by Donna Hatch
“How can I ever thank you?” The lady accepted her bonnet and inspected it for damage. With a shrug, she put it on and tied it firmly below her chin. Though rather plain, the lady of perhaps sixteen had an open, friendly smile, beautiful teeth, and a certain childlike innocence.
In Meredith’s peripheral vision, a gentleman stared at her. She allowed herself only a glance, but oh my, what a sight! As she pinned her gaze downward, the memory of that brief look at him superimposed itself over her vision—the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Looking at her. Wearing a suit more befitting a ballroom than a garden excursion, he stood a few inches taller than other men nearby. More notably, he had met her gaze boldly, as if he sought to learn all her secrets. No, she’d best not look a second time. She knew better than to trust the attentions of a handsome man.
“Mr. Partridge is looking at you,” Annabel whispered. “I declare he is almost as beautiful as Mr. Barrett.”
Annabel had it backward, actually, but Meredith didn’t contradict.
Pretending to tuck her auburn hair into her hat, Annabel turned slightly toward Meredith so as to make her words even more discreet. “You may recall that his brother is the Duke of Suttenberg—a paragon of a man. Now that would be a family to marry into.”
Being related to a duke made him completely out of reach, even if she dared risk her heart again. Wryly, Meredith said, “The duke or the brother?”
“Both. You seem to have caught Mr. Partridge’s eye. Again.”
“He’s probably wondering what kind of half-wit charges into the street after someone else’s bonnet.” Had she made a complete fool of herself? People in London probably didn’t do such things. “What do you mean ‘again’?”
“He’s the one who looked at you more than once at the St. Cyrs’ ball last week, if you will recall, although you were never introduced.”
She’d met and learned about such a dizzying number of people that she’d failed to remember all of them. Surely, if she’d seen him, she would have remembered.
Annabel tugged on her arm. “We’re next.” She brightened, her expression almost worshipful, as Tristan Barrett smiled at them and gestured to the boats.
“There is room for only two, plus the ferryman, so you need to pair up.” Mr. Barrett gestured to the handsome gentleman who’d been watching her. “Mr. Cavenleigh, will you ride over with Miss Annabel Stafford? And, Mr. Partridge, please ride with Miss Stafford’s friend. Miss . . .?” He glanced between Meredith and Annabel.
Annabel made the introductions. “May I introduce Mr. Tristan Barrett? Mr. Barrett, this is my cousin and my dearest friend, Miss Meredith Brown.” Annabel gave a melting smile to the handsome Mr. Barrett, who was probably the kind of man best avoided with his too debonair smile and too-handsome-for-his-own-good looks.
“Miss Stafford, have you met Mr. Partridge?” Mr. Barrett asked.
Meredith gripped Annabel’s hand without a single glance at the gentleman of whom he spoke. “We are supposed to stay together. I ought not get into a boat with anyone else.”
His eyes widened as if unaccustomed to anyone denying him anything, but nodded. “Very well, you two can take this boat then.” He handed them in while the ferryman kept the boat steady.
Meredith immediately sank down on the bench as the ferry rocked underneath her, threatening to throw her overboard.
Annabel stepped on board with a ballerina’s grace and shot Mr. Barrett a grateful, adoring, smile. “Thank you, Mr. Barrett.” She cocked her head at Meredith and asked under her breath. “You don’t really have to stay with me exclusively. We’re in a public place with a group.”
Meredith sent Annabel an apologetic glance. “Forgive me if you’re disappointed about not riding in a boat with a handsome gentleman, but . . .” How could she explain her near panic?
“You don’t need to apologize, Merry. I understand.” Annabel touched her hand.
But she didn’t understand, not really. How could she?
“Now you two.” Mr. Barrett gestured to the lady with the escaped purple bonnet and her escort.
The lady shrank back. “I . . . I don’t . . .” Her gaze focused on the water growing increasingly dark as the sun sank lower.
“Come now, Miss Harris,” said the gentleman with her. “It’s a short ride to the gardens.”
