kisses and her body with his own, naked, glorious—