A Lady's Guide to Rakes (19 page)

Aunt Letitia slid from the bed and her plump slipper-shod feet hit the floor with a double thump. She came and stood at Meredith’s opposite side. “You may have your mind made up that Chillton is your man, but your heart is not in agreement.”

Meredith pushed free from her aunts and turned back to face them. “What do you mean?”

Aunt Viola stepped forward and took Meredith’s hand. “Haven’t you realized it yet, child? You are in love with Lord Lansing.”

Meredith opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly. A flush of heat rose up and colored her cheeks and ears. “He is an untrustworthy rake—a rogue, a debaucher.”

“Is that so, dear?” Aunt Viola lifted her fluffy white brows. “You have studied him, tested him. Have you truly found him to be so despicable?”

Meredith thought about it for several moments, but knew deep down that, had she flipped open her book of notes and reviewed every single page, she would never find clear evidence of rakish deceit on his part.

Could her aunts be right?

No, no. The thought is preposterous.

Alexander mightn’t be untrustworthy or unfeeling or cruel, but he had seduced her… sort of. Though, the seduction might have been somewhat… mutual, now that she thought about it.

Well, no matter. He was a rake of the first order and one does not fall in love with a rake.

Ever.

Why would her aunts not understand?

———

Moping and gloomy-faced, the two brooding Featherton sisters reluctantly began to board the carriage that would soon be headed back to London.

They were certainly taking their leisure, Meredith noted, as she and Annie waited behind Aunt Letitia for their rums to climb up the steps.

“Miss Merriweather!”

At the sound of the male voice calling for her, Meredith, against her better judgment, glanced over her shoulder toward the house. Perdition, it was Alexander, shouting from a far window on the upper floor!

She had hoped to make a clean escape and thought, until this very moment, that they had managed just that.

They had left a note of appreciation to their kind host, who had been abed still when they crept down the passageway with their bags, as well as a hastily scrawled missive with One, Alexander’s dutiful valet. That letter had been handed to Mr. Herbert by Meredith herself, along with strict instructions that it not be delivered until thek party had left the house.

Those instructions obviously had been ignored, for here was Alexander, calling to her.

So Meredith did the only thing she could. She ignored him.

“Auntie,
please
do hurry.” Her aunt had bent to retrieve something she’d dropped upon climbing into, the carriage and her rather wide hindquarters were now blocking the door.

Meredith groaned, fighting the intense desire to press her aunt’s backside through the narrow carriage door.

“Viola, I can’t reach my reticule,” her aunt was moaning, her voice raspy from the exertion of bending. “It’s nearly under the bench. Can you reach it?”

“I shall fetch it for you.” Meredith looked back at the house’s upper window again. Alexander was gone. “Just, please, take your seat. I fear Lord Lansing is coming down.”

Lettia straightened and turned around to face the house. “No, not the young lord, I fear.”

“W-what?” Meredith whirled completely around only to see the earl barreling toward them.

He was wrapped in a dressing gown and wearing India gold brocade slippers with their toes pulled up in tasseled curlicues. He was quite breathless by the time he reached the carriage.

“Jolly good. Thought I’d missed seeing you off,” he huffed. “Wouldn’t want to be a poor host, now would I?”

As Aunt Letitia descended the steps to the earthen drive, the carriage bounced on its coils as surely as it were traveling the pocked and pitted road north. “Forgive us, dear sir, for attempting to leave before bidding you farewell.”

“Is all well?” the earl asked, reaching out to take Leti-tia’s plump hand. “We have not offended you in some way? Please tell me we have not.”

“No, no, no. Heavens, you and your son, and indeed all of Harford Fell, were delightful.”

Meredith froze where she stood, furious that her aunt was chatting away the morn with the earl.

“Then why, pray, must you leave so soon?” the burly man asked with all sincerity.

Letitia gestured to the carriage. “You may see for yourself.”

At first, the earl did not seem inclined to do as her aunt bid him to, so Letitia tugged him forward. As the earl was pulled toward the carriage, Meredith saw that her Aunt Viola’s eyes had grown wide; then suddenly she collapsed dramatically on the leather squabs.

The moment the earl set eyes upon the wilted lady, Letitia added, “You see, my sister has taken ill.”

