A Wedding in Springtime (3 page)

Miss Talbot sighed and looked away. “Then you had best stay away lest you become tainted by association.”

“I believe my reputation can withstand a short
tête-à-tête.
I am glad to have found you are not a missish little thing.”

“If I were missish, I would not be in this trouble.”

“But then you would not have had the pleasure of making my acquaintance, since I avoid debutantes as a general rule,” confessed Grant.

“Are you one of those men who think nothing of riding neck-or-nothing to win some ill-conceived bet, but tremble at the thought of a debutante ball?”

“William Grant, Esquire, at your service, Miss Talbot.”

“At least you can have no fear of a debutante ball in my honor. It is all to be canceled now according to my aunt, for who would come? I fear I shall be packed back to the farm with all due haste. I am disappointed I could not better represent my family. We have not been close, and I had not expected my aunt to sponsor my debut into society.”

“She brings you out because you are a diamond of the first water, and she wishes you to add to her own social standing by sponsoring the most beautiful debutante of the season.”

“You are funning with me.”

“Indeed, I am in earnest.”

Miss Talbot gave him a discerning gaze, so open and blunt he was inclined to squirm like an errant schoolboy. “I do not believe you are unfamiliar with giving a lady a compliment. Your sweet words flow from well-practiced lips.”

“My word! I would not think a person so young as yourself to be so jaded!”

“I have four brothers, sir. I fear I was cured of naive notions regarding men at an early age.”

“Ah, with you, I can get away with nothing. And here I was trying to make a good impression. I’m a shocking rake; it’s true. Despite this, I can say with complete honesty that though I have seen many a pretty girl, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.”

Grant had on more than one occasion flattered without thought, but as he spoke, he realized this time his words were true. In response, he had the pleasure of seeing Miss Talbot’s cheeks grow pink at last.

“Stop trying to gammon me. I can see you are quite a rogue.”

“True, but now that your reputation is ruined, you can dance with me at the next ball.”

“But you do not go to balls attended by debutantes,” reminded Miss Talbot. “Besides, I find it very unlikely I will receive any invitations after my shocking lack of propriety.”

“Leave it to me. My fault you’re in this fix. Must set it right!” Grant took her gloved hand and held it between his hands, delighting in the way her slender fingers naturally curled around his. “I hereby claim the first dance, and I will have it.”

“I do believe we have waited long enough for Marchford’s return,” called Louisa. She may have appeared to be engrossed in her work, but nothing escaped her notice.

“Yes,” agreed Lady Bremerton, breaking from her novel. “I think it is time to return home.”

“Ah, dear Marchford, poor boy, he has been gone long,” said Grant. “Wonder if he has survived abandoning his grandmother.”

Three

Penelope Rose had mastered the art of weddings. After standing up four times with each of her sisters, Pen had perfected a look of doleful reverence while watching the happy couple exchange their vows. This fine Saturday morning was her youngest sister Julia’s turn to stand before the altar. The momentous occasion also marked the day Penelope officially became a spinster.

As the only Rose sister still unmarried, Penelope followed her sisters out of the church. Now that her youngest sister, six years her junior, had wed, it was definitely time to start wearing frilly caps and sitting with the chaperones and other old maids.

“Oh, Pen, is it not wonderful?” Julia turned her energetic embrace to Penelope. “I am the youngest but not the last to marry!”

“Yes, quite the glad event,” said Pen, valiantly trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“I am so happy!” Julia clasped her hands in front of her and smiled like an angel. “Oh, Pen, I think I left my reticule in the ladies’ retiring room, but we must leave now. See? They are waiting. What am I to do?”

Penelope gave a small sigh. “You go now, and I will go back for the reticule. Send the coach back for me after you are delivered to the reception.” She had taken care of the details for her sisters for so long, it was simply expected she would be the one to run errands and fix problems.

Pen returned to the church and hustled down to the dressing area for the brides. They had to stick to a tight time frame, as another wedding party would arrive soon. It was wedding season in Mayfair, and St. James was booked by the hour. Within the dressing area, Pen located the missing reticule and scooped the spilled contents back into the bag. Turning to leave, she noted an elderly lady sleeping in a chair in the far corner.