The frightened Miss Harris’ breath came in ragged gasps. “But the water is dark and swift, and I hear it’s filled with all manner of dangers.”
“It’s safe here, Miss Harris,” her escort responded. “See how many have crossed? The gardens are well worth the little jaunt in the ferry.”
Meredith watched the gentleman with renewed suspicion. Was he really trying to help her or lure her to a place where he could carry out his own agenda? If the lady was in some danger from the man, Meredith would rise up and champion her.
Miss Harris chewed her lower lip as if she feared some great ghost ship would appear and destroy them.
The gentleman spoke softly to Miss Harris, and Meredith strained to hear his words. “If you are truly afraid, we don’t have to do this. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do something against your wishes.”
Meredith let out her breath. Perhaps he was a true gentleman, after all. Still, Meredith would remain close enough to keep an eye on him to be sure that this leopard didn’t change his spots the moment he had the lady alone.
“I do want to see the gardens,” Miss Harris said. “I’ve heard so much about them. Only, I’m so afraid of the river.”
Poor thing. Meredith had no great desire to get near the polluted river either. Still, she could help assuage the lady’s fears. Doing so might also help her manage her own reluctance. When she had become frightened as a child, her governess used to tell her silly stories to distract her, a technique that often worked on adults as well.
Meredith called to the lady. “Have you heard the tale of the foolish woodman and his three wishes?”
The lady turned her attention from the water to Meredith. She hesitated before speaking to her, eyeing her a moment before replying, “Why, no, I don’t believe I have.”
Too late, Meredith realized she’d just addressed a lady to whom she had not been properly introduced. Add that to her long list of social faux pas. Perhaps she should have stayed with Grandmother in Sussex where her parents had banished her. Still, she began her story. “Once upon a time, a woodman went to the forest to fell some timber. As he applied his axe to the trunk of a huge old oak, out jumped a fairy.”
Miss Harris let out a gasp, but her color returned to a healthier shade as she focused on Meredith’s words.
“The fairy begged him to spare her tree,” Meredith continued. “Out of astonishment more so than kindness, the woodman consented.”
So distracted by Meredith’s story, the now calmer lady hardly noticed when Mr. Barrett and her companion helped her into the boat. She sat and fixed wide eyes on Meredith.
Their ferryman put some distance between them, so Meredith raised her voice. “As a reward, the fairy promised him the fulfilment of three wishes.”
Mr. Partridge, the handsome gentleman who had been staring at Meredith, stepped into a boat with a lean, blond gentleman. She spared the stunning dark-haired man only the briefest glance and only the briefest sigh at his beautiful face and how well his shoulders filled out his tailcoat.
“What did he wish for?” the lady with the purple bonnet called.
Meredith smiled. “Whether from natural forgetfulness or fairy illusion, we do not know, but the woodman quite forgot his encounter with the fey world. That night as he and his wife dozed before a fire, the old fellow waxed hungry. Out loud, he said, ‘I wish I had a few links of hog’s pudding.’ No sooner had the words escaped his lips than several links of the wished-for sausage appeared at the feet of the astounded woodman.”
“Mercy me,” Miss Harris said.
One of the boats, the one carrying the handsome overdressed gentleman, Mr. Partridge—not that Meredith was k
eeping track of his whereabouts—and his fair-haired friend bobbed nearby.
“A bit closer, if you please,” Mr. Partridge said in a sweet, smooth baritone.
Meredith never trusted a man with a smooth voice. She cleared her throat. “This reminded the woodman of his strange encounter, which he related to his wife. ‘You are a fool,’ said she, angered at her husband’s carelessness in neglecting to make the best of his good luck. Then the wife unthinkingly added, ‘I wish they were on the end of your foolish nose!’”
Everyone within earshot chuckled in anticipation of the outcome.
“Come now, get closer.” Mr. Partridge whisked an oar out of the ferryman’s grasp.
“Oi! Gimme back m’oar!” his ferryman shouted.
With a few powerful strokes, Mr. Partridge brought the little watercraft so close that Meredith feared they would collide.
