"Was I? Which one?" Grant asked with utter nonchalance, but he knew exactly who Marchford meant.
"Deception does not become you. Especially when you do it so poorly," Marchford observed without emotion.
Another man might be offended, but Grant merely laughed. Marchford was right as usual, but Grant was much too practiced a bachelor to fall for easy bait. He had met many a charming, pretty face. It would take more than that to catch him.
And yet, as he forced himself back to the ballroom to dance with more simpering females, he easily recognized that no woman had ever inspired him to do something so undignified. If he was a wise man, he would take care to avoid Genie in the future. Yes, indeed, his flirtation with Miss Eugenia Talbot was officially at an end.
At least, if he had any sense, it would be.
Eleven
Lady Louisa Munthgrove, esteemed only daughter of Lord and Lady Bremerton, was surprisingly difficult to find. Despite having ignored her completely for the past three years of their official engagement, Marchford somehow expected her to be standing patiently along the wall of the ballroom, waiting for him. She was not. Nor was she eating a brief repast or playing at cards or walking in the garden. It occurred to him that he actually knew very little about Lady Louisa, except that she was a demure girl who was challenging to find. What did she do with her time? Where did she go? Where was she now?
Marchford strolled out into the garden, a rush of cool air pleasant after the heat of the ballroom. Grant was right; he needed to at least be on speaking terms with her. They were going to be married after all, no way around that. He had looked into the contract and spoken to Louisa's father. His plan to quietly end the contract after his brother's death had been met with fierce opposition. The Earl of Bremerton wanted his only heir to marry a duke, and it really did not matter which one.
Marchford knew what he must do. He would not force the matter and bring scandal to his house and to that of Lady Louisa. Love may not be in his future, but a marriage certainly was.
Instead of returning to the ballroom, Marchford sat on a stone bench in the garden, appreciating the stillness of the moonless night. Light poured from the door of the house, dimly lighting the garden in shades of gray. Tall bushes formed walls to create different rooms in the garden, some in sight, others hidden from view. It would be a pleasant place to stroll with an interest of fancy, not that he was at leave to indulge in that sort of activity. Marchford closed his eyes and breathed in the aroma of gardenia with a hint of lilac.
His mother had been a lover of flowers and had cultivated a wild jungle of color in their garden. After his mother was gone, his grandmother ordered the flowers to be ripped from the earth and replaced with sensible hedges. Now the Marchford house garden held nothing but well-mannered bushes trimmed at neat right angles. Nothing dared look unkempt in his grandmother's garden-his garden. Perhaps it was time to bring back the flowers.
It is remarkable how the soft swish of a woman's skirts can capture the attention of a man. Marchford turned toward the sound, waiting to see who might appear. Was it a couple hiding in the garden for a few moments alone? Was it a seductress come to help him forget his marital woes? The figure that appeared was definitely female, shapely, and alone.
"Good evening," said Marchford.
The woman gave a small shriek and put her hand over her mouth. "Marchford?"
"At your service." Marchford stood and bowed.
She stepped forward into the light, revealing Miss Penelope Rose. "What are you doing here in the dark?" she asked in an accusing manner. "You gave me a fright."
"I might ask the same of you," replied Marchford. "Why would my grandmother's companion abandon her during the party and walk alone in the garden?"
"I hardly abandoned your grandmother. She is playing whist with her friends and has no current need for me. As for walking in the garden, I find the cool air a relief after the hot ballroom. Why are you here? Shall I leave before I interrupt a lovers' tryst?"
Marchford coughed slightly at her brusque, straightforward manner. It was clear why she remained unmarried. She was all social awkwardness and sharp edges. "Nothing so scandalous, I assure you."
"Yes, yes, of course not, I beg your pardon." Penelope turned slightly toward the door to the house, as if wishing to leave but not exactly sure how to extricate herself from the conversation. Marchford was not inclined to help.
"And you? Am I interrupting a lovers' tryst?"
"Me? A tryst? Certainly not!"
"And yet, you are alone in the garden. It would be a natural assumption, an assumption you in fact made."
"Did I? Yes, well, you are you and I am, well, me."
"A true statement." Marchford smothered a smile. He should not enjoy needling her as much as he did, but her abruptness brought out a little used tendency to tease.
"So you see, there is no … " Penelope broke off and narrowed her eyes. "You are teasing me."
"Perhaps."
"That is unkind."
And at once, Marchford felt it had been unkind. The power differential between them made his words appear not to be the work of a tease but of a bully. And that he could not abide. He opened his mouth to offer his apology, but Penelope spoke before he got the chance.
"Impolitic too," continued Penelope, "for it will only inspire me to answer in kind."
Marchford closed his mouth. The fact that he was a duke and she his grandmother's companion did not appear to cow Miss Rose in the least. It was refreshing. Surprising too.
"And how would you respond? Of what have you to accuse me?"
"Much! Where would you like me to start, Your Grace?"
"I had no idea I had so many flaws readily apparent to the casual observer. Pray tell me, do you find my address lacking?"
"No, your manner and address are all what they should be." Penelope pursed her lips in a way that informed Marchford she was unhappy about this admission.
"You find want with my fashion or form?"
"No, Your Grace." Despite the chill of the garden, Penelope snapped open her fan and began to wave it in a distracted manner. "Your form is … you dress quite adequately."
"What, then, do you have to accuse me of?"
"Your character!"
"My character? Do enlighten me on how you find me wanting."
"You are prone to tease unmarried and unchaperoned ladies in dark gardens at night!"
"Ah, your shaft hits home! I am guilty as charged, Miss Rose. I stand before you a humbled man. May I escort you back to the ballroom?"
"With pleasure, Your Grace."
Marchford offered his arm to Penelope and they walked into the ballroom. He was not sure who won that round or why it was they were fighting. He had, whatever the score, enjoyed himself.
After returning Miss Rose to his grandmother, Marchford toured the ballroom, dining room, and card room again to no avail. Lady Louisa was not present. He wondered if she might have gone home when suddenly she appeared, walking along the side of the ballroom. Marchford moved for an intercept and met her at the door to the card room.
"Lady Louisa." He bowed. He came up and noticed not what he thought he would see, the shy Lady Louisa, but someone quite different than he expected. It was Louisa, but this version was flushed, her hair was styled poorly, and she appeared to be, and there is no kind way to put this, rather sweaty.
Louisa stared at him with horror in her wide eyes. Her mouth was opened slightly and it took a few moments before she uttered, "Marchford."
Something was wrong. She was a shy creature, but she should not be horrified by him. "Are you quite well?"
"Yes, of course. I mean, no, not well. I was just going to my mother to beg to go home."
"I was just leaving myself. Please allow me to convey you home."
"No!"
Marchford blinked at her vehemence.
"I beg your pardon, but I need to return to my house. I am sure my mother will tend me."
"As you wish. I do hope you will feel better."
Lady Louisa dropped a quick curtsy and fled through the door to the card room.
***
"I'm not sure she appreciated your attentions," drawled Grant, coming up from behind. He had completed his dancing obligations and was longing for freedom.
"Your powers of observation amaze me," returned Marchford in a similar tone.
"Let's go rescue Thornton and head to the club," suggested Grant, noting that Lady Bremerton was taking her two charges, the lovely Miss Talbot among them, back home, which left no reason for Grant to tarry.
Their search for their friend was interrupted by a loud, female scream. Marchford and Grant ran toward the source of the sound, out of the ballroom into the main foyer. They were followed by Thornton and half the ballroom of interested guests.