Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Forester
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To my family, who is my greatest joy. And to Ed, who remains my hero.
One
London, Spring 1810
Ten minutes into her societal debut, Eugenia Talbot was ruined.
A favorable presentation in court cannot ensure a young lady’s successful launch into society, but a poor presentation can certainly ruin it. Miss Eugenia Talbot pressed her lips together in an attempt to make the laughter gurgling up inside her die in her throat. The Queen of England glared down her royal nose at Genie. Her Royal Highness, Queen Charlotte, was not amused.
Genie took a deep breath—hard to do laced so tight in her stays she feared one wrong move would crack a rib. The restrictive corset held her posture rigid, which helped keep her headdress in place, a heavy jeweled item with a monstrous, white ostrich plume. Genie knelt in a deep curtsy before the queen, a move she had practiced with a special tutor hired by her aunt to ensure her correct performance. A deep curtsy wearing the required elaborate hoop skirt of court that weighed almost two stone needed to be practiced.
Rising majestically from her curtsy, Genie was pleased she had successfully navigated that potential hazard and brought herself under control. Perhaps the queen had not noticed the stifled giggle. It was hardly Genie’s fault, for when the Lord Chamberlain announced her name, he also let loose an audible bodily noise. Having the unfortunate influence of brothers in her formative years, Genie could not help but find amusement in the Lord Chamberlain’s offense.
“How is your family, Miss Talbot?” asked the queen with staunch politeness.
“They are all well, Your Highness,” responded Genie as coached.
“Are your parents with you in London?”
“No, Your Highness. I am staying with Lady Bremerton, my aunt.” Genie glanced at Aunt Cora, whose frozen countenance betrayed her anxiety over Genie’s presentation.
“And your brothers and sisters?”
“I have four brothers. Two at university, one in the regulars, and one in the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, our sons, they have been ripped from our bosom. Ripped I say.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Genie, pressing her lips together again. She was going to kill her brothers when they returned for teaching her deplorable cant. She could not laugh.
“It is a foul wind that blows from France,” said the queen.
And the Lord Chamberlain chose that moment to blow a little foul wind himself. It was loud and long, and just when Genie thought he had finished, he gave another little toot. She clenched her jaw so tight tears formed in her eyes.
She took a calming breath, sure she had gotten herself under regulation until she spied a man silently laughing, his shoulders shaking, his smile hidden behind his hand. He caught her eye, gave her a broad smile, and winked.
The entire drawing room was silently staring at her with censure. The queen gave her a look that could blister paint. The more Genie tried to get herself under control, the more amusing the entire scene became. It could not be helped; her body started to shake.
Genie attempted to take a deep breath and a giggle escaped. She tried to squelch it, but a laugh emerged, followed by an unladylike chortle and an unfortunate snort. The more she tried to stop, the worse it became, and with a burst, Genie was laughing out loud.
The queen waved a hand to dismiss her. Instead of dissipating Genie’s humor, it only made her laugh harder. Genie managed another deep bow and walked backward out of the queen’s presence, giggling as she went. By some miracle, she did not trip on her gown and fall to the floor. It hardly would have mattered if she had.
The Lord Chamberlain and the laughing gentleman had conspired against her. Her debut into society was a disaster. She would surely never be admitted into the haut ton. She was a failure. A social pariah.
Eugenia Talbot was ruined.
***
People stared as they passed her. Genie never felt more self-conscious, and feared her face was as bright as her skirt. She wanted nothing more than to hide away from the malicious looks and vicious whispers. Unfortunately, wearing courtly attire with feathers that soared at least two feet above her head, she was hardly inconspicuous among the steady throng of people in the outer chambers of the drawing rooms. So she plastered on a fake smile and waited for her aunt to summon her to the coach while the minutes dragged into lifetimes.
“Uncle! I am so glad you are here,” said a youthful voice. A young woman was being escorted into the royal drawing rooms. She struggled forward in a similar unwieldy hoop skirt, dyed an unfortunate shade of bright pink.
“I could not forget your presentation to court,” said a male voice behind Genie.
“I shall be so much less nervous with you here,” gushed the young girl.
“Trust me,” said the man, “after what I just witnessed, you shall be brilliant by comparison.”
“What happened?” asked the girl, forgetting herself for a moment and cocking her head to one side, which forced her to use both hands to steady the plume of white feathers rising from her head.
“A debutante with a shocking lapse of propriety, who is no doubt being banished to the outer regions of the empire as we speak.”
Genie turned to face her accuser. It was none other than the laughing man.
With a flash of recognition, the man had the decency
to look sheepish. He waved the young girl forward into the drawing room and stepped up to Genie. He gave Genie a bow and came up smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. He was a handsome man; there could be no denying his appeal, with sandy blond hair and laughing eyes. His features were pleasing, with high cheekbones that gave him an impish appearance. His attire was splendid in the required royal-purple silk coat and knee breeches. Unlike others who appeared foppish in the requisite colors of the English royal court, the man before her commanded his style. It was not every gentleman who could wear purple silk britches with confidence.
“Please forgive me if I have offended you,” said the man with a disarming smile.
“Forgive you? Why, there is nothing to forgive. You only spoke the truth, did you not?” Genie presented the man with a smile, the kind she kept on a shelf to feign good humor when she had none to give.
“Not at all. Merely trying to encourage my niece—timid thing, needs encouragement. Do what I can to make her feel at ease.”
“You are charity itself.”
“No, no I…” The man paused and gave her a guilty grin. “I’m not going to redeem myself from my careless words, am I?”
“I can forgive your words. You are no doubt correct that my aunt is at this moment trying to find a penal colony for me at the greatest distance from London. What I cannot forgive is your shocking wink that caused this trouble.”
“Surely this affair is not my fault! It is my Lord Chamberlain who embarrassed himself beyond redemption.”
“If you had not laughed, I would have been able to calm myself.”
“How could I not be amused? Honestly, I do hope the poor man survives the night.”
“But no one caught you laughing,” said Genie, getting at the heart of the injustice. “They were only looking at me.”
“Naturally they were looking at you. Between the two of us, there can be no comparison.” The man’s easy smile turned flirtatious, but Genie was accustomed to flattery regarding her appearance and considered herself immune to its charms. The magnitude of her failure weighed down her shoulders. She wished she could tear off the heavy headpiece, but she had brought upon herself enough scandal for one day—all thanks to the man before her.
“I do wish I had never seen you,” said Genie in uncharacteristically clipped tones. “And since you are no doubt correct that my aunt is even now booking my passage to the Americas or Botany Bay, I will take comfort in the fact that I will never see you again. Good day, sir!”
With fortuitous timing, Genie was called to join her aunt and she practically flew into the coach on the plumes of her own headdress. Unfortunately, her sweeping exit was hindered by the logistics of maneuvering three hoop skirts belonging to herself, her aunt, and her cousin, which was done with such haste Genie feared her gown would be sadly crushed. Her aunt demanded the curtains be drawn, as if the mere sight of Eugenia Talbot was so offensive the whole of London must be protected.
“Disaster! Oh, how could you do this to me?” Lady Bremerton lay back on the plush squabs of the town coach as it jolted forward, her hand on her forehead for dramatic flair. “I should have known you needed more training, more tutelage. After all, your father’s family can have no concept of what is expected in higher society, let alone what is proper in court.”
Genie swallowed down a retort. She had intended to prove she was every bit as polished as the other debutantes. Acting the hoyden before the queen revealed otherwise.
“I am sorry, Aunt Cora,” said Genie, her contrition a tight knot in her chest. “Sorry, Cousin Louisa.” Louisa’s eyes were sympathetic, but her aunt would give no quarter.
“Sorry will not do you any good, nor will speaking to a known rake,” chastised her aunt.
“A known rake?”
“Mr. Grant. I saw you speaking with him. He will do you no good.”
“I know that is true,” said Genie with a flush.
“Oh, what is to be done? You are ruined, ruined for sure. My reputation is in tatters. There is nothing else for it; you must be married. And quick!”
Two
Eugenia had not taken more than two steps inside her aunt’s Mayfair townhouse before she was given an unwanted command.
“Go change into something less conspicuous,” demanded her aunt. “We must speak with the Duchess of Marchford. She will know what to do.”
Genie would rather have hidden under her bed or in a wardrobe for the rest of the London season, but she had caused enough disgrace for one day and would not add to her problems by being disobedient. So an hour later, she was back in the lumbering coach with her aunt, the Lady Bremerton, and her cousin, the Lady Louisa Munthgrove.
For the outing, Genie chose a plain white muslin dress with little adornment. She hoped it would help her blend into the background. Lady Bremerton, a decidedly plump woman, made the most of her natural assets in a lilac, formfitting half dress that revealed a bit more décolletage than Genie’s country sensibilities found appropriate for social calls. Lady Louisa shared her mother’s dark honey hair and rosy cheeks but on a smaller frame. More modest, as befitted an unmarried lady, she wore a smart blue spencer over her white muslin dress, with a sea of ruffles and lace frills at the bottom of the skirt.
