Going Rogue (14 page)

“The coast?” Meredith repeated, as if it were an exotic location. She might as well have said Egypt. “Will we at least be returning for the Season?”

Cynthia turned around. “I’m not quite sure you understand.” She walked over to the bed and sat by Meredith again, taking her hands. “I didn’t say
we.”

Meredith pulled away. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t expect Mr. Darby to take us both on? His children are all grown, with lives and families of their own. He’s not looking for a twenty-three-year-old ward.”

The magnitude of what her aunt was suggesting began to set in. “What am I to do then? I have no money . . . I can’t go back to Middlebury.”

Cynthia frowned. “Please, Meredith. There’s no need to be so dramatic. The obvious solution would be to marry. You knew the time had come, especially with your exit from the Ribbons
soon approaching. Besides, things are looking up for you, now that you’ve met the Marshalls. How
are
things going with Mr. Marshall?”

Meredith swallowed back the bile that was beginning to work its way up her throat. “It’s going well enough, but we’ve only started to get to know one another. I’m in no way close to securing a proposal.”

“Then you’ll just have to work a little harder, now won’t you? I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll land a proposal in no time.”

“And if I don’t?”

Cynthia pressed her lips together. “I don’t like to think that way. You’re a Ribbon after all, and Ribbons always do quite all right for themselves. I suppose we can figure out something. If worse came to worse, I suppose you could return to live with your mother.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This woman had taken her in, promised her a better life, and now she was ripping it all out from under her. “I can’t go back. I promised Mother that I’d give her a better life, the life she was deprived of. I can’t let her down.”

Cynthia patted her knee. “Meredith, this was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. It was only ever supposed to be a stepping stone for you. It was my responsibility to give you a proper start in Society, it was your responsibility to take that start and make yourself a life from it.”

“How long do I have?” she asked, her voice remarkably calm despite the panic she felt inside.

“The banns will have to be read. And there are arrangements to be made. I was hoping for a rather intimate affair, close friends and family. Perhaps just a hundred or so at the wedding breakfast . . .”

“That small?” Meredith blurted, no longer bothering to censor what came out of her mouth. Polite behavior had a time and place. This was not it.

“And I’ll have to make sure his residence is ready for my arrival . . .”

That was code for
redecorated from top to bottom
to her liking. “How long?” Meredith repeated, more slowly this time.

“You have through the summer.”

Meredith did the math in her head. The rest of summer—two months to secure a husband, or . . . well, there was no alternative.

Two months. It wasn’t much time, but it was all she had to work with.

Chapter 18

As if delivered from the heavens above, a reprieve in the form of an invitation had come the next day. The Marshall’s had invited Meredith to dine with them.

It had been almost a week since Lord Glastonbury’s party. She’d reconciled that her unfortunate incident in the garden was just that—an isolated incident. She’d experienced her own moment of weakness, or as he so eloquently put it,
a
lapse in judgment
. During those stolen moments in the garden, she’d briefly entertained the idea that perhaps she
did
still harbor a certain fondness for Derek, and that he’d shared a similar sentiment. But in the week since, she’d decided not to waste another thought on such a preposterous notion. The man in the garden
wasn’t
Derek Weston, but rather a pompous Earl parading around as Lord Sutherland.

And that man wasn’t fit to lick Derek’s bootstraps.

Meredith gave herself one final look-over in her vanity mirror before leaving the house. She’d selected a simple cream gown to wear. There were no flounces, no swatches of lace—it was just a simple straight-cut gown, with a square bodice and cap sleeves in a color closely resembling fresh milk. She knew the modest cut accentuated her figure and Lizzie had done a magnificent job arranging her hair into a complementary chignon. Even the ribbon she wore on her wrist seemed to sit a little straighter than it normally did.

She’d never looked better, and for a good reason.

This was, after all, not just dinner. This was a deciding battle in what had become a war. Her appearance was no less strategic than any captain’s tactical plans; her appearance being the geographical landscape that may or may not cost her the victory.

