A Wedding in Springtime (23 page)

“Dr. Roberts I am sure is an excellent man, but he is far from your station.”

“I know he is now, but he is also the heir to a large estate and a baronet. When his uncle passes away, he will inherit a significant fortune. He is not wooing me for the money, of that I can assure you.”

“That does improve his eligibility, but a barony is rather less than a dukedom.”

Louisa nodded. “I know. And I know what my mother would say. But what else can I do? We were waiting until he inherited to go before my parents and plead our case. With Marchford being gone so long, we hoped we could make a rationale for dissolving the contract.”

“But Marchford returned and ruined everything.”

“Yes. Quite.”

“You may have to live without their approval or your inheritance.”

“And flee London in disgrace? Barred from society? And what of Dr. Roberts? If the gossip spread that he had wed me against my parents’ will, none of his patients would ever speak to him again. His reputation, his practice would be ruined! Why his uncle might even be led to disinherit!”

“If you are determined to walk down this road, you will need allies, people who will support you.” Pen went straight for the heart of the problem. “A good solicitor will be important. And you need to find people who can encourage your parents to accept this match. I know you wish Marchford would just go away, but his being here may help you if you can get him to support you in dissolving the union.”

Louisa sighed. “I suppose I do need to talk to Marchford.”

“In the end, you may need to resign yourself to one of two unpleasant options. Either follow your heart and be lost to society, or follow your parents and let go of these feelings for Dr. Roberts.”

“You do not understand, Miss Rose. It is impossible for me to wed the Duke of Marchford. Simply impossible.”

Twenty-three

It had been two days and Genie had not seen Mr. Grant. Not that she expected to or wanted to or… who was she trying to fool? Of course she wanted to see him. What good it could possibly do her was a bit more vague.

Mr. Blakely, however, had been quite solicitous in his attentions. He had visited twice and a threatened thunderstorm had ruined plans to go to Hyde Park. This had brought up memories of another storm that had caught her in the arms of Mr. Grant. The thought left her restless.

“I hope the weather will clear soon,” Genie sighed, sitting with her aunt and cousin in the sitting room.

“Yes, the streets become ghastly. Why, I added an inch to my pattens just for Town wear,” commented Lady Bremerton.

The formal butler entered with a bow. “For you, Lady Bremerton,” intoned the butler, handing her a large envelope.

She broke the seal and gasped.

“Is something wrong?” asked Genie.

“No, no, it is most wonderful!” Lady Bremerton looked up with a glorious smile. “We have all been issued vouchers to attend Almack’s tomorrow night!”

Genie smiled radiantly in return. It must have been the workings of Mr. Grant.

***

“You do not look at death’s door. I was promised a man in ghastly health, but you look well enough.” Grant surveyed the duke with a critical eye. He and Thornton had decided to visit Marchford in his bedchamber since the rumor had circulated that the duke was ill. “Though that waistcoat was a mistake.”

“Wrong color or cut?” asked the duke.

“Yes,” replied Grant. “Brought it with you from the Continent, I can tell.”

“I did indeed. I thought it well enough.”

Grant shook his head sadly. “You have been gone too long, dear friend. I will give you the name of my tailor. He will set you to rights.”

“You never gave me the name of your tailor,” objected Thornton.

“I thought you had no concern for fashion my friend. I had always pictured your raiment as a protest against fashionable society in defense of your Scottish bloodlines.”

“’Tis just a coat, Grant.”

“‘
Just
a coat’? And you wonder why I would not subject my tailor to you.”

Thornton’s brows furrowed and he turned to Marchford. “Returning to the point of the visit, we were told ye were ill. Are ye well?”

“Yes, yes, I am well, but I must keep to my room.”

“If you reveal some contagion, I fear I shall run screaming from the room,” said Grant, pouring himself a whiskey. “Your story appears to be a long one. I fear I may need refreshment before you are through.”

“I would invite you to help yourself, but I see you have anticipated me.”

“Why must ye keep to yer room?” asked Thornton, ignoring Grant’s distractions.

“I am trying to catch a spy.”

Grant took a hearty swig. “I was right. A drink was needed.”