The earl released Letitia’s chubby hand and lurched backward several feet. “What is wrong with her?”

“Sadly, we do not know.” Letitia barged forward and grabbed his arm. “Perhaps, if you took a closer look—”

Then the earl’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “I? Why would I know what ails her?” The earl wrenched his arm away and instantly began to gasp. “Geminy. You don’t suppose it’s catching… whatever felled her?”

My, my, Aunt Letitia is a clever one,
Meredith mused,
playing on the earl’s fears of becoming ill.
For certain, he would have no quarrel with their leaving now. The way her aunts were carrying on, one might think poor Viola had come down with the pox—or worse. It was time, however, to put an end to their performances.

“Auntie, we mustn’t tarry.” Meredith drew her aunt back to the carriage steps. “We should see Aunt Viola to her own physician at once.” She turned her head to the earl and caught, from the edge of her vision, Alexander racing from the house toward them. “Good day, sir,” she said, hurrying to follow her aunt up the stairs.

The footman closed the door as Annie boarded behind her, just as Lord Lansing reached them.

“Miss Merriweather—” he managed to say before Meredith rapped her fist on the forward wall of the carriage.

At the crack of a whip, the team jerked the carriage forward. Alexander ran alongside the window. “Meredith, what about the horse? You’ve not even seen the horses. What will you do?”

Meredith leaned her head out the window as Alexander fell behind. As the wheels of the carriage rounded the bend in the drive, she waved good-bye. “I will manage, Lord Lansing. I always do.”

———

Meredith sat in her aunts’ beloved library, trying her best to focus on the scattering of papers that detailed every plan for her aunts’ upcoming special musicale.

Her aunts had given her the task of paring the guest list so all might fit within the confines of the Featherton sisters’ Hanover Square home.

Still, after twenty minutes with her eyes on the same page, Meredith had not the slightest notion of the names she’d read. No doubt this mindless chore was simply a means to distract her from weightier thoughts.

It was finally Wednesday, after all. The fated day of Mr. Chillton’s much anticipated private meeting with her aunts—which was occurring just across the passage at that very moment.

Meredith was not surprised that he had kept the appointment, even after their last disastrous meeting at Tattersalls four days earlier. Chillton was nothing if not reliable. If he said he would be there, he would be.

She’d left the door open to the passage, hoping perhaps to catch a word or two from Mr. Chillton as he discussed his matter “of great importance” with her two great-aunts.

Though her chances for an offer of marriage were all but dashed—to her way of thinking—Meredith still held out a modicum of hope that Chillton would see beyond her abhorrent behavior to the logic of a union. It made sense, after all, for both of them, for she would regain her respectability and he would gain a wife with Society connections—which could only benefit his import business. And the fact that he actually arrived at the house ten minutes early—a possible gauge of his enduring enthusiasm—did bode well for her, did it not?

Meredith thrummed her fingers on her knee, then leaned forward in her chair to catch a glimpse of the tall-case clock in the passage.

He’d been in there for nearly thirty minutes now. What could be taking so long?

Knowing Chillton as she did, he was likely exchanging pleasantries with her aunts rather than coming straight to the point. He was always polite that way. At first, this annoyed her, for she always preferred it when people spoke plainly and said what they meant. Soon, though, Meredith realized that Chillton, as a businessman, found it best to begin with niceties. He put his partner in conversation at ease before tackling important matters that might cause tension.

Suddenly there was a swell in the tone of conversation; then the parlor door opened. Both of her aunts spilled out into the passage, with Mr. Chillton bringing up the rear.

Meredith caught Aunt Letitia’s eye, but she saw no clue there. She looked to Aunt Viola. Her face was expressionless too as she passed Meredith on her way to see Mr. Chillton out the front door.

Mr. Chillton paused when he saw Meredith and extended his hand to her. “Lovely to see you, Miss Meredith. I trust your day has been pleasant.” He glanced at the door Mr. Edgar held open for him.

Meredith cinched her brows. “Um… yes, my day has been lovely.” Was that it? A few empty words and he was leaving? She looked helplessly to her aunts for assistance, but they seemed as eager for Chillton to leave as the gentleman himself. “Mightn’t you like to stay and join us for tea?”

