“No. I suppose the earl could have sent me back to the country for the servants to mind, but he didn’t. I think he forgot about me almost immediately. And it wasn’t so bad, once I adjusted.”
“Oh.” Meg could not imagine it, but then, she had grown up with Papa. He might be forgetful, especially when he was deep in a Greek translation, but there was no question he loved her.
“Anyway,” Felicity said, “the second day I was in London, I wandered over to the garden in the center of the square. I heard a girl laughing, and then I saw Lady Mary Cleveland playing by the fountain.” She glanced at Meg. “I thought I’d found a friend—until her mother rushed up to save her from my evil influence.”
“Lady Cleveland is a bit of a high stickler.”
Felicity snorted. “That is an understatement. She looked at me as though I were the devil incarnate. She grabbed Lady Mary and pulled her away, all the while screaming at the nursemaid”—Felicity’s voice took on a mocking tone—“Didn’t you know she was Needham’s daughter?”
“That’s awful.”
Lady Felicity shrugged again. “Actually it was an excellent introduction to the ton. I learned an important lesson that day which I will now share with you. The only way to survive in Town is to not give a damn what anyone thinks.” She shook her head. “I did try to conform when I made my come-out, but I soon realized it was hopeless. So now I do what I want. As long as I’m moderately discreet, I am received most places. Not by the Lady Clevelands of the ton, of course, but since I find them colossally boring, I don’t mind having their doors shut in my face.”
“I see.” Meg swallowed. A ten year old subjected to such venom…Poor Felicity. But she was right. Meg straightened her shoulders. She had long thought the ton silly and vain, yet here she was, falling into the trap of caring about their judgment. She would not continue to do so.
“Well, I didn’t follow you in here to give you advice,” Felicity said.
“You followed me?”
“Yes. I have a question for you. Charlotte—Baroness Tynweith, the former Duchess of Hartford—said she saw you at Lady Palmerson’s the night of the…incident with Mr. Parker-Roth.”
Meg stiffened. She definitely did not wish to discuss that night.
Felicity leaned forward. “Charlotte said you went into the garden with Lord Bennington, not Mr. Parker-Roth. So why isn’t the viscount’s name the one being linked to yours?”
Meg cleared her throat. “It’s slightly complicated.”
“How complicated?”
“Really, Lady Felicity, I don’t believe—”
Felicity held up her hand. “I’ll make it simple for you. I don’t need to—or care to—know the details. Just answer me this—do you have an interest in Lord Bennington?”
“No!” What a revolting thought. To be subjected to that man’s mauling again…perhaps she would have need of that chamber pot. “Definitely not.”
“Good.” Felicity grinned. “I asked because I do have an interest in him.”
“I see.” Should she warn Felicity that Bennington’s lips bore a close resemblance to slugs? Ridiculous. Felicity was quite capable of making her own judgment on that subject. “You are more than welcome to him.”
“Thank you. Now, shall we return to the ballroom?”
The ballroom? Face the tittering, staring, gossiping ton?
“I’m not certain that would be a good idea.” Meg’s stomach twisted again. She might not care what society thought, but she certainly did not wish to subject herself to its nasty scrutiny.
“Well, you can’t spend all evening lurking in here. Or did you come especially to admire Lady Easthaven’s rather garish taste in furniture?”
Meg dropped her gaze to the gilded, winged sphinxes supporting her chair’s arms, sphinxes with rather prominent breasts—
“No, of course not.”
“Then come.” Lady Felicity stood. “Show some courage.”
Was Lady Felicity intimating she was a coward? Meg stood up quickly—and remembered the whispering she’d fled. Perhaps cowardice wasn’t completely despicable. It was more…prudence. If she stayed here—
She heard giggling approaching. Oh, no. She closed her eyes briefly. Please let whoever was approaching be headed somewhere else—but where else could they be headed?