Along the short journey, Genie’s aunt continued to dwell on the irreparable damage Genie had done to her social standing. Naturally, the ball in her honor would have to be canceled, and any hope of receiving invitations was lost. Such was the magnitude of Genie’s offense in the eyes of her aunt, that Genie was relieved to arrive finally at their destination.
The coach came to a stop with a jerk in front of the Marchford mansion, situated prominently in Grosvenor Square. Remembering not to gape at the impressive architecture, Genie followed her aunt and cousin as they were helped out of the coach by the groomsman.
“Thank you, Sam,” said Genie as the groomsman offered his arm to help her from the coach. This won her a stern look from her aunt.
“It will not do for you to appear overly friendly with the help,” whispered her aunt as they climbed the stairs to Marchford mansion. “The coachman was merely doing what he is paid to do.”
Since Genie had only been in London a few weeks, she understood her aunt was trying to help her appear less countrified, yet Town manners left a lot to be desired in her humble estimation.
They were ushered through the tall doorway by an imposing butler who informed them in the gravest of tones that the dowager duchess was not at home but was expected shortly.
“We will wait for the dowager in her sitting room,” declared Lady Bremerton with authority.
Genie was momentarily surprised by her aunt’s boldness until she remembered Louisa was engaged to be married to the Duke of Marchford. She assumed, since they were family friends, allowances for familiarity must be made, yet Louisa appeared distinctly uncomfortable, clutching her work bag of embroidery to her chest like a shield.
Louisa’s engagement to the duke was a long-standing arrangement. The duke’s recent return from working with the Foreign Office in Cadiz for the past three years had raised hopes that a date for the nuptials would soon be set. Indeed, Aunt Cora spoke of little else.
They were invited to sit in an elegant drawing room, lavishly appointed in blue and gold, with artwork Genie identified as an original Titian and a da Vinci hanging on the walls. Light poured in from large windows, giving the room a warm hue. The ornately carved furnishings were of obvious quality, and everything was neat and bright and polished to a gleaming shine.
“This is a lovely room. The light is good for stitching,” Genie said to Louisa, who was an accomplished embroiderer. Instead of a smile, Louisa’s shoulders sagged a bit and she merely nodded in response. Genie decided her shy cousin must be overwhelmed with the prospect of being mistress of this grand house, an intimidation she could well understand.
“Yes, Louisa will do quite nicely in this room, though there is also a small ladies’ study upstairs which has even better light,”
said Lady Bremerton.
Genie nodded in response, noting that her aunt often answered for Louisa.
“I do hope we can get to the duchess before she hears the story from someone else,” said Lady Bremerton, making herself comfortable on the settee. “I should hate to think that Genie’s behavior should have any negative effect on you, my dear.”
“How could it?” asked Louisa. “It was a little thing, soon forgot.” Louisa gave Genie a tentative smile, which Genie quickly returned. Though cousins, they had never met until a few weeks ago. Louisa’s naturally reserved style made growing acquainted a slow process. Her support at this moment of Genie’s greatest defeat meant a lot.
“Soon forgot?” Aunt Cora tsked at Louisa like a naughty child. “I should think not. Why, this story will circle London before the day is done, mark my words. I only hope it should not make the duke think ill of you.”
“Do you think he would break the engagement over this incident?” Louisa’s eyes went wide.
“No chance of that,” replied her mother. “I saw to the engagement contract myself. He will not be wiggling out of it no matter what he should like to do.”
“I should not like to marry a man who does not wish to marry me,” murmured Louisa.
“It makes very little difference either way,” retorted Lady Bremerton. “What would you do? Follow your own fickle fancy of the moment? We have seen today the fruits of that decision.”
Genie let out a whoosh of air as if she had been punched in the gut. Aunt Cora could never forget that her sister, Genie’s mother, the infamous Lady Mary, had gone against the wishes of her family, broke an arranged engagement, and eloped with a gentleman farmer. In her aunt’s eyes, Genie would always be the result of the unholy union between an earl’s daughter and a lowly commoner. Genie’s presentation at court was supposed to redeem her, but she had only confirmed the whispers of her bad blood.
Men’s voices were suddenly heard in the hall, and a tall man in a superbly cut dark blue coat entered the drawing room, instantly commanding attention. His broad shoulders, aristocratic nose, and assured presence gave Genie no doubt that she was in the presence of the Duke of Marchford.
Amanda Forester Page 1