Page 58 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
She knew inviting her father in the first place had been a risky venture. How many times over the years had the Earl embarrassed her and her family with his drunken behavior? Nonetheless, he was still her father and she loved him dearly. And there was no way she was not going to invite him to her own ball. Heaven knew the Duchess had made enough of a scene about it.
“I will not have that lowlife under my roof!”she had said as she had scanned the guest list over breakfast last week.
Wyatt had shut her protests down with little more than a derisive shake of the head.“The Earl of Volk is my father-in-law. Of course he will be invited. I do not want to hear another word on the matter.”
Gemma had not missed the way he had referred to the Earl asmy father-in-law. Somehow, it carried more weight, more responsibility and acceptance than merely referring to Mark Caster asmy wife's father.
But now, Gemma began to wonder if she had been foolish to go against the Dowager Duchess's wishes. So far, the ball was going off without a hitch. With her husband by her side, Gemma had not been subjected to the same vicious gossip she had been on Bond Street with Veronica, and Wyatt's reaction to Lord Crockford's comment about their marriage had made certain that no one would be trying anything similar any time soon.
Even her encounter with the Henfords had not been quite as dreadful as Gemma had anticipated. Yes, she had found her heart pounding furiously as she had faced Henrietta, but Gemma had stood tall and reminded herself that she held the upper ground. And the title of Duchess of Larsen that Henrietta had coveted.
But all of that was paling into insignificance in light of the worry that gripped her.
“Excuse me a moment,” she murmured to her guests, hurrying away from the group before they could ask questions. She made her way out of the ballroom and emerged into the entrance hall. Guests were still flooding in, laughing and chattering as theymade their way up the front stairs into the house. Gemma could tell from the sodden hats and parasols they were handing off to the doormen that it had begun to rain. At the sight of her, the guests made polite greetings. She ignored the quizzical looks they gave each other at seeing the Duchess roaming around alone in the foyer. She stepped onto the landing and peeked out into the night.
“Everything all right, Your Grace?” asked Fielding, the butler, arms full of coats. “Is there something I can help you with?” A frowned creased his wrinkled brow. “A coat, perhaps?”
Gemma forced a smile. “Oh no, thank you, Fielding. Everything is quite all right. I—” She let out her breath in relief, suddenly spying a coach bearing the Volk coat of arms rolling up to the front of Larsen Manor. The moment the relief had arrived, it was washed away fear.
What state will my father be in when he emerges from the carriage?
She held her breath, watching as the doorman pressed on the handle. At least if she were to meet them at the door, she and her grandmother could covertly wrangle the Earl into the library, or somewhere else equally as secretive. The doorman held out his hand for the passengers to alight. Veronica stepped out carefully from the coach, followed by her grandmother. Both wore the hoods of the cloaks pulled up to protect them from the rain. The doorman closed the door behind the Dowager Marchioness and rapped on the coach to signal to the driver to depart.
Gemma felt a jolt in her chest.Where is Father?
She hurried out of the house and down the front steps, meeting her sister and grandmother halfway down. The fine rain felt cold against her bare arms.
“Gemma!” the Dowager Marchioness hissed. “What in heaven's name are you doing out here? It is raining!” This is no way for a duchess to behave! Get back inside the house at once.”
Gemma noticed that, beneath her dark blue cloak, her grandmother was dressed in a simple gray and white gown, a far cry from the outlandish rainbow affairs she usually donned for such occasions. There was not a feather or flower in sight. It almost looked as though she had rushed from the house with barely a thought for her appearance. The knot in Gemma's stomach tightened. “Where is Father?” she demanded.
Her grandmother looped her arm through Gemma's, forcing her back up the stairs into the house. “Inside,” she ordered. “Your father is not feeling well, that's all. It is nothing to be concerned about.”
But the waver in the Dowager Marchioness's voice betrayed her—as did the look of concern on Veronica's usually sunny face. Nonetheless, Gemma knew her grandmother was right: it was highly inappropriate for her to be gallivanting about outside the house like this. And she was fairly certain that if this silky ballgown got wet, there would be no redeeming it. She was also fairly certain it had cost enough to feed a small country.
She waited impatiently in the foyer while Fielding took her sister and grandmother's cloaks, then she escorted them back towards the ballroom.
“What kind of illness does Father have?” she asked the Dowager Marchioness as they walked. “Is it serious?”
“Not now, Gemma,” she murmured. “I shall tell you everything. But let us at least keep up appearances as best we can.”
Gemma's stomach rolled. From the grave tone in the Dowager Marchioness's voice, and the way she was barely even attempting warm greetings to those they passed, she could tell something was very wrong.
A server carrying a tray of champagne glasses met them at the door, and the Dowager Marchioness scooped two up hurriedly. She handed one to Veronica who took a tiny sip. Gemma's younger sister chewed her lip edgily as she glanced around the ballroom.
“Look, my dear, there are Lady Charlotte and Lady Mary,” said the Dowager Marchioness, referring to two of Veronica's close friends. “Why not go and see them?”
Veronica's nervous glance darted to her friends, then back to her sister and grandmother. “Are you sure? What about?—”
“Of course I am sure,” said the Dowager Marchioness. “Off you go, my dear. Do try and enjoy yourself.”
No word to Veronica about finding a match tonight. Something is very wrong indeed.
Veronica took another tiny mouthful of champagne then made her way towards her friends. At the sight of the Dowager Marchioness, the Dowager Duchess hurried towards them, kissing her friend on both cheeks. “Pippa, my dear, I was worried you were not going to make it!”
“I would not miss it for the world, Sandra, dear.” The Dowager Marchioness forced a smile that Gemma knew was for the benefit of any onlookers. Her and Wyatt's grandmothers werethe best of friends. No doubt the Dowager Marchioness would tell the Dowager Duchess everything, as soon as they had a moment alone. Gemma hoped her grandmother would do as she had promised and extend her the same courtesy.
“Hasn't your granddaughter done a fine job?” the Dowager Duchess crowed, looping an affectionate arm through Gemma's.
