A Wedding In Springtime(90)

It was still dark outside, which gave him hope. Best to get the girl out of the house before the staff awoke to tell his mother of his exploits. He would like to think they would protect his secret, but he knew better.

“Are you well?” asked the woman again.

He supposed he would have to escort her back to wherever she belonged. His head pounded, and he would have much preferred going back to the dreamless sleep alcohol provided.

“We should get you back home,” said Grant, standing up to find water. His throat burned. He could not remember eating sand, but he sure felt it in his mouth.

“Home?” The female voice raised an octave. “But I thought I would stay here.”

Stay here? Was the woman mad? He really needed to stay home when he drank too much. Odd though, he thought he had intended to do just that.

“No, we need to get you—” Grant turned around. Miss Talbot sat on his bed. No, not on his bed, in his bed. The covers were pulled over her chest, her naked shoulders clear evidence of…

The room slanted and Grant stumbled to his knees. Miss Talbot was in his bed. Genie Talbot was in his bed. How could this be? Was he mad?

Genie pulled a blanket around herself and rushed to his side. “Grant, whatever is wrong?”

“How, how is it that you are here?” he croaked.

“Do you not remember?” Genie blushed.

Blushed! That was not a good sign. His brain spun. He must remember, he must. But no, there was nothing, just a big hole where Genie Talbot was supposed to be.

“I do not know how… I must be mad.” Grant ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “Mother said drink would land me in Bedlam someday. Guess the old gal was right.”

Genie laughed, a merry sound. “You are not mad. I came to you last night. Do you truly remember nothing?”

Grant shook his head. He remembered nothing. That was the point of drinking until he could no longer find his mouth with the bottle, but he had never regretted it so wholly as he did now. The time for self-recriminations would come soon enough; now, he needed to act fast. If the scullery maid were to come and find her naked in his room, he would be forced to put a bullet through his own head and save Genie’s family the trouble.

“We must get you home.”

The light in her eyes died, as if he had smothered it. She clutched the blanket around her with both hands. “I would rather stay with you. I thought we had an”—she paused and took a slow breath—“an arrangement.”

“No, no, we cannot.” Grant stood and offered her a hand off the floor. She rose as dignified as one could without his assistance.

“I see,” she said, but she stared out into nothing, her eyes dull.

He hated himself. Utterly. “I am so sorry. I must see you home before anyone can find you here.”

That seemed to rouse her. “Yes, yes of course.”

“I will remove myself to allow you to dress.” He fled into his dressing room, giving her the privacy he was certain she needed. He could not imagine what turn of events had led her here, but now he was in a pulsing panic to try to make it right and protect her reputation by putting her back where she belonged. Maybe no one would know. Maybe no one would find out.

He dressed fast, without a care to style. Nothing mattered now but getting Genie back. He knocked on the bedroom door and opened it slowly to find Genie standing in the middle of the room dwarfed by a large coat. She was small and delicate, and silently crying.

He was a wretched man. Wretched. He must work fast and get her back. No one could see her like this. No one could find her. He had ruined her, but at least he was going to protect her from others knowing that truth.

He started toward the door, then with great forethought, particularly remarkable since he could still feel the effects of drink, he went quickly to the bed and pushed some pillows under the blankets to make it appear as if he was sleeping.

“Come,” he whispered. “Quietly now.” He opened the door to the hall and crept out, Genie following behind.

He walked as quietly as he could down the corridor. He did not take a light; he did not want to be seen by any of the staff. When did the scullery maids get up to light the fires? He did not know. They were always lit when he woke. He never thought about when it occurred.

Something banged behind him and he whirled around. “Genie?” he whispered.

“Found a wall,” she whispered back.

Poor thing. She had not been walking these halls since she was on leading strings, how did he expect her to know her way in the dark? He felt back for her and grabbed her hand, soft and warm. Very soft. Very warm. He pushed the thought away.