Quiet Meg (5 page)

He thought of a poacher-but a poacher would have
fled at his approach. A poacher could not have afforded
such a horse. And a poacher would not have been studying
him, as though seeking to identify him. Chas set the bay to
run at him.

Instantly the rider wheeled his mount, urging the animal
to a dangerous gallop through the undergrowth. Chas
chased him far enough to know that he had left Selbourne
land and headed to the main road and the local town of
Buxley. There were any number of places for him to hide
on that route. And he had already vanished into the trees in
the gathering dusk.

Chas drew his horse to a walk and turned back. The
furtive rider’s presence had to be linked to the arrival of
Meg Lawrence. And that led him to think of Sutcliffe.

Chas had thought at first to excuse the earl. After his
own extraordinary reaction to the girl, Chas had been inclined to forgive the man’s enchantment. But now he suppressed all sympathy. Sutcliffe had stolen her once; he might
be contemplating a second attempt. He had pursued her
here on the very day of her return.

Chas’s immediate desire to protect her was intense. It served as a reminder of his sole image of her, standing by
the coach in the sunlight, more dazzling than the sunlight.
And though he had never proposed building an impassable
moat on a property, he wondered if he should devise one
for Selbourne.

Meg watched him return in the half-light of dusk. He
had superb form-he was an excellent rider. Better than
excellent, for he was riding Arcturus, her father’s former
favorite.

She wondered where he had learned to ride. Taller men
sometimes looked awkward in the saddle; Charles Cabot
was not one of them. Her father must have seen him
astride. She knew her father would term him a natural.

And Arcturus! Never had the spirited bay looked so
docile.

Meg moved away from the window. Her room had always provided refuge-after her mother’s death, after the
disastrous weeks in town for her comeout, after Douglas’s
duel. Now that Charles Cabot was working in the suite below, Meg found it less of a haven.

She carelessly pulled some items from a satchel. One
look on the drive, when she could scarcely distinguish his
face, when she had never heard his voice, when she knew
little of him-one look could mean nothing. She had been
tired from her journey, that was all, and disturbed by the
unexpected presence of Sutcliffe’s agent. She promised
herself that when she went down to dinner she would find
Mr. Charles Cabot did not appeal in the least.

She felt brave until she met an excited Lucy on the
stairs.

“Oh Meg, you must promise me. Promise me, please, that
you will not … that you won’t … encourage him to … Oh,
you know what I wish to say! It is so important just now that
he..”

“Lucy, dearest. I have no interest in attaching your Mr.
Cabot. I only hope that he deserves your regard. After all,
sweet, a gardener..

“But Meg, he is so much more! Just wait, you will see.
Father and Bertie like him. He was with Bertie at university.
And he has traveled everywhere! You must not judge him so
Meg, for he might be, that is, I think he might be …”

“I shall not harm him, Lucy,” Meg assured her with
some amusement. “I am in no doubt of your esteem for
him. I only hope that he returns your sentiments. Father
and Bertie have counseled you to leave him be”

“They do not know what it is to … to care. But Meg,
you do, so I am glad you understand.”

Even as she kissed Lucy on the cheek, Meg knew her
sister was mistaken. She did not know what it was to care.
She had never had that experience. She had only begun to
live her life when others had been forced to lose theirs.

Bertie entered the hall and spotted them on the stair.

“What are you two doing up there? We’ve been waiting
to go in to supper. You can have your natter later. Meggie,
come meet Cabot”

She linked her arm through Lucy’s as they descended
the last flight of steps, ashamed that she should cling to her
little sister as though to a crutch. But she kept her chin high.

He was standing at her father’s side, in front of the fire.
She noted everything about him at once-his height, his
shoulders, his face, his eyes. For a second the drawing room, so familiar to her, seemed foreign. I have never been
here before, she thought, lost in his deep brown gaze. Then
she looked away, and smiled at her father.

“Meg, may I present Mr. Charles Cabot, architect and
landscaper without equal. Cabot, this is m’sister, Margaret”
Bertie had somehow managed to pry her from Lucy and
push her forward.

