If You Wished For Me (The Farthingale Series Book 7)

by Meara Platt

  She sighed in exasperation. “Yes, I promise. Do I have a choice? But please tell your cousins to stop matchmaking for me. The last suitor they sent my way kept referring to me as Lady Martha. And that toad, Wilton, referred to me as Lady Meredith. I did not have the heart to correct either of them.”

  William studied her a moment longer than was comfortable. She squirmed under his intense gaze. He really had exquisite blue eyes. “No, it isn’t a matter of your heart,” he began slowly, “but a matter of hurt and anger. I would have been angry, too. It happens to me all the time, Megs. Young women batting their eyes at me, pretending to swoon over me when all they’re really interested in are the coins jingling in my pockets.”

  “I don’t think they pretend, William. You do have certain swoon-worthy qualities.”

  He cast her another devilish grin and bent forward slightly to put his ear close to her lips. She caught the divine scent of musk on his skin and quickly held her breath. The subtle but heady scent of him was making her tingle. He didn’t appear to notice, for he was still too busy teasing her. “Wait, say that again. I have what?”

  “Swoon-worthy qualities, you dolt,” she said, laughing again. “You also happen to have plenty of irritating qualities, so don’t get too full of yourself.”

  He eased back, his appealing grin broadening. “How can I when you won’t ever let me?” He smoothly moved them into dancing position, shifting his hold on her hand and placing his other hand on her waist as he guided her into the crowd of dancers who were already hopping and stomping to the lively tune.

  They spoke no more, for the reel required them to shift partners often, and she could not have gotten more than a word in before she was twirled to face another partner. But the oddest thing happened to her in those brief moments when she was in William’s arms.

  His touch continued to send tingles shooting through her body.

  It couldn’t be happening.

  No doubt it was a mistake.

  William was…well, he was William.

  It was of no significance that her brother and both of her cousins had fallen in love and married Farthingales. Ewan and Lily. Desmond and Adelaide. Evangeline and William’s own father, George.

  Meggie laughed inwardly. Her grandfather would have a fit of apoplexy if his last grandchild followed in their footsteps. No, even she thought it was a bit much for one more Cameron to fall in love with a Farthingale.

  What was it about that family?

  The reel came to an end, and William refused to escort her back to her spot against the salon wall. Instead, he took her straight into the lion’s den by depositing her with Daffodil, Daisy, and Laurel. The three of them were standing by the salon window overlooking the Farthingale garden, quietly chatting among themselves. They stopped and smiled at her as she approached.

  Their gazes turned speculative when they noticed she was with William. “No, no, no,” she said the moment William had walked away and was out of earshot. “Do not dare think to match me with your cousin.”

  Daisy looked at her askance. “The thought hadn’t crossed our minds. You and William?” She gave a light shudder. “No, indeed. Not a match at all.”

  Why not?

  Did they find her lacking?

  Daffodil, known as Dillie among the family, nodded in agreement. “He’s too young for you. You can’t marry a man so close in age to you. He’s still too busy sowing his wild oats. Too bad he isn’t a few years older.”

  “Indeed,” Laurel said. “Anyone can see he is nowhere near ready to settle down. Look, he’s already scouting the crop of young ladies in our salon. Aha, he’s just spotted his next quarry. Oh, no. He’s eyeing that dimwit, Lady Dorothea Bellows. Her head is so empty, her voice echoes off its cavernous walls whenever she speaks.”

  “But she is the daughter of a duke,” Dillie added.

  Daisy nodded. “And she is beautiful. An utter ninny but beautiful.”

  Meggie stifled her disappointment. “Excuse me. I have yet to greet Lady Eloise. I think I see her sitting alone in the corner.”

  Lady Eloise Dayne lived next door to the Farthingales. Her grandsons were married to Laurel and Daisy so she was more than a mere neighbor, but as much a part of the Farthingale family as the Camerons had become.

  Of course, Lady Eloise was not sitting alone.

  Nor was she in the corner.

  But that’s where Meggie went. Back to the corner where William had found her. Back to the pale blue walls that matched her gown.

  If only she could dye her hair that same pale blue.

  She had just settled comfortably back in her hiding spot when William glanced over and noticed her. His expression turned from gleeful to a frown that was thunderously dark. Exquisitely gorgeous but still ominously dark.

  He left Dorothea’s side and strode across the room toward her, his stormy expression never wavering.

  “Oh, drat.” She did what any young woman in her circumstances would do when approached by the handsomest man in the room.

  She fled the salon.

  Chapter Two

  Several young ladies stepped in William’s path and fluttered their eyelashes at him, but William was a man with a purpose, and that purpose was to find Meggie Cameron and shake some sense and a good dose of courage into the timid girl.

  He knew she’d had a tough go of it in her debut Season, having been thrown into it about three years ago with nary a lesson to acquire the skills necessary to enter Society. London Society could be as fierce as Napoleon’s army. It seemed she had never outgrown the terror of that first year. “Megs, don’t you dare run away from me.”

  He caught her by the hand as she attempted to hide behind the large oak tree standing in the center of the Farthingale garden. “I’m not running from you. It is everyone else I don’t wish to see.”