Pen looked around the room, but no one else was visible. The sleeping woman was not familiar to her, but her silk gown and ruby necklace proclaimed her a lady of means. Pen remembered the lady being there in the confusion before the wedding, when women from the previous nuptials were in the room.

“Hello? Is anyone else here?” Pen called to the area of the room that was curtained for privacy. The only sound that greeted her was the soft snoring of the elderly lady. Who was she?

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Pen softly. No response. She drew closer. The elderly woman’s mouth was slightly ajar as she snored. “Pardon me,” said Pen, giving the woman’s arm a slight shake.

“Oh!” The elderly lady woke up with a start. “What are you doing, gel? You wish to give me a fright?”

Pen took a good step back. The woman who had been peacefully snoring a moment ago now appeared ready for battle, her bright blue eyes gleaming.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but the wedding is concluded. May I help you to your coach?”

“Thank you, no,” said the white-haired woman with grave politeness. “They should return soon to let me know the carriage is ready.”

“Are you with the groom’s family?” asked Penelope, trying to find to whom this lady belonged.

“Gracious no!” She stopped short and gave Pen a polite smile. “Are you from the groom’s side, dear?”

“N-no. I am the bride’s sister.”

The lady arched one eyebrow. “You claim to be the sister of Lady Beatrice?”

“Lady Beatrice? No, I am Penelope Rose. Lady Beatrice was the wedding before ours.”

The elderly lady grew still, a look of pained dignity taking hold.

“Oh,” said Penelope softly. “I see.” She fiddled awkwardly with the reticule in her hands. Had this poor woman been abandoned by her family? Pen glanced around the room, which, despite the yellow wallpaper, managed to look drab. Here is where her unremarkable time on the marriage mart would end, stranded in the ladies’ retiring room with the rest of society’s discards. Pen sighed. She could not in good conscience leave an elderly lady in distress.

“Please, allow me the pleasure of conveying you home,” Penelope said to the elderly lady, who somehow managed to exude a royal aura despite being stranded in the ladies’ retiring room.

“Thank you. I am pleased to accept.” Her voice was smooth but the rigidity in her manner showed she was anything but pleased. She stood slowly, leaning heavily on a pearl-handled cane.

Penelope walked with the elderly lady, who had still not identified herself, back to the front of the church. Their pace was a considerably slower pace than the one in which Pen had entered the church.

“So, your sister was married today?” the lady asked.

“Yes, my youngest sister married Sir William Aubrey. We are frequent visitors here as my three other sisters have also taken their turns at the altar before her,” said Penelope.

“And do you have a date with the altar?”

“No, ma’am,” said Pen simply. No use in belaboring that point.

The lady gave her a warm smile. “Next season will be yours.”

“Unfortunately, I have been here three seasons already, and I fear my time in London will shortly come to a close. We have been sponsored by my aunt, and she plans to close her London house and retire to the country.”

“And do you return to the country too?”

“My plans are not quite settled.” Pen had wrestled silently with her future for many months since learning that Julia was to be married. Her aunt had hinted broadly at retiring to the country alone, leaving Pen in need of a new living situation.

The lady gave a sly grin. “Care little for country life? I cannot stand it myself. Find yourself a Town man as your sister has.”

“My sisters have been fortunate in finding excellent husbands.” Pen put on a tight smile, the one that hurt her face if she wore it too long. She was tired of pretending not to notice the contrast between her beautiful blond sisters and her own plain features topped with mousy brown hair. “My sisters are all quite pretty, you understand. I have found that men are primarily interested in the essentials when choosing a wife, which are of course her beauty and her dowry. Having little of either, I find a long and dreary future as an old maid before me.”

The lady raised her eyebrows, and Penelope flushed at what had just come out of her mouth. A deplorable tendency to speak her mind was yet another item on the long list of reasons why no offers of marriage had been directed her way.