“How do you do, Mr. Cabot,” she said. She found herself
unable to raise her gaze above his neckcloth.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss
Lawrence” His voice was low and calm. This time he bowed
formally, gallantly. She noticed that his dark blond hair
caught the firelight. But his gaze shot up to capture her
own. “I have admired your kitchen garden”

“Oh-” She struggled with the compliment, even as she
watched a slow smile grace his face. “You must not make
too much of a few herbs, Mr. Cabot. They grow almost like
weeds” As he straightened, her attention fled once again to
his neckcloth.

“They are most agreeably placed weeds, Miss Lawrence”

Meg focused on her father.

“Father, you must tell Mr. Cabot how disagreeable the
process was by which we planted that garden. I believe you
thought me stubborn”

“Indeed. You were a terror, Meg. You had the entire staff
trembling for months. I shall never recover. But you were
only sixteen, m’dear. And as Cabot says, the results were well
worth it. I am only thankful”-and he winked at Cabot”that his own improvements have not been as disruptive”

“Perhaps they will be-now that Meggie is home,” Bertie
suggested.

All of them laughed.

“I would appreciate Miss Lawrence’s advice,” Cabot
said politely.

“Ah, do not wish it, my boy,” her father said. “Not if you
still intend to finish by the end of the month.”

So soon! Meg hoped her face did not show her dismay.
Yet she should have been glad.

I would like to see your plans, Mr. Cabot,” she said, this
time looking to the fire instead of his neckcloth.

“I would like to show them to you, Miss Lawrence”

“But not just now,” Bertie said, “for I am famished,” and
grabbing Meg’s hand he drew her quickly across the hall to
the dining room. “What do you think?” he asked as he hovered next to her.

She had no time to respond, as her father and Lucy and
Cabot had followed them into the dining room. Lucy sat directly across from her. Cabot kindly helped position her father’s chair at the head of the table, then took the seat to
Lucy’s left.

“I understand you rode up to the north park this afternoon,” Bertie quizzed Cabot. “I thought we were to do that
on the morrow?”

“We shall, Lawrence. Naturally I-was unable to address the task we’d discussed.”

“What do you intend with the north woods, Charles?”
Lucy asked, and Meg stared-surprised that her sister should
address him so casually.

“It could use some thinning to open cross views to the
surrounding countryside. Just now it is quite a wilderness.
A difficult ride, much less a walk. I wished your brother’s
thoughts regarding its best use. The house cannot be seen from its furthest reaches, nor”-he paused-“can it be
seen in its entirety from the house.”

“Perhaps we should take Meggie tomorrow morning as
well,” Bertie suggested.

“I shouldn’t think that at all advisable.”

He spoke so abruptly that Meg forgot she was studiously
avoiding his gaze. His own attention to her was very direct
and serious.

“Margaret is an excellent rider, Cabot,” her father said.
“You needn’t fear she will hold you up-as Lucy did the
other day.”

“I do not question her skills, sir. I fear for her safety”

Bertie cleared his throat.

“I have not told you yet, father, that Joe Coachman said
they were followed from Bristol, and then from the posting
house at Marlborough, and that a rider passed them just shy
of our gate. He peered in at Meggie.”

“The devil you say!” Her father looked livid. “One of
Sutcliffe’s?”

“I fear so, father. The earl has not forgotten”

“Neither have I! Of all the impudence..

“Father, please do not excite yourself,” Meg said, reaching for his hand. “He is all bluster and bark, not bite. He
would not dare approach me again.”

“Miss Lawrence, I must disagree.” Cabot drew her gaze
once more. “For I startled a rider inside Selbourne’s north
boundary this evening. And he was not neighborly.”

“That is … that is why you do not wish me to ride with
you tomorrow morning?”

He nodded briefly.

“Mr. Cabot, this is my home. I refuse to be intimidated
by Lord Sutcliffe or his lackeys.” She raised her chin. “I
shall ride with you tomorrow.”

Cabot’s gaze held hers for a moment, then he looked
across at Bertie.

“Well then, Lawrence,” he said with a tight smile. “Tomorrow we ride armed “

“I told you Meggie was a direction all her own, did I not?”

“This is not a humorous situation, Mr. Cabot,” Meg said,
daring to glare at him.

“I understand that, Miss Lawrence. But do you?”

As she met his gaze, Meg realized she resented him for
what he had just accomplished. He had reminded her that
she placed others at risk; he had reminded her that she was
a prisoner in her own home. Nothing, it seemed, had
changed.