  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why not? You know everyone here. Well, just about everyone. Mostly all my family is here. Aunt Sophie didn’t have time to throw together more than this quick party. No one expected me home before next year.”

  “Quick party? Half of London is here.” She shook her head and sighed. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, William. Truly. Go back inside and enjoy your family. Your father has been walking on air all day knowing that you’re here to share the Yuletide festivities with him. He missed you so much and worried over you the entire time you were gone.”

  “I know,” he said quietly, his expression softening. “I missed him, too. I could have used his medical skills when that damn marauder shot me in the–”

  “William, I shall club you if you mention your fuzzy derriere to me again.” She shook her head and laughed. “You’re making me giggle again.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m not usually an ill-humored harpy, I assure you. And I do enjoy your family. I just don’t manage well at these large gatherings. They make me feel awkward.”

  “Still?”

  She nodded. “My grandfather has spent a veritable fortune on tutors these past two years in the hope of turning me from a Scottish thistle into a perfect, English rose.”

  “You’ll never be that. Who wants perfection anyway?” He took her shoulders in his grasp and squeezed lightly. “Nobody’s perfect. Not even me,” he teased. “And forcing you to take on English manners will not enhance your allure.”

  “Do you mean the allure that no one believes I possess?”

  “Any man whose jaw doesn’t drop to the floor at the delicious sight of you is a fool.” He gave a low growl. “What’s going on? Feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not at all. I know I am exceedingly fortunate. But this cultured Society isn’t for me. I’m not really a coward. Nor am I completely lacking in grace. And I do love your family. But everyone is determined to find me a match this year, and I’m at my wits end trying to figure out how to stop them.”

  Her breath came out in wispy trail of vapor, for it was cold outdoors and she had n
othing on but her silk gown. William released her to shrug off his jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. “There. Better?”

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  “Don’t you wish to marry, Megs?”

  “I did once,” she admitted, casting him an unexpectedly pained glance. “But I don’t think anyone will have me now…that is, nor would I want them to…that is, er…” Her voice trailed off and she tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her.

  His heart tightened. “What is this nonsense? Has someone hurt you? Tell me who that bounder is and I shall pound his face to dust.”

  “No, William.” She overlooked his teasing bravado and seemed to struggle with her next words. Her manner appeared so desperate, he worried that this was far more serious than anyone in the family realized. “There is no bounder. You can’t possibly understand.”

  “Try me. I’m listening.”

  “You needn’t. I’ve come to terms with…there’s no use…”

  He placed his hands lightly back on her shoulders that were lost within the folds of his jacket and shook her gently. “If you are about to tell me that you are meekly resigned to your fate, whatever that fate may be, then I don’t want to hear it. But if you want to fight back, I’ll help you. I’ll fight right beside you.”

  She frowned at him, her soft eyes blazing so that he knew she still had a fire burning within her. She gave a little harrumph and stared pointedly at his hands that were still on her shoulders. “I am not an oak tree,” she said, taking a step away from the tree under which they were standing. “Acorns will not pop out of my ears no matter how hard you shake me.”

  Had he been too rough with her? “I’m sorry, Megs. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She sighed. “You didn’t. I’m merely being surly again. Very well, if you wish to help me, then ask your family to leave me alone for now. I’ll let them know when I’m ready.”

  William’s father had taught him a trick early on. The simple trick was to remain silent, for most people felt compelled to fill the void of that silence and would talk. That’s what he wanted Meggie to do, talk to him. Confide in him.

  He wasn’t certain why her happiness had suddenly become important. Perhaps it was because he’d been her protector when she’d first arrived in London and those protective instincts had never gone away. In truth, his family’s orders to escort her about town and keep a watchful eye on her were likely given to stop him from running wild and doing the foolish things young men often seemed to do.

  Whatever the reason back then, it had worked.

  Meggie was his to protect and he wasn’t about to turn his back on her when she obviously needed his help. Besides, he’d enjoyed Meggie’s company and still did. For some odd reason, she seemed to bring out the best in him.

  “I want to marry for love,” Meggie said, the soft, Scottish lilt of her voice filling the chill night air. “I hope someday to find the man who will love me enough to overcome…everything.”

  “Overcome? Everything?” He was beginning to worry that she was running from something truly serious, something she meant to hide from family and friends while she tried to fix it on her own. “What has happened?”

  “I’ve said too much. It isn’t important.”

  “Right, not important. Just something trivial that’s managed to crush your heart.” He shook his head in frustration, wishing he knew what Meggie was talking about. He meant to find out. Not now, not in the middle of this family party since his snoopy cousins were peering out the salon window and tossing him questioning glances. He supposed they were also confused by Meggie’s reticence and had to be as concerned as he was.

  It was obvious to all that Meggie’s heart was broken. It was obvious that she was hurting badly on the inside. She used to confide in him. They’d had that easy sort of friendship, so it was quite frustrating to him that she would not open up and tell him why. Perhaps she needed a little more time to figure it out for herself.

