Quiet Meg

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  She abandoned any effort to eat, sipping punch alone as she scanned the boxes opposite. In the dusk the lights were coming on, in the magical display so associated with Vauxhall and so evocative of an imaginative, twinkling fairyland. At last her seeking gaze found Cabot’s distinctive blond head-next to an equally distinctive red one.

  “I feel sorry for her,” Louisa said of the Comtesse d’Avigne, who appeared to be sitting nearly in Cabot’s lap. “I cannot comprehend, Meg, what it must be like to marry without love. Aunt Pru said the comtesse was wed at seventeen. Her father gambled-as well as her husband, it seems-and practically sold her.”

  “I do not intend to marry at all,” Meg said, noting the other occupants of the box. The only one she recognized was the petite girl Cabot had danced with at Almack’s.

  “You think that will please father?” Louisa asked.

  “I … don’t know,” Meg said, turning to look at her sister’s thoughtful face. “Perhaps you and Ferrell will have enough grandchildren to pacify him.”

  “He wants you happy, Margaret”

  “I know, Louisa. But it is not something one can manufacture.”

  “It is something one might choose”

  “And if my choice should only cause unhappiness for others?” Meg whispered. “What then?”

  Louisa hugged her and continued to sit by her side.

  “‘Tis said the Comtesse d’Avigne has a wealthy protector,” she went on, observing the box opposite, just as Meg was. “Someone close to the Regent himself, one of the Prince’s intimates. The very company Cabot shares there tonight. The association is surprising, though I must say he seems remarkably well connected. Ferrell says he is earning quite a reputation for his work.”

  Meg dared not make the comment that came to mind, not after her father’s reprimand. Though it did strike her that the Comtesse d’Avigne, who had married without love, need not have demonstrated quite so openly whatever sentiments she now felt. Or at least, not with Cabot.

  As she watched him rise from his seat and turn toward the young brunet, Meg was aware that another gentleman approached the Lawrences’ supper box. She recognized Malcolm Wembly at once, though she had not seen him in almost three years. His hair was now grayer-like her father’s, and perhaps he was not quite as thin. But as he stepped into the box and smiled easily around at all of them, his smile was just the same. He turned to her father.

  “Eustace, my boy Harry has written to me. He says I cannot go on as I have, and that I must apologize. Harry is quite right.” Wembly extended his hand. “I apologize, Eustace. And I humbly ask your forgiveness-for being less of a friend than I ought to have been.”

  Her father’s eyes brightened suspiciously as he clasped Mr. Wembly’s hand. Mr. Wembly turned to Louisa.

  I owe you an apology as well, my dear,” he went on. “And Mr. Ferrell, you are a lucky man.” He reached to shake Ferrell’s hand, patted Bertram on the shoulder, then looked with open pleasure at Meg. “Ah, Meg! Are you riding, girl?”

  “Yes, Uncle Malcolm. I have Paloma in town.”

  “You must join me some morning. I shall call ‘round.”

  “I shall look forward to it”

  “Hello, muffin” Mr. Wembly took a seat between Sir Eustace and Lucy and turned to Lucy’s blond head. He had always called her `muffin.’ “Are you enjoying yourself in town?”

  “Yes, Uncle Malcolm,” Lucy said. “I am seeing absolutely everything.”

  “The only way to see everything, my dear, is to see it absolutely.”

  “Do not encourage her, Malcolm, by speaking nonsense yourself,” Sir Eustace said, which set the two men to bantering.

  Meg had been so focused on Mr. Wembly’s arrival that she had failed to maintain her study of the opposite box. Now she realized with dismay that Cabot had answered her father’s invitation, that he had indeed come across to visit, and that he had brought the petite brunet with him.

  He was dressed again most beautifully, in an immaculate superfine coat, and as her father had so pointedly remarked earlier, his smart boots were spotless.

  He stood at ease at the front of the box, with the girl at his side. She was no older than Lucy, tiny and pretty and, Meg guessed, exceedingly shy, for her gaze repeatedly sought the ground.

  “Well, Cabot,” Sir Eustace said. “Good evening to you.”

  “Good evening to you, sir.” He bowed.