“You will be able to ride out once we’ve assured ourselves that no one is lurking about, Margaret” Her father
took her hand. “It is too soon. Let Bertram and Cabot
reconnoiter on their own tomorrow.”

Meg swallowed her pride. She concentrated on the meal,
until a discussion of Lucy’s little mare lacking exercise
prompted Meg to look to Cabot once more.

“Where did you learn to ride, Mr. Cabot? I saw you return this evening on Arcturus. He is not an easy mount”

“No, I would never describe him so. But he is also a joy,
as I gather you well know. Your father recommended him to
me. I learned to ride when very young, at my grandfather’s
stables near Milan. He was Italian, Miss Lawrence. From
the Piedmont ” He added the last with pride.

“And his grandfather raced many of the horses,” Lucy
added. “And there was also a castle, a-a castello! Did I
say it correctly, Charles?”

Meg’s eyebrows rose.

“You speak Italian, Mr. Cabot?”

“Oh he does, Meg, and French and German and Spanish,” Lucy offered, as though she’d had a hand in the accomplishment. “Oh, and English too, of course”

“You must have a talent for languages,” Meg said.

“You are kind. But ‘twas rather a need to understand my
family-an Italian grandfather, his English and Austrian
wife, my French grandmere and her English husband..

“The late Duke of Braughton,” Lucy hastened to supply.

Cabot smiled at Lucy before looking at Meg once more.

“There is only just enough there to make me an Englishman.”

“And where is your home, Mr. Cabot?” she asked.

His reaction surprised her. For a moment he looked disconcerted. Surely the man had a home?

“Cabot’s been granted Brookslea, in Hampshire, by his
uncle, the present Duke of Braughton,” Bertie said. “I say
again-a fine place that, Cabot”

“So you live at Brookslea?” Meg asked.

“Not yet, Miss Lawrence. I visit on occasion. I have
rooms in town, on Bond Street. And my work takes mewell, to Selbourne, for example.”

“He will live at Brookslea when he settles,” Lucy said.

“Ah! You have plans then?” Meg asked, though she feared
the answer.

“No,” he said shortly, and his brown eyes looked almost
black. “No plans.”

“None of us ever does have plans, my boy,” her father
said. “But the devilish things pop up and take over.”

“Father, you are describing the opposite of plans,” Bertie
laughed. “Now I remind you, Cabot, after supper I’d like
Meggie to see the drawings.”

“Of course,” he said, and smiled at Bertie before turning
his attention to his meal. Meg noticed that Cabot smiled
easily at every other member of her family; indeed, he was
treated almost like one of them. But he did not smile at
Meg. Despite his compliment of the kitchen garden, she
sensed a distance in him, as though he disapproved of her.
Such disregard was new to her-she seemed to have developed a desire for masculine praise. Perhaps she had spent
too much time with her elderly aunt in tiny Tenby. But she
did not want the man’s favor, she told herself. Even if Lucy
had not set her cap for him, Meg would not have sought his
notice.

She stole glances at him as he ate.

“Papa,” Lucy said. “Charles says he may be in town late
May, so I have invited him to my comeout ball.”

“Cabot, you must stop humoring the girl,” her father
said. “Of course you are most welcome-whatever the date
or engagement. But you must feel no obligation. I still hope
Lucinda might learn some manners. She is a bit of a romp”

“Papa!” Lucy cried.

“Meggie, you must help us keep Lucy in hand,” Bertie
said.

“I suspect Lucy needs only an extensive wardrobe and
three months in town” She smiled across at Lucy, who sent
her a grateful look.

“How you females do pull together,” her father said, but he patted her hand. `If Louisa were here tonight we would
be reduced to discussing the trimming of bonnets”

“It would serve you right, father.”

“Ah, Margaret! It is good to have you home.” He kept
hold of her hand. Meg noted with a pang that he looked
grayer than when she had left the previous May.

He spent some time inquiring after his sister Elizabeth
and discussing her move to Cheltenham. But they did not
tarry over the meal, for Meg was tired after her journey, and
Bertram and Cabot wished an early start in the morning.
Mr. Cabot, Meg learned, would be leaving the next day to
visit other properties. He would be away most of the week.