A Wedding In Springtime(9)

A man jumped up the few steps and passed through the tall, white columns, toward the main doors. Pen’s pulse quickened with real anger at the man who had abandoned his grandmother, just like every other man who had pushed past Penelope to be introduced to her more attractive sisters.

Penelope stepped outside and beyond the hearing of her new friend to intercept the gentleman. The man was an imposing figure in a dark blue coat and formfitting breeches, revealing a muscular physique. His cravat was tied in a crisp knot and instead of swimming in the current fashion of high collar points, he managed to command the style to his proportions, not be overcome by its dictates. His dark, wavy hair was combed back in an efficient fashion. He had a straight nose, square jaw, and gray-green eyes, which would have been more handsome had they not appeared cold and aloof.

His aristocratic manner only fueled Pen’s anger. He most likely thought only of himself, like so many other self-absorbed rich gentlemen who could not be troubled to acknowledge her existence. But how could he possibly neglect his own grandmother?

“Good morning, sir,” Penelope greeted the gentleman with deceptive mildness. She did not make it a point to speak to men to whom she had not been introduced, but she made an exception in this case. “Did you forget something at church this morning?”

The gentleman slowed his step, his face a condescending mask, showing his displeasure at being accosted by an unknown female. It was all Penelope could do to prevent her eyes from rolling. Who did he think he was?

“Or perhaps I should say someone?” Penelope continued.

That stopped the man. He looked down at her, a frown marring an otherwise handsome face. His fine looks only heightened her anger. He had everything yet could not be bothered to show one scrap of common decency toward his own family.

“My grandmother. Do you know where she is? Is she well?” At least he could pretend to show concern.

“She is fine, no thanks to you. Forgive me, it is not my place to say, but I find it reprehensible that your entire wedding party could leave behind an elderly lady such as your grandmother. She has been here for hours. Have you only now noticed she was missing?”

“A most unfortunate miscommunication.” The man waved his hand dismissing her concerns. Pampered rich aristocrat, he probably never spared a thought beyond how much he could stake at cards or whether his damned cravat was tied in the latest mode.

“How you could neglect your own grandmother is beyond my comprehension. Do you have any consideration for how confused and rejected she must have felt when she awoke to find she had been abandoned by her own flesh and blood?”

“I did not intend—”

“No, of course not. You simply assumed someone else would look after your responsibilities and continued pondering the progress of the war or whether the wine was to your liking or whatever topic rich men consider fashionable.”

“You are an expert on male thought patterns?” He raised one eyebrow in a manner characteristic of his grandmother. His eyes might have sparkled too, but she was in no mood to be charmed.

“N-no,” Penelope flushed at his manner, which had taken a lazy, almost seductive tone. If he thought he could sweet-talk her into a giggling miss, he had mistaken her for the rest of the simpering debutantes on the marriage market. “You stray from the topic. I simply wanted to state that you would oblige me greatly if you would take better care of your grandmother in the future. She may never tell you because she is a kindly woman, but your actions have caused her great pain.”

“And for that I am truly sorry, Grandmamma,” he said, looking beyond her.

Pen turned to find the elderly woman standing behind her.

“You most certainly should be,” retorted the lady.

The gentleman turned his gaze back to Penelope. “You are correct that my action or inaction today was inexcusable; however, you are sadly mistaken if you believe I will not be hearing about this for the foreseeable future. I can only assure you that I will certainly suffer for my misdeeds.”

“Bah! What would you know of suffering?” His grandmother dismissed his comment with a negligent wave of her hand. “James, this is Miss Penelope Rose. Would you be so good as to introduce us?”

“My pleasure. Grandmamma, may I present Miss Penelope Rose. Miss Rose, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Marchford.”

Penelope froze. Dowager duchess? Had she been conversing in a most familiar way to a duchess? “Your Grace,” Penelope managed and dropped a curtsy.