Quiet Meg (25 page)

“You did not wish to marry?”

“I did not expect it.”

“Ah, Meg. I see that you are the daughter of Sir Eustace
Lawrence, barrister!” She smiled. “What did you wish for,
then?”

“I wished-for him to love me”

“But you have your wish, Meg. You are all to Charles.
He could not love you more.”

Meg sat up straighter in the well-plumped chair.

“Where is he then?”

“Ah! He hurts you, when he would never want to. So, I
must tell you something more of Charles-and of men”
She turned to the maid, who had returned with a tray bearing steaming cups of broth and a basket of rolls. “I hope
you do not mind, Meg. My physician tells me that I must
have these small meals at the odd hours. You will join me?”

Meg nodded, and accepted some broth. Her appetite was returning, or the broth was exceptionally good. It tasted delicious.

“Now-” the duchess said, “I know only that Charles is
with his cousins tonight. I cannot say where. Not at just this
hour. Perhaps at White’s club. They may stay there very
late. But then they will return to Myles’s house. That is Hayden’s, ma belle,” she added at Meg’s quick frown. “This
house is not too far from here. But please, do not think to
go running to him.”

“Am I … a prisoner here then, Therese?”

“No, no. If you wish to leave, you may. I hope you will
not wish to leave. You may return to your father, you may
go even to Sutcliffe, I cannot stop you. But thoughts of
Charles should stop you. Because you may endanger yourself, and you will certainly endanger Charles. He means to
duel. If you go to Sutcliffe, Charles will find it tres docile,
and Sutcliffe will find it easier.”

“You have known of his plans-all this time?”

The duchess shook her head.

“No, Meg-my Charles has told me very little, when he
used to tell me all. But I am most pleased. Enchante!” She
smiled.

“But-this duel! He told me he had pledged to you not
to go to war, yet you condone a duel?”

“Ah, ma belle … Of course I fear for him. Mon petit
Charles! But he is a man. He would not choose this path if
he did not believe it right and trust himself capable. You are
part of him now-of his honor. He must have you safe. I
pray Charles also will be safe. He does this for you, Meg,
because he loves you”

“I did not want him to do this.”

“Of course you did not. But you think it is wrong?”

“It … repels me. It is not … It is not that I think Sutcliffe is good. What he did to my father cannot be forgotten,
will never be forgotten. He deserves to suffer, perhaps to
die. I have thought of murdering him myself, Grandmere!
But it must not be on his … on Cabot’s conscience. What a
terrible gift for me to give to him! Do you understand?”

“I understand very well-that you have both tried to give
each other much, and that you have not yet had the pleasure
of discovering this for yourselves” She looked kindly at
Meg, who had set her cup of broth aside and pulled the soft
blanket comfortingly up to her chin. “This concern for the
conscience-is a good concern. But I think honor is more. I
have known men who believed that they could surrender
honor for love, or for money, or perhaps for conscience. But
they are broken. They are never the same. You must comprehend, Meg. Charles is a serious man. The only thing he
will fear is that you will not forgive him.”

“Forgive him?”

“For forcing you to this-to marriage. And for pushing
Sutcliffe to this.”

“Sutcliffe pushes himself. He is-obsessed.”

“L’idee fixe. Oui. It is a madness. And yet he is not mad. I
cannot comprehend. His desire to possess is great. It is most
unlike Charles. With Charles, the wish to give is much
greater than the wish to take. He will cherish you. His loveis a man’s love.”

“But surely this … our marriage … must prevent a duel?”

“Ah! Je regrette-non. The marriage protects you. And
kept you from a most unfortunate choice. Had you gone to Sutcliffe, you would have ruined yourself-you would
have killed Charles. Does he know that you love him, ma
belle? I think he would not believe you could love him and
give yourself to Sutcliffe.”