“I appreciate the modifications you made the other night to the study directly below. I have continued your good work. If someone tries to remove the letter in the safe, it will pull a cord and a bell will ring there.” Marchford pointed to a brass bell mounted on the wall with a cord running down the wall and disappearing under the floorboards.

“I thought this might be the direction ye were going,” said Thornton. “But how will ye get down in time to catch the thief?”

“See here,” Marchford opened a narrow panel in the wall which revealed a spiral staircase. “It leads to the study.”

“Very cloak-and-dagger,” said Grant with feeling. “When did you have this made?”

“My grandfather commissioned it when the house was built. I would like to say he had nefarious intent, but apparently he did not walk well in his later years and wished to have a shorter route from his study to his bedchamber. In any event, it is useful.”

“So you have been waiting to see if the letter is stolen?”

“Yes, and look here. Remember how I asked you to drill a hole in the ceiling?” Marchford motioned to a spyglass on a letter table. He slid a small panel and stepped back to let Thornton take a look.

Thornton pointed the spyglass down. “Why, I can see the whole room. Clever thought to put a spyglass here.”

“So you are spending your time locked away in your room spying on your own study?” asked Grant. “How dull.”

“Yes, actually it is,” admitted Marchford. “I had anticipated the thief would make an attempt on the room soon, but so far I have been disappointed.”

“How long do ye intend to play the role of invalid?” asked Thornton.

“Yes, well, therein lies the rub. I cannot rightly stay here too much longer without society taking notice. Already my grandmother has insisted that a physician be called. I fear my acting ability may not be up to the task.”

“So get someone else to sit here and wait for the spy—really quite a simple solution. They must have people who do this sort of thing.” Grant waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Yes, indeed. But I suspect a spy has infiltrated deep into the Foreign Office. I do not wish to use anyone from official channels.”

Grant put down his drink. “I do not like where this is going.”

Marchford smiled at his friends. “I know you have been wondering what you could do to help win the war against Napoleon.”

Thornton raised an eyebrow and Grant reached for the decanter to refill his glass. “If you can say that with a straight face, you have nothing to fear from your acting abilities.”

“I fear the thief will not strike until I am out of the house. It is imperative we find the spy. You are the only ones I trust.”

Grant shook his head. “You go too far. I cannot fathom sitting here, doing nothing all day.”

“I understand.” Marchford nodded. “It is a dangerous assignment. I would not wish to put you in harm’s way.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Grant.

“Nothing, nothing at all. It is perfectly natural, since you have been enjoying a life of ease that you would become…” Marchford looked up at the ceiling as if in thought.

“Soft? Fearful? Cowardly?” supplied Thornton. He shrugged at Grant’s glare. “Just trying to help our friend find the right word.”

“Let us simply say you are out of condition. I would not wish you to get hurt if you are not physically capable or do not have the mental fortitude—”

Grant put up his hand to stop Marchford. “Enough! Say no more or I shall be forced to retaliate in kind. Do you truly believe impugning my honor would entice me to sit in your bedroom, waiting for a thief?”

“Did it?” asked the duke.

Grant sighed and flopped on the couch in the sitting area of the master bedroom. “Suppose I should get comfortable. But how is the thief going to open the safe to ring the bell? I thought you had it locked.”

“I do, but one of my keys was stolen.”

“Stolen?” asked Thornton in alarm.

“By a sly little opera singer.”

“The one you went to see the other night?” asked Thornton.

Marchford nodded.

“That little minx.” Grant shook his head.

“Yes, she was—” began Marchford.

“Not her, you!” declared Grant. “You purposely allowed her to seduce you, so she could steal the key and give it to the thief!”

Marchford merely shrugged.

“All in the line of duty to King and Crown?” Thornton raised an eyebrow.

Marchford smiled. “Long live the King.”

***

“Thank you for seeing me.”

Lord Bremerton gestured for the young man to sit in one of the high-back, comfortable chairs in his study. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Blakely?”

“I have had several pleasant conversations with Miss Talbot. Am I correct that you are serving as her guardian here in London?” asked Mr. Blakely.

“That is correct.”

“I understand there is interest in seeing her engaged quickly.”

