Going Rogue (27 page)

Alex relaxed into the seat, folding her arms across her chest. “I think we both know my ankle is just fine.” She set her foot firmly on the carriage floor. “See?” She tapped it around for emphasis.

Meredith stared at her, mouth agape. “Alexandra!”

Her blond friend tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “Well, what did you expect of me? I couldn’t very well stand there and do nothing? Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Meredith gawked. “When did you ever come close to being desperate? Did I miss something?”

In comparison to Meredith’s own experiences in the stable with Mr. Marshall, and shortly thereafter with Lord Sutherland, Alex’s stay at the Marshall’s country home had been a true holiday in every sense of the word. The woman lazed around, doing nothing but entertain herself with frivolous lady’s magazines, while being waited on by poor Ophelia.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Meredith asked. A delicious chill ran down her spine at the thought of that afternoon and her time spent in the gardener’s cottage. It was just as quickly squelched by the memory of the events that followed.

“Because someone had to take charge of the situation.” Alex didn’t wait for a reply before continuing on. “Five years ago, I sat in your music room at Lady Browning’s home when a strikingly handsome fellow walked in. I made some lewd comment about him being a groom or some such nonsense and you played along. You left the room to handle some fictitious matter and when you returned your eyes were red and it was obvious you’d been crying. Now, I never wanted to be rude to inquire as to what happened to upset you so, but I had thought that you’d at least think enough of me to tell me the truth.”

Meredith sighed.

“I always have to poke and prod to get you to talk to me. You speak as if everything in your life is grand, but I know it’s not. You never speak of your life before coming to London, you rarely speak about your family, and you’ve certainly not so much as uttered the name Derek Weston to me before.”

“Alex . . .”

“He was the man that came to you that day at your aunt’s. I don’t remember him as much as the look he gave you. It was wrought with desperation and love. It was obvious how much he cared for you then, and it’s just as obvious now. Anyone can see the poor man’s smitten. He’s a bit older now, but I know that’s him. His feelings haven’t changed and neither have yours. The two of you are still mad about each other, so I took it upon myself to end your ruse.”

“You decided to trap us in the gardener’s cottage?” Meredith deduced.

“Ophelia’s idea, but with the proper manipulation I was certain it would provide you the perfect opportunity to rekindle whatever small flame you still had burning for him. There was a horrendous storm rolling in . . .”

“You said it wasn’t going to rain.”

Alex shrugged. “I lied. You and I both know my hair is the perfect instrument for predicting inclement weather. The moment it began to curl that morning, I knew we were in for a torrential downpour.”

“And your injury?” Meredith suspected that was a ruse as well. Alex was a woman who lived her life as if it were a large-scale theatrical production. She’d never settle for just one deception.

“We were at the cottage and the rain was coming, so I thought what better time to leave the two of you alone. I’ve rather perfected the art of feigning injury, and a twisted ankle gave me the perfect excuse to languish in my rooms all day rather than having to play card games and make polite conversation with the Marshalls.”

Meredith scowled. “You shouldn’t have done that. What if I’d been seen alone with him?”

“I admit, I did have my concerns at first. But then I thought—how bad could it be? Worst case scenario, you’re compromised and forced to marry him. As far as consequences go, that’s hardly a punishment. You admitted it yourself that you love him. Can you imagine—a
Ribbon
actually marrying for love and not wealth? I don’t think it’s ever been done before.”

Meredith sank into the plush velvet cushion. “Well, we don’t have to worry about that now.”

“What happened?” Alex tentatively reached out and touched Meredith’s hand. “Why did we leave so suddenly? We were supposed to have a grand dinner, and now I’m left with a hastily prepared basket filled with nothing but bread and cheese.”

“Unfortunately, your little plan didn’t work. He hates me. I hurt him, a long time ago. And he’s never been able to forgive me for it, not that he should. After our time in the cottage, I thought perhaps he’d gotten past it, that
we
had gotten past it. Then all of a sudden, he started acting strangely—accusing me of lying about the most ridiculous things. It’s all part of some elaborate revenge he’s planned, I’m sure. He’s also concocted some ridiculous story about my mother. Yesterday, he saw me in the stable with Mr. Marshall and accused me of all sorts of vile things. Now, I’m quite certain that our friendship will never be mended, let alone anything else.”

