The Marrying Season Read Free Page A

any—” Genevieve stopped, flushing. “I mean, I have friends, of course. Just not of that sort.” With every word, she was making more of a fool of herself. It was so difficult talking to people she did not know, particularly when, as Thea was apt to do, they did not follow the well-worn grooves of polite chitchat. Genevieve pulled herself straighter, retreating into the cool reserve she had always used to cover her awkwardness. “One does not, really, in the city.”
    “No doubt it is different here in Chesley,” Thea agreed cheerfully, taking Genevieve’s arm in a firm grip and pulling her toward Damaris.
    Startled, Genevieve went with Thea and watched, somewhat bemused, as she slipped an arm around Damaris’s waist, then, laughing and shaking her head at Alec’s protests, led the new Lady Rawdon away. Thea and Damaris chattered merrily as they went up the stairs, and Genevieve followed behind them, uncomfortably aware that she should enter into their conversation, yet unable to think of anything to say.
    They were talking about Damaris and Alec’s upcoming honeymoon trip to the Continent. Traveling abroad was a topic on which Genevieve knew she could say something, unlike the books the two had discussed yesterday, but every sentence she came up with sounded stilted in her head, and by the time she had formed one that did not, the topic had changed to Damaris’s trousseau.
    “I hadn’t nearly enough time to buy a full one,” Damaris said with a sigh as they entered her bedroom. “But at least I managed a few new dresses.”
    Spread out on the bed was her carriage gown, a handsome creation of vivid blue in a high-collared, vaguely military style, accented by large frogged fastenings down the front. Genevieve sucked in her breath in a spontaneous burst of admiration.
    “Oh, Damaris! It’s wonderful.” Genevieve went forward to examine the dress more closely. Dissimilar as the two of them were, Genevieve and her new sister-in-law found common ground when it came to fashion. She reached out to smooth her fingertips across the material. “Such a beautiful color. It will look perfect on you.”
    “When I return, you must borrow it sometime,” Damaris told her, adding with a sparkle of humor, “After all, I wore your frocks often enough at Cleyre.”
    “I wish I could.” Genevieve sighed. “But you have the coloring for it. I would look like a ghost walking. Years ago, when I first came out, I wanted desperately to wear something bright.” She heard the wisp of longing in her voice and quickly added, “But of course Grandmama was right. Pale colors suit me best.”
    “You should wear it anyway,” Thea told her firmly. “I have foresworn all my old dull dresses.”
    “I have heard love does that to people,” Damaris said with a teasing glance at her friend.
    Thea laughed. “Yes, I suppose it does. I recommend it for everyone.”
    “Well, all one has to do is move to Chesley. You met Gabriel here, and I met Alec.” Damaris turned toward Genevieve. “You should look around, Genevieve; your future husband may be among the guests.”
    Genevieve was not certain what Damaris meant but smiled politely.
    “It isn’t Chesley,” Thea protested. “It’s Saint Dwynwen.”
    “Saint who?” Genevieve asked. “I’ve never heard of him.”
    “Her. She was a Welsh saint.”
    “The patron saint of love,” Damaris added. “There is a statue of her in the church. Did you see it? In the side chapel, where the tombs are.”
    Genevieve vaguely remembered a rather battered wood sculpture. “It’s, um, rather old?”
    Thea laughed. “Older than old. We have no idea when it was carved. A local knight took it from a Welsh shrine during some campaign or other in Wales. He also brought home a Welsh bride. He was quite smitten with her, you see, and claimed that his prayers to this saint had been rewarded.”
    “It’s a very romantic story,” Damaris said. “But the local legend is about what happened