Candice Hern (63 page)

"Meg!"

The scold, delivered in a stage whisper, elicited no more than a groan in response from Meg, who rolled her head against the chair back to look at her grandmother.

"Sit up straight, my girl." Gram kept her voice low but firm as she glanced across the room toward the four-poster bed. "There is a gentleman present, after all. I will not have Lord Sedgewick thinking you a hoyden!"

"Gram, the man is unconscious. If I stripped naked here and now, he would be none the wiser."

Meg heard her grandmother's sharp intake of breath and watched with some amusement as the old woman's eyes widened in outrage. "Behave yourself, Meg Ashburton!" Gram hissed as her eyes darted to the bed, as though afraid the sleeping Lord Sedgewick might actually have overheard. "He could awaken at any moment. I should hate for him to find you sprawled in your chair in that undignified, unladylike manner. Now, sit up, girl!"

Meg heaved a resigned sigh and pulled herself up straight, tucking her long legs beneath the chair and crossing them at the ankles. She picked up her teacup and saucer, raised the cup ever so delicately to her lips—pinkie finger extended just so— and took a dainty sip. As she replaced the cup in its saucer with the utmost care, she turned toward her grandmother and raised her brows in question.

"Much better, my dear," Gram said with a smile. "You can be such an elegant young lady when you try."

Meg gave a very unladylike snort and took another sip of tea. "I thought you had given up trying to make a lady out of me."

"But, that was before."

"Before what?"

Gram jerked her thumb in the direction of the bed and smiled. "You have another chance with him, Meg."

Meg closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Oh, Gram." She put her cup and saucer down and gazed into her grandmother's hopeful, bright eyes. "I never had a first chance. Please do not go getting your hopes up."

"He
danced
with you."

"Yes, he did." Lord Sedgewick had been the only gentleman besides Terrence who had danced with her during that wretched Season, almost six years ago. She had been overly tall and gangly, all straight lines and jutting angles, topped by a mop of unfashionably red hair. Nervous and shy, she had been miserable, wanting nothing more than to go home to Suffolk. To the horses and the grooms and the people who knew her and did not make her feel ridiculous.

But there had been those two dances. Two wonderful dances that had made the whole vile Season worthwhile.

"When he recovers," Gram said, "I am certain he will want to renew his attentions."

"His what?" Meg squealed.

Gram placed her finger to her lips at the sound of Meg's raised voice. "He was obviously taken with you, dear."

"Gram," Meg said in a soft plaintive tone, "he merely danced with me."

"Twice, as I recall."

"Yes, twice. But he must have danced with scores of other young ladies. He was simply being polite to a pitiful wallflower." Meg had always known that to be the truth. He had been kind to her. That was all. But when he had taken her arm that first time and turned the full force of his smile on her, she had fallen in love with him in a moment. Oh, she had known it was a futile emotion, that she was being silly and foolish, but she had been unable to stop herself. By the time he had asked her to dance a second time, some weeks later, she had been well and truly lost.

"Two invitations to dance, my dear," Gram said, "should not be so lightly discounted. I am sure—"

"Ah, Gram, I am glad I have found you."

Meg sent up a silent prayer of thanks at the fortuitous return of her brother at just that moment. She had become quite alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken.

"The doctor gave me some further instructions," Terrence continued in a lowered voice as he stood next to the bed and looked down at Lord Sedgewick. Moving toward Meg and Gram, he fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of foolscap that he held out to his grandmother.

"Some herbal infusion he thought you might be able to make up," he said.

Gram eyed the paper and nodded her head. "Yes, very wise. I believe I have all the ingredients in the stillroom. I will go down in just a bit and check."

Meg watched as Gram studied the receipt, grateful for the distraction it provided. Meg would have to seriously consider what to do about her grandmother's fanciful notions regarding Lord Sedgewick. Before the man regained consciousness, Gram would have to be taken in hand somehow, else the consequences could be embarrassing.

"Will you have some tea, my dear?" Gram asked Terrence.

"No, thank you, Gram," he said as he walked to the clothes- press behind the door and retrieved Lord Sedgewick's greatcoat and jacket.

