The Marrying Season Read Free Page B

after that.”
    “What happened?” Genevieve asked, intrigued.
    “It is said that when one prays before that statue with a true and earnest heart, love will come to you,” Thea explained.
    Genevieve raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And do you know anyone to whom this actually happened?”
    “Yes. Me,” Thea said simply.
    Genevieve had no idea how to respond. She turned toward Damaris. “And you did that as well?”
    “Oh, no. I was doing my best to avoid love, not find it,” Damaris replied drily.
    “Well, I am certain it wasn’t Alec who did so.” Genevieve giggled at the thought of her large, fierce-visaged brother kneeling before an ancient statue to pour out his heart.
    “Mm. It seems a bit unlikely,” Thea agreed. “But perhaps one doesn’t need to ask, only to have it in one’s heart.”
    Alec’s heart, Genevieve knew, was as romantic as anyone’s, however he appeared. Her heart, on the other hand, was that of a true Stafford. She smiled faintly. “Then I fear it is quite useless for me.”
    It took a good deal of time and what Genevieve’s grandmother termed a “raucous display” before the new bride and groom were on their way. Genevieve smiled and waved with the rest of the guests, but she could not deny the little clutch of loneliness in her chest. She had not lost her brother, of course; she knew she could always rely on Alec. But it would not be the same.
    “Everything is changed now,” her grandmother said, echoing Genevieve’s thoughts in a manner that no longer surprised Genevieve. The countess turned and started back into Damaris’s house. “We must think to your future.”
    “Must we?” Genevieve asked.
    “Of course.” The countess sat down, allowing herself the first small show of weakness since the wedding began.“The gossip Alec’s marriage will engender makes it even more imperative that you marry well.”
    “I? Marry?” Genevieve turned toward her grandmother in surprise.
    “Yes. The family’s reputation will suffer, of course, once people learn about the matter of Damaris’s unfortunate birth. Your marriage to a man of excellent name would do much to counter that.”
    “But . . . I have no plans to marry.”
    “Not yet. You needn’t look shocked, Genevieve. Surely you do not expect to remain a spinster?”
    “Well, no, certainly not. But I had not thought of marriage . . . anytime soon.”
    “There has been no need to think about it until now. But you are twenty-five years old, my dear. Not on the shelf, of course, but still . . . there’s the matter of children to consider.”
    “Children?” Genevieve responded weakly.
    “Goodness, Genevieve, there’s no need to parrot my words. I am simply reminding you that it is time. With Alec taking a bride, you will no longer be the hostess of Stafford House. You won’t run Rawdon’s household. You will scarcely enjoy giving over the reins to another woman. But, there, we don’t need to discuss it now. Plenty of time later.” Lady Rawdon turned away and scanned the remaining guests, and her hand went to the pocket of her elegantly simple dress. “Oh, dear. I seem to have lost my spectacles.”
    “Your pince-nez?” Genevieve asked in surprise. The countess wore the little glasses only for close work.
    “Yes. They must have slipped out of my pocket at the church. Be a dear and fetch them for me.”
    “Of course.”
    Pausing only long enough to pick up her cloak, Genevieve walked to St. Margaret’s, a squat, stone, square-towered church that lay across a small footbridge from the rest of the village. Inside the empty church lit only by the rays of the afternoon sun, Genevieve went to the front pew, where she and the countess had sat. There was no glint of the spectacles, though she ran her hand over the cushion to be sure, then squatted to search beneath the seats. Genevieve sighed and stood up. It wasn’t like her grandmother to be forgetful—or wrong, for that matter. But Genevieve could not