I … have explained to him”

“Bon.” Again she smiled. “You are a surprise to him,
Meg. You were not to act, you see. He did not plan it. And
how Charles plans! Since he was a boy. At twelve years, he
lost his father, who fought Bonaparte. Then his grandfather, a noble from Milan, died imprisoned in France. Again
by Bonaparte! Everything of the family Cabot is destroyed.
Soon his mother, my daughter, is taken by the typhus” The
duchess looked to the fire. “He was only fourteen when he
came to stay at last with us at Braughton, and my dear husband passed within the year.” She shook her head. “So
much of home-to slip so quickly from him! I think this is
why he builds, why he must arrange the earth. The trees
and streams must go here just so, where he would place
them, oui?” She smiled. “But some things he does not
touch. They please him. C’est interessante, West-ce pas? That
he has also this understanding. There must be certain freedom.” She roused herself from contemplating the fire.

“But now you are his home, Meg. The Englishman fights
for his home-his castle, yes? Charles is stubborn. He
chose this course, I think, soon after meeting you. He has
known from the first.

“The duelingit is terrible,” the duchess admitted. “But
is it not better than the family disputes, the feuds that last for
generations? Your brother was, he is still, much at risk. My
own brother dueled twice. For those in a certain position …
of a certain standing, it is a form of law. No one will touch the Earl of Sutcliffe in your father’s courts. They have not
done so, have they, ma belle? They have not because of his
station. Yet he cannot be permitted to continue.”

“Charles … would not leave England with me,” Meg said.

“Never! This is not right. Why should you leave your
home?”

“If Charles does not … if he should not survive, Sutcliffe will take me anyway”

“No, no, Meg. If such should occur, and it will not, my
son Braughton would see Sutcliffe banished forever! Do
you understand? You are now of the house, of the family.
But Charles,” she said firmly, “will succeed”

Meg wanted that assurance. But she could not trust it.
And despite the warm fire and the hot broth, she felt a chill.

“You are very certain of the outcome, Grandmere.”

“Bien sur! I know Charles,” she said with a smile.

“Yes. But I fear that I know Sutcliffe.” Meg again looked
to the fire. “How long do you think we must wait?”

“I expect to hear from one of my grandsons in the morning. They are very close. They will see to each other. You
have met Myles, yes? But David, his brother, I think you do
not know.”

“I met him today. The major. Lord David.”

The duchess nodded.

“My happy David … I have seen him only once these
five years! He laughs still, but he is sad. He has lost so
many friends. All he knows is war. Now my son Braughton
hopes to employ him-to marry the neighbor’s girl! I think
I must do something…” She tapped one fragile finger
against the arm of her chair. “Braughton toys with marriage. It is for him a tool!”

“Cabot-Charles said just this evening that marriage
was nothing-a construct “

“Did he say so? He thought to sway you with such nonsense? No, I think he tries to tell you how you may perceive
it-if you wish to end it. He must have been angry when he
said this. He did not mean it. I hope you will not wish to
end it, ma cherie”

“I do not wish to end it”

“No, I did not think so. You must convince Charles.”

I cannot convince him of anything, Meg thought desperately, when he is not here.

“Yes, I am most pleased with Charles,” the duchess said,
again tapping a finger as she looked to the fire. “But Myles!
Mon Dieu!”

“Why should Lord Hayden disappoint you? He ismuch esteemed.”

“Esteemed? Yes, most clever, most amusing-all the
fashion! But where is the purpose-the passion? He is close
to Charles, to David, but all else is nothing. His father-my
son, requires much from him-and receives what he expects. But it is all duty, duty. I fear Myles will wed someone
very grand, very cold, to please his father!” She shook her
head. “Quel desastre! But now he is tired of his Grandmere. Que dois je faire?

Meg felt for the duchess, but thought the day’s wedding
should not be upheld as a model.

“Ma belle Meg, I have been thoughtless. I have indulged
myself with talk-with an old woman’s complaints-when
you are tired. I must let you sleep” With the support of her
cane, she moved to rise from her seat. Meg pushed her blanket
aside and rose to help. She took the elderly woman’s left arm.

