Wedding In Springtime(28)

Jem nodded enthusiastically and soon the arrangements were made. The  household staff were none too happy to see Jem again, but a private  bathing room was provided without too much fuss. It was clear none of  the staff were interested in trying to bathe him in the kitchen again.

With the organizing and managing, Genie entered Grant's home through the  garden door and it seemed perfectly natural, albeit unconventional, for  Grant to offer a light tea in the parlor.

"I should really return soon," said Genie, taking another bite of a  scone still warm from the oven. "They will surely miss me soon."

"And I will miss you as soon as you leave."

"This cannot be proper."

"Probably not." In truth, Grant knew it was not. He had never  entertained a lady in his sitting room. He had entertained ladies,  surely, but he had an apartment in Town for that sort of thing. His  mother's sitting room was, well, his mother's sitting room. It was not a  place to bring young ladies. He was on shaky ground with Miss Talbot,  but he in no way wished her to leave.

"So, your mother is with your sister?" asked Genie, taking another warm  scone. It was not for nothing the Grant household employed the best chef  in London.         

     



 

"Yes, I have five elder sisters. All now happily married."

"I have two elder brothers and two younger. I did find it a bit  difficult to be the only girl in a house of boys. Did you find this also  to be the case?"

"The only boy in a world of females?" Grant gave a mischievous grin.  "Never was there a boy more coddled. My parents waited fifteen years  before I finally made an appearance. As the only son, considerably  younger than my sisters, I was prized, spoiled, and utterly bossed about  by my six mothers."

Genie smiled. "It does not sound too terribly bad."

"It was not, I confess. I was never at a loss for amusements."

"Then why, please forgive me if it is impolite to ask these things of a  self-proclaimed rake, but why have you decided never to marry?"

"Ah, yes, marriage. Well, perhaps you have no understanding, since you  were not raised with sisters, but in a household of five elder sisters,  there was nothing more important or spoken of with more fervor or at  more length than the topic of matrimony. My sisters must be wed, of  course, and the prospect of their subsequent entries onto the marriage  mart comprised my entire upbringing. By the time I reached my majority, I  was rather tired of the whole conversation."

"Still, it seems a bit drastic to declare never to wed."

"Had to. Only thing I could do. Have you any idea how tiring it is to  have six matchmakers parading potential brides before you like an  auction at Tattersall's?"

Genie considered the urgent focus on finding her a husband and nodded. "I think I may understand you."

"The ladies were getting insistent. They even tried arranging situations  to entrap me. My own mother even tried to force my hand to marry the  daughter of a marquis. It was a sly game, I confess, but they did not  expect me to jump from the balcony."

"You jumped from the balcony?"

"Indeed I did. I was trapped on the balcony with a young lady screaming  that I was molesting her and tearing her own bodice. What else was I to  do?"

"Were you hurt?"

"Broke my ankle but still managed to run down the street until I found  Thornton. Hid at his castle in Scotland for the rest of the season."

"That is horrible. No wonder you have a fear of debutantes."

"Dreadful fear, I'm afraid."

"But what about me? You are sitting quite alone with me. Should you not  be afraid that I might cry that you have made violent love to me and  entrap you into marriage?"

"Might you be willing to allow me to make violent love to you?" Grant  asked, moving from his seat to sit beside her on the couch. Their  clandestine kiss was still fresh in his memory. It had not been the most  passionate or skilled kiss he had ever enjoyed, but at present, hers  were the only lips he wished to taste again.

Genie laughed and turned away, smoothing her skirts in a nervous  fashion. "Am I to be frightened? I cannot imagine that you would molest  me in your mother's sitting room."

"True. You are aware of my partiality for trees."

Genie's color heightened and she deftly redirected the conversation from  the dangerous topic of trees. "Seems too benign of a parlor for a scene  of seduction."

"Truly? You are an expert on seduction? What are they teaching farmers' daughters these days?"

"I am somewhat an expert if you must know," said Genie, turning back to  him with a sly grin. "I have secretly read many gothic novels, and I can  say with every assurance that seductions do not happen in front  parlors."

"You don't say. Do go on. Where must I linger for an appropriate seduction?"

"First, it must be night. Always night. Second, there must be a thick  layer of mist. Third, you should really be wandering through a moor or a  graveyard."

"Wait, wait, how am I going to get a young lady to go out into a graveyard at night so I can molest her properly?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but it seems to happen all the time in novels."

"Your advice does not seem particularly sensible. How am I to put it  into practice if you don't tell me how to make the thing come about?  What sensible young lady lets herself be lured out into the moors at  night? Seems you would only be able to seduce young things without a  brain in their heads."

"I do not believe men are interested in the size of a lady's intellect.  In fact, I am sure men are only concerned with appearance. The novels  are quite clear on this point. Alabaster skin is apparently a temptation  no dark-hearted villain can resist. Drives them to insane lengths."

"Now I must be driven insane? Really, Miss Talbot, your version of seduction is sounding less appealing by the minute."         

     



 

"And, of course, the villain must come to a horrific and most dreadful end."

"Say no more!" Grant clanked down his cup for emphasis. "I hereby repent  of any thoughts of seduction. Really now, running about in graveyards  with brainless chits, going insane, meeting my doom. No, no, it's all  too much. I'd rather play whist with my mother."

"Then I regret to inform you that you are not a true rogue."

"I am very sorry to hear it."

"Here we are," said the housekeeper, leading in a clean boy, dressed in a  skeleton suit and black boots. "I found these things of yours in the  attic, Mr. Grant. I assumed you would not mind. The clothes he had on  were not worth keeping. I put them in the burn pile."

Jem, for Grant could now see that it was the scrawny imp they had sent  to take a private bath, paraded proudly into the room. He was  considerably cleaner, but his orange hair still stuck out in odd angles  and he doubted very much he had washed it.

"Look, miss. Socks!" He pulled up a pant leg to show her.

"Yes, of course you must always wear your socks," agreed Genie.

"Never had any before," said Jem.

"Oh!" said Genie, touching Grant's hand with hers. She met his eyes, and he knew at that moment he would never be the same.

Never had socks. The thought stilled Grant. He had lived his entire life  in comfort and privilege, his only real difficulties being the  avoidance of his marriage-minded sisters and mother. How many different  pairs of socks had he owned in his life. Hundreds? Thousands? Had he  ever once considered them as he put them on? No, never. Not once. He  doubted he would ever look at a pair of socks the same way again.

"I shall see to it you will be provided with socks," said Grant. "Now,  sit here and have a scone. I need to take Miss Talbot back home.  Afterward, report to the stables. They may be able to find some work for  you. If you mind your manners and make yourself useful, I'll see about  letting you have some trifle for dessert."

Jem's eyes grew large. "I never had no trifle. Is it as good as they say?"

Grant leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, "Better!"

Jem sat down to scones and Grant offered Genie his arm, leading her back  into the garden. "You have a good way with him," she said. "It is too  bad you have set your mind against matrimony. You would have been a good  father."

"Have you been sent here by my mother and sisters to try to change my  mind? Flattery will not serve your cause," laughed Grant, yet the  compliment circled around his heart and nestled in for a comfortable  stay.

"Here we are at the garden gate," said Grant. "Perhaps we can meet by  the moonlight to whisper our love through a crack in the garden wall, my  Pyramus to your Thisbe."

Genie laughed. "I thought you had taken a dislike to romantic tragedies."

"Ah, yes. They did both fall on their sword. I was thinking more of the delightful version told by Nick Bottom."