Alex’s head cocked to the side. “What were you doing in the stable with Mr. Marshall?”

Meredith could practically feel the puncture to her chest, the knife to her heart as she recounted his betrayal. “Proposing.”

Alex’s eyes grew large. “You didn’t?”

Meredith sank even further into the cushion. “I was angry and running out of viable options. Fortunately, I came to my senses and didn’t go through with it, but not before Derek discovered us.”

“Is that why Mr. Marshall’s eye is swollen shut? He said it happened in the stable, by a fairly large and untamed animal.”

“Well, that’s not precisely a lie. It did happen in the stable, and his opponent was indeed a formidable beast.”

“Nothing happened between you and Mr. Marshall, did it?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I did learn that despite his overtures, he’s not really what I’d consider to be the marrying kind, so Ribbons be warned.”

“Duly noted.”

“And that no matter how bad you believe a situation to be, there is always infinite potential for it to grow worse.”

Alex gave her hand an awkward little squeeze. She’d never been overly affectionate and Meredith knew this small gesture meant a great deal more because of it. “There is an upside to all this,” Alex declared.

“And what exactly would that be?” Because she was having quite a bit of difficulty seeing it.

“Even with a broken heart, you do look exceptionally lovely today. Isn’t that the same reticule you carried when we were last at Madame Lapone’s? I’ve always admired that one.”

Meredith looked down at her bag, the series of events from the dress shop taking shape in her mind. “I met my Aunt Lydia that day.”

“
The
Lydia? The only
Ribbon
to have ever left? When?” Alex was beside herself. Lydia had been the favorite subject of Ribbons’ lore since she’d left. It was well known that she was a close relation to Meredith, but it was generally understood that nobody had been in contact with her for years and that Cynthia had banished her from their lives
.

“When we were leaving, she knew me just by my description.” Meredith opened the reticule and removed the scrap of paper that she’d folded up and stuck in the bottom of it. “She left me this and asked me to visit one day. She mentioned something about leaving for the Continent soon.”

Alex took the note out of Meredith’s hand. “This is her address?”

“I suppose so.”

“Why, this isn’t too far away from London at all. I thought she’d moved to the continent with her rich husband.”

“Speculation,” Meredith countered. “She made it sound as if her husband hadn’t been rich after all, and that her life was much more unassuming than it was rumored to be.”

“Fascinating.” Alex licked her lips. “We should go.”

Meredith snatched the address out of her hand. “What do you mean,
we
should go?”

Alex grinned. “Well, we left the Marshall’s early. We’re not expected back to London for another day. It seems a terrible waste of a chaperone to head home before we have to.”

Meredith shook her head, unsure if she really wanted to pursue a clandestine visit with her long lost relative. Lydia had said so much during those brief moments of conversation outside the
modiste’s
. Meredith had been so determined to get answers; now she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to ask the questions.

“What do you have to lose?” Alex asked.

Meredith couldn’t help but take the figurative statement and apply it quite literally to her situation. With Cynthia marrying, she would soon lose her home, and after all Derek had said, and what she’d done, he was lost to her as well. Really, the question wasn’t so much about what she had to lose, but rather, what did she have to gain?

Meredith looked over at Alex who was practically giddy with anticipation. To her, Lydia was a Ribbons legend, a myth come to life. But for Meredith, her aunt represented a whole slew of complications.

She took another look at the slip in her hand.

“I suppose nothing,” she finally answered, knowing it might be her only chance at a future.

Chapter 33

She didn’t smell like rosewater.

Before Meredith moved to London, she’d smelled of soap and fresh linen, wildflowers and sun. But when he’d asked her to marry him so many years ago, she’d smelled just like her aunt—an overpowering sweet scent.

