Wedding In Springtime(38)

It was amusing in a way. Was it not he who broke hearts by enjoying the  company of many ladies? Who was he to judge behavior that so clearly  reflected his own? He had thought her an innocent, but her attention was  not for him alone. No, her affections were shared with others, as her  embrace with a man in the lending library so clearly showed.

He should see her, talk to her. Perhaps there was an explanation. He  laughed at himself as he searched through the crowd. How many times had  he felt this desperation in the eyes of a young miss who came to him,  hoping for some other explanation than what was plainly obvious? Grant  never lied, never made false promises, but that never stopped  unrealistic hopes. Genie also had not lied to him. She made it clear  they sought a husband for her.

Marriage. Grant reached for his flask to swallow down the bitter taste  the word left in his mouth. He had sworn he would never fall prey. The  last time he had decided to break this rule his heart had been ripped  out, torn asunder, and left for the dogs to eat. He had made the mistake  of falling for a Rose girl. He thought them naive, defenseless, but had  underestimated the power of-

"Good evening, Mr. Grant." Miss Penelope Rose. She stood before him in  crisp muslin, straight and formidable as any soldier. Napoleon's army  was nothing to fear compared with this quiet lady of influence and  control.

"Miss Rose," Grant nodded. He didn't have the strength to pretend a  smile. She wanted to tell him something; she would not have spoken to  him otherwise.

"I understand you are to thank for the vouchers to Almack's. I would like to thank you on Genie's behalf."

"She can do that herself."

"Naturally, I am certain she will. Her presence here will certainly help  restore her credit amongst society, and I have hopes that soon we shall  hear wedding bells."

"Do not toy with me, Miss Rose. Is Genie to be married?"

"I should hope so."

"Have you picked a bridegroom yet?"

Penelope paused. "Not as yet."

"I see."

"Do you? You are a very charming man, Mr. Grant. I do not like to bring  up the past, but more than one young lady has had their head turned by  you only to fall prey to disappointment."

"Yes, let's not dredge up the past." All these years, Miss Rose had been  under the impression his offer to her sister had been less than  honorable. The cruel irony was that he had intended marriage, but before  the miscommunication could be resolved, Lord Stanton proposed and  effectively left Grant in the cold. Grant allowed the misconception to  hide his broken heart.

"No, let us not dwell on the hopes you have dashed."

"You know I never make false promises," said Grant.

"Which is why I am unclear why you have pursued Miss Talbot. She is an  impressionable young girl and fond of you. But since you have declared  yourself adverse to the institution of marriage, and she is in a  position where marriage is a pressing need, I cannot see what purpose  further friendship between you two could serve."

"You just cannot help but to meddle in affairs which are not yours," said Grant warmly.

"The affairs of my sisters and friends are my concern," said Pen with so  much frost in her tone he almost shivered from the cold.

"Thank you, madam. You have made your position clear enough." Grant left  her before he lost his composure, which he never did. He took another  swig of whiskey to settle his nerves. Another thing he rarely did. It  was becoming a night of firsts. Perhaps he could pass out drunk on the  floor of Almack's and really make a spectacle of himself.

He was more than a bit drunk, of uncertain temper, and not fit for  public viewing. A wise man would go home. Instead, he took another swig.





Twenty-five


It was getting late and Genie took another wide sweep of the ballroom,  looking for a familiar figure. The more she pondered the proposal from  Mr. Blakely, the more she wished to speak to Grant. Perhaps she could  compare how she felt when she was with Blakely to when she was with  Grant.         

     



 

"Looking for someone?" asked a male voice behind her.

She swirled to find the immaculate figure of Mr. Grant. His ivy-colored  coat and white breeches were so formfitting and well tailored they might  have been painted on. For one horrible moment, Penelope's question  invaded her consciousness and she did imagine herself in bed with Grant.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, covering her  lips with kisses and her body with his own, naked, glorious-

"Miss Talbot?"

"I do apologize, Mr. Grant," said Genie, flicking open her fan and  waving it before her in a vain hope to bring herself back to the  present. "I was thinking of something else and did not see you standing  there."

"I am sorry to have sunk so far beneath your notice."

"No, no, not at all."

"Are you enjoying Almack's?"

"Yes, thank you so much for securing me a voucher. It is more than I thought possible."

"Have you made any new friends? I hear you are becoming quite the favorite."

Genie waved her fan before her. It was dreadfully hot in the ballroom.  "I suppose." She did not wish to talk about Mr. Blakely right now.

"And did you meet your friend in Hookham's? Did you have a nice time with her?"

"Yes, quite, but who can think of books when in a ballroom?" She did not feel free to tell him about her brother either.

"Certainly not me," replied Grant with a smile that did not reach his  eyes. She got the impression she had disappointed him. "You look lovely  tonight. Those emeralds are divine with your gown. A gift from a new  suitor perhaps?"

"No, they are from … " Genie paused, not wanting to say they were from her brother.

"While you decide whom they are from, perhaps you would care to dance?" asked Grant.

"Yes, I would very much." Genie smiled at Grant, but he seemed different, distant, removed somehow.

And so they danced. They spoke not a word, but as the music played,  everything else seemed to drift away. Mr. Blakely was a fine dancer, but  Mr. Grant was beyond that. He did not appear to be a man performing a  series of steps, but rather one with the dance, flowing through the  music. With him, she felt lightweight, giddy, and free. She was  connected to the music and him and all was good.

Grant stood still in the middle of the ballroom holding out his hand.  She glided to him to take it. She would follow him anywhere.

"Thank you, Miss Talbot, for a lovely dance." Mr. Grant bowed and was gone. The dance was at an end.

Genie wandered back to her aunt, stunned. Grant had not spoken to her.  No conversation. No repartee. Nothing. The loss of his friendship hurt;  it actually hurt. But what could be wrong? She must discover the reason.

Unfortunately, her immediate plans to press after him were arrested by  Penelope and the dowager, who had several other young beaux for her to  dance with. With her presence at Almack's, much of her social stigma had  been lifted and young men felt free to make their interests known to  the pretty, young miss.

It was over an hour later before she escaped the ballroom by whispering a  need to visit the ladies' retiring room. On the way back to the  ballroom, Genie found Grant alone in a corridor. She had been pondering  the meaning of his silence, and now here he was, sitting on a bench with  a flask in his hand.

He raised the flask as he saw her approach. "Your health," he said and  went to take a drink, only to look disappointed. "All gone." He held the  flask upside down. "Never fear. I'll find more whiskey to drink you  with."

"No, thank you. I think you've had quite enough," said Genie with disapproval.

"You're right, of course. Why are you not with your admirers? Got yourself quite a pack of them."

There was something in Grant's tone she could not like. "My aunt has been introducing me to many people tonight."

"Capital. Capital. It is not often one finds such an enterprising young  lady." Grant leaned closer and she could smell the whiskey on his  breath. "Go for the one with the deepest pockets; that's always the best  plan."

"Mr. Grant, I do believe you are feeling the ill effects of drink."

"If that's a fancy way of saying I'm drunk, then you're right."

"Mr. Grant, is something the matter tonight? You seem not yourself."  Genie was actually concerned for him. This behavior was unusual.

"Not myself, no not myself at all," mumbled Grant.

"Whatever is wrong? Your family, are they well?"

"Yes, yes, everyone is quite well. Family. Is that what you want, Genie?  A family? Damned nuisance most of the time. Always telling you what it  is you ought to do."         

     



 

Concern wavered. Perhaps nothing was wrong with Grant that a good night's sleep wouldn't fix.

"Now, I am going to tell you what to do," said Genie, taking charge. "You are going to go home this instant and sleep it off."