Twenty-four
Almack's Assembly Rooms. Genie walked into the prestigious social club and was not disappointed by the lavish interior of marble inlays and gilt railings. A full orchestra provided engaging musical selections and the main attraction of the ballroom was to join the dance. Since dancing was an occupation Genie enjoyed, she entered the hallowed halls with every expectation of being pleased. Particularly if the one responsible for her voucher was here.
She smoothed her green, shimmering, silk gown with her hands in new, long, white gloves. Her brother's emeralds dangled from her ears, making her feel expensive and somehow dangerous.
"Heaven's sake, child, do not fidget," whispered her aunt. "You must do what you can to appear respectable."
Appear respectable. As if she were conducting some huge masquerade on the unsuspecting London society. Advice from so many well-intentioned people rang in her ears, mostly a long list of things she should not do. But tonight, she did not care. She was going to dance with whomever asked, laugh if she was amused, yes, and even talk about hay if she chose. Well, maybe her aunt was right about not mentioning hay, but otherwise she intended to enjoy herself.
"Whatever you do, do not dance with Mr. Grant," said her aunt.
"Aunt Cora, I do believe we have Mr. Grant to thank for the invitation tonight. I fear I must dance with him."
"Perhaps," muttered her aunt. "But don't appear to enjoy his company."
"I fear I am not that practiced of an actress." Genie scanned the room for the impeccable form of Mr. Grant, but he was not to be found. She was disappointed, for it had been her expectation that Mr. Grant would be waiting to claim the first dance as he had done before.
Instead, Mr. Blakely caught her eye and walked toward her.
"Here comes Mr. Blakely. Be nice, do not ruin this for me, Genie," whispered her aunt.
Genie sighed. Her aunt could dampen even the most ardent of lovers.
"Good evening, Lady Bremerton, Miss Talbot." Mr. Blakely gave his bow. He was dressed in a nicely cut midnight blue coat, with the required light breeches. He gave her a warm smile, and although he was no Grant, he appeared perfectly amiable.
"May I have the honor of the first dance?" he asked, holding out a white gloved hand.
"Thank you, yes," smiled Genie.
They walked out onto the dance floor, where Genie discovered Mr. Blakely was a fine stepper, his feet light, never missing a step. He was almost as good a dancer as Mr. Grant. With the number of couples present and the intricacies of the dance, it was almost impossible to have conversation, but afterward, Mr. Blakely escorted her to have some lemonade.
"So what do you think of Almack's?" he asked.
"I am enjoying myself. I do love to dance."
"It is an enjoyment we share. I think perhaps we share many interests." He smiled at her, his brown eyes inviting.
"Is that so? What other interests do we share save dancing?"
"We enjoy history, seeing the London sights, good books, and the country, and I hope you will forgive me for saying it, but we both enjoy laughing."
"Ah, you are a cruel man to bring up my ruin. And here I am trying to show myself to best advantage. Besides, I have never known you to laugh."
"Yes, I suppose that is true. It is something I would like to learn. Something I need to learn." He looked away, the smile gone from his eyes.
"Is there something the matter?"
"After the death of my father, I have not had much laughter in my life. Perhaps you can help me find it." He took her hand and led her farther into the back of the room, along the wall, where they found a cushioned bench. She took a seat and he sat beside her, taking both of her hands in his.
Genie's heart raced and she felt the room grow uncomfortably hot. Is this what love felt like or fear?
"Forgive me for being forward, for I know we have not known each other long, but I feel I must take this opportunity to speak. I understand your aunt hopes to see a wedding for you soon, and I want to make my wishes known before another speaks ahead of me. Miss Talbot-Genie, I love the way you make me smile, I love the blue of your eyes, I simply love you. I think we would suit well together, since you are accustomed to country life and that is what I have to offer. Would you consider making me the happiest man on earth and consent to be my wife?"
Genie caught her breath. It was as nice a proposal as she could ever have hoped for. Aunt Cora would be so happy. Everyone's reputation would be saved. Here was the answer to all their prayers. She should be so happy.
"Thank you, Mr. Blakely. You have quite taken my breath away. May I consider your offer and give you a response later?"
"Of course, of course. I know we have not known each other long. I was under the strong impression from your aunt that a swift proposal would be greatly appreciated."
"Yes, thank you, I know my aunt would dearly love to see me join the matrimonial ranks."
He smiled and led her back to her aunt, who was conversing with Penelope. Without further conversation Blakely bowed and left. What was she supposed to feel? Did she feel it?
"Well? Tell me what did he say to you? What did you talk about? I saw him lead you off somewhere. Tell me there is reason to hope," demanded her aunt.
"Yes, Aunt, we must not give up hope." Genie did not tell her aunt about the proposal. To do so would mean an acceptance would be demanded immediately. If her aunt found she had turned down a proposal, she would be sent back to the country-on foot most likely.
"Genie," said Penelope. "Would you mind walking with me for some refreshment? It can get so hot in a crowded ballroom."
"Yes, of course," said Genie and followed Penelope to a table of weak lemonade.
"Did Blakely propose?" asked Penelope in her blunt manner.
"Yes."
"But you did not accept?"
"I said I would think on it."
"So what do you think?" Pen offered Genie a small tea sandwich.
"He is a fine dancer," reported Genie.
"That he is."
"He seems kind."
"Indeed."
"I do like the country."
"True."
"So I suppose I should accept?"
Penelope took a bite of her own sandwich. "It does not seem as if you hold much regard for him."
"He seems a nice man."
Penelope raised an eyebrow. "But can you see yourself in his bed?"
"Penelope!" Genie snapped open her fan and fluttered it before her. When had the room gotten so unbearably hot?
"One of the primary duties of a wife is to produce heirs. There is only one way to do that, and it begins and ends in bed."
Genie waved her fan more furiously and tried to image herself with Mr. Blakely. Heavens, she didn't even know his first name. She could hardly make love to a man she called Mr. Blakely. Now, William Grant was a name she could cry out and-she snapped the fan shut.
"I cannot begin to think about that sort of thing in a crowded ballroom."
"Truly? I can think about it anywhere."
Genie gaped at her, but Pen waved off the comment.
"Let me tell you what more I've discovered of our Mr. Blakely," continued Penelope. "It has been difficult to get good information about the man, since he has never before been to London and I cannot find he has any intimates here. The story circulating about him is he inherited a fine country estate. I imagine he came to London in search of a pleasing wife. He also has a tendency to gamble and has been betting deep lately."
"So is he marrying me for the money?"
"I cannot say that. He may need to make an advantageous match and you need to marry soon. It does not mean that he is not genuinely interested in you or that you both will not grow in affection."
"I cannot like that he gambles."
"Nor should you. I can say, though, that most of London society gambles. If you exclude all who do, you may find yourself left with a very small pool of potential mates."
"I'm not sure I know what do to with this information."
"Think on it. Sleep on it. That is my best advice. I will say nothing of the proposal until you give me the word."
"Thank you. By the way, where do you get your information?"
"You will think less of me, but I eavesdrop on conversations. Also, never underestimate the servants. They know everything. The footmen are the best, often present for interesting conversations and easier to bribe than the butler."
***
Grant strolled into Almack's late and unsure. It was not like him to feel this way. It was not like him at all. The only thing on his mind was Eugenia Talbot. Miss Talbot. Genie. The girl whose presence he had come to desire more than he should. The girl whose simple kiss still clung to his lips. The girl who was interested in another man.