"What are you doing, Terrence?" Meg asked. "If you are hoping to have those cleaned up, I can assure you they are quite ruined. The bloodstains—"

"No, no," Terrence said absently as he rifled through the pockets of each garment. "I was just hoping to find something to ... Aha! This should be useful." He held up a small printed pasteboard slipcase bearing the familiar words
Peacock's Polite Repository
. "I have been thinking," Terrence said as he pulled the book from the case, "that we ought to notify someone of Lord Sedgewick's accident. You said you recognized him, Meggie, but none of us knows where he lives or where he was going. I was hoping something in his belongings might provide us with his direction, at least. Someone will be missing him, no doubt."

"Yes," Meg said with a sidelong glance at Gram. Biting back a grin, she added, "His wife, perhaps."

"Oh, he is not married," Gram said in the most casual tone before taking another sip of tea.

"How do you know?" The words were echoed by both brother and sister as each turned to look at their grandmother, Terrence with confusion, Meg with wariness.

"Oh, I keep up on such things, you know," Gram replied with a fluttery wave of her hand.

Meg and Terrence shared a look of amusement before Terrence returned his attention to the tiny diary in his hand. A folded letter fell out and Terrence bent to retrieve it. "Well, Meggie, not that I doubted you, but he indeed appears to be Lord Sedgewick." He passed the letter to Meg.

She glanced at the direction, penned in a spidery, feminine hand.

To the Rt. Hon. Lord Viscount Sedgewick

Mount Street, London

The slightest hint of lavender wafted upward from the folded vellum. Wrinkling her nose, Meg handed the letter back to Terrence.

"At least now we know his direction," Terrence said. "I will send a note round to Mount Street." Tucking the letter in the back of the diary, he began flipping pages, finally stopping at one. His brow furrowed as he peered down at the page. "Gad, but the fellow has ghastly handwriting. There is a note scribbled on today's page. 'Travel Bids.' Travel Bids? What on earth could that mean?"

"Give me that," Meg said, reaching out for the diary.

Terrence shrugged and passed it to her. She looked at the page for a moment, and then laughed. "Not 'travel bids,' you idiot. It says 'Trevelian' and then 'Birds.' I do not know what—"

"Trevelian?" Terrence interrupted. "That must be Lord Cosmo Trevelian. We were at Oxford together, though we were never very close. I know that he does have an estate in Norfolk. That must be where Lord Sedgewick was heading."

"And 'birds'?" Meg asked.

"Well, that should be clear enough. Pheasant and partridge are not quite out of season, after all. It must be a hunting party."

"Then, perhaps you should send a message to Lord Trevelian in Norfolk," Meg said, handing the
Peacock's
back to her brother.

"Yes, I shall do that. Still," Terrence added as he accepted the diary back from Meg, "I wish we might contact his family. That head injury worries me." He glanced over at the bed. "If only we knew how to reach them."

"That is easy enough," Gram said as she rose from her chair. She walked briskly from the room without another word, her muslin dress billowing behind her like a sail. Terrence cast a quizzical glance at Meg. She shrugged, and they both chuckled. Since Gram had come to live with them after their mother's death some dozen years ago, they had both become accustomed to her quixotic bursts of energy and enthusiasm. Like the indomitable Mrs. Dillard, age had done little to slow Gram down.

Terrence completed his search of Lord Sedgewick's greatcoat, which yielded a card case, a sovereign purse, a small penknife, and a short length of string, but nothing more that would help him to locate the gentleman's family. Terrence returned the greatcoat to the clothespress while Meg eased back into her chair, stretched her long legs out in front of her once again, and enjoyed her cup of tea. Within moments, Gram burst back into the room with an armload of books. Meg moved aside the tea things to make room for the unwieldy volumes, and Gram deposited them on the table with a look of triumph.

"These should tell us what we need to know," she said, tossing an enigmatic glance at Meg. "Here, my dear, you start with this one." She tapped a finger against the topmost book.

Meg picked it up, noted the title, and gave a soft groan.
Collins Peerage of England
. Gram had even located the correct volume of the set, the one including titles beginning with "S." Good heavens, thought Meg, there will be no stopping the old girl now.

Gram took the next volume, one from the set of
Goddard's Biographical Index to the Present House of Lords
, and Meg let out another groan. If he knew what was good for him, poor Lord Sedgewick would remain unconscious for a long, long time.