She heard the sharp intake of breath and looked to the doorway. Two little debutantes stood frozen on the threshold, identical looks of horror on their faces as they glanced from Meg to Felicity and back.
“Don’t worry, girls,” Felicity said. “We were just leaving.” She turned and offered her arm to Meg, a slight smile twisting her lips. “Coming, Miss Peterson?”
Meg hesitated for one heartbeat only.
“Yes, Lady Felicity, I am.”
She linked arms with evil Lord Needham’s daughter and swept past the cowering young girls.
Chapter 9
“My abject apologies. I mistook you for someone else.” Parks would have withdrawn without comment if he could have, but Lord Dawson had seen him.
Grace turned in her husband’s arms. It was too dark to see if her cheeks were the same shade as the hair that now tumbled over her shoulders.
“Did you?” Dawson grinned. “I wonder whom you were looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking for anyone.” A small mistruth. “I came out for the air—it is exceedingly stuffy inside. When I saw there was someone here, I assumed—” He was not going to say what he assumed. “Well, I have already apologized for intruding.” Damn, he was blushing now. Thank God for the dim light. “I’ll just be on my way. Please, carry on with what you were doing.” Ack. He hadn’t actually said that, had he? Dim light or no, if he kept on this way, his face would illuminate this entire section of London.
Dawson had the most annoyingly white, perfect teeth.
“Right. I’ll be delighted to resume my activities. Where were we, love?”
“Oh, stop it, David.” Grace adjusted her bodice and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your levity will be your undoing.” She smiled. “How are you, John?”
“I’m well.” He’d be better if he could escape this little scene. He got along fine with Grace and Dawson. There were no hard feelings on his part. Hell, the two had been wed for years now; he’d had more than enough time to come to terms with…things. But that still did not mean he wished to stand here chatting with them. Especially given what they had been doing—and were going to resume doing as soon as he left. He could tell Dawson was anxious to get back to making love to his wife.
Really, couldn’t the man wait until they returned home? It was unfortunate that he’d stumbled upon them, but Dawson should have anticipated such an occurrence. It was a crowded social gathering.
“Were you touring Lord Easthaven’s garden, John?” Grace sounded amused. She’d always thought his fascination with botany odd. It hadn’t mattered. She’d been beautiful and charming and her father’s land abutted his own. They’d known each other since childhood.
“Hardly. Easthaven has a most plebian selection of plantings, and his gardeners should be reprimanded for neglecting to take proper care of them. This yew, for example, is in serious need of pruning.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dawson said, “I rather like its bushiness. It was serving as an admirable screen.” He laughed. “Did you ever think Easthaven might wish to give his guests a variety of opportunities to enjoy themselves in the foliage?”
“David! I’m certain John does not know what you mean.”
Not know what he meant? Did Grace think him a eunuch? True, he’d never tried to get her alone in the shrubbery, but that did not mean he wasn’t completely aware of the possibilities overgrown vegetation afforded.
Dawson sent him a commiserating look. “If the rumors flying through the ballroom are true, Grace, Parker-Roth knows exactly what I mean.”
Grace frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, John. Who is this Miss Peterson?”
&nbs
p; “She’s the sister of the Marchioness of Knightsdale. Her father is a vicar, I believe.” There was something stuck in his throat. He attempted to clear it. His mouth was infernally dry as well. “You really cannot listen to rumors, Lady Dawson.”
“Really, John, you are being absurd. We grew up together, after all. If it hadn’t been for that unfortunate misunderstanding—”
“Misunderstanding!” He bit his lip. He’d promised himself he would not discuss the matter with her. “Yes, right. The misunderstanding.”
Grace put her hand on his arm. “I’ve tried to apologize. You know I have. It was all my fault. I should have stood up to Father sooner. And I did love you—I do love you—just more as a sister than a wife.”
Good God. Could this evening get more embarrassing? “Yes, well, that really is neither here nor there. I mean, water over the dam, don’t you know. Ancient history and all that. Say no more. Please.”