“Look out!” Meredith pressed her hands to her cheeks.
A large wave rocked the watercrafts, and the bow of the other boat hit the bow of Meredith and Annabel’s. Painfully slow, they listed to one side. Meredith made a wild grab for something to hold onto, but as the boat tipped, she plunged into the river.
Cold hit her like a blast of winter air. With wildly flailing hands, she grabbed onto the side of the boat before her head went under. She kicked against her skirts. Back home, she’d gone swimming wearing a chemise, not all the layers she presently wore, and barefoot, rather than clad in half boots.
“I’ll save you!” A panicked male voice cried from nearby—probably the same idiot who had knocked her out of the boat in the first place.
“I don’t need saving,” Meredith called. “I have a hold of the boat.”
Annabel and the ferryman hauled her on board by her elbows. As she struggled to her seat, she noticed Annabel sitting, dry, except for a few darkened water spots.
“Are you unharmed, Merry?” her cousin gasped.
Meredith attempted to rearrange her wet skirts. “I’m quite well, if a bit damp. How did you manage not to fall in?”
“The ferryman caught hold of me.”
A sheepish smile crinkled the craggy face of the ferryman. “My apologies, miss. I couldn’t grab you both and keep the boat balanced at the same time.”
“I’m so sorry!” said the same male voice that had promised to save her. Mr. Partridge gaped at her, even more handsome up close. And what a stunning shock of blond in the middle of his rich, dark hair visible beneath his hat’s brim. What a stupid thing to notice at a time like this.
“I cannot believe I did that,” Mr. Partridge gasped. “Please forgive me!”
Her ire toward him for his actions softened at the genuine distress in his expression. But he was still far too handsome and therefore not to be trusted.
“Blamed fool,” his ferryman muttered, gripping his oar and glaring at the clumsy gentleman.
“Can I help you in any way?” Mr. Partridge asked Meredith, clearly aghast.
Annabel sniffed. “You’ve done quite enough, Mr. Partridge.”
He flushed. “I was merely trying to get closer—not run into you. I apologize.”
Next to him, his friend with sandy hair looked as if he couldn’t decide if he were amused or horrified.
Meredith shivered. Her clothing stuck to her, and water sloshed out of the tops of her boots. The whole situation seemed so absurd that she could only do one thing. She laughed.
Annabel stared, then joined in the laughter.
Meredith shivered again. “Well, that was not quite the adventure I imagined.”
Her ferryman said, “Back home, miss?”
“Yes, please,” Annabel said. “We must get her home and into something dry.”
As they rowed back to the shore they had just left behind, Meredith waved to Miss Harris, the lady in the purple bonnet. “Enjoy the gardens!”
Apparently, Meredith would not become the lady’s guardian angel as she’d hoped. She must hope the suitor would prove himself honorable or that Miss Harris would see through his façade before he broke her heart.
Miss Harris gave her a disbelieving smile and waved back. She called out something, but they had traveled out of earshot.
Meredith offered a wry smile to Annabel. “Well, that is certainly the most unusual thing that has happened to me since we arrived in London.”
“Oh, mercy,” Annabel said. “You must be so cold!”
“I am chilled, but fortunately my cloak is wool, so it will keep me from freezing.” She glanced back at Mr. Partridge, who sat twisted in his seat next to his friend and stared at her while his disgruntled ferryman rowed them closer to the far shore.
“What in the world got into him, I wonder?” Meredith mused.
“Obviously, he wanted to get close enough for you to notice him.”
“He succeeded.” She wiped her face with a gloved hand. “Perhaps he wanted to hear my story.”
Annabel made a scoffing sound. “I doubt he will ever forget it—or you. Don’t worry; I’m certain we’ll see him again.”
Meredith shrugged. She had no delusions about finding a husband in London. She’d do well to hope for a respectable country gentleman, like her Grandmother’s vicar, who could give her a home of her own and the joy of children.
