Amanda Forester

by A Wedding in Springtime

  “Very reasonable,” said Genie in agreement. “He did appear to be in need of it.”

  “He disagreed. A housemaid was bit, a footman has a black eye, and apparently the bath water was flung on François’s soufflé.”

  “That is terribly bad!”

  “Quite! You should have seen François. He brought me the soufflé, which had fallen something awful, and he was soaked through. The only one who did not take a bath today was Jem.” Despite the commotion it caused in his mother’s household, Grant could not think upon the incident without a smile.

  Genie put her hands on her cheeks in an expression of dismay. “I am sorry I plagued you with such a child.”

  “A plague! Yes, that is exactly what my housekeeper called him.”

  “We shall definitely need to make better arrangements for him. Where is he now?”

  “That is the part I fear will not please you. Jem took off running, with most of the staff in pursuit, destroying a vase in the process. Caused such a commotion I could not help but join in the fun. I chased the miscreant into the garden and over a hedge, but I fear I lost him.”

  “You poor man! Well, that explains your cravat. I am very sorry.”

  “Thank you for recognizing that the true victim here is me. I fear my cravat is a hopeless case.”

  “You must let me at least reimburse you for the vase.”

  “Oh no! Did us a favor there. My mother never liked it, but it was given to her as a wedding present by her mother-in-law. Been wanting it gone for years.”

  “I am glad it was not of sentimental value.” Genie sighed. “I suppose we did our best. I felt sure I was being led to help this child, but I suppose we cannot help him if he will not allow it.”

  “I’m sorry!” squeaked a small voice from under a nearby bush.

  “Jem!”

  Seventeen

  Grant scanned the garden surrounding them, and poking out of a hedge was the red head of the errant Jem. His response was one of joy followed by disappointment with the sure knowledge that Genie would expect him to try again with the ruffian.

  “Jemmy! Come here, you naughty boy!” called Genie and the lad obeyed, holding his head low and dragging his feet. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I’m awful sorry, miss. But they brought a giant scrub brush and said they’d scrub the skin offa me.”

  “Jem, I do not believe they were trying to skin you alive. They just wanted to clean you.”

  Jem shrugged bony shoulders. “Theys mean coves, miss. Could I not stay wi’ you? Yous right nice.”

  “Well, thank you. But how did you get into Lord Bremerton’s garden?”

  “Everyone starting yelling and kickn’ up a dust. Them be chasin’ me and howling something fierce. Put me all in a twitter!”

  “So you ran back here?”

  “Slipped through the garden gate. I ain’t no bigger than a bodkin.”

  “You are resourceful,” said Genie. “But you cannot stay here. My aunt would never allow it. Mr. Grant has opened his home to you. You must be appreciative.”

  “I am, miss. But could you stay with me too. You could come live wi’ Mr. Grant. Your aunt ain’t very nice. You wouldn’t miss her, I wager.”

  “Jem, you must not speak that way of your betters,” chastised Genie.

  “Even if it’s true,” muttered Grant. He surveyed the wide-eyed ruffian with a mixture of amusement and horror. “We can give it one more chance, little man,” said Grant. “But my mother will return in a fortnight and we will both be in the suds if she comes home to a household in chaos.”

  “Will you come with me?” Jem looked up at Genie with large pathetic eyes.

  “Oh, I do not think…”

  “Certainly she can, but only for a little bit,” said Grant, snatching the opportunity. He felt very sure he was going to regret giving Jem a second chance and wanted to enjoy a little more time with Genie to make it worth his while.

  “My aunt would never allow it,” whispered Genie to Grant.

  “But I do not live far. In fact, unless I am very mistaken, our gardens are connected. Is that how you got here, Jem? Show us.”

  Jem led them around large, sculpted shrubs and blooming hydrangeas to a small, forgotten gate behind a gardener’s shed. The hinges squeaked in complaint, but with a little muscle from Grant, the small gate swung open. It led into a small path with large hedges on either side. Coming around the corner, it opened into a lovely garden, full in bloom. Flowers were everywhere, blooming trees, lilacs, lilies, and roses. Genie came to a full stop at its beauty. Unlike the manicured precision of the Bremerton garden, this garden was more haphazard and whimsical. Sunlight broke through the clouds and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, sending pink apple blossoms dancing through the air.

  “It is beautiful,” breathed Genie. “This is your garden?”

  Grant shrugged. “My mother and sisters had a free hand in this. My father and I stand aside when it comes to any sort of decorating, let the ladies fight it out.”

  “They have done an amazing job. I would not mind spending days here. It reminds me of home.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Yes. I know it is impolitic to say, but I miss it very much. The spring is beautiful on the farm, so many things in bloom. Do you enjoy the country?”

  “Always go for hunting season. My parents hold a house party with that intent each year.”

  “Yes, but besides hunting, do you enjoy spending time at your estate?” asked Genie.

  Grant had been raised on the family estate and had escaped female control as soon as he was able. He had not given it much thought other than London allowed him more amusements and ample freedom. “I suppose the country has its charms,” he said with a noncommittal shrug.

  “Do you have a large estate?” asked Genie. “How many families are in your dependency?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Grant. He left the family management to his father. Since Grant planned to leave no heir, he figured one of his nephews would have to learn the business of managing the estate.

  A glance at Genie told him his answer had disappointed her. “We have two dozen families in our village,” said Genie. “I have always seen it as a privilege to be able to help serve them.”

  Grant could think of no response. Serve his tenants? What an odd idea.

  “What crops are you planting this year?” asked Genie.

  “I could not begin to say,” answered Grant.

  “I see.” Genie turned away to watch Jem run through the garden, but Grant knew he had diminished in her eyes. He wanted to defend himself that no one in polite society talked of anything so provincial as farming, yet he recognized that excuse would not serve in present company.

  “I do love the country,” said Genie. “I know everyone expected my mother to be miserable, marrying beneath her station, but I believe she has enjoyed it a vast deal more than if she married the man intended for her.”

  Lady Mary’s elopement was infamous. Of course, it was expected that since Genie’s mother turned her back on society, she would live an isolated and miserable life.

  “They had picked a groom for her?” asked Grant, unable to keep his curiosity in check.

  “Lord Bremerton,” said Genie with a poignant rise of her eyebrows.

  “Oh! Well now. That’s awkward.”

  “My aunt was married off to Lord Bremerton shortly after my mother left. I don’t think Aunt Cora has ever forgiven my mother for leaving her in that position. Though my mother has told me many times she had no idea her parents would marry her younger sister off to Bremerton if she left.”

  “No, indeed!”

  “My mother only wanted to live her life with the freedom to do as her conscience called her. She wanted to be able to live out her Christian ideals to tend the sick and help the needy. She has been able to serve our little community in a way she could not living within the strictures of society.”

  “And this
makes her happy?”

  “Yes, quite.”

  “Astonishing.”

  “That is why I am convinced taking in little Jem here will no doubt make you happy,” said Genie with a smile.

  “No doubt,” mumbled Grant as he witnessed the death of a row of poppies under Jem’s tireless feet. “If you miss the delights of the country, you are welcome to the garden any time you like,” said Grant with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

  “But your mother and sisters…”

  “My sisters are all married and my parents are in Hertfordshire for an extended stay. M’sister is expecting and my mother is in attendance, though she was put out that my youngest sister chose the middle of the season to bring her firstborn into the world.”

  Jem raced past them with a stick in hand, batting at the flying petals.

  Grant shook his head. “Going to need help taming this creature.”

  “I will stand by your side,” agreed Genie. “What will your mother say when she returns to find Jem?”

  Jem took his stick and whacked at the tree branches to make more petals fly into the air.

  “Don’t want to know,” answered Grant in all honesty.

  “Let’s see if we can get him cleaned,” said Genie. “Jem?”

  The boy immediately left his game and came obediently, the picture of compliance.

  “Jem, you are going to need a bath if you are to stay here.”

  The boy shook his head violently.

  “I know you are afraid, but how about if you could give yourself a bath, without anyone watching or attacking you with a scrub brush. Would that be acceptable?”

  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.