It wasn’t that he objected to that particular scent. It wasn’t a bad odor by any means, but it just wasn’t hers. He’d never really gotten past that. But he’d noticed in the cottage, when he was inhaling the scent of fresh rain on her hair, that there was no trace of the perfume.

The memory made his chest ache even more.

Derek was nursing his hand, the knuckles bruised and bleeding from his assault on Garrett. But he barely felt the lacerations. It was the pain deep within himself, in his heart, that was causing him the most discomfort.

Hitting Garrett had felt good. The crunching sound of his nose breaking was particularly satisfying after spending the last few weeks watching the simpering fool ingratiate himself to Meredith.

Brayan entered his room and threw a cool, wet cloth at him. “Set this on yer hand to help with the swelling.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You haven’t said a word to the Marshall’s all day. They’re our hosts, after all.”

Derek shrugged, feigning innocence. “I suppose I just haven’t had much to talk about. I could always strike up a conversation about the nature of my injuries and just what happened to Garrett’s face. I fell and he had a run-in with an angry horse. Did I miss something?”

“For Lady Marshall’s sake, I hope ye do a better job of lying than that.”

“If you were looking for a good liar, then perhaps you should have implored Miss Castle. She seems particularly gifted in that area.”

“What makes ye so certain she lied to ye?”

Derek set his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “I know her.”

“Do ye?”

Derek stood and looked around the room for his jacket. “You know, you’re supposed to be
my
family. And as family, aren’t you bound by blood to always take my side?”

“We are, and I am. But I can’t help but notice that the girl fancies ye quite a bit. And ye haven’t exactly been the most attentive suitor.”

“I am not courting Miss Castle.” Derek gave up his search and went to the wardrobe to find a different jacket entirely.

“Then what are ye doing with her? Because ye can’t keep kissing her and running away.”

“I am not running away,” Derek said, searching through the rack of clothes. “I keep coming to my senses, that’s all.”

“And then losing them again?”

Derek found a suitable substitute and quickly put it on. “Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s like I’m drawn to her, and then I have to take a step back. But the other evening, Miss Marshall told me something about Meredith and I thought that perhaps I’d been wrong all along. So today, I dropped my guard entirely and let her back in. And then she did it to me again, just as I thought she would.”

“Did ye ever stop to think that there’s a reason ye’re drawn to her?”

“You saw her—must I explain more?”

Brayan chuckled. “She’s bonnie, but plenty of women are. There has to be something more than that.”

There was. He loved her, all of her—not just the pretty parts. And that’s where it got so muddy for him. Her personality was at odds with her actions. She wasn’t a liar, but yet she’d lied about her mother. She wasn’t of loose morals, but there she was in the stables with Garrett. He couldn’t figure her out.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Ye mean running away?” Brayan called after him.

Derek didn’t answer, but slammed the door instead.

Derek cringed when he saw Miss Marshall sitting on the bench.

His regretful actions the other night in the hothouse, coupled with the fact he’d just pummeled her brother, made him question whether or not he’d receive a warm reception.

“Lord Sutherland.” She looked up from the text she’d been reading. “Enjoying an after-dinner walk?”

“Oh, was dinner already served?” He wouldn’t have come down even if he’d known. Between his hand and Garrett’s face, it was obvious there’d been some sort of run-in. He was content hiding within the confines of his room until he left in the morning.

“Nobody came for dinner, which was a pity since I’d dressed for it and all.” She looked down at her gown.

“You do look lovely,” he said. And he meant it.

“You know who else was lovely, before that unfortunate incident in the stable?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Miss Castle looked particularly stunning tonight. It’s a pity her gown was ruined.”

“Perhaps Miss Castle should be more careful of where she steps?”

Ophelia looked up at him. “I hope you don’t blame Miss Castle for what happened. I spoke with my brother and he said it was his fault entirely. She hadn’t actually wanted to marry him. It was all just one big misunderstanding.”

Derek felt an odd sense of relief wash over him, but quickly shook it off. “Whatever Miss Castle does or doesn’t do is clearly none of my concern.”