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wants . . .” The countess stopped and drew a breath, as if she had to force herself to expel the rest of her statement. “She wants to release a whole horde of doves outside the church after the ceremony.”
    Genevieve giggled, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth.
    “Yes, well, you might laugh . . . if it were her wedding she was proposing to turn into a circus.” Her grandmother narrowed her eyes. “But this is a Stafford wedding.”
    “Well, to be fair, it is Dursbury’s also.”
    “Lord Dursbury would not want it.” Lady Rawdon gave an imperial flick of her wrist. “The whole thing is absurd. I will not have some great flock of birds flyingabout decorating all our guests, and so I told her. It got her hackles up, of course. I should have been more diplomatic, but it was a shock. The whole thing would doubtless delay the wedding even further while her gamekeeper goes out beating the bushes for doves.”
    Genevieve began to giggle again, and her grandmother shot her a quelling glance, though it was spoiled by the twitch of her own lips. “Do stop, Genevieve, or you will cause me to lose my high dudgeon.”
    “That would be disastrous.” Genevieve smiled and reached out to brush her hand over her grandmother’s. “Don’t fret, Grandmama. I shan’t mind if the wedding is later. What does it signify?”
    “Nothing, of course. Everyone seems to be in such a mad rush these days to get married. I have always thought a year of betrothal was the appropriate time. Of course, your brother’s was far too quick, but then, Alec never did care if everyone talked.”
    “If you wish us to wait a year, we easily can,” Genevieve offered. “We could be wed after Twelfth Night.”
    “No.” The countess sighed. “A January wedding can be a frightful mess. Better to leave it as it is. Besides, Lady Dursbury is all in a twitter because of that dreadful scandal sheet. She says there was another snippet about it in that last column from Lady Lackwit.”
    “I believe the writer goes by the name Lady Looksby,” Genevieve said, smiling.
    “Lady Libel is what she’ll be if she isn’t careful,” Lady Rawdon replied sharply. “She is always dropping hintsthat Lord Dursbury is getting cold feet about your marriage. And she never forgoes an opportunity to add little questions about Damaris. It is enough to make one think she is targeting our family.”
    “She skewers everyone. That is why her tidbits are so popular.”
    “Well, it is fortunate that Alec never looks at such things or he would probably go down there and break their presses. I told Elora—and what sort of a foolish name is that, I ask you?—that the only way to handle such gossip is to ignore it. One must be above the common fray. But it is my opinion Lady Dursbury welcomes the chance for high drama. It seems more likely there is an actress in her family tree than in Damaris’s,” the countess added darkly.
    “Speaking of libel,” Genevieve teased. “Or slander, I suppose.”
    “I would not say so to anyone but you. One must, after all, put on a pretense of tolerating one’s in-laws.”
    Dursbury returned with glasses of ratafia for Genevieve and her grandmother, and they spent a few slow minutes discussing the crush of people at the party and the difficulty that had created for the earl in procuring refreshments. Then Dursbury began to describe the state of his wine cellar, and Genevieve found her mind wandering. She spotted her tall brother’s fair head across the room and knew that the others must have returned from the nursery. She glanced around the room and saw Sir Myles dancing with Lady Milburn.
    “—don’t you agree, Lady Genevieve?” she heard Dursbury say.
    “What? Oh, no doubt,” she replied.
    “I thought as much.” He nodded. “Ah, there’s Fanhurst. I’ve been meaning to speak to him about a hunter he has for sale. If you will excuse me, ladies.”
    Genevieve smiled and nodded in answer to his bow. When he was out