Going Rogue (10 page)

“It’s what we ladies like to call ourselves. A nickname of sorts,” Meredith clarified.

Ophelia’s wide eyes grew impossibly wider. “
The Ribbons
? I’ve heard Mama talk about them.”

“Are you interested in joining?” Meredith asked, impressed by her nonchalance. Most girls she knew would salivate on cue over the mere mention of the group.

Ophelia shrugged. “It depends. What do you ladies do?”

Alex’s hand flew up to her chest. “
Do
? For your information, we
do
quite a bit.” Her face flushed with righteous indignation.

“Like what?”

Meredith laughed, but quickly disguised her amusement by coughing politely into her hand.

Alex thrust out her left wrist, showing off the primrose ribbon tied around it “When you’re a
Ribbon
, there are countless benefits attached. Private rooms are just the beginning. There are special menus when you’re dining out, the finest champagnes—all compliments of the establishment. The newest gowns reserved just for us, invitations to everything that’s worth attending, And of course, the greatest benefit of all—our choice in husbands. Men clamor for the opportunity to land a
Ribbon
.”

Ophelia cocked her head to the side. “Yes, and all that’s fine, but really, aren’t those just the spoils of your membership? That’s not really the same as
doing
anything, is it?”

Meredith opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. Ophelia was an intelligent girl, and absolutely correct in her deduction. The Ribbons didn’t really
do
anything. They simply
were
and that had always been enough.

But what if it wasn’t anymore?

Meredith helped herself to a fresh flute of champagne, then purposefully positioned herself between the two women. “An organization is only as accomplished as its members. I believe
the Ribbons
could stand to learn a few things from you.”

Ophelia smiled halfheartedly, casting her gaze down to her folded hands placed neatly in her lap. “It would be a welcome distraction from all the talk of marriage.”

Marriage?

Marriage?

Meredith downed the rest of her champagne, simultaneously reaching for another. “You’re betrothed?” she practically sputtered. “He asked you, then—Lord Sutherland?”

Ophelia shook her head. “Not yet. But Mama thinks it’s just a matter of time before the Earl proposes. She thinks I should accept his offer, that I won’t do any better.”

Alex tipped her own glass back, polishing off its contents, a wicked smile creeping up her thin face. “The man from the opera? He and his cousin are all anyone can talk about. I can’t say I blame them—they’re both divine.”

“Lord Sutherland is most definitely one of the finer examples of the male species,” Ophelia stated matter-of-factly.

Meredith looked down at her half-empty glass. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say
all
that.”

“Oh, I would,” Alex argued. “He’s quite mysterious. And you know where there’s mystery, there’s usually quite a bit of danger as well. I just love a dangerous man, don’t you?”

“Dangerous?” Meredith blinked. “You’d call Lord Sutherland
dangerous
?”

Now, the conversation was taking a turn for the ridiculous.

“What else would you call it?” Alex asked. “I’m sure in his particular line of work he takes plenty of risks.”

“Perhaps even lives,” Ophelia waggled her eyebrows.

Meredith opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it, knowing any argument would be futile.

It was an absurd idea, her Derek being dangerous. Granted he’d done his fair share of hunting, but to take another man’s life? She remembered him as a boy, sobbing at the unfortunate death of one of his family’s hounds, a poor victim of straying too far from the farm. He’d sat vigil at the dog’s grave for nearly a week. She’d never known anyone with such compassion and heart.

What happened to that sweet boy?

She hadn’t time to ponder the answer. Madame Lapone and her two assistants entered the room, bringing with them a rack full of samples—a welcome distraction.

One of the assistants offered a bolt of fabric for Ophelia’s approval, but she held up her hand, rejecting the offer. “I’m afraid I have more than enough gowns already, but thank you.”

Both Alex and Meredith stopped what they were doing.

“You couldn’t possibly be serious.” Alex looked at Meredith, her eyes wide and her mouth slacking, like some sort of fish deprived of water. “It’s not really about
need.
Lud knows neither one of us
need
anything. It’s about setting an example—one that’s nearly impossible for others to follow.”

