Going Rogue (5 page)

Cynthia laughed. “You will?”

Meredith slipped behind her screen to dress. “It was your idea I wait to marry until my work rebuilding the Ribbons was finished. Now that it is, I suppose it’s time I get around to it, don’t you think?”

“It’s not as simple as all that. You’ve lost some of your luster and we need to find a way to brighten you back up—shine up the tarnish on your reputation. We must first increase your value before we sell you off at Market.”

Meredith stepped out for her aunt to assist in tightening her gown. “You make me sound like a cow.”

“There are similarities.”

It was her exploits that had made her so popular in the first place. But now, her transgressions were not so easily forgiven. Her aunt was right. Her reputation wasn’t what it used to be.

Gown laced, Meredith turned and looked down at her aunt. “Well?”

Cynthia took a step back. “I think I have an idea.”

Chapter 6

Meredith studied her reflection in the vanity as her maid put the finishing touches on her hair. Her straight blond strands were pulled back into a simple bun at the base of her neck.

Her aunt appeared behind her in the mirror, hands set on her hips. “You look lovely!”

She spun around. “You couldn’t possibly be serious. I look
matronly
.” Considered a muse for her dressmaker, her vibrant fashion sense made her the darling of every dandy in London. She could only imagine what they’d say if they saw her now, sporting a pale-pink gown with as much shape as a wool blanket.

“You look like a
respectable
young lady,” Cynthia countered.

“Then it’s worse than I thought.” She groaned. Meredith tried to pull down the bodice of her gown, but the chaste cut didn’t allow for manipulation. “It’s cruel, you making me wear this sack just to impress these people.”

“Stop being so dramatic, it’s nothing of the sort.”

Meredith took a final glance in the mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at her. She sighed and followed her aunt to the drawing room to wait for their guests.

“Remind me why we’re making such a fuss again?” Meredith asked, falling into a chair and kicking her legs up onto an ottoman.

Cynthia immediately pushed her legs down off the furniture. “Lady Marshall, as in
Viscount
Marshall’s wife, sought me out for assistance with her daughter Ophelia. Miss Marshall, it turns out, is terribly shy. So I simply suggested that perhaps young Ophelia find a mentor—a more experienced young lady that could provide some guidance through her first year in London.”

“And you think that
I’m
the best choice for such a task?” Meredith had been called many things before. Mentor was not one of them.

“Why not? Who knows more about maneuvering through the Season than you? Lud knows you’ve done it enough times.”

Meredith ignored the insult. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I’m sure there’s something. I can think of no one better to teach her a thing or two about overcoming adversity. You were unknown, coming up from virtually nowhere, and despite all of that working against you, you still succeeded in creating quite the splash.”

She scrunched her nose. “I thought
she
was supposed to be the one helping
me
further my own position? What am I to gain from all this?”

Cynthia moved a vase of flowers from one table to another, then stood back to admire her work. “It’s all about the trinity around here. Miss Marshall is beautiful, rich, and her father holds a very old title. Social recluse or not, this girl is going places, and you’ll be going with her.”

Meredith nodded, the picture her aunt was painting becoming clearer. The girl’s reputation was pristine, and Meredith’s own status would benefit by association. Once she was reestablished, she’d be certain to receive the best possible offers for marriage.

Which is what all this had been about in the first place.

Cynthia tossed a book onto Meredith’s lap, snapping her attention back to the present.

“What’s this?”

“A book.”

Meredith resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I know that, but what do you want me to do with it?”

“Pretend to read. Lady Marshall told me her daughter is an avid reader.” Cynthia picked up the vase again, returning it to its original location. “Didn’t you used to enjoy books?”

Meredith glanced at the cover and flipped through a couple of pages. “There wasn’t much else to do in Middlebury.”

Her aunt exhaled deeply. “Perhaps you could play a piece on the pianoforte? That’s certain to impress them.”

Meredith shrugged. She hardly played anymore—there simply wasn’t enough time between all the parties and callers to practice as diligently as she once had.

She missed it.