“But I must, John.”
Dawson put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Grace, I think Parker-Roth would rather you spoke of something else.” He laughed. “Actually I think the man would prefer you held your tongue and let him escape back to the ballroom.”
“Well, I can’t, David.” Grace squeezed Parks’s arm. “John, I want you to be happy. It has plagued me all these years that I caused you pain. It was not well done of me—not well done at all.”
“Please, Lady Dawson—”
She shook his arm. “I should have come to church and stood in front of your family and all your friends and explained. I should never have left you to face them alone. I have wanted to beg your pardon ever since—I am begging it now.”
“There’s no need to apologize. It was—” It was the most painful moment of his life. But Grace was clearly contrite. And he—he just wanted to have this conversation over. “It was four years ago. Do not give it another thought.”
“But it is not fair. I’ve been so happy.” She leaned her head on Dawson’s chest. “And I think you’ve not been.”
“Lady Dawson, please.” Damn. He’d thought he’d always feel unrequited love for Grace, but at the moment all he felt was annoyance. Couldn’t she understand he truly did not wish to discuss this topic? He glanced at Dawson. The man smiled sympathetically and shrugged.
He didn’t need sympathy, he needed action. Lord Dawson should haul Grace back inside—or back into the bushes. Anything to distract her from her current focus—him.
“Is this Miss Peterson someone who can make you happy, John?”
Parks looked hopefully into the sky. Perhaps a sudden storm would come up and put a period to this uncomfortable conversation. No, not conversation—monologue.
There was not a cloud in sight.
“You must not marry her if she will make your life miserable, John—and I’m afraid she may do just that. She does not have the best reputation. It’s rumored she’s been vanishing into the shrubbery with men all Season.”
Anger surged in his gut.
“Lady Dawson, you must not speak ill of Miss Peterson.” Damn, where had that come from? Well, any emotion was better than his current paralyzing embarrassment. He took a steadying breath. “I am sorry to say it, but I must ask you not to concern yourself with my affairs any longer.”
With that, he retreated to the safety of the ballroom.
“Well.” Grace blinked and watched John Parker-Roth walk away. The man had never spoken to her like that before. Not that she wouldn’t have deserved it—her treatment of him had been unconscionable. She cringed at the memory. She hadn’t meant…she hadn’t realized…She blew out a short breath. Her intentions were immaterial. She had hurt John.
She wanted desperately to make amends.
“I’d say you’ve been put in your place, my dear.”
“Yes.” She pushed a length of hair off her face. “Maybe that’s good. John has always been unfailingly polite to me in the past—when he can’t avoid me—but I knew he must be angry. How could he not? I jilted him at the altar.”
“You could not have avoided it.”
“I should have avoided it.” If only she could go back and do things differently. “I never actually agreed to marry him, you know. Father arranged everything.”
“I know.” David kissed her. “Parker-Roth is an idiot.”
She laughed. “You are the idiot, David.” She stretched to wrap her arms around his neck. “I did not exactly have a crowd of suitors clamoring for my hand. I am far too much of a Long Meg for most men of the ton.”
“And most men of the ton are pygmies.”
She smiled. “No, they aren’t. It’s you who are a giant.”
“And you love every inch of my muscled body.”
Her smile broadened. “You know that I do.” She ran her hands down to the front of his pantaloons. “Every inch.”
David captured her mouth and resumed the delightful activities he’d been engaged in when John had interrupted them.
God, she loved him. Whenever she thought of how she had ruined John’s life, she thought of how her own life would have been ruined if she had not wed the man who was now kissing her so thoroughly. She burned for him, even after four years of marriage and two children.
If she had gone to the church as her father had insisted and had said her vows to John, she’d be trapped now in a polite, tepid, boring marriage. It would be hell.
David’s mouth had moved to a very sensitive spot on her neck.
