Wedding In Springtime(15)

"I am yours, wholly and completely," said the woman's voice from below.  "Now and forever, I wish to be with you. I want to do this. I need to do  this. I chose to live my life with you, and after tonight, no other  option will be possible. I chose you."

"Here we are," said Penelope, opening the doors to the balcony wide,  casting light on the garden below. From below in the garden came a  little gasp. Genie did not look down in the garden. She already knew who  it was.

"I brought you some lemonade," continued Penelope, oblivious to the  scene below. "Sorry it took so long. It is quite the crush tonight."         

     



 

Genie motioned forward, and they left the balcony to go back into the  ballroom. "Too cold," explained Genie once they were safely back inside  with the doors closed.

Penelope gave a furtive glance at the closed door. "I thought it felt nice after all this heat."

"Are balls always this crowded?"

"The good ones," answered Penelope, "at least in the eyes of the  hostess. This is quite a crush for a girl's debut into society. Lady  Devine will be thrilled. Though I think it might have something to do  with a certain nephew of hers who does not usually expose himself to the  machinations of matchmaking mamas."

"Matchmaking mamas? But I thought Mr. Grant was not considered a respectable man."

"Respectable? Oh yes, he is certainly respectable. The trouble with Mr. Grant is that he is not safe."

"I am not sure I understand. I thought he was a rake."

"Yes, he is but not the bad kind."

Genie sipped her lemonade, trying to make sense of this. "There are good kinds and bad?"

"Certainly. The bad kind will seduce young innocents and leave them  ruined without caring two figs about them. Those kind are not invited to  parties such as these nor would they be inclined to come. There are  some men in society who believe women are only there to serve their  needs, and if a girl is to give them attention, they feel no compunction  in enjoying it at the moment and then disregarding the girl. They  seduce the innocent, then have the audacity to blame the girl, even if  she is frightfully young and he is much older and experienced, and he  still won't offer her his name because he is a vile, hateful creature."  Penelope spoke with such venom that Genie blinked.

Penelope gulped down her lemonade in a single swig. "Just for an example."

"Yes, an example," agreed Genie, not believing a word of it. At some  point, Penelope must have come across the bad sort of rake. "But you  said there was a good kind of rake?"

"Yes, yes, where was I? The good sort does not seduce young innocents.  They avoid debutantes as a general course in life and instead associate  with women of a different nature. I am speaking of professional  courtesans and married women in society who feel free to have additional  relationships beyond their husband."

Genie almost dropped her lemonade. In a few short sentences, Penelope  had shared more of the world than she had ever gotten from her mother or  brothers. She had thought herself quite wise for having two elder  brothers, but none had ever spoken of such things so blatantly.

"Forgive me, I have shocked you," said Penelope in her direct manner.

"No, well, yes, a little."

"Now you can see why I remain unmarried. I have a dreadful habit of  speaking plainly when I should speak in euphemisms or better yet not  speak at all. Yet, I think if a woman is going to enter the married  state, she would do well to go into it with her eyes open and choose  wisely."

"Yes, I agree. Though I doubt I shall have to sort through the offers.  But please explain to me why the good sort of rake is better than the  bad sort."

"The good sort would not intentionally ruin a girl. A mother can feel  safe in that. The risk is more that the girl should become unwisely  attached to him only to have her heart broken when an offer of marriage  was not forthcoming. You must be wary of sending a girl into a decline.  Yet the good sort of rake is also well established in society with  pleasing manners and a healthy income. If such a man could be made to  come to the altar, any mama would happily marry their daughter to him."

"So Mr. Grant is the good sort of rake?"

"The best kind. His manners are pleasant, his actions kind, his wallet  plump, and he is handsome too. He would make a very nice sort of  husband, if he could ever be made to come up to scratch."

"What would it take to do that?"

Penelope's brow scrunched into a look of concern. "Please tell me you  are not developing a tendre for Mr. Grant. We wish to help you be  married, but you must understand, Mr. Grant is not the sort who is going  to offer."

"Yes, of course," said Genie airily, as if it was of no concern. "I am  still just trying to understand London society. It is quite different  from home."

Penelope's face relaxed. "I completely understand. When my sisters and I  first arrived in London, I was sure we had traveled to a foreign  country. It took a while before I understood the rules and how to break  them. Now let's see if we can make some introductions for you to some  eligible men."

Penelope led Genie to where the Dowager Duchess of Marchford was playing  whist with Lady Bremerton and some other friends. The game concluded  with the dowager the winner. Flush with her victory, the dowager turned  her considerable powers toward introducing Genie to the eligible males  at the ball. Penelope somehow managed to wrangle the men to visit the  dowager, who then made the introductions. Penelope and the duchess must  have been working with the elusive Madame X, since they kept her busy  introducing her to eligible bachelors, one after the next.         

     



 

"Miss Talbot, may I present Mr. Blakely," said the Dowager Duchess of Marchford.

Mr. Blakely bowed. Genie curtsied.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Mr. Blakely. In a  dark suit of unremarkable tailoring, there was nothing about Mr. Blakely  that initially either intrigued or repulsed Genie. He was a youngish  man with brown hair cut in an average manner, had brown eyes, and was of  average height and build.

"Have you been in London long?" asked Genie.

"No, not long. A fortnight perhaps."

Genie nodded as if she was interested and then no longer knew what to  say. She had met so many men, she was growing tired of polite  conversation. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

"There do seem to be a lot of people present."

"Yes, quite a crush, from what I understand," said Genie. "The hostess should be very pleased."

"I could not say."

Genie waited to see what Mr. Blakely could say, but apparently that was  more than she should have hoped for, so she continued the conversation.  "As a newcomer to London, I have been most intrigued to see the sights. I  hear the British Museum is fascinating."

"I have never been."

"The guidebook said it was highly recommended." Which was more than she could say for the conversation.

"Thank you for that suggestion."

"You are most welcome."

And so their conversation dragged on, one of the most innocuous, dull  conversations that had ever been uttered. Genie prided herself in making  good conversation, but she found it difficult to determine his feelings  on any topic. He seemed content to accept the most banal opinion on any  subject. It was not that there was anything wrong with Mr. Blakely. His  facial features were acceptable, common perhaps. In fact, there was  nothing particularly remarkable about him.

And yet, he was a good potential husband. She could not identify any  feature that was wrong with Mr. Blakely, and he certainly did not ask  her impertinent questions or make her feel flushed and dizzy. A definite  improvement, she must say.

"The next set is beginning," said Penelope, rejoining them. "I do hope,  Mr. Blakely, that you enjoy dancing as much as Miss Talbot."

"I could not say," answered Mr. Blakely, but he got the broad hint.  "Shall we dance?" he asked Genie, though she did not detect any sliver  of interest. Yet she was learning that in society, showing strong  emotions was considered gauche. If a bland demeanor was fashionable,  then Mr. Grant was correct-respectable people were dull.





Ten


"There you are!" accused Lady Devine.

Grant flinched at his aunt's words-not at the caustic tone, because he  knew what was coming next. He turned from his card game to his aunt, her  pursed lips and raised eyebrow a clear indication of her displeasure.  She was about to ring a peal over his head, and he had done nothing but  deserve it.

"Have you forgotten the promises you made me?" demanded Lady Devine.

"No, no, I was just taking a moment's reprieve," soothed Grant.

"A moment? I'll have you know that moment has taken at least four sets!"