Perhaps such a respectable marriage would earn her parents’ forgiveness. In the meantime, she’d do all she could to protect innocent girls from the lies of rakes and fortune hunters.
Chapter Three
Even the next day, Michael Cavenleigh was still laughing over Phillip’s careless actions that led to the dunking of the intriguing young lady in the Thames.
Phillip slouched in his seat at Michael’s bachelor rooms and glared at his friend. He couldn’t keep a straight face for long. To be honest, the sight of Michael laughing again after such a long spell of sorrow, even though said laughter came at Phillip’s expense, was just too refreshing—and relieving—a sight to behold.
“Enough,” Phillip grumbled in mock grumpiness. “I admit, I didn’t think that one through, but I had to get closer, and the ferryman wouldn’t listen to me.”
“You got closer.” Michael chuckled again.
“Obviously, I didn’t mean to tip her boat or make her fall in. I need to be more clever next time.”
“That was clever. I’d wager she’ll never forget you.” Michael wiped his eyes.
“A step in the right direction. If I could only do something to improve her opinion of me. But first I must find her. I have little to go on beyond her being Annabel Stafford’s cousin.” Phillip stood and started pacing. Surely someone else would have noticed the lovely lady with hair the color of a rich brandy and in possession of an inherent kindness to all she met. “I need to gain an introduction.”
“It hardly signifies.” Michael sipped his lemonade, since he’d given up stronger drink years ago.
“How do you figure?”
“She likely won’t ever speak to you.”
“Of course she will. She didn’t seem that upset. She even laughed.” Her lovely, musical laugh, colored with a certain ruefulness, sang to him even in his dreams.
Michael’s mirth mingled with disgust. “You dumped her into the filthiest river in England. You’re both lucky she wasn’t struck by a submerged log or something of the like.”
“Yes, we were both fortunate, indeed, that it didn’t go worse for her. I must find a way to make it up to her. This goes way behind flowers, obviously. Do you have any ideas?”
“Personal gestures are best,” Michael said. “But you don’t know her.”
“No. I must do some sleuthing. Until then, perhaps I could send both flowers and candy. Even if they aren’t her favorites, they will let her know I’m thinking of her and am wholly repentant about it.”
Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Her cousin might be an obstacle.”
Phillip sank back down in the armchair he’d vacated a moment ago. Her cousin, Miss Stafford, had indeed glared all manner of daggers at Phillip.
He clearly fell terribly short of being a paragon like his brother.
Was his inability to be a smooth-talking charmer the reason no one saw Phillip for anything other than a way to marry into the ducal family?
He leaped to his feet again. “I must win them both over—probably her parents, as well, who must not think too kindly of a person who throws their daughter in the river.” A formidable task to be sure, but Phillip had never shrunk from a worthwhile challenge.
“Won’t matter. She won’t give you the time of day.”
Phillip straightened his spine. “She will.”
Michael choked. “Never. You had your chance. Missed it.”
“That will not be my only opportunity.” With a reckless bravado, Phillip added, “I will win her love.”
“Would you care to bet?” Michael’s eyes glittered.
“No. I won’t bet on a lady.”
Michael shrugged. “She won’t have you.”
“I will be persuasive.”
“You?” Michael laughed.
Phillip gritted his teeth. He’d attracted female company in the past—for reasons other than his status. He could do it again if he really tried. “Yes. She is worth it.”
“Worth it? Perhaps. But it’s a lost cause.”
His dismissive attitude raised the hackles on Phillip’s neck. “I will marry her.”
Michael choked, coughed, and laughed. “You don’t know her.”
Phillip struggled against feelings he didn’t entirely understand. “I know enough about her to know that I want her. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”
“I wager anything you name that she won’t have you.”
With growing ire and a sudden need to prove himself, Phillip stated, “Very well. If I win, you must . . .” He considered. What would be costly to Michael? His horses gave him no small measure of pride. He didn’t want to take any of Michael’s prize stock, but perhaps something a bit more fun. “You must ride a mule in Hyde Park during the promenade.”
Michael frowned. “I’d rather die than ride a mule.”