  “Malcolm Wembly, may I present to you Mr. Charles Cabot, who rides Arcturus”

  “Ah-do you, sir?” It was all the introduction Cabot needed. Mr. Wembly was out of his seat and vigorously shaking his hand. “That is very good, very good indeed. Splendid. You must come see me at Havingsham Hall soon. I move back this summer.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wembly.” Cabot’s gaze sought Meg’s. Something about his smile suggested that he remembered her comment-about attaching the Hall for his landscaping projects. He placed a hand behind his companion’s slight shoulders and gently urged her closer to the box.

  “Mademoiselle d’Avigne,” he said, “it is my pleasure to introduce to you Sir Eustace Lawrence of Selbourne and his family-Mr. Bertram Lawrence, Mrs. Ferrell, Mr. Ferrell, Miss Lawrence, Miss Lucinda Lawrence and here her friend, Miss Burke. Mr. Wembly is Sir Eustace’s neighbor.”

  Lady Candace curtsied very prettily, claimed in heavily accented English to be delighted to make their acquaintance, then turned to Lucy and asked if she and her friend Miss Burke might care to take a stroll with them to explore the gardens.

  As Lucy readily agreed, Sir Eustace suggested, “Why don’t all of you go? ‘Tis a sight to be seen, and we’ve very little left of our supper on which to gnaw. Yes, move along there, Bertram, Ferrell. Malcolm and I wish to have some discussion.” As Meg hesitated and retained her seat her father’s eyebrows rose. “Do go with them, Margaret.”

  “I would … rather stay, father.”

  “Why so skittish, girl? ‘Tis a large party.” Meg glanced at Cabot, who lingered behind the rest of the groupwaiting for her. She thought his expression impatient, even a little angry. Her disinclination must have seemed rude.

  As she rose to join him and the others she was embarrassed to have been so obviously tossed out by her parent, who was already lighting a pipe with his friend. And she remembered too vividly how just that morning she had betrayed herself to Cabot.

  She did not take his arm, but walked beside him, just two steps behind Bertram and the three younger girls. Lucy, as seemed to be increasingly the case, held forth with her usual breathless discourse.

  “I am so glad Mr. Wembly has made up with Papa,” she said. “Just think, how terrible to have one’s very best friend not speaking to one at all! And for so many years, too! Of course, Harry has had much to do with this, I can tell, though he said nothing to me about writing his father. I really do wish he’d stayed in town. Then he needn’t have written his father at all, but could have arranged the meeting himself, and had supper with us tonight and be walking with us now. Instead, Mr. Harris Wembly must rush back to university for his studies. To be quizzed on his Latin. There is nothing as important in the world as Mr. Harris Wembly’s examinations!”

  “Lucy,” Bertram interposed, “it is the end of the term. Poor Harry…”

  “Poor Harry! Poor Harry who can only criticize me, saying I am not-not circumspect with Lord Knowles-though Trevor is so very pleasant, and dances divinely, and says he should like nothing more than to spend every day with me! And then for Harry to tell me he will not be able to come to my ball! I have a ball the end of next week, Candace,” she diverted enthusiastically. “You must come. My aunt Pru has helped plan everything to be just so and Charles”Lucy looked over her shoulder-“will come-as he promised?” Cabot nodded. “But Mr. Harris Wembly makes no promises, when they mean everything!”

  “For goodness’ sake, Luce! You cannot expect him to sacrifice a term’s work for a ball,” Bertram said sharply.

  “Yes, Miss Lucy,” Cabot agreed. “He will be wit
h you all the sooner if he completes his examinations.”

  “But you are coming, Charles. And heaven knows you are always running off on some quest or other!”

  “I have considerably more control of my time, Miss Lucy.”

  “Oh, all of you will find excuses for him!” she said, and dragging a compliant Amanda ahead with her, left Bertram escorting only Candace d’Avigne.

  “What the devil just happened?” he asked.

  “Elle est amoureuse,” Candace said shyly.

  “Eh?”

  “Lucy is in love, Lawrence,” Cabot told him.

  “Lucy?” ?

  “Do not say anything to her Bertie, please,” Meg urged.

  “Say anything? How could I? ‘Tis impossible to get a word in edgewise . . “He leaned to catch something Candace said to him. As the two walked ahead, Meg looked about at the lanterns high in the trees.

