The dismissal was undeniable. Mr. Neville bowed and quit the room.
Marchford sank into a chair and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth. He had thought he had left this life behind when he returned to London, and yet here he was again, never knowing who to trust. It was ludicrous to think any of his acquaintance could turn against him, and yet the amount of money Napoleon would be willing to give for valuable information might well turn even the most loyal of hearts. That kind of money must be quite tempting to someone of Miss Rose's circumstances.
As much as he was loathe to admit it, Mr. Neville was right, Marchford needed to keep a wary eye on those around him. It was only a matter of time before he would be the target of a spy.
Eight
After their company departed, Penelope remained in the drawing room, alone with the formidable Dowager Duchess of Marchford. She was uneasy about the conversation regarding the matchmaker and sorely suspicious. Yet the dowager was a daunting woman and Pen's employer, so she understood she needed to keep her forthright manner reasonably in check.
"I am intrigued by your description of Madame X," said Pen. "Will I have the opportunity of meeting her?"
The dowager smiled. "Why of course, since you are, naturally, the infamous Madame X."
"Me?" Pen opened her mouth to say more but nothing emerged. It was not often she was at a loss for words, yet another reason she was still unwed, but now she could do little more than stammer.
"You found husbands for all your sisters. You have notes that will be particularly helpful in finding Miss Talbot a husband."
"But, Your Grace-"
"Call me Antonia," said the dowager with a wave of her hand. "If we are going to be partners, we shall need to work together. I shall even arrange for you to receive ten percent of the payment."
"I do not think-"
"Fine, we'll split the fee eighty-twenty. With my connections and your book of peers, we can find husbands for anyone."
"Except myself," reminded Penelope. "How can I propose to find a match for Miss Talbot when I myself remain unwed?"
Antonia was quiet for a moment, her face unreadable as she studied Penelope. "I will give you twenty-five percent and that is my last offer. We both want to stay in London; this is our chance to raise the blunt we need to do it."
"But should you be charging your friend money to help?"
The dowager waved a hand. "Bremerton is one of the richest families in England. I shall not be taking bread off her table. Lady Bremerton herself would be most grateful, and it would spare her feelings not to be beholden to me. At the very least, we could give it a try."
The clock ticked softly in the quiet room as the dowager duchess waited for a reply. Try? Pen had given up trying. All it did was make one wish for something one could never have. Best to face the ugly truth directly and accept it. With a flash of insight, Pen realized she had taken the post of companion to an elderly lady to try to avoid the pressures of the marriage mart and the disappointment it had brought her.
And yet … finding husbands for other people was a skill she apparently possessed. It would be nice to live comfortably for the remainder of her life without the embarrassment of being a burden to anyone. She liked the rationale that they were sparing Lady Bremerton's feelings by creating a fictional matchmaker, though she suspected there might be a strong dose of convenient thinking. Yet Pen did not doubt Lady Bremerton was desperate to have Genie wed and it might be diverting at least to try. What did she have to lose?
"I suppose it could not hurt to try," said Pen.
"Good girl! Now, not a word to Lady Bremerton, mind you."
"Certainly not! And how did you suggest the fee be divided?"
The dowager's eyes narrowed. "I'll give you thirty percent, but that is my final offer."
"As you wish." Penelope lowered her eyes and clasped her hands neatly in her lap. It was important to know when to quit.
"Now then." The dowager cleared her throat, getting down to business. "You did say Miss Talbot told you Grant had arranged for her to be invited to the coming-out party for Miss Devine?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Then we have no time to lose. I shall talk to James about quashing the rumors circulating about her debut. And I must help Cora pick out an appropriate gown. She is addicted to fashion but has not the figure for it anymore I fear. What was that color she was wearing today?"
"Persimmon, I believe."
"Ghastly," declared the dowager. "She has not the coloring for it. Now go fetch Debrett's. We must select a husband for our young Miss Talbot."
***
Lady and Lord Admiral Devine were the honored hosts of the coming-out ball for their niece, Miss Cassandra Devine. True to Grant's word, an invitation was extended to Miss Talbot. Lady Devine was a kindhearted lady, generous to a fault, but her motives in inviting Genie were dominated more by the perverse humor of watching Grant dance with debutantes than an abundance of compassion. If nothing else, it guaranteed her ball would be remembered, and that was truly all a hostess could ask for.
Grant noted the exact moment of Genie's entry into the ballroom with a rush of pleasure. She wore a gown of ice blue with a gauzy overdress of silver. Her blond hair was sleeked back into a high bun with a diamond and sapphire tiara. Her deep blue eyes, pink lips, and flawless porcelain skin could leave no mistake that she was a strikingly beautiful girl.
"There she is," said the Comtesse de Marseille, who was dressed in a raiment of silk and lace fit to beggar a king. "I cannot believe she has the audacity to show her face in society."
"That is Lady Bremerton's niece," replied a man. "Pretty thing, quite pretty, too bad she has not the manners to match."
"Whatever do you mean?" asked Grant, joining the conversation.
"Did you not hear the latest on-dits about Miss Talbot? Apparently, she made quite a spectacle of herself before the queen."
"Ah, you speak of the presentation," said Grant. "I was there, you know."
"Do tell!" exclaimed the comtesse with a malicious glint to her eye.
"My Lord Chamberlain made an utter fool of himself by making known the painful result of ill digestion. Truly, I worry for him. The queen was quite put out at his behavior, I must say."
The Comtesse de Marseille laughed without a trace of mirth. "I heard that young chit embarrassed herself by shrieking with laughter."
"I heard she fell to the floor with hysterics," replied the man.
"Sorry to disappoint, but that's all a hum. Such a lovely girl, she shone in comparison to the other young ladies. Wonder who could benefit from spreading false rumors?" added Grant.
"Jealous mamas, no doubt," said the comtesse with authority. "They are a vicious breed."
"I heard it from a reliable source," countered the man, not ready to give up his bit of gossip.
"As did I," agreed the comtesse. "The Talbot girl made a fool of herself."
"The Talbot girl," said the Duke of Marchford, joining the conversation with stiff hauteur, "is the granddaughter of the Earl of Wainwright and the cousin of my betrothed."
The group turned to find the duke studying them with the disinterest of a noble. If anyone doubted Miss Talbot's behavior, it was not going to be discussed before the duke.
"Good show," said Grant as he watched the gossips promenade away stately in search of safer ground. "You can give a set-down better than most."
"I fear it is a performance I shall have to repeat all evening."
"You'll enjoy that," said Grant, not at all attending to what his friend was saying. Instead, he watched Genie's entrance into the ball, the way the candlelight shone in her hair, the soft curve of her hip in the silk gown.
"Grant." The duke's voice was threaded with warning, but his companion was enthralled.
"Yes, yes, quite right. Must dash." Grant made a direct line to the object of his fancy.
***
"I am not supposed to dance with you," whispered Genie as she followed Mr. Grant onto the ballroom floor.
"Who told you that? The sour-faced companion to the dowager?"
"No!" insisted Genie, who felt allegiance to her new friend as one of the only people in London who would claim a friendship with her. "Well, yes," she amended. Upon reflection, she decided there was no use in denying it. "But she is hardly the only one. I do wish to thank you for securing this invitation for me, but my aunt, my cousin, oh, everyone from the chambermaid to the groomsman has warned me not to go anywhere near you."
"I am flattered to know my reputation has finally made its way into the gossip of the chambermaids."
"You are quite incorrigible."