The lady laughed and rapped her cane on the marble floor, causing a sharp staccato snap to echo through the hall. “You forget family, my dear. More than one marriage has been based on the greedy aspirations of a social climber.”

It was Penelope’s turn to laugh. “Then, as a daughter of a country parson, my matrimonial prospects are decidedly negligible.”

“You have wit, child, and that more than makes up for anything else you might lack.”

“You may be right, but I have yet to find a man who courted a woman based on the size of her… er… wit.”

The lady beside her laughed again, her bright blue eyes twinkling. Pen smiled in return, happy her own sorry circumstances at least served as an amusement to others.

“I fear, after three seasons in London and the marriage of my youngest sister, I am officially on the shelf,” said Penelope with a shrug. “Since I must find a new living situation, I was considering taking a post as a lady’s companion or perhaps a governess.”

The elderly lady gasped. “Surely your sisters would not abandon you!”

“Oh no, any one of my sisters would be glad to have me live with them. I have no brothers, you see. But I…” Pen paused. She had not vocalized this to anyone. The lady waited attentively, and Pen found it was easy to talk to this stranger about topics she would never broach with her sisters. “I do not wish to burden them when they are so newly married. The thought of being passed around from sister to sister like an old gown does not appeal.”

The lady nodded in understanding, the smile wilting from her face. “I understand not wishing to be a burden, easily put aside and forgot.” Her eyes slid past Penelope to the open door of the church. “Ah, look, my grandson has seen fit to remember this poor old woman.”

A man jumped up the few steps and passed through the tall, white columns, toward the main doors. Pen’s pulse quickened with real anger at the man who had abandoned his grandmother, just like every other man who had pushed past Penelope to be introduced to her more attractive sisters.

Penelope stepped outside and beyond the hearing of her new friend to intercept the gentleman. The man was an imposing figure in a dark blue coat and formfitting breeches, revealing a muscular physique. His cravat was tied in a crisp knot and instead of swimming in the current fashion of high collar points, he managed to command the style to his proportions, not be overcome by its dictates. His dark, wavy hair was combed back in an efficient fashion. He had a straight nose, square jaw, and gray-green eyes, which would have been more handsome had they not appeared cold and aloof.

His aristocratic manner only fueled Pen’s anger. He most likely thought only of himself, like so many other self-absorbed rich gentlemen who could not be troubled to acknowledge her existence. But how could he possibly neglect his own grandmother?

“Good morning, sir,” Penelope greeted the gentleman with deceptive mildness. She did not make it a point to speak to men to whom she had not been introduced, but she made an exception in this case. “Did you forget something at church this morning?”

The gentleman slowed his step, his face a condescending mask, showing his displeasure at being accosted by an unknown female. It was all Penelope could do to prevent her eyes from rolling. Who did he think he was?

“Or perhaps I should say someone?” Penelope continued.

That stopped the man. He looked down at her, a frown marring an otherwise handsome face. His fine looks only heightened her anger. He had everything yet could not be bothered to show one scrap of common decency toward his own family.

“My grandmother. Do you know where she is? Is she well?” At least he could pretend to show concern.

“She is fine, no thanks to you. Forgive me, it is not my place to say, but I find it reprehensible that your entire wedding party could leave behind an elderly lady such as your grandmother. She has been here for hours. Have you only now noticed she was missing?”

“A most unfortunate miscommunication.” The man waved his hand dismissing her concerns. Pampered rich aristocrat, he probably never spared a thought beyond how much he could stake at cards or whether his damned cravat was tied in the latest mode.

“How you could neglect your own grandmother is beyond my comprehension. Do you have any consideration for how confused and rejected she must have felt when she awoke to find she had been abandoned by her own flesh and blood?”

“I did not intend—”

“No, of course not. You simply assumed someone else would look after your responsibilities and continued pondering the progress of the war or whether the wine was to your liking or whatever topic rich men consider fashionable.”

“You are an expert on male thought patterns?” He raised one eyebrow in a manner characteristic of his grandmother. His eyes might have sparkled too, but she was in no mood to be charmed.