“Meredith!” Ophelia greeted her with a hug.

Meredith smiled graciously, hugging her back. “What have I done to deserve such a welcome?”

Ophelia beamed. “I’m just so happy to see you. It’s been ages since we last spent time together. Mama’s had me running all about getting ready for our holiday.”

“Holiday?” Meredith repeated, her voice stressed. “What holiday? Will you be gone long? Where are you going? What about the Season?” She didn’t need the Marshall family disappearing for a trip away in the midst of her greatest crisis to date.

Ophelia took a step back and laughed. “It’s a short holiday, and if you’ll accept, I’d love to take you with us. Mama has a vision for a great house party at our country estate. Tell me you’ll come along?”

Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus began sounding in her head. A house party!

Meredith tried to remain calm, despite her beating heart threatening to pound its way right out of her chest. An extended stay with the Marshall family would undoubtedly present an opportunity for Mr. Marshall to get to know her better. Not to mention the endless potential for a stolen moment or two alone—estates were riddled with seldom-used rooms and dark corners.

Isn’t that all it would take to land a proposal—some light conversation and a kiss or two?

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” Meredith answered.

Ophelia clasped her hands together, and bit her bottom lip. “I do hope you can find a way to come with me.”

Meredith quickly dismissed the concern with a wave. “I’m sure it’ll all work out,” she replied nonchalantly. When in truth, she intended to move heaven and earth in order to attend.

“Let’s go join the others. I believe they’ve all gathered in the drawing room.” Ophelia grabbed her hand and began leading her down the hall.

“Others?” She’d been under the impression that this was going to be a small dinner and there
weren’t
going to be other guests. She hadn’t really planned on having to vie for Mr. Marshall’s attention.

“Just a few.” Ophelia opened the doors.

Meredith’s entrance was met with what had to be at least twenty people staring back at her. “I can see you’ve planned a real intimate affair here.”

Ophelia shrugged sheepishly. “Mama has a tendency toward the grandiose. To her, this
is
an intimate dinner party.”

Lady Marshall walked in between the girls. “Ophelia, Miss Castle hasn’t even been introduced yet.”

“I don’t think such a well-known lady like Miss Castle requires a formal introduction. Hello again,” Garrett Marshall bowed. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Mr. Marshall, thank you for your flattery, empty as it may be. I feel so underdressed. I thought it was just a simple invitation to dinner, not an actual dinner party. If I had known, I would have taken a bit more care with my appearance, instead of just throwing on this old thing.” Meredith smiled, trying her best to appear demure.

“Miss Castle, your beauty is unrivaled, no matter what you wear.” He kissed her hand, and she purposefully did not pull away, allowing his touch to linger far longer than necessary.

Lady Marshall coughed politely, interrupting their exchange. “Please pardon my son, Miss Castle. He appears to be quite enthusiastic over your arrival.”

“He’s been talking about it all night,” Ophelia tattled.

Garrett didn’t refute his sister’s remark. Instead, he merely flashed a debonair smile Meredith’s way and promptly excused himself to meet the other guests.

Lady Marshall rebuked her daughter with a glance. “You shouldn’t embarrass your brother like that. It’s not every day my son takes an interest in a lovely young lady.” She smiled, excusing herself.

Meredith could have floated her way to the dinner table. To have Lady Marshall’s endorsement meant she was practically betrothed. All she had to do was get him to say the words, give her a fancy ring, and the deed would be done.

Dinner was served at nine.

The menu card read that the evening’s meal would be no less than twelve dishes, which pleased Meredith immensely. Unlike other ladies, she’d never been afraid to show her great appreciation for food.

“You’ll sit here, by my brother.” Ophelia pointed to the tent card placed near the charger.

“And where will you be sitting? To my left or to my right?”

“Neither. Mama placed me beside Lord Sutherland. Much to my dismay, Mama’s adopted the practice of seating by romantic potential.”

Meredith wrapped an arm around her middle, her stomach having just flipped over on itself. “Lord Sutherland is here? But I didn’t see him.”