Ophelia shook her head. “How benevolent of you.”

Meredith took a seat by Ophelia and patted her knee. “It’s just not acceptable to be seen in the same gown twice. The public expects their Ribbons to look a certain way.”

At least that was how Aunt Cynthia had explained it.

Ophelia’s delicate brows furrowed together. “It seems rather ridiculous, judging one’s character by their commitment to overindulgence alone.”

Her observation fell flat to the room of unsympathetic ears, to everyone except for Meredith. She remembered thinking a similar sentiment upon her arrival in London, but had opted not to voice her dissention. Stirring the pot would get her nowhere fast, whereas blind acceptance seemed a much more effective way of traveling up the social ladder.

Alex tossed a pale-blue swatch of fabric at the younger woman. “It’s best not to question our methods.” She looked at Meredith, searching for reinforcement.

Meredith smiled halfheartedly. “That color would look lovely on you,” she said, trying her best to sound convincing.

Ophelia looked back and forth between the women, then swallowed. “I suppose I could buy just one.”

Alex laughed. “A
Ribbon
never buys
just one
.”

Chapter 12

A thousand pounds later, the ladies had completed their shopping and were headed out the door. A woman hurrying into the shop bumped into Meredith just as she was exiting, the unexpected force nearly sending her sprawling to the floor.

“Pardon me!” Meredith sputtered, trying to regain her footing.

The woman offered a hand to help steady her. “My apologies. I wanted to make it in before the shop closed . . .” The woman’s voice trailed off, her eyes growing wide. “Meredith?”

Meredith paused for a moment, in utter disbelief at what she saw. Standing before her was a woman, at least ten years her senior, but so uncanny in her likeness that it was like staring into the reflection of her own future. “Do I know you?”

The woman smiled warmly, small lines crinkling at the corners of her wide-set green eyes. “Of course you don’t recognize me. But I’m certain I know who you are—you look just your mother.”

“You know my mother?”

“Of course I do. She’s my sister.”

Meredith swallowed, her mind finally registering just why the figure in front of her looked so familiar. “
Aunt Lydia
?”

“Yes?”

Meredith tried to make sense of it all. “But I thought you’d left London.”

Lydia’s gaze flicked down before meeting Meredith’s once again. “I did. But every so often, when I have the need for a dress or two, I make the journey back to Town. Honestly, I thought I’d run into you long before this. But I knew it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed.”

Meredith felt her jaw slack, dumbfounded by the impromptu introduction. The effervescent woman before her was nothing like the monster she’d imagined. Still, beauty was only skin-deep and from what she’d heard, Lydia was an expert actress.

She squared her shoulders, refusing to be fooled by her aunt’s warm words. “You have some nerve showing your face after all you’ve done.”

The woman’s smile faded quickly. “Ah, so Aunt Cynthia’s told you all about me, has she?”

“And don’t forget my mother, the sister you deserted—the one whose life you stole.” Meredith spit the words, anger coursing through her veins.

Lydia took a deep breath as if absorbing the insult. “Is that what Jane told you?”

Meredith crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

She chuckled a little to herself. “The truth is a matter of opinion. I have mine, while Aunt Cynthia and your mother each have their own versions of what really happened.”

“Do you deny it, then?” Meredith glared at her, daring her to answer.

Lydia’s voice remained calm. “Anger has a way of skewing one’s view of the situation.”

She jutted her chin. “It sounds like you’re the one with the skewed version of events.”

Her aunt inclined her head forward. “This is not the time, nor the place, to have such a conversation. Perhaps one day, when you’re willing to discuss the matter in more detail, you can come for a visit?” She dug into her reticule and handed Meredith a slip of paper. “I live in Sussex now on a small property. It’s not nearly as nice as your Aunt Cynthia’s, but you could stay for a few days if you wanted. It would give us an opportunity to finally talk.”

Meredith reached out, accepting the scrap. She’d been under the impression that Lydia drifted aimlessly between great estates spread out all over the continent, not a diminutive home in Sussex. “Why ever would I visit you?”

“Because you’re my family.”

Her brows furrowed together. “The family you gave up for your rich husband.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She frowned. “If it’s any consolation, my husband was never a rich man.”

“Was?”

Lydia nodded. “My husband passed on a few years ago. He was a merchant, rich with love maybe, but not with coin.”

“Are you coming?” Ophelia called from the carriage.

Meredith clutched the note a bit tighter. In the span of a few minutes, everything she’d believed to be true regarding her aunt had been turned upside down. It wasn’t that she believed the woman implicitly, but she didn’t disbelieve her either. “Perhaps I’ll write to you?”

Lydia smiled. “Your aunt would never allow it. I’ve been trying to send you letters for years, and each one has been returned, unopened. I assume your mother at least
opened
the letters since she never sent them back.”

The admission hit Meredith square in the chest.

“I do hope to see you soon,” Lydia continued. “I just booked passage to Italy for the middle of summer. I’m going to live with my husband’s family there.”

“Meredith?” Ophelia called again.

Meredith looked back at the carriage. “I have to go now, but I
will
find a way to write—I promise.” She picked up her skirts and walked briskly from the shop, her mind racing.

Someone wasn’t being entirely honest, and she was determined to learn the truth.

Chapter 13

Meredith tried to bury the encounter with her aunt in the back of her mind as they made their way to Ophelia’s home for refreshments. She was good at that, burying things.

Alex had another appointment, leaving Meredith to visit by herself. Not that she minded. This way, she wouldn’t have to compete with the tall blonde for Mr. Marshall’s attention if he should happen to be at home, which she hoped he would be.

The grandeur of the Marshall’s home didn’t just hint at their wealth, it declared it like a royal proclamation. The flawless white limestone exterior stood like a Grosvenor Square temple, an appropriate wrapping for what elegance awaited those who were fortunate enough to be allowed entry. Meredith stepped into the foyer, resisting the urge to gawk at the grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling, thousands of crystals dangling from its arms. Aunt Cynthia hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d mentioned the Viscount’s fortune.

And one day, it would all be Garrett’s.

Ophelia led Meredith across delicately veined marble floors into a drawing room. Overcrowded by a vast display of oriental vases, bronze busts, and various other types of expensive clutter, Meredith almost didn’t notice Mr. Marshall sitting right dab in the middle of it.

“Garrett?” Ophelia called from the doorway.

He stood, the corners of his lips tipping into a smile. “You’re home? I wasn’t expecting you.” His dark brown gaze shifted to Meredith. “And it appears you’ve brought company.”

Ophelia set her hands on her hips. “I told you I was having friends over for tea this afternoon.”

He returned his attention back to his sister. “Oh, that’s right. I suppose you did mention it.”

Garrett Marshall was an awful liar. Meredith couldn’t help but smile at the realization. After all, bad liars made excellent husbands—they couldn’t get away with anything.

“You told me you had appointments today,” Ophelia scolded. “I didn’t think you’d be here to bother us.”

“My appointments cancelled, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to catch up with my little sister,” he explained without any sort of conviction. “And perhaps learn a bit more about her friends. Miss Castle, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He took her hand and kissed it with a feather-like touch.

“And you, Mr. Marshall.” Meredith curtsied, careful not to show too much interest. Aunt Cynthia had taught there was no better way to attract a man than to ignore his very existence.

“I suppose if you’re home, then you might as well join us,” Ophelia reluctantly conceded. “Shall we sit?” She gestured toward a group of chairs and lounges stationed in the center of the room.

Meredith sat in one of the King Louis chairs, arranging her skirts so they pooled prettily around her feet. Garrett sat across from her, watching her every move. She avoided his gaze, nonchalantly looking about the room, pretending as if she couldn’t feel the heat of his stare slowly raking over her.

Then she saw
him
.

He was standing by the piano, wearing black pants and a black jacket, looking very much like the pirate he’d been accused of being.

“Lord Sutherland?” she blurted.

Garrett leaned back. “He arrived just before you showed up to pay a call.”