“You want to become engaged to Genie and collect early on the dowry to pay off your vowels.”
“You must understand how wretched I feel in even asking this of you.” Blakely’s voice trembled and he gripped his own hands in tan kid leather gloves.
“Once the engagement has been accepted and announced, you shall have access to the funds to discharge your embarrassments.”
“I much appreciate it, Lord Bremerton.”
“I would much appreciate it if you took her off my hands and let my household get back to peace.” Lord Bremerton returned to his paper.
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 diffi
cult 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.
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.
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