Gram began rifling through pages and soon gave a triumphant "Ha!" She stabbed at the page with a plump finger. "Here it is," she said as she read the page before her. "Our guest is no less than the sixth Viscount Sedgewick. The title has been in the Herriot family since Charles II bestowed the patent on Sir Oliver Herriot in 1653. There are—Oh, my goodness, Meg!—three, no four estates in entailment. His primary seat is in Lincolnshire. That's it, Terrence," she said, her voice almost squeaking with excitement. "That's where his family must be. Yes," she said, reading on, "unless his mother has died very recently, she is still in residence in Lincolnshire. At Witham Abbey. He has no wife, you see." This last was said with raised brows and wide eyes directed at Meg, who rolled her own eyes heavenward and tossed the
Collins
back on the table.

"Oh, and his mother was a Howard," Gram continued, undaunted. "And his grandmother a Cavendish. Good heavens, he is related to all the best families!" She turned a beaming smile toward the bed in the corner and heaved a contented sigh. "Take this, my dear," Gram said as she handed the open volume to Terrence. "This will tell you where to write to Lord Sedgewick's mother. Unless you would prefer that I write to her?"

"No, no, Gram," Terrence said as he retrieved the volume, keeping his finger between the appropriate pages. "I must write her myself. I shall do so at once, along with a note to Mount Street, in case someone is there. And one to Trevelian as well."

Gram nodded and turned her attention to Meg. "Oh, Meg, is this not wonderful? A fine old title, excellent connections, several estates ... and no wife!"

"Indeed," Terrence said as he retrieved the stack of books from the tea table and headed toward the bedchamber door. "We must take especial care of such a paragon," he said, grinning over his shoulder at Meg and ducking just in time to miss the spoon she flung at his head.

* * *

Terrence chuckled to himself as he entered the library to return the books. Poor Meg. Gram was likely to be relentless in her pursuit of a match with Lord Sedgewick. And poor Lord Sedgewick, he thought as he reshelved the books. If only he knew what awaited him whenever he regained consciousness.

Terrence thought he ought to have a word with Gram.

He sank into the armchair behind his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out several sheets of pressed paper. He retrieved a quill from its stand and considered their unconscious noble guest while he absently trimmed the point with a penknife. Terrence almost wished the man was conscious so that might frank the three letters he was about to write. Ha! He was as bad as Gram dreaming up plans to take advantage of the viscount. But at least his own plans, such as they were, could hardly be considered as other than harmless—a bit of franking, a word or two about Thornhill hunters spread amongst the viscount's friends, that sort of thing. But Terrence would be damned if he would get himself tangled up with any scheme of Gram's to encourage a match between Meg and Lord Sedgewick. Besides placing the viscount in an awkward situation, it would no doubt cause great embarrassment to Meg. Terrence was quite fond of his hoydenish sister, and knew she would not appreciate Gram's interference.

He did not think Gram ever really understood Meg's aversion to being trotted out like a young filly at the Marriage Mart. Terrence remembered rather clearly Meg's one and only Season six years before. He had gone up to Town to lend his support, but at the age of three-and-twenty had been distracted by other sorts of amusements, and had spent more time with his cronies from Oxford than he had squiring around his sister.

He began penning an introduction to Lady Sedgewick at Witham Abbey, but his mind wandered before he got much further than "My dear madam." Tapping the quill feather against his cheek, he chuckled as he recalled the ungainly eighteen-year-old Meg, all arms and legs towering over most everyone except her own tall family. Gram, who'd acted as her chaperone, had somehow managed to dress Meg in the most inappropriate styles imaginable—fussy, lacy things, overflowing with ruffles and bows. Poor Meg had looked like a scarecrow. Her bony shoulders had been all turned in and her elbows turned out as she had tried to slouch in hopes of appearing less tall. And her long, almost masculine stride had been completely at odds with the frilly dresses Gram had ordered. He could laugh in retrospect at what a sight she had made, but he knew at the time it had been difficult for Meg. She had been painfully shy and terribly self-conscious about her height. His own friends had teased him, calling him Long Meg's brother. At an age when a young man's friends and their opinions are everything, Terrence had avoided their jibes by accompanying Meg as little as possible.