  “It is a pretty place,” she ventured. “I had forgotten”

  “‘Twas well planned. Though now considerably overgrown. Do you know its plan, Miss Lawrence?” Cabot asked. Meg shook her head. She meant to keep her brother and Miss d’Avigne in view, but Cabot seemed in no hurry. “You remember I set Selbourne’s improvements on a radial plan. Vauxhall was laid out as a parallelogram.” He reached casually, unself-consciously, to pull a dead branch from a tangle at their side and quickly scratched the shape on the side of the path. “The walks cross so-and here is the central square. Should the paths not meet at right angles-you have reached an outer edge” He tapped the four of them. “So you need never,” he said looking down at her, “be lost in Vauxhall-again.”

  In the sparkling lamplight, wrapped by the darkness, Meg thought she should not at all mind being lost-were she to have his company. But that `again’ recalled her to her circumstances. Cabot traced her reluctance to walk out this evening to a fear of the gardens, or of some repetition of the past.

  I have never been lost in Vauxhall,” she corrected him, and heard his indrawn breath.

  “My mistake, Miss Lawrence,” he said shortly. “I presumed.” As he moved ahead, Meg tried to match his lengthening stride.

  “Lady Candace is very amiable,” Meg said, once they spotted Bertie and his companion ahead.

  “Yes. But she has had an unsettled life. I feel for her.”

  “Her mother is lovely.”

  “The Comtesse d’Avigne is her stepmama” He was starting to sound as brisk as his pace. He kept his gaze forward.

  “The comtesse has a most … engaging manner.”

  “It is her way. She likes company.”

  “Yours-clearly.”

  At once Cabot halted and bent close to look into her eyes. In the dim light at this particular passage, his gaze looked black.

  “What is it you wish to say, Miss Lawrence? That I have been indiscreet? That my behavior has lacked circumspection?”

  Meg swallowed and looked away. Her brother and Candace had passed beyond the next lantern. The path was empty. The dense press of foliage about them seemed as abandoned and remote as a jungle.

  “You and the Comtesse-”

  “Have a history. From many years ago. My past is not sterling, Miss Lawrence, but I cannot apologize for having been young. I endeavor to improve myself.”

  “Her manner..

  “Is acceptable in certain circles.” He sighed. “Miss Lawrence, if you wish to debate right and wrong, you must consult Sir Eustace. I cannot condemn, since I myself have been wrong, and will be again. Shortly, no doubt.” His gaze searched her face. “The comtesse’s manners are not mine. You make clear they are not yours. It is because they are not yours that Lord Sutcliffe makes you suffer.”

  The bold reminder instantly brought tears to her eyes. As her lips trembled, Meg noticed his attention to them. His frown fled.

  “Miss … Miss Margaret,” he urged softly. “Please.. His head lowered. He meant to kiss her. But he straightened abruptly as excited calls carried from the path ahead. They heard footsteps running back along the walk, then Bertie, Lucy, and Candace, closely followed by the Ferrells, moved into the lamplight.

  “Meg, Charles-Mandy has gone missing!” Lucy declared. Her voice shook. “I just stopped to speak one minute with Mr. Gillen and his party, and when I turned back, Mandy was gone!”

  “She did not pass us,” Ferrell said.

  “And there is only one crossing,” Bertie added. “She must have gone toward town. ‘Twas the only route crowded with company.”

  “Sutcliffe . . ” Meg ventured.

  “Sutcliffe would not trouble Amanda,” Louisa said firmly.

  “In the dark-her hair-it is my color …”

  “She hasn’t your form, Meggie,” Bertie said frankly, as only a brother could.

  Cabot cleared his throat.

  “The earl and Mulmgren were on the other side of the square,” he said. “He could not have come around us so quickly.” And Meg glanced at him, astonished that he should be so aware of Sutcliffe’s whereabouts.

  “Let us return the ladies to Sir Eustace,” Ferrell suggested. “Then begin a search”

  They walked quickly and silently back to the colonnaded square. Even Lucy stayed quiet, perhaps because Candace d’Avigne kindly held her hand and whispered encouragement. Meg frowned as they reached their supper box. Her father and Mr. Wembly were still comfortably smoking and talking; the orchestra had begun another set of Handel’s music. Yet the evening’s earlier ease was lost.

  “Father, Amanda has gone missing,” Bertie said shortly. “We must start a search.”