The butler notified them of the arrival of Lady Marshall’s carriage. Cynthia scurried about, fluffing pillows and rearranging tufted ottomans before finally sitting down. She picked up a piece of needlepoint that Meredith suspected hadn’t been touched for well over a year, and proceeded to appear as if she were actually working on it.

It was Meredith’s turn to arch a challenging eyebrow.

“You’re in no position to judge,” Cynthia snapped.

She snickered, picking up the book—a collection of Lord Byron’s poetry—and opened to the middle.

“Lady Marshall and her daughter, Miss Marshall,” the butler announced.

Meredith looked up from the page and her mouth fell open.

Miss Ophelia Marshall was stunning.

How did her aunt think she’d garner any attention of her own if she were forced to stand by
that
all Season?

A wisp of a girl, with milky white skin; Miss Marshall possessed all the necessary physical attributes to be successful. She couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, her own figure far more curvaceous and her coloring a bit too dark by London’s standards. Even Miss Marshall’s mane of thick, chestnut waves managed to outshine her own flaxen locks, once regarded as her crowning glory.

The women exchanged polite greetings and sat down to enjoy tea. Aunt Cynthia led the conversation, shamelessly promoting Meredith and presenting her in the best possible light.

Meredith
almost
believed she was as good as her aunt was making her out to be.

“Why not take Miss Marshall out to see the garden so that Lady Marshall and I can catch up?” Cynthia asked during a lull.

Ophelia Marshall may be beautiful, but she presented little in the way of personality. The girl had sat there for the entire hour staring at her hands, hardly speaking a word. Meredith held little desire to entertain the little church-mouse alone. “Perhaps a bit later?”

Her aunt threw her a look.

“Or now,” Meredith acquiesced. “Yes, now is good.” She took a deep breath.

It was time to do what she did best—it was time to charm Miss Marshall.

Chapter 7

Meredith was first to break the silence after the two girls had completed the first turn about the garden. “Is this your first trip to London?”

Ophelia stopped walking. “Is it that obvious, then?”

The girl looked at Meredith with big brown eyes, filled with apprehension. Meredith recognized that look—she’d had it herself when she’d first arrived. Only hers was far less pitiful. “Not at all,” she reassured.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me . . . thank you for that.” Ophelia resumed her leisurely pace down the rose-lined path. “I know I’m being difficult. Mother’s simply beside herself, worried I’ll end up a wallflower. Last Wednesday, she acquired vouchers for Almack’s. When it was time for us to leave, I barricaded myself in my room.”

“Those vouchers are difficult to come by,” Meredith remarked coolly, despite the sudden surge of envy. Neither her, nor Aunt Cynthia, had managed to secure one for at least two Seasons—and here this chit was letting them go to waste. “Why ever would that upset you?”

“The very thought of having to meet all those new people made it difficult for me to draw a breath. I thought it best not to leave my house after that.”

Meredith winced. “Well, London can be quite intimidating. Where exactly does your family come from?”

“Hamptonshire. Are you familiar?”

Meredith recognized the name. To her recollection, Hamptonshire was not that much larger than Middlebury. “Well, I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Ophelia shook her head. “I can almost guarantee it will. If you haven’t noticed already, I’m not the most outgoing sort.”

An understatement.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that . . .” Meredith lied.

“Sure you would.”

Ophelia’s candor was refreshing. She looped her arm through the girl’s and resumed their promenade. “Despite its large footprint, London’s really just another village when you get down to it. Everyone knows everyone.”

“And I don’t know anyone,” she said quietly.

“You mustn’t say you don’t know anyone, when you at least know me.”

Ophelia smiled. It was a dazzling smile—spontaneous and genuine. Meredith remembered how easily she used to smile. “I suppose you’re right. I do know you. It couldn’t hurt knowing a few more people though.”

“I have a number of friends here,” Meredith continued. “If you’d like, I can introduce you. We have a bit of a club going, actually. Nothing along the lines of White’s or Brooks’, but we do offer something in the way of exclusivity for unmarried women.” The Ribbons had done wonders to set her spirits right after she’d first arrived. Perhaps under those same conditions, Ophelia would thrive as well?

