Quiet Meg

by Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  “You are an architect, Mr. Cabot?”

  “I trained as one”

  “I noticed that you are properly trained in the waltz as well,” Lady Billings remarked.

  “I thank you, my lady. Will you do me the honor this evening?”

  She looked shocked.

  “Do not gape so, Pru,” Sir Eustace said. “I suggest you take advantage of the offer. ‘Tis unlikely to come again.”

  Lady Billings shot a sharp look at Sir Eustace, but her smile at Chas was wide.

  “We are not set up for the waltz here this evening, sir. But I do hope you will be so good as to partner my nieces again.”

  “With pleasure.” Cabot bowed once more and let his gaze slip to Meg. From where he was standing he could see her portrait as a child just beyond her right shoulder. The effect was enchanting-like seeing a fairy creature come to life. A very womanly fairy creature.

  “What happened to the chemisette, Margaret?” her father asked idly, and all of Meg’s luminous skin turned a delectable blush rose. Chas wondered what her father could mean. The gown was alluring but far from immodest-in fact he thought it perfect.

  “Charles!” Lucy shrieked from the top of the stairs, proceeding to race down at a pace hardly slower than Bertie’s had been. “I hope you are prepared to dance and dance and dance. I’m so excited I can scarcely stand. We shall have hours and hours of music, and Aunt Pru’s chef is the very best in town-isn’t he, Papa? Oh look! Everyone is here!”

  If Chas had nurtured any hope that the incident at Vauxhall had subdued Lucy in the slightest, that hope had just been firmly dashed. As eager guests flooded into the hall, Lucy and her family moved to greet them. Chas stayed back and observed the growing throng. He had best lose himself in it as soon as possible; under the circumstances there was too much poignancy in being accepted so readily within the intimate circle of the family.

  He eyed the arrivals. Candace d’Avigne had ventured out with two friends rather than her stepmama, which was a relief. As he moved to pay his respects, Chas noticed the advent of the Wemblys, father and both sons. He was surprised and pleased that Harry had managed to attend, though it astonished Chas that Lucy, after all her complaints, did not appear to share that pleasure. Poor Harry looked exhausted.

  Walter, on the other hand, looked far from exhausted.

  Chