Quiet Meg

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  “But you and Walter-you had an understanding-at least, at the time it had been so settled. You must have believed yourself in love with Walter?”

  “Well yes, Meg, at nineteen I did. As you say, it had been settled for so many years that I think both of us believed it a given. I had known Walter all my life-to continue to spend the rest of it with him seemed comfortable and proper. Would I have been happy with him?” Louisa shrugged. “Perhaps. But after meeting Ferrell I knew I could never be as happy with Walter.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because … because I share so much more with Ferrell. Because I knew from the first that I could not bear to be parted from him. Walter would be gone months at a time and I never truly missed him; when Ferrell was away a week I thought I should die.”

  “But if you once believed yourself in love with Walter, why shouldn’t you think that your love for Ferrell would also pass with-with time, or yet another man?”

  “Meg, you do sound so much like father sometimes, in your quizzing!” Louisa again patted the chair next to her. “Do come sit down so I do not feel I am in the dock”

  Meg at last moved to the chair and sat down.

  “Walter now talks as if-implies that he might fix his interest on me,” Meg said. “Should I believe him fickle? Does it mean he never loved you? That love will only thrive where it is returned?”

  “This is not about Walter,” Louisa said firmly, her gaze steady on Meg’s. “It is Cabot, isn’t it?” When Meg nodded, Louisa smiled. “There is no mistaking it. ‘Tis apparent to everyone. Even Lord Sutcliffe, unfortunately.”

  Again Meg felt that chill-that Sutcliffe, whom she cared nothing about, should have intruded so thoroughly upon her life.

  “He must not know.”

  “Who?” Louisa asked. “Cabot? Of course he must know! You must tell him ””

  “I … Louisa … I must ask you-Did you kiss Walter?”

  “Walter?” Louisa looked surprised. “Meg-have you kissed Walter?”

  “No, oh no. I meant, did you kiss Walter before you kissed Ferrell?”

  “Dearest sister, you would make me out a wanton. But yes, I did. And now no doubt you wish to know whether that is why I decided for Ferrell …” As Meg anxiously watched her face she said, “My heart had already chosen Ferrell, Meg. And when we kissed-I wanted more.”

  It was very simply said. But Meg could not imagine anything more devastating than a kiss.

  “Have you kissed Cabot, Meg?” Louisa asked softly.

  Meg nodded as she looked down at her lap.

  “And did you not find it pleasant? Would you not like to kiss again?”

  Pleasant? Meg’s face must have registered how shatteringly pleasant that kiss in the park had been.

  “Why, Meg, you look stricken. I’d have thought Cabot … Well, of course you’ve scarcely had opportunity … Perhaps you might try again? It is, after all, just a kiss.” She placed a solicitous hand over Meg’s tightly clasped fingers.

  Just a kiss? Again? What had Cabot done to her?

  “I think. . ” Meg managed hoarsely, “it is something I had best not repeat until I am wed.”

  Louisa’s brow instantly cleared.

  “I think you need not trouble to kiss Walter.” She smiled. “You must have Cabot”

  “He will not offer.”

  “Oh, I think he will. You must indicate your feelings.”

  “I cannot-I do not want him to offer. He would challenge Sutcliffe.”

  Louisa’s expression became thoughtful as she looked down at the items on the table.

  “He will not challenge Sutcliffe,” she said slowly.

  “But you must remember Douglas! Louisa, you see what this would mean. I cannot-I cannot have him. . “

  Louisa’s arm came around her shoulders.

  “Hush. Do you not see he has been careful not to challenge Sutcliffe? That he declined to do so the other night at Vauxhall? Sutcliffe wanted a challenge! Cabot did not oblige him.”

  “Lord Sutcliffe will find some other way … some other way to harm him. Oh, I see-I see from your face. I have been slow. You think to assure me-when there is no assurance to be had. You mean that Sutcliffe will challenge Cabot.”

  “Meg..

  “I tell you I know that man. He has plagued me now for years. He will not stop. I feel … I feel a trap closing. Every day it grows tighter. How he hates Cabot! You said yourself that Sutcliffe can see how I feel. Yes, Louisa, and you said `unfortunately’ so. It … it becomes intolerable.” She rose from her seat and paced to the window.

  “It is outside of enough-to have my own words thrown back at me in such a manner, Meg. I really do believe you were intended for the Bar. I cannot say it is pleasing to know one is attended to so closely, if it means I reveal myself to be a fool.”

  “You are the opposite of a fool, Louisa. But you still believe there is some goodness in Lord Sutcliffe, whereas I know there is not “

  “And here I have always thought I was so very practical-and you so romantic,” Louisa said wryly. “You must tell me, then, what you intend to do”

  “I plan to return to Selbourne with Bertie, right after this ball. Sutcliffe will have difficulty reaching me there. And I … shall not see Cabot again.”

  “Well,” Louisa said, “apart from the fact that I shouldn’t think it likely Mr. Cabot will be satisfied with such an arrangement, and apart from the fact that your plan sounds too much like the plot of one of Aunt Pru’s Minerva novels .. ” As Meg wheeled to her, Louisa held up a hand. “Please, Meg, since you already know me for a fool, permit me at least to play at wisdom!

  “Unless you hurt him in some dreadful and dishonest manner,” she went on, “which does not sound at all like you, Cabot will not let you go quietly back to Selbourne. If he believes you return his sentiments he will seek to make a path clear for both of you. But if you choose to hurt him instead .. “Again she silenced Meg.

  “If you hurt him deeply, Meg, and you do return to Selbourne, he will not spend the rest of his days pining for you as you will for him. Men want their homes, dearest, just as women want theirs. They want to be comfortable. They want, in varying degrees it is true, to have children. How long do you think Cabot would wait for you to change your mind? For five months? Five years? Until Sutcliffe dies? Cabot is an active man. With time, even Meg Lawrence will become only a memory. Whatever his heart’s desire, he will wonder why he is not living his life. Some other woman will make him comfortable, will give him a home and children-and eventually he will love her for doing so. And then how will you feel?”

  Meg could not see clearly. The houses on the other side of the street looked set to collapse into a watery canal. She knew that every word Louisa said was true, but she could not, she could not …

  “I would still … have him alive,” she choked out.

  Louisa rose quickly and moved to her.

  “Little Meggie,” she said softly, hugging her. “I’m sorry to have been so hard. I have not been the sister you needed.” She kissed her on the cheek. “You are so lovely, Meg. The men must fight over you. All you can do is choose. And not be afraid”

  “I am not afraid … for myself.”

  “But Cabot is an excellent man. You must tell him of your fears, Meg, and trust where you love. All will come right “

  On Thursday morning, Meg received a note from Monsieur LeBecque:

  Dear lady, I beg your forbearance. I have need of you to sit for me for one period more. In all else the portrait is finished, as I promised. Will you not return this morning, for no more than one hour? I await your convenience. LeBecque.

  Meg frowned. LeBecque had assured them yesterday that he would need them no more. But there was no help for it-he was a master, a meticulous man-he was doing precisely as they wished. If her nose were not just so LeBecque would never release the painting from his studio.

  With resignation Meg penned a response, saying yes, she would come tout de suite. Only after she
had sent the messenger back did she have a moment’s qualm. She had no company. Lucy and Aunt Pru had gone out to address last minute errands before the night’s ball; Bertie had kept a regular appointment at Jackson’s salon. But LeBecque had said no more than an hour, and he had always been most accurate.

  Meg arranged for her father’s carriage, and left a note for Bertie, letting him know where she had gone. She looked in on her father in the library. But as it was necessary to preserve the secret of the portrait she could not reveal her destination.

  “Father, I must pop over to the dressmakers for just a bit. My chemisette is not quite right, and I must have it in sarcenet rather than crape for tonight”

  “Margaret, you have just used two words I have never before heard in my life. But if you must do whatever it is you must do ..”

  “I must do it.” She kissed the top of his head. “I know you are tired of this, father, but Lucy is in alt. You could not have made her happier.”

  “We shall see. We shall see. And you, my Meg, are you going to explain to me the flowers in the front hall?”

  “You have a daughter who has just been presented,” Meg teased. “Her ball is tonight. She has received flowers every day for weeks”

  “Do not patronize me, miss! You know I am not referring to Lucy’s flowers.”

  Meg checked. She had not thought her father had noticed.

  “The bowl of violets was from Mr. Cabot, father.”

  “For you?”

  “Yes, for me-as an apology.”

  “And for what would Mr. Cabot need to apologize?”

  “For trying to best me on Paloma. The other morning in the park. With the Wemblys. Bertie told you about our race”

  “Ah!” Her father’s gaze was still too sharp. “Perhaps he will not be so bold as to challenge you in future.”

  “I hope not, father. Now I really must be off.”

  “You are taking the grooms?” He frowned as he asked.

  “And Annie. With Joe Coachman that makes four. Do not worry, father. I am smothered in protectors!” She rushed away, sparing a glance at the bowl of violets on her way through the hall. They had arrived yesterday-modest, fragrant, charming, and so expensively past their season she had wondered that they were even to be had. Cabot’s card had accompanied them, with no message. She had wanted them in her room, but had not dared to remove them, lest Lucy note their absence. She must remember to spirit them upstairs before the evening’s event.

  “It don’t seem like Mr. LeBecque would have to call you back this way,” Annie remarked as they settled into the coach. “He’s been so particler ‘bout his time. I’ve watched him paint all these weeks. Yesterday-he was finished, just as he said.”

  “Annie, he is an artist. He must have changed his mind.”

  “That boy he has that helps him mix paints said Mr. LeBecque was as pleased with this portrait as he’s ever been. He would not want to change it. No-someit is wrong”

  “Yes, and that something is probably my nose. And I shall be heartily glad of it, that someone should say to me: `Your nose is not quite right, and so we shall let you be.’ “

  Annie looked at her very hard.

  “You won’t think that, Miss Meg, when you want to please a man”

  “Oh, Annie!” she said, but as she gazed out at the passing streets she did bother to wonder whether Cabot liked her nose.

  They reached LeBecque’s and left Joe Coachman with the carriage. Meg walked on up to the spacious atelier with Annie and the two grooms, all of whom had visited before. The studio, redolent of turpentine and linseed oil and awash in the open light available along the river, had come to be almost a second home over the previous five weeks.

  “Monsieur LeBecque!” Meg called gaily as she passed through his outer door. LeBecque was inevitably elsewhere when they arrived, tending his large canvasses or busily mixing and testing paints in the back room. “I have come …”

  She halted abruptly as Lord Sutcliffe turned from studying the finished portrait of the three Lawrence sisters. LeBecque hovered anxiously at the side of the canvas.

  “I am sorry, dear lady,” he said quickly, wringing his hands. “He says he must speak with you, that I must send the note, or he will destroy this work. He promises that he means you no harm-that you must meet-for the tryst, yes? I cannot have my work destroyed! You understand, Miss Margaret?”

  Meg heard his explanation as a mere echo, she was so alert to Sutcliffe’s presence. But she must have heard more than she imagined-LeBecque had been threatened, as anyone who ever dealt with the Earl of Sutcliffe was threatened. LeBecque had wished to save the portrait-the gift for her father, the father this man had crippled.

  A tryst? Her instant fury was something she knew she had to control.

  “All is well, monsieur,” she said, forcing her voice to calmness. “You did exactly right. But you should know this is not a rendezvous,” she said pointedly. “I would never so abuse your hospitality. Pray do not surrender your studio. Please continue with your work. There is nothing Lord Sutcliffe might say to me that cannot be said to an audience.” As LeBecque sighed and ceased wringing his hands, Meg turned to Annie and the grooms. “You will stay, please?”

  “Aye,” Annie said, and shot a furious look at Sutcliffe, before directing the grooms to two different spots in the room.

  Sutcliffe observed their maneuvers with an insolent lack of concern.

  “You see, Miss Meg, that I am alone here” He opened his arms to the room, as though to prove himself defense less. “I do not need an army to plead my cause. Your party is more than enough protection.”

  “It is revealing-that you believe I should need any.”

  “A man alone is no match for your defenders. What harm can I do you?” He smiled one of his curiously humorless smiles.

  “I am quite certain this building is watched, my lord, that what I do not see here inside is quite vigilant outside. That has been the case for several years. You wage a silent, relentless war, Lord Sutcliffe”

  “My heart has not been silent. My heart has waited to be heard”

  “You have no heart”

  His eyes flashed before he turned away from her to review the portrait again.

  “LeBecque is indeed a master,” he said easily. “I have already complimented him. The painting is remarkable. Destined for the Royal Academy. But no match,” he spun again to look at her, “for the original. You are beyond beautiful, Margaret. You grow more so hourly.”

  “I have learned to trust that you review me hourly. You have clearly followed my movements here these past weeks, ” else you could not have planned this so well.”

  “I have been made desperate. You have made me so. You make me survive a year at a time without sight of you”

  I have never given you reason to hope for anything from me, my lord.”

  “Ah-but you promise! Everything about you is promise. It is inconceivable that you should be unaware. You must know what you do. I love you, Meg. I must have you”

  She drew a sharp breath and looked at the painting.

  “I am not something to be collected.” She turned away from him and started to walk toward the door.

  “If you leave now, I swear I shall destroy this portrait,” he said coldly.

  “I see” She turned back to him in contempt. “You speak of love and destruction in the same breath. I begin to understand you”

  “That at least is something, Meg. We are matched in passion, you and I”

  “What passion would that be? You kill a pure-hearted boy, cripple my father, invade my sister’s house! You spy upon me at my home-at Selbourne! What I feel for you is the opposite of love. Is hatred what you wish from me?”

  “I tell you again, Meg-I will have your love.”

  Meg shook her head. His suit was in the nature of a threat.

  “You have rank and an ancient name, my lord. Power and wealth beyond most men’s comprehension! And I hear you have a son, a boy to car
ry all forward. I must wonder, if you were to have me as well, just how long your interest might last. The evidence would indicate-not long.”

  “The rest is not enough. Only you are enough. I shall have no peace without you”

  Meg thought she must have made an error in suggesting, even conditionally, the possibility that he might ever have her. Something had lit in his gaze when she had mentioned the smallest chance, even as example. He was a hunter, for whom the pursuit was all; the mere thought of attainment set him on his course.

  “Meg . . “He broke abruptly, and started to move toward her. “I tell you I love you”

  “You cannot love,” she said simply. “It is not in you” She again turned away from him, but this time he crossed to her quickly and gripped her arm. She still remembered that hard grip from years before, when she had been seized and tossed into his carriage.

  Annie and the grooms started toward her, but Meg shook her head. She forced herself to stay still.

  “Do you not know, that men love-what they most desire?” he asked low, as though he would coax her. When she did not respond his voice hardened. “I shall prove it is in me. I shall prove I love you. There is nothing I would not do for you”

  “The only way you could prove anything, Lord Sutcliffe, would be to release me this instant, and release me forever. Leave me and my family alone.”

  “No!” Sutcliffe’s grip tightened. “Why must I do so, when he is permitted to hold you? To dance with you? Why should you grant him such favors?”

  “You are mad,” Meg said. Her arm was beginning to throb. “There is no one.”

  “Oh, I agree-he is no one! A mongrel out of Braughton, descended from half the bawdy houses on the Continent. Yet you care for this no one-Cabot!”

  “Mr. Cabot is employed by my father. He is nothing to me.”

  “You may dissemble all you wish, my dear. For your sake I hope that is true. But it does not matter. I have seen that you mean much to him! That is all I need know-to remove him forever from your company.”

  “Murder is your solution to all problems, my lord, is it not? It is all you hold in your heart”

  “I tell you, Meg, that you could keep me from it. You need only come to me”