“That’s because he’s in the study with my father, enjoying cigars with the other men. He’ll actually be the one sitting to your left. I know it goes against convention, considering his rank, but Mama thought it would be nice if you two had a chance to catch up, seeing that you’re from the same village and all. She just loves coincidences.”

Meredith picked up the card and read it for herself, just to make sure.

“Your mother invited him?”

Ophelia nodded. “Of course. It appears she has this Season all worked out. She still has it in her head that by some divine miracle I’ll secure a proposal from Lord Sutherland.”

“Is that what you want?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Does it matter what I want?”

Her words struck Meredith as particularly tragic. “Of course it matters what you want. You should be able to choose your own path. You have two parents and a brother who love you very much and I’m sure they’d support you in whatever your pursuits. Don’t ever let others decide your fate. Take this Season and figure out who you are and what it is you want to do. You’re fortunate to have such choices, not everyone does.”

These were the words she wished someone had gifted her with.

“Ladies,” a familiar voice announced from behind them.

The scent of cigars and sea salt filled the air around her. Meredith didn’t have to turn around to know Derek was standing there.

They turned to meet him and Meredith felt the air being sucked from her lungs as she took in his appearance. His waistcoat, jacket, and pants were all black, as was his usual attire, which only seemed to exaggerate his dark hair and deep tan. He looked dangerous and handsome, irritatingly so. She spread her fingers, the memory of how he felt under her hands warming her palms—the long, lean muscles of his back, and the hard lines of his chest.

Suddenly, the room had grown quite warm.

“Lord Sutherland,” Ophelia breathed the words. “Have you been here for long?”

He looked rather serious, his usual charming smile gone, replaced with a somber expression. “Long enough to hear Miss Castle’s rousing speech.”

Meredith bit her lip, half-expecting him to drag her away and scold her again.

“And I couldn’t agree more.”

She practically fell over, hearing the words. “What do you mean you agree?”

He turned to Ophelia. “Miss Castle is completely right. You should take as long as you need to discover what it is you’re truly seeking. A woman like you doesn’t come along every day, and no matter how long your journey of self-reflection takes, I shall be here, waiting for the opportunity to prove myself.”

For a moment, Meredith thought she might cast up her accounts all over Lady Marshall’s china service. He was even more depraved than she’d given him credit for.

“Lord Sutherland,” Ophelia said, her voice pitched with wonder. “You surprise
me.”

He nodded, the very picture of modesty.

Meredith looked around the room. Was she really the only one bearing witness to this ridiculous display?

“Miss Castle?” Garrett came up on her right side.

“Mr. Marshall!” she exclaimed, never having been more pleased with an interruption in all her life.

“Shall we sit?” He pulled the chair out for her.

“Yes? Shall we?” Derek repeated, helping Ophelia to her chair.

They took their seats just as Lord and Lady Marshall made some general announcements and the footmen brought out the first course.

The soup was chilled, which helped calm her, and she remained relatively silent until Mr. Marshall offered to serve the next course.

“Would you care for some fish?”

Any other time, she would have wholeheartedly taken him up on the offer. But this evening she found her appetite particularly lacking. A first for her.

“Thank you. But just a small portion.”

“Since when?” She heard Derek mutter under his breath.

She watched as he sipped his wine, a wicked smile plastered across his face.

Meredith turned to Garrett. “Mr. Marshall, have you been enjoying your time in the city?”

“There are some aspects of life in Town that I enjoy.” He smiled her way. “But there are certain things I miss about our home in Hamptonshire that I just can’t find here in London.”

“Like what?” She leaned in a bit closer.

“Hunting—it’s not nearly as fun in London as it is there.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then Garrett chuckled. Realizing he’d just made a joke, Meredith started laughing. “Oh, Mr. Marshall, you have such a wicked sense of humor.” She playfully slapped his arm.

Derek cleared his throat.

Ignoring him, Meredith continued her conversation. “So, you’re a hunter?”