  But he did not have time. He was only in town for the month and would be off to Italy to secure new contracts for the Farthingale mills right after Christmas. He wasn’t certain where his travels would take him from there, but it could be another year before he returned to England. “Meggie, why do you sound so forlorn? What would a man have to overcome to accept you as his wife?”

  She waved her hand and gave an airy laugh to dismiss his concern, but it only firmed his resolve. He knew by her expression that she was about to sputter some frivolously dismissive excuses. Sure enough, those were the next words out of her mouth. “I’m Scottish, for one. A Highlander, no less.”

  He would start tomorrow. He’d stop by Lady Eloise Dayne’s townhouse first thing in the morning. She knew almost all that went on in London and would give him the facts clearly and without the lurid embellishments those in Society seemed to thrive upon.

  “You know… I speak with a thick Highlands brogue.”

  “Ah, got it. You’re a hideous Highland beast who ought to be run out of London before you eat innocent English children.” He gave a mock shudder, for she was spouting nonsense. There was a lovely, musical quality to her voice. In truth, he could listen to her for hours and never tire of hearing her speak.

  She frowned at him. “My hair is a blazing shade of red. It looks as though someone lit a match to my head.”

  William stifled a grin. He doubted any man would mind running his fingers through Meggie’s silken hair or watching those long, fiery curls splay across his white pillows or tumble in passionate disarray over her exquisite breasts. But the girl would slap him if he ever spoke the thought aloud.

  Not that he was thinking of such a notion for himself.

  He wasn’t.

  Yet, the thought still teased at the corners of his mind and he couldn’t seem to shake off the thought of Meggie in his bed.

  “Megs, you’ve just spouted the lamest excuses I’ve ever heard. Your hair? Your accent? They’re both lovely and precisely the reasons a man would be attracted to you. So why don’t you try telling me the truth this time?”

  “William, go away. Leave me alone. Go back inside and enjoy the party.”

  “And leave you out here to sulk?”

  She tipped her chin up. “I am not sulking.”

  “Then what are you doing? Because it looks to me like you are wallowing in whatever perceived misery you’ve created for yourself.”

  She looked at him aghast. “You think I created this? That I wanted this to happen?”

  “This? What are you referring to? I don’t know what happened to you, and you won’t tell me. So what else am I to think? Call it what you will, but it looks to me like you are sulking over some petty nonsense that you can’t even put into words.” He began to pace in front of her, feeling as frustrated as a caged bear. Tender concern hadn’t worked to get the truth out of her, so he’d purposely tossed that insult to rile her.

  But all it did was make her withdraw deeper into herself.

  He stopped his pacing and sighed. “Megs, you know I didn’t mean what I just said. Give me a clue, will you? I get it. This has something to do with marriage and love. You want to marry for love. Nobody understands that better than a Farthingale. We only marry for love. But you won’t find the man who appreciates and understands you while you’re hiding in a darkened garden with a sour-prune look on your face.”

  She touched her cheek. “Do I still look sour?”

  No, she looked delectable and at the same time, desperately sad. But he wasn’t going to tell her how beautiful she looked swallowed up in his jacket. Or tell her how his heart had shot straight into his throat the moment he’d noticed her standing alone in the salon. And he wasn’t going to tell her that if he wasn’t her friend and protector, he’d be kissing her right now.

  Kissing her a lot and quite passionately.

  He’d never seen a prettier girl by moonlight. In truth, she was beautiful in any light.

  No, he couldn’t tell her that.

  S
he might get the wrong impression. Megs was like a sister to him. Although the thoughts he was having at the moment, wild and rampant ones about the spectacular way she filled out her gown, were not in the least brotherly. “No, you don’t look sour. But you’re still pouting.”

  That pout on her mouth was delectable, too. Pink, slightly down turned lips that would feel soft and plump when yielding to a man’s kiss.

  She had always been a pretty girl, if a bit on the skinny side, and quick to burst into tears. But she’d turned into a genuine beauty now. Her hair had never been a glaring burst of red, never that hideous orange-red. No, hers was a lush roan color, an appealing mix of chestnut and red.

  Her eyes were quite beautiful as well. Green, but not an obvious green. They were the color of dark emeralds that shimmered and sparkled when caught by candlelight.

  That was Meggie.

  Lovely to be sure, but not the sort a man would notice at once.

  No, her allure was quieter.

  She was like a slow burning ember that took time to kindle a fire in a man, but once sparked, that fire would never be diminished.

  Her appeal was not overtly blazing.

  Hers was a slow, smoldering burn.

  Far more dangerous to a man’s heart.

  He cleared his throat.

  What was he thinking?

  He held out his arm to her. “Shall we go back inside?”

  She handed his jacket back to him. “You go ahead. Everyone is eager to see you. I’ll be along shortly.”

  He nodded, but hesitated to draw away.

  Something important was troubling Meggie.

  Not some mere fribble of a problem that could easily be laughed off. She was hurting deeply. He wanted more than anything to ease her pain.

  What had happened to her?

  That need to protect her filled his heart, filled his very being. Filled the cold night air surrounding them.

  Could he do anything to help her?

  Or was he too late?

  Chapter Three