Mr. Chillton forced a smile. “Another time, perhaps. The tea I just enjoyed with your aunts was quite enough to quench my thirst.”

“Oh.” Meredith peered through the parlor doorway and saw the silver tea service glinting in the light.
I am such a nitwit.
Of course, they would have had tea.

“Must be off.” Chillton turned to Aunt Letitia. “Thank you for your graciousness concerning my Hannah.”

Aunt Letitia graced him with her very best hostess smile. “You are quite welcome, Mr. Chillton. We do adore young Hannah.”

Then, with a curt nod in her direction, Chillton skipped down the steps, untied his mare’s reins and boarded his phaeton.

When Mr. Edgar closed the door, her aunts silently turned and disappeared inside the parlor once more.

“Aunties!” Meredith raced after the two old women. “Will you not tell me what he said? You must know I have been on pins and needles since he arrived.”

Both her aunts looked as though they had been sucking on lemons, for their lips were puckered, the expressions on their wrinkled faces pulled.

“Dear, he did
not
ask for your hand, if that is what you want to know. In fact, he did not speak of you at all. I am sorry.” Aunt Viola revisited her teacup and drank down its cooled contents—likely to avoid having to say anything more.

Meredith looked to Letitia, trying to keep the jolt that seemed to shake her body from reaching her voice. “Very well.” She swallowed deeply. “If I was not the topic of conversation, what was?”

Aunt Letitia gave her a long, consoling look before she spoke. “Hannah.”

“He spoke of Hannah?” Meredith felt her mouth gaping most unbecomingly after the four words spilled from them; she snapped it shut.

“Yes, dear, it seems that Mr. Chillton is seriously considering a three-year journey to India,” Aunt Letitia began. “Some business arrangement or another, I believe. He’d leave late July… that is assuming he shall go at all.”

“India? Why, he never said a word of this to me.” Meredith’s heart was racing as she felt any chance of marrying Mr. Chillton slip from her grasp.

“We were greatly surprised by his announcement as well, child. But even more taken off our heels by his request to take Hannah under our wing—and find her a husband.”

With all of her shocked staring, Meredith’s eyes were becoming dry. She plopped down onto a chair beside the hearth. “He… he wants the two of you to act as Hannah’s duennas whilst he is away—and he never spoke a word about marrying me?”

“Shows a lack of manners, if you ask me.” Aunt Letitia bobbed her head overtly, until her sister took her meaning and echoed the sentiment.

“I agree. Still, we cannot deny his request,” Aunt Viola added. “You see, Meredith, his mother has a great fear of leaving their family home in the country. An illogical fear, which of late prevents her from venturing out of her own bedchamber.”

Meredith squinted her eyes as she took in her aunt’s words. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Nor have we, child, though we dared not question Mr. Chillton further on it. He did seem quite distraught over his mother’s… condition.” Aunt Letitia rose and, jabbing her walking stick into the carpet, came to Meredith. “So you see, we could not refuse his request.”

“No, no,” Meredith began. “You did what was right. I am just a mite shaken that he did not mention me at all.” She looked up at her aunt. “Were my actions at Tattersalls so egregious that it destroyed my suitability as a wife entirely?”

“Dear, if so, then clearly Mr. Chillton was never the man for you.” Then her aunt Viola added, “Perhaps you might look to Lord Lansing with new eyes, eh?”

Meredith sprang from her chair. “No, no! I was so close to receiving an offer from Mr. Chillton. I cannot believe all is lost.” Meredith began to pace the parlor with several firm strides before stopping in the center of the room. She raised a single digit in the air. “I will not give up. I
will
marry Mr. Chillton. Just you wait and see.”

Smiling is the most potent weapon in a rake’s arsenal. A charming smile has the power to put an unknowing lady at ease, when instead she should he backing away.

Sitting in the shadows at the top of the stairs, Meredith propped her chin on her knees and tapped her leather book of notes on the toe of her slipper. She blew out a long sigh, feeling very sorry for herself as she peered miserably down at the crowd collecting below for her aunts’ musicale celebration.

Why couldn’t Letitia and Viola have canceled the wretched event once they realized there would be no engagement to celebrate—no pending nuptials to toast with their secret booty of French wine from Champagne.