She stopped again. “You don’t have to help me. I know my Mama put your aunt up to this.”

Meredith nearly stumbled. “You do?”

“I’m not an idiot, Miss Castle. My mother’s desperate. She’ll do anything to help me fit in.”

Ophelia was too bright to be lied to. “She may have,” Meredith confessed.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken the time out of your day otherwise . . .”

Meredith shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“But why else would you help me?”

It was an excellent question; one Meredith hadn’t been prepared to answer. “I suppose it’s because I see a lot of myself in you. I went through something similar when I was your age.” It was the truth.

Ophelia snorted, causing them both to giggle. “That’s nonsense. I’m not at all like you. You’re so confident and self-assured . . .”

“I haven’t always been this way. Like you, I came from a small village and didn’t quite feel comfortable in the city. The pace, the people—it wasn’t at all what I was used to.”

“I can’t imagine you not feeling comfortable anywhere.”

“Well, believe me, I didn’t.”

“What changed?” Ophelia picked a leaf off a nearby bush and began twirling it between two fingers.

Meredith shrugged. “I just set my mind to it, that’s all.”

In all honesty, she owed her success to her motivation. Securing her position in Society came at a price, one she’d been willing to pay in order to ease her mother’s plight.

Meredith glanced over at the leaf and cringed. “There’s a bug on there. You’d best drop it before that disgusting thing bites you and infects you with some wretched disease.”

“It’s not disgusting, it’s a cockchafer,” Ophelia declared.

“Bless you,” Meredith replied, smiling.

But the young lady didn’t laugh. “I didn’t sneeze. Cockchafers are May bugs. They’re common this time of year.” The beetle flew off its perch.

When it was finally out of sight, Meredith faced Ophelia again, eyeing her suspiciously. “How did you know that? Did you read it somewhere?”

Ophelia shrugged her small shoulders. “I’ve always had an interest in botany, so naturally I’ve become rather familiar with entomology as well.”

The words that rolled so easily off Ophelia’s tongue were a virtual assault to Meredith’s sensibilities. She finally understood the true nature of Lady Marshall’s predicament. Ophelia’s affliction was not just a simple case of shyness—no, it was far worse. She was
smart
. And not the type of intelligence deemed acceptable, like being clever. No, this girl was
scholarly
.

One could forgive a girl for being introverted, but being regarded as an intellectual was a different matter entirely.

“You study bugs?”

“No.” Ophelia dismissed the observation with a wave. “I don’t particularly care for bugs. I primarily study plant life, and anything I know about insects is really just secondary.”

“I’m afraid that’s not much better,” she replied flatly.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” she answered, quickly changing the subject. “I believe we were talking about your time in London. A first Season can be quite a whirlwind.”

“It’ll be my
only
Season if my mother has anything to do with it.”

“Oh,” Meredith replied. “Are there any prospects, then?”

Ophelia shrugged. “If you ask my mother, there is.”

Meredith rubbed her hands together. Maybe this bookish girl had potential after all? “Tell me more.”

“We met him while visiting the continent. Mama had taken me to a dinner party at the home of one of her friends, royalty or some such nonsense, outside of Brussels. I have to admit, he was one of the most interesting gentlemen I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met many gentlemen.”

“Wonderful,” Meredith exclaimed. An acquaintance with royal connections? What luck! “Is he a prince, then?”

“Hardly. He’s from America.”

Meredith’s enthusiasm instantly deflated. Little good that would do her. “An
American
? What was he doing near Brussels?”

“I don’t believe he was actually American since he had a rather distinct English accent. The man had helped to recover merchandise for the family we were visiting and sometime during the transaction he’d been
shot
clear through the shoulder. He was staying there until he was recovered enough to travel.”

Meredith turned, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “He’s a pirate?”

Ophelia blinked her doe-like eyes. “That’s absurd. He’s not a pirate. He owns a shipping company that specializes in both the transport and recovery of goods. He calls it
procurement
.”