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Wedding In Springtime(5)

By:Amanda Forester


The elderly lady gasped. "Surely your sisters would not abandon you!"

"Oh no, any one of my sisters would be glad to have me live with them. I  have no brothers, you see. But I … " Pen paused. She had not vocalized  this to anyone. The lady waited attentively, and Pen found it was easy  to talk to this stranger about topics she would never broach with her  sisters. "I do not wish to burden them when they are so newly married.  The thought of being passed around from sister to sister like an old  gown does not appeal."

The lady nodded in understanding, the smile wilting from her face. "I  understand not wishing to be a burden, easily put aside and forgot." Her  eyes slid past Penelope to the open door of the church. "Ah, look, my  grandson has seen fit to remember this poor old woman."

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.

"And this"-the dowager waved her hand toward her grandson-"is the current Duke of Marchford."

Of course he was. Penelope took a sharp breath before dropping another  curtsy. Now she was not only a spinster but would probably be banned  from London proper. Could a duke banish you from England entirely? After  her shocking lapse in propriety, she might have to start a new life on  the Continent.

"James, we will take Miss Rose home. How long will it take you to pack, child?"

Penelope looked up and realized the dowager was speaking to her. Was she being ousted from the country immediately?

"Pack?" Penelope choked on the word.

"Yes, dear, pack to come live with me. James, see to it that her things  are removed from wherever she lives and placed in the blue bedroom. Or  are you more partial to yellow?"

Penelope opened her mouth but no sound emerged. She turned to the duke who returned her openmouthed gaze.

"She is to stay with us?" The duke found his voice first.

"Yes. Please welcome my new companion!"





Four


Mr. William Grant entered the halls of White's flanked by his friends,  James Lockton, the Duke of Marchford, and Duncan Maclachlan, the Earl of  Thornton.         

     



 

"I was of the understanding you were trying to separate yourself from  female company, not add to their ranks in your household," said Mr.  Grant with a drawl only one as fashionably attired as he could deliver.  In a long-tailed coat of claret superfine, he could have put any dandy  to shame, had it not been for his rebellious blond curls, which were a  bit too natural for a true aficionado of fashion.

"If you are referring to the opera singer, I was merely enjoying the  view, not offering a carte blanche," replied Marchford, taking his  customary seat in the hallowed halls of White's gentlemen's club.

"I ken he is referring to the companion yer grandmother recently  employed," explained Thornton with a slight lilt to his voice, even  though the Scottish lord had been educated in England. More somber in  appearance, with his short, black hair and gray eyes, Thornton's olive  green coat and gray waistcoat were a drab contrast to Grant's colorful  attire.

"If I recall correctly, you said not days after you returned that Granny  would be removed to the dowager house within a week," said Grant with a  smirk.

Marchford was spared the indignity of replying by the timely arrival of  his burgundy, served to the Duke and Lord Thornton. Mr. Grant,  naturally, was offered his preferred whiskey, the fault, he had claimed,  of a Scottish ancestor. Though Marchford may have wished it, Grant was  not inclined to drop the topic.

"Not that I mind your inefficiencies. I made a bit of brass on your tardiness," said Mr. Grant.

Marchford paused, his burgundy halfway to his lips. "You bet against me, old friend?"

"You cannot expect me to pass on the prospect of easy blunt," said Grant  with an unapologetic smile. "You have been away too long. Your  grandmother has ruled London society and the Marchford household for how  many years now? Why ever since-"

Marchford's eyes flashed, and Grant exchanged a glance with Thornton.

"Give or take the past four decades," Grant amended vaguely. "If you  think the Dowager Duchess of Marchford is going to pack up and leave  London in the middle of the season, you must have bats in your attic."

"I am only asking her to do what she demanded of me. Has she not written  me often asking me to return and take up my responsibilities? I cannot  bring a wife into the house with grandmother reigning supreme."