A Wedding In Springtime(93)

“Yes, indeed. Will they be attending the party do you think?”

Pen held her hands tightly in her lap to refrain from jumping up. “I should hope not. That is to say,” Pen amended to Mr. Oliver’s startled face, “I doubt I shall see her, but I would very much like to.”

She needed to excuse herself now. But how to get rid of her guests? Mr. Oliver was obliviously cheerful and Genie looked as though she might cry.

“Mr. Oliver, you must be tired from the road, especially having to rise so early. Let me show you to your room. Genie, would you be able to entertain yourself for a while?”

“Oh yes. I will show myself out. You need not worry on my account.”

Pen hustled Mr. Oliver up to a bedroom, which took longer than she anticipated because he had a habit of stopping at beautiful works of art and wanting to make conversation or ask questions. Since the illustrious home of the Duke of Marchford boasted many extraordinary works of art, this process was lengthy. After answering or deflecting all his questions, she left him in the capable hands of the housekeeper.

Pen hustled off to find the duke. The ball had to be called off!





Thirty-one





The butler stared at him as though he were an apparition.

“Can you tell me where the duke is this morning?” asked Grant.

Instead of answering, Peters removed a watch from his pocket and examined the time, held it to his ear to see if it was still ticking, then inspected it again. “It is 9:42, Mr. Grant.”

Grant took a great breath of air. “Morning. Haven’t seen it in years. Thought I’d give it a go.”

The butler’s eyebrows shot up. “And how are you getting on?”

“Don’t think I’ll make it a habit. A bit early, these mornings, don’t you think?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Although I understand I am not the only one who has paid an early call on the house. Lady Bremerton told me I could find her niece here.”

The butler’s features relaxed, as if the puzzle was suddenly examined. “Yes, of course, Mr. Grant, Miss Talbot is with Miss Rose in the drawing room. The duke is in his dressing room.”

“Suppose I should pop in on Marchford before I surprise the ladies. Propriety and all that.” Grant bounded up the stairs two at a time, not caring if he looked more schoolboy than sophisticate. He needed his friend’s help to gain a private audience with Genie.

“Good heavens, what is wrong?” Marchford stared at Grant as he entered the dressing room.

“Your cravat for one thing. What have you done to it?”

Marchford whipped it off his neck. “You surprised me and I crushed it. What are you doing about at this hour?” He checked his timepiece. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, I do. For some reason, everyone I meet feels compelled to read me the time. Go ahead, I know you want to.”

“It is 9:48 in the morning! Are you well? Your mother, sisters, they are in good health?”

“Everyone is well as far as I know.”

“Then what is it? It must be something extraordinary to bring you out of your bed at this hour.”

Grant flopped into an upholstered chair. “I have been forced into offering marriage.”

Marchford sank into a chair himself. “Give us a moment,” he murmured to the valet who discreetly left the room. “You best tell me what this is about.”

“It is about women, my dear man. They are craftier than we give them credit for. I’ve been caught, ensnared, compromised, by one of those doe-eyed debutantes who looks like they’d melt like butter at a simmering gaze but all the while they are stoking up the heat for themselves.”

“Are you foxed?”

Grant shrugged. “Quite possibly. Drank a lot last night.”

“Could you try again, for I am feebleminded this morning? What exactly happened?”

“Quite right, can’t think straight in the morning. Too early. Facts are simple enough. I’ve been caught by Miss Talbot and I must step forward to press my suit.”

“I thought Miss Talbot was going to marry Mr. Blakely.”

“So did I, but I have it from Lady Bremerton this morning that it is not to be.” Grant grinned like a boy with stolen pudding.

“You do not appear terribly upset by the prospect.”

“That’s how crafty those ladies are. They make you want your prison.”