A Wedding In Springtime - By Amanda Forester Page 0,2
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.