“Let’s go home, Grace.” The words tickled her ears and sent shivers down her spine. “I have a sudden need to go to bed.”
“What, are you sleepy, David?”
“Hardly.” He pressed his hips against hers. “I am very much awake.”
She laughed. “I see that—or rather, I feel that.”
“I would like to make you feel it even more.”
“Later. We can’t be dashing off like newlyweds.”
“Why not?”
“Society would be scandalized.”
“Good.”
David put his hand on her breast. It felt wonderful. Perhaps they could slip out the back gate…
No. She wanted to observe Miss Peterson. True, John’s matrimonial plans—or lack of plans—were really none of her concern, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed to find out what type of woman Miss Peterson was. If the girl were a harpy, she would find some way to put a spoke in her wheel. John might not thank her, but she couldn’t stand by and watch him suffer more. Too often men thought only with the organ concealed in their pantaloons.
David cupped her bottom and pulled her against that very organ—that very hard organ.
“Stop it.”
“Must I?”
If she didn’t speak firmly, they would be out here all night—not an unattractive prospect, but quite impossible.
“You must. I wish to see what Miss Peterson is up to.”
“Parker-Roth told you to stay out of his business.”
“Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I choose to ignore his request.”
“Request? It sounded like an order to me.”
“I don’t take orders.”
David chuckled. “How well I know that!”
“Oh, stop it. You are being absurd. Help me tidy up my appearance, will you? I’m sure I must look like I was dragged through a bush backward.”
“Well, you do look very interestingly mussed, but I doubt anyone will blame the vegetation.”
“Of course they won’t—everyone must know what you are about. You drag me into the garden at every social event.”
“I believe you dragged me out here this evening.”
Grace shrugged. “Did you bring extra hairpins?”
“Of course.”
After four years of marriage—and countless garden excursions—Lord Dawson had become quite an accomplished lady’s maid.
Meg watched Parks slip into the ballroom from the garden. What had he been up to? Not that it was any business of hers, of course, but he looked
guilty. His face was so expressionless, he must be hiding something. What?
Had he been trysting with someone in the bushes?
She ducked behind a pillar when he looked her way.
He’d been lurking in Lord Palmerson’s garden, too, now that she considered the matter. She’d been so happy to be rescued from the disgusting Lord Bennington she hadn’t wondered about it at the time, but now she did. Had Parks simply been admiring the foliage—or had he been admiring something else? Someone else?
That was why men toured gardens during social events, wasn’t it? To steal a kiss…or more?
She glared at a sickly-looking potted palm that shared her secluded location. To think she had been feeling guilty that she had, completely inadvertently, trapped poor Mr. Parker-Roth into offering for her. She’d thought him an innocent passer-by, a selfless Good Samaritan.
How naïve could she be? Yes, he had been perfectly blameless in her situation, but had he been equally blameless in another section of the garden?
He’d said he never wished to marry. Why would he be so against matrimony? Because a wife would curtail his amorous exploits, that’s why.
He must have a mistress and any number of other accommodating females at his beck and call. He certainly knew all there was to know about dalliance. If his actions in Lady Palmerson’s parlor were any indication, he was a master of seduction. Only a hardened rake would know to put his lips on…his tongue in…
She flushed. It would never have occurred to her to…
She would not think of their activities in Lady Palmerson’s parlor.
The man was a confirmed rogue. A scoundrel. How had he had the gall to take her to task for her behavior? It was very much the pot calling the kettle black.
She wished she had a pot handy. She would use it to knock some manners into Mr. Holier-Than-Thou Parker-Roth. She peered around the pillar again. The bounder was talking to Lady Easthaven right now.
No one was treating him as if he had the social equivalent of the bubonic plague. Why were they treating her that way? It was not fair.
Well, she was not going to hide away like this pitiful palm. She examined the plant more closely. Someone should move it to a more congenial location. She touched its limp fronds. It might well be past saving.
Sally MacKenzie Bundle Page 43