“It has been a pleasure, Grandmere. You must not think
you have tired me”

As she leaned fully on her cane, the duchess withdrew
her arm from Meg’s grasp and reached to caress her cheek.

“Ma cherie, you are most gracious, and so tall! Like
Charles. Like his cousins. But now everyone in life is tall
to me!”

“You appear to be in excellent health, Grandmere,”
Meg said.

“Ah! You tell the tall tales-also like my grandsons!
Well, it is better to hear this `gammon’ as Myles would say.”
Again she shook her head. “His language-it is incomprehensible! And your Charles insists he will not speak French
with me. He says that I must be the English duchess! He is
so stern. Meg, ma cherie, I hope you will speak French
with me. I am old. I would find it most agreeable.”

“As you wish, Grandmere,” she said.

“Tu es charmante, Meg. You will see-your Charles
adores you. He will make you most happy. And he will be a
fine father.” As Meg blushed, the duchess touched her on the
cheek. “Now you must dream of him. We shall hear from
him in the morning.” And Meg’s face was still warm as the
duchess departed.

has attempted to hold the dream-of Meg at Brookslea, in her blue riding habit, walking toward him across
the lawn. But she slipped further and further away, though
he wished her closer, and he heard voices-his cousins,
speaking low and urgently. As the carriage lurched, Chas
realized where he was, and that the tense conversation
about him had nothing to do with the morning’s mission.

It was still dark. He kept his eyes closed and stayed
propped against the squabs, nestled into his comfortable
corner. He wanted to remain as calm and quiet as possible.
But he was also, quite frankly, curious.

“I don’t remember a girl,” David was saying. “Just great
noisy bands of boys. Always missing teeth and scuttling
about the countryside in dirt and patches. Look at one of
‘em the wrong way and you’d risk reprisals-painful ones
to boot. Or some brand of vexation”

“The girl’s the youngest. With four-no, five brothers”

“Egad. Do you recall her looks? Missing teeth, perhaps?”

“All the Caswells look alike. Skinny little dab of a thing.
Hair rather-oh, mouse, I suppose. I don’t recall any missin’
teeth, though there must have been at one time, of course.
From all accounts she turned out well enough”

“Well enough,” David echoed. “Then what’s wrong with
her?”

“Wrong with her? I shouldn’t think anythin’s wrong with
her-ceptin’ she has five brothers. One was in the Horse
Guards, by the by.”

David snorted dismissively.

“Didn’t she take?” he asked.

“Not out yet. Been shunted off to schools for years”

“How old?”

“Just eighteen.”

“Hang it, Myles-I’m no nursemaid. Why’s father doing this?”

“He’s not done anythin’ yet. Merely suggested..

“In the manner of a command.”

“Good heavens, David. You may choose whomever you
wish. Unlike some of us. And you will have the satisfaction
of knowing you are chosen for yourself, and little else.”

“Do not sound so forlorn, Myles. You are well aware that
half the females in the country would still find you adorable
even if you weren’t Hayden”

“Adorable? You flatter me. And-poor boy-you are appallingly naive. I shall have to educate you.”

“You? Educate me?”

“Well-‘tis true you’ve spent untold hours in too many
pestilent pits. But I’d wager they are nothing to the ton in season for tramplin’ a man’s spirits. I swear some ladies are
so fond of the married state they’re recirculatin’ !”

David smothered a laugh.

“Perhaps the word has passed. That anything in a skirt
worth looking at, the Marquis of Hayden has looked at.”

“You make me out a regular roue”

“Aren’t you?”

“My dear David-have you been listenin’ to Grandmere?”

For a moment there was silence, then David asked,

“What’s father’s obligation to Caswell anyway? Why
doesn’t he foist the brat on you? You’d be the logical
choice as you … Ah!-I see. How convenient for you,
Myles. I’ve been your dupe once more. Why, you’re worse
than father with your scheming! Look here, I haven’t sold
out yet, devil it. I’ve a mind to head back without even
stopping at home. I’d rather be a pawn for Wellington than
father.”