Quiet Meg (19 page)

“Not at all.”

“Cabot,” he began, then hesitated. “Cabot-I am well
aware that events now move-much too quickly-toward
an inevitable conclusion. Though I know you intend only
the best, I would counsel you not to do what you are set
to do.”

The direct words temporarily robbed Chas of response.

“You-ask me not to do this?”

“Yes.

“But sir-Pardon me, Sir Eustace. I can do what you
cannot”

“Unquestionably. But that is not reason enough to do it.
I would never have asked so much of you.”

“I know that, sir. I ask it of myself. In similar circumstances I believe you would have done as much.”

Sir Eustace looked down as he slapped both arms of his
chair.

“Perhaps,” he said. “We shall never know. I cannot ask it of Bertram, who has proposed it He has his strengths, but
in such a confrontation …”

“He must be kept from this,” Chas stressed. “He has
come too close on more than one occasion. He may yet
present a problem.”

“I am sending him to Selbourne-with Margaret-on
Saturday” Cabot nodded, but Sir Eustace said, “There is
another difficulty,” adding pointedly, “Margaret. She will
not let you”

“She will not know.”

“And after?”

A sharp, metallic crash echoed throughout the house.
Someone had dropped an item in back. The sound and the
resulting excited chatter drifting from the supper room
broke some of the tension Chas had felt as they talked.

His course was plotted. He could not let Sir Eustace
sway him.

“I do not permit myself to think of after,” he said
frankly.

“She is like to believe it murder. I fear that is my own influence.”

“It is a good influence, sir. Do you think I intend to present myself to her-after-and say `Miss Lawrence, I have
killed a man. Will you have me?”’ Despite his effort at
composure, Chas knew the words sounded bitter. Sir Eustace simply watched him. “I would not ask her. Whatever
choices she might be free to make after-that is unlikely to
be one of them”

“My boy, I believe you do yourself a disservice.” The
older man’s gaze briefly sought the scarcely distinguishable mourning band on Chas’s coat sleeve. “I understand you
have interests on the Continent?” When Chas reluctantly
nodded, he persisted, “You could not take her there?”

Chas dared not dwell on what the question tacitly assumed.

“I could, sir-if she would go. But such a removal would
only delay the inevitable, as you term it. Sutcliffe also has
interests on the Continent; I understand he comfortably located himself there until just a year ago. I would have to
anticipate pursuit, sooner or later. ‘Tis better to attempt to
free her now, before … before she . . °’

“Cabot, I believe she already has. But she must tell you
herself.”

Chas sighed, to ease the oppression in his chest.

“You mean to hold out your daughter as a prize, Sir Eustace. As though the hope of attainment might alter my
path”

“I mean to give you reason to stay alive, my boy.”

“I cannot be alive, sir, if she is trapped”

As though on signal, the orchestra began to tune up.
Bertram, still adjusting his cuffs, came running down the
stairs with a loud “‘allo, Cabot!” and the butler flung wide
the front doors to the evening air and the sound of carriages.

Again Chas caught the heady fragrance of blooming
lilacs. Even as he shook Bertie’s hand, he realized he felt
drained by the conversation with Sir Eustace. All that had
been accomplished was some weakening of his will; it
lightened his heart to know that Sir Eustace would consent
to his taking Meg away. But he knew such an escape could
never be safely executed, or last for long …

A commotion at the top of the stairs announced the presence of Louisa and Meg, aiding their aunt as she slowly
made her way down the stairs. Chas could not take his gaze
from Meg in a striking, low-cut gown of some fine white
gauzy stuff. Indeed, as he watched her descend, he fought
the urge to do precisely as her father proposed-and spirit
her away across the Channel that night.

“Ladies,” Sir Eustace acknowledged. “Pru, may I present to you Mr. Charles Cabot. Cabot, my sister-in-law,
Lady Billings.”

Chas made his best bow and purposely kept his gaze
from Meg.

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr.
Cabot”

“I am honored to meet you, Lady Billings. I had the
good fortune to speak with your husband many years ago.
At the Royal Society. He gave a lecture on early Etruscan
architecture.”

Lady Billings’s features softened.

“It was a subject most dear to him. You have a good
memory, sir.”

“‘Twas an affecting lecture, my lady.” Chas smiled. Old
Lord Billings had in fact been a most learned gentleman, if
a bit given to circumlocution.

