Quiet Meg (10 page)

“We are all well. Here in town now these two years.
Though I am usually up at Oxford. I am studying to take
orders””

“That is excellent news, Harry. I am so glad to see you.
It has been too long. You used to ride over often”

“Yes, Miss Meg. I have missed that as well. Though I
have had some word through mother’s correspondence
with Miss Lucy.”

Meg glanced over at her surprisingly secretive sister,
who had never mentioned she had regular contact with
Mrs. Wembly.

“I hope you have successfully obtained a dance or two
with Lucy, Harry.”

“I have indeed, Miss Meg, and I hope to be equally successful with you-if you would grant me that pleasure.”
Meg did so, just as the music started up.

Ferrell led her out for the first set. He was a fair dancer,
careful and attentive, and thankfully never given to chatter.
Meg, who loved music, considered that trait most agreeable. She had been to very few dances in the past three
years, only occasional Buxley or Tenby assemblies, which
were in the nature of community constitutionals. Though
she had always enjoyed dancing she had feared she might
forget the steps. But by the time she and her brother-in-law had completed two dances she felt relaxed and cheerful.
She wondered if he and Louisa had intended as much.

Her limited surveys of the crowd had failed to reveal any
sign of the Earl of Sutcliffe. Perhaps Sally Jersey had spoken purely from spite.

Bertie claimed her for the third dance.

“Little Lucy is thrilled beyond measure,” he told her
with some impatience. “‘Tis impossible to make a peep of
one’s own! I hope she lets some of the chaps open their
mouths now and then, or she will frighten them away. What
a rattle!”

“She is excited, Bertie, and you are her brother. Naturally she will be easy talking to you”

“Perhaps. I see she’s a bit more subdued with Ferrell,
but not much. It’s good to see Harry here. He’ll keep her
steady.”

“Yes” Meg eyed the young man as he regarded Lucy.
“Did you know Lucy and Mrs. Wembly were corresponding?”

“What?” Bertie shrugged. “Well those two were always
matched in zeal. Stands to reason they’d stay close, even
though Wembly and father fell out.”

Meg wondered. Harry Wembly was a serious young
man, and though he moved to stand up with Amanda Burke
for the following dance, his gaze remained on Lucy.

“Lady Jersey told me Lord Sutcliffe might be here tonight, Bertie,” Meg told him. “Though I haven’t seen
him.”

“Sutcliffe can do naught here, Meggie. We’ve seen to
that. He’ll approach you at his peril.” Bertie’s lips set stubbornly.

“I shouldn’t want a scene at Lucy’s comeout”

“Won’t be any scene, Meggie, as he’ll simply be removed from the scene.” Bertie gave her hand a squeeze.
“Father insists you enjoy yourself.”

“I will, Bertie. I am” She was silent for the rest of the
dance, content to watch Lucy’s smiles, her aunt’s nodding
pleasure, the shifting reflected light against the floor and
the dancers. She stood out the next dance to speak to
Louisa and Aunt Pru. Two young friends of Lucy’s asked
for dances; Meg wrote them on her card, suspecting Lucy
had put them up to the invitation as a test of their devotionfor they seemed not the least inclined to remain in her company. Meg was not surprised. Though she had hoped she
would no longer be considered worthy of remark, she caught
enough averted glances to realize that Meg Lawrence was
still infamous. She was certainly not being pressed by
potential partners.

She was impatiently tapping her foot to the music when
Louisa said,

“I see Mr. Cabot has come.”

Instantly Meg’s tapping stopped. She followed Louisa’s
gaze to the other side of the room, where Cabot had indeed
made an appearance. His hair shone in the lights. He was
dressed superbly, his shoulders hugged by a coat that could
only have come from Weston. In the dark, formal clothing
he looked devastatingly distinguished, and far removed
from the laboring man she had last seen in his shirtsleeves.
Meg’s gaze locked on to him as he conversed with his companion, a man as tall as himself and with similar features,
but thinner and fairer. All her thought and attention focused
on Cabot, until she overheard the conversation beside her.

“Who is this Mr. Cabot?” her aunt asked.

“The architect that father and Bertie have had out at Selbourne. I’m certain Lucy has mentioned him.”

“Oh, yes. Apparently much sought after. That’s Hayden
with him you know, Louisa.”

“Yes, I see. I shouldn’t have thought the marquis was a
regular attendee here at Almack’s.”

“No indeed. Quite the contrary. Most unusual. He must
be here because of your Mr. Cabot. They are friends?”

“Relatives, auntie. Cousins”

“Indeed? Cousin to the Marquis of Hayden, heir to the
Duke of Braughton? That is very good ton”

Meg did not care for the gist of the talk. She waited impatiently for Cabot to look their way-she had seen him
notice Lucy; he had smiled and bowed. When his attention
at last found her, Meg met the force of it with as much
steadiness as she could summon. So many yards across the
hall she could not read his gaze, she knew only that it was
hers. Even that tenuous a contact made her tremble. As
Cabot briefly inclined his head to her, Harry Wembly
blocked her view, claiming his country dance.

Meg reluctantly let him lead her out. They found an opening at the far end of the room. Meg had planned to quiz him
further about his plans to join the clergy, but awareness of
Cabot had robbed her of any other direction or purpose.

When Harry returned her to the circle of the Lawrences,
Lucy was taking an enforced rest.

“You saw that Charles came, Meg?” she asked. “I thought
he might.”

“You thought he might! Why on earth should you think
so?”

“Because I asked him. He told me he liked to dance, so I
asked him. If he were to be in town of course. You knew he
said he would try to attend my ball. But it’s even better that
he should be here tonight as well.”

“Lucy, you shouldn’t have. You do not ask a bachelora man who is a virtual stranger. .

“Don’t be silly, Meg! It’s just Charles.”

Meg’s attention again shifted to Cabot’s spot across the
way. A lovely redhead, older than any ingenue, was now
conversing with him. The lady’s gold and white gown,
trimmed in the finest lace, boasted a scant bodice that was
shockingly immodest.

Meg’s face warmed as the woman placed a hand on
Cabot’s shoulder and pressed her generous bosom against
his arm. Meg could tell the two had been close, in a manner
that she could only imagine. That such intimacy could be
so apparent somehow hurt her.

“Who is that … that woman clutching Charles?” Lucy
asked.

“I do not know, Lucy,” Meg said faintly. “You must ask
our aunt.”

“She is positively brazen! I wonder how he can bear it!”

“He does not appear to mind,” Meg remarked, rallying
as she realized that was indeed the case. Her agitated reaction was absurd, missish. Cabot was certainly free to
choose his own company. He was older than Bertie, and
had traveled the world; she should have expected as much.

“The Countess d’Avigne,” Aunt Pru told them disapprovingly. “Formerly Vanessa Paxton. You will remember,
Louisa. Her husband, the French Comte Thibault d’Avigne,
took his own life.”

“Oh, how awful!” Lucy said, sincerely shocked. And
Meg’s gaze returned pensively to the couple.

“You look well, countess,” Chas said as she leaned into
him.

“As well as `La Lawrence’?” she asked archly. “Ah, do not
be surprised, Chas. You see, I am well used to men’s consideration. Of me … or of others”

Chas schooled his features. He was tempted to ask her
why she would choose to give herself more pain. Instead he
said affably, “There is no comparison”

Vanessa smiled and playfully tapped his arm with her fan.

“You are wasted on this insipid place, Chas”

Chas looked at her more closely. She had been several
years older than he, but now he would have guessed considerably more. When, fresh out of university, he had first
met her, Vanessa d’Avigne had been married a decade.
She had chosen, early and avidly, to live freely. Though
young and admiring, Chas had not chosen to join her. But
he had thought of her again while living in Vienna, when he
had heard of the count’s suicide over gambling debts.
How the countess had managed since he had not heard,
but he had known her well enough to be certain that she
would.

“Why are you here, Vanessa?” he asked softly.

“This is my stepdaughter’s first season. I … superintend” She smiled, as though the thought were absurd. “You
would be doing me a kindness, and no doubt thrill the
child, were you to ask her to dance” She nodded toward a
petite brunet standing in a cluster of similarly gowned
debutantes. “Candace d’Avigne.”

“‘Twill be a pleasure,” Chas said, though he regretted
the distraction from his own purpose. Again his gaze
drifted unwillingly to Meg.

“You were always a good boy, Chas,” Vanessa said, “and
now it seems you have become a good man. So I must warn
you to watch yourself. Lord Sutcliffe does not care for attentions to Meg Lawrence.”

Chas looked out over the dancers.

“Then he must be a most unhappy man”

Vanessa laughed.

I believe he must be. But you understand me. And now
because you’ve promised to be kind to Candace I shall be
kind to you. Who knows?” She gave a very Gallic shrug.
“Perhaps such knowledge will be useful someday. I had it
from a friend of d’Avigne many years ago, a friend who had
reason to know.” Again she pressed herself close. “Should it
come to it, Chas, you must choose pistols. The Earl of Sutcliffe shoots highby one or two inches. Though he may
compensate, those two who have survived him avow it. Yes,
I thought that might interest you” She shrugged once more.
“Be careful, mon brave.” She squeezed his arm hard before
taking herself off to livelier entertainments.

Chas’s attention again sought Meg as she moved to the
dance floor with a dazzled mooncalf. The youngsters
seemed to be the only ones approaching her. Perhaps they
had not heard-or Sutcliffe did not concern himself with
the minnows.

He indulged himself by letting his gaze rest on her as
she danced-noting the lustrous dark curls against her
forehead and nape, the cameo pure skin, the slight flush to
her cheeks, her soft curves in the new gown …

“D’you mind telling me, Chas, why I’m dawdling
here-a mere spectator?” Hayden had returned from his
conversation with one of his friends. “If you’ve no intention of dancing I’d prefer to take myself off.”

“A moment, Hayden. There is one more favor I would
ask you” Chas’ attention still followed Meg as she gracefully dipped and twirled on the other side of the room.

Hayden traced his interest.

“Oh mon Dieu. . ” He actually groaned. “You are a
rogue! When you ask a favor of me. . ” His gaze fixed on
Meg’s dark head. “Why did I not recognize the name?
Chas-you must listen. She is Sutcliffe’s.”

“She is not. The devil may stake a claim, but it needn’t
be honored”

“But think, Chas. Sutcliffe has killed others for less. Can
you not … find someone else?”

Chas turned to look at him. Whatever Hayden read on
his face must have convinced him that the possibility was
remote.

“I shan’t be able to have her for myself, Hayden. But I
need to do this. Do you understand?”

Hayden shook his head. For a brief moment he examined Meg Lawrence through his quizzing glass. Then he
asked wearily,

“What d’you want?”

“Go put our names on the Lawrences’ dance cards. You,
at least, shall lend them considerable countenance, Hayden. Assign me an early dance with Lucy, whilst you dance
the same with Meg. Just choose whichever event you feel
you can endure-no doubt she will appreciate one partner
older than twelve. You might oblige me by dancing as well with Lucy later, if you can. But with Miss Lawrence … On
Meg’s card, be most particular to write yourself in a second
time, for the waltz.”

“Two dances with Meg Lawrence, and one the waltz! But
you know I don’t waltz, Chas. I can scarce abide the romp
through a country dance”

“You won’t waltz, Myles” Chas held his cousin’s blue
gaze.

“Ah! I see. Well.” Hayden raised his chin. “Now we are
for it ” He did not dawdle. He walked around to the
Lawrences, stopping only twice for acquaintances-which
must have been a record in alacrity. Chas watched him pay
his respects to the family, saw the plump aunt’s eyes goggling and Lucy’s mouth agape. They had probably never
before seen quite as exquisite a creature as the Marquis of
Hayden. Meg curtsied as Hayden asked for her card. As
Chas sensed her gaze lift to his own he quickly looked elsewhere. He must remember to pay that little attention to
Candace d’Avigne.

At the next pause in the dancing, Hayden returned to him.

“All is in hand, Chas. You have the dance after this
with Miss Lucinda while I lead out Miss Lawrence. The
waltz is the last dance in the next set. And you should
know that Sutcliffe has just arrived with his hell-hound,
Mulmgren.”

Chas nodded and quickly crossed the floor to be presented to Candace d’Avigne. The girl was shocked at his
request, but at a nudge from one of her companions assented at once to the next dance. Chas suspected he had demoted some earnest youngster.

As he led little Candace through the steps, his gaze found Sutcliffe. The earl’s manner commanded attention.
Though he was only of an average height, he had all the arrogance and haughty demeanor of station-the disdainful
set to his lips looked cruel. His dark hair had grayed at the
temples, his sternly chiseled face was thin. His late wife’s
dowry had made him one of the richest men in England,
but apparently he never had enough-if the hungry manner
in which he stared at Meg Lawrence were any measure.