  “Nonsense,” Sir Eustace pronounced. “She’s run off with her true love, Sir Freddy Dymthorpe, baronet and nincompoop. Burke’s been expecting it for some time.”

  “Freddy?” Lucy gulped. “She’s never said a word!”

  “How could she, Lucinda, when you steal all of them for yourself? If you must ignore your friends,” he said sternly, “they are like to ignore you”

  Mr. Wembly patted the empty chair next to him.

  “Come sit next to me, muffin. I am sure this is a shock to you, as Amanda is your very best friend, is she not?”

  “Yes sir,” Lucy sniffed. “She certainly was..

  “Father, I think we should still go after them,” Bertie said, with a glance at Meg. “They shouldn’t just be let to run off..”

  “Why ever not, if they’re both willing? Barely brain enough for one between them. They shall scrape along nicely. The only reason to stop them is to prevent them from having children.”

  “Father. . ” Louisa objected. She and Ferrell had preceded Meg back into the box.

  “Why should I spoil my evening, Louisa,” Sir Eustace asked, “for a girl who has never troubled to put two words together for me? In contrast, my Lucinda makes a great deal of noise,” he paused to remark Lucy’s soft sniffling, “but she has never lacked for wits.”

  As though conscious that her father, in his way, had just complimented her, Lucy fell quiet.

  Meg noticed that Bertie and Candace d’Avigne had followed her in to take seats in the box. Cabot positioned himself close to its front, to her side, and continued to stand.

  “You must pardon our inattention, Lady Candace,” Sir Eustace turned to say to the girl. “We have had some excitement.”

  “Oui,” Candace agreed. “Une fuite ..

  “Eh?” Bertie asked.

  “An elopement, Bertie,” Meg supplied. When she noticed Cabot was watching her too closely she worried her lower lip, only to realize how unwise that was. “Father,” she asked quickly, “why are you not surprised?”

  “You young people, Margaret, must learn to give your elders credit for greater skills in observation than you ever warrant. ‘Twas apparent at this winter’s assemblies that Miss Burke and Dymthorpe were partial to each other. All the usual clues were there: silly smiles, arguments over nothing, loss of appetite, standin’ too close-” His gaze settled idly on Cabot, who moved two steps away from her. “Lady Dymthorpe and the Burkes
agreed it would be an acceptable match. They had the settlements drawn up and the license ready before the Burkes even started for town. That batty old vicar in Dymthorpe’s parish will do the honors tomorrow. I would not choose the method for my own daughters,” he added mildly, “but all were agreed this is like to be the greatest thrill in Miss Burke’s young life. She may never realize it wasn’t an elopement”

  Bertie nevertheless popped down along the colonnade to inform the Burkes that their dove had indeed flown; he returned with the news that Amanda’s parents were on the verge of an unruffled departure. The Burkes assured Lucy they would have Amanda write immediately she was wed.

  The warm night had presaged a fine drizzle. When the fireworks were called off, Lucy, happy with the attentions of Mr. Wembly and her new friend Candace, had no time for disappointment.

  Cabot, who had obviously determined to squire Candace d’ Avigne no matter the tedium, continued to stand at the side of the box. Though he did not speak to Meg, he managed to make clear that there was quite a bit to be said. They had had an argument. He had nearly kissed her. There were reasons for constraint. But, despite his polite responses to Bertie and the others, Meg thought he seemed distracted, as though he awaited a summons.

  She understood that alertness, and the alteration from his usual ease, when the Earl of Sutcliffe appeared suddenly at the front of their box.

  Their laughter ceased. Sutcliffe stood before them in all his false civility, his mouth set in that characteristic, slanted suggestion of a smile, the drizzle misting his hair and his shoulders. His gaze, with its usual boldness, settled on Meg at once; when he looked at her so she felt quite naked. She sensed that Cabot shifted his weight away from the wall beside her, as though he would spring at him. Meg had to glance down at her hands in her lap-to make certain they did not reach out to restrain him.

  “Sir Eustace-how are you?”

  “As you see, Sutcliffe.” Her father tapped the arms of his chair. “You do not lack for gall”

  “You were a horseman” Sutcliffe shrugged. “You had an accident. Horses are unpredictable creatures” Mr. Wembly started to rise in protest, but Sir Eustace pulled him back.