Lord Bremerton said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the statement but gazing at Mr. Blakely with a confident air of the aristocracy.

“Miss Talbot is a sweet girl and very pretty. I should be the happiest man alive if she would consent to be my wife. However, I have run into some financial embarrassments since coming to London.”

“Been betting deep and lost,” said Lord Bremerton without emotion.

“Yes. And to be honest, I haven’t the blunt to repay the debt.”

“And how is it you expect me to help you with this problem of yours?”

“It pains me greatly to ask you this, but the circumstances involved force me to present my case in a manner most vulgar. I fear I must ask, if a man was engaged to Miss Talbot, if her dowry might be available even before the wedding?”

“You want to become engaged to Genie and collect early on the dowry to pay off your vowels.”

“You must understand how wretched I feel in even asking this of you.” Blakely’s voice trembled and he gripped his own hands in tan kid leather gloves.

“Once the engagement has been accepted and announced, you shall have access to the funds to discharge your embarrassments.”

“I much appreciate it, Lord Bremerton.”

“I would much appreciate it if you took her off my hands and let my household get back to peace.” Lord Bremerton returned to his paper.

Twenty-four

Almack’s Assembly Rooms. Genie walked into the prestigious social club and was not disappointed by the lavish interior of marble inlays and gilt railings. A full orchestra provided engaging musical selections and the main attraction of the ballroom was to join the dance. Since dancing was an occupation Genie enjoyed, she entered the hallowed halls with every expectation of being pleased. Particularly if the one responsible for her voucher was here.

She smoothed her green, shimmering, silk gown with her hands in new, long, white gloves. Her brother’s emeralds dangled from her ears, making her feel expensive and somehow dangerous.

“Heaven’s sake, child, do not fidget,” whispered her aunt. “You must do what you can to appear respectable.”

Appear respectable. As if she were conducting some huge masquerade on the unsuspecting London society. Advice from so many well-intentioned people rang in her ears, mostly a long list of things she should not do. But tonight, she did not care. She was going to dance with whomever asked, laugh if she was amused, yes, and even talk about hay if she chose. Well, maybe her aunt was right about not mentioning hay, but otherwise she intended to enjoy herself.

“Whatever you do, do not dance with Mr. Grant,” said her aunt.

“Aunt Cora, I do believe we have Mr. Grant to thank for the invitation tonight. I fear I must dance with him.”

“Perhaps,” muttered her aunt. “But don’t appear to enjoy his company.”

“I fear I am not that practiced of an actress.” Genie scanned the room for the impeccable form of Mr. Grant, but he was not to be found. She was disappointed, for it had been her expectation that Mr. Grant would be waiting to claim the first dance as he had done before.

Instead, Mr. Blakely caught her eye and walked toward her.

“Here comes Mr. Blakely. Be nice, do not ruin this for me, Genie,” whispered her aunt.

Genie sighed. Her aunt could dampen even the most ardent of lovers.

“Good evening, Lady Bremerton, Miss Talbot.” Mr. Blakely gave his bow. He was dressed in a nicely cut midnight blue coat, with the required light breeches. He gave her a warm smile, and although he was no Grant, he appeared perfectly amiable.

“May I have the honor of the first dance?” he asked, holding out a white gloved hand.

“Thank you, yes,” smiled Genie.

They walked out onto the dance floor, where Genie discovered Mr. Blakely was a fine stepper, his feet light, never missing a step. He was almost as good a dancer as Mr. Grant. With the number of couples present and the intricacies of the dance, it was almost impossible to have conversation, but afterward, Mr. Blakely escorted her to have some lemonade.

“So what do you think of Almack’s?” he asked.

“I am enjoying myself. I do love to dance.”

“It is an enjoyment we share. I think perhaps we share many interests.” He smiled at her, his brown eyes inviting.

“Is that so? What other interests do we share save dancing?”

“We enjoy history, seeing the London sights, good books, and the country, and I hope you will forgive me for saying it, but we both enjoy laughing.”

“Ah, you are a cruel man to bring up my ruin. And here I am trying to show myself to best advantage. Besides, I have never known you to laugh.”