“You are an architect, Mr. Cabot?”

“I trained as one”

“I noticed that you are properly trained in the waltz as
well,” Lady Billings remarked.

“I thank you, my lady. Will you do me the honor this
evening?”

She looked shocked.

“Do not gape so, Pru,” Sir Eustace said. “I suggest you
take advantage of the offer. ‘Tis unlikely to come again.”

Lady Billings shot a sharp look at Sir Eustace, but her
smile at Chas was wide.

“We are not set up for the waltz here this evening, sir.
But I do hope you will be so good as to partner my nieces
again.”

“With pleasure.” Cabot bowed once more and let his
gaze slip to Meg. From where he was standing he could see
her portrait as a child just beyond her right shoulder. The
effect was enchanting-like seeing a fairy creature come to
life. A very womanly fairy creature.

“What happened to the chemisette, Margaret?” her father asked idly, and all of Meg’s luminous skin turned a delectable blush rose. Chas wondered what her father could
mean. The gown was alluring but far from immodest-in
fact he thought it perfect.

“Charles!” Lucy shrieked from the top of the stairs, proceeding to race down at a pace hardly slower than Bertie’s
had been. “I hope you are prepared to dance and dance and
dance. I’m so excited I can scarcely stand. We shall have
hours and hours of music, and Aunt Pru’s chef is the very
best in town-isn’t he, Papa? Oh look! Everyone is here!”

If Chas had nurtured any hope that the incident at Vauxhall had subdued Lucy in the slightest, that hope had just
been firmly dashed. As eager guests flooded into the hall,
Lucy and her family moved to greet them. Chas stayed
back and observed the growing throng. He had best lose
himself in it as soon as possible; under the circumstances there was too much poignancy in being accepted so readily
within the intimate circle of the family.

He eyed the arrivals. Candace d’Avigne had ventured
out with two friends rather than her stepmama, which was a
relief. As he moved to pay his respects, Chas noticed the
advent of the Wemblys, father and both sons. He was surprised and pleased that Harry had managed to attend,
though it astonished Chas that Lucy, after all her complaints, did not appear to share that pleasure. Poor Harry
looked exhausted.

Walter, on the other hand, looked far from exhausted.

Chas wisely removed himself from the Wemblys’ vicinity. He guessed there were several hundred people in attendance. In the course of the first hour, he danced with a
number of sweetly interchangeable debutantes, all the
while keeping most of his attention and all of his thoughts
on Meg. Tonight she did not lack for partners, a fact to
which he had a mixed reaction. When she moved to another part of the house, he moved as well, even as the crush
of guests impeded pursuit. The evening was not as he
would have pictured one of his final ones on earth-he
would have imagined a night of revelry with his cousins, or
one of quiet reflection walking the grounds at Brookslea.
But as he again sought a glimpse of Meg’s dark locks he
knew he could not have been more satisfied.

“You are staring,” Hayden said to his side.

“I do not care”

“She will know.”

“By now-she should” He turned to look at Hayden,
who was examining his cravat and collar through a quizzing
glass.

“Dietz?” he asked.

Chas nodded, as well as he could in the stiff contraption.

“You have possibilities, Chas,” Hayden said dryly.

“Unlikely to be explored. I have just suggested Dietz remove himself to Brookslea. I refuse to be ruled by my valet.”

Hayden sighed.

“There are worse things.”

They parted to do their duty as bachelors, Hayden with
Lucy, and Chas with Lady Billings. The dance was a
quadrille, which Lady Billings navigated with a great deal
of panache. Chas complimented her in its aftermath.

“You are not the only one, young man, who can cut a
dash on the dance floor,” she suggested roguishly.

“We must do this again, Lady Billings.”

“Perhaps at your wedding?”

“Oh, long before that I hope” As he bowed he knew he
had disappointed her. But she was doomed to that in any
event. He would not be offering for her niece.

He presented himself to Louisa, standing nearby, for the
next dance, which was enjoyable enough until he espied
Meg partnered with Walter Wembly for the same. Despite
his best efforts, Chas could not command his gaze.

Louisa noticed.

“He is not near as good a dancer, Mr. Cabot,” she
told him.

“He is a much better physician”

“It is lucky then-that my sister has always been in excellent health.”

He had to laugh.

“You must pardon my aunt, Mr. Cabot,” Louisa added.
“She is elderly-and has her hopes.”

“It is not a bad thing for any of us to have hopes, Mrs.
Ferrell.”

“Except for you?”

As they moved apart in the steps he did not respond. But
his curiosity warred with his good sense. If anyone were
likely to have Meg’s confidence, it was Louisa. When they
came back around again, he asked,

“Should I hope, Mrs. Ferrell?”

“Yes.”

The single word struck him silent. Sir Eustace and
Louisa seemed to be in accord, and intent on shaking his
resolve.

“Lucy is being very bad about Harry,” Louisa remarked.
Indeed, the youngest Miss Lawrence had rebuffed Harry’s
invitations to dance at least three times that Chas had
noted. “Might you say something to her, Mr. Cabot? She
values your opinion.”

“Having thrown me over several times, she now considers me her sage advisor, does she?” They smiled at each
other as they took their leave.

Chas sought out the belle of the ball, who had just finished with Lord Knowles. After one look at her face, Chas
speculated that Knowles’s famed loquacity had eclipsed
even chatty Lucy-even at her own ball.

“I think I must have your cousin Lord Hayden, after all,
Charles,” Lucy mused, as though an offer were outstanding. “His address is so perfect! He is always most attentive
and complimentary, and he does not talk … quite so much
as some. He does dress divinely, doesn’t he? Is he very,
very wealthy?”

“Very, Miss Lucy. Which is why it does him no harm to
spend much of his time gambling”

She frowned.

“And is your uncle, the duke, in good health? I know it
must be a dreadful thing in a family, to have so much of
one’s standing depend on the standing of another. One
would never wish for unfortunate events of course, but they
do happen. Though on its own a marquisate is a very high
station, isn’t it?”

“My uncle is hale and hearty, Miss Lucy, and likely to
live another thirty years or more”

Again the girl frowned.

“Does your cousin have any particular interests or hobbies? Perhaps he is a sportsman, or a scholar, or a patron of
the arts?”

“He is exceedingly fond of port, which will no doubt
give him the gout “

“Oh, but surely he is too young?”

“He is two years older than I, Miss Lucy, and I have
already noticed some gray in those distinctive gold
locks. He is likely to be completely gray within the year.”
As Lucy bit her lower lip, Chas said, “Mr. Harris Wembly did manage to attend tonight, Miss Lucy. Are you not
pleased?”

Lucy roused herself from her blue study.

“If he were going to come he should have told me so, instead of pretending otherwise, and having me so anxious
and upset. I have scarce been able to concentrate on all the
arrangements for the ball, I have been so troubled by Mr.
Wembly’s excuses and delays.”

“Perhaps he did not know until the last minute”

Lucy’s little nose tilted dramatically.

“Some things should come first,” she said.

“Yes,” Chas agreed on a sigh, and let her continue uninterrupted as she eagerly relayed plans to visit Astley’s circus. He had tried. At least he had countered some of her
interest in Hayden.

He joined Hayden and Bertie in observing the ensuing
country dance.

“I believe I have done you a service, Hayden,” Chas
said. “You are a graying, gouty gambler.”

Hayden’s eyebrows rose.

“I promise to return the favor. Perhaps with Miss
Meg?”

“You needn’t trouble. She is avoiding me easily enough
without your reinforcement.” Indeed, as he remarked it
Chas realized that Meg had never once tended in his direction. At once he felt unjustifiably angry, particularly when
he noticed that Walter Wembly was partnering her in this
dance-his second.

“What-should you like to dance with Meggie, Cabot?”
Bertie’s gaze was openly inquiring. Chas reflected that it
was in its own way refreshing-that Lawrence, so taken
with town’s distractions, was capable of being so utterly
oblivious. “I shall nab you the supper dance-the second in
the next set”

“Thank you, Lawrence”

As the dance came to a close, Ferrell and a morose
Harry drifted over to their quiet group.

“Harry is being cut,” Ferrell informed them.

“I cannot make her out,” Harry said. “I have done just as
she wished. I slaved to take my exams early. I could not
possibly have done more.” He drew a deep breath. “I shall
probably be plucked. Yet she promises only … to drive me
mad.” He watched Lucy step lightly through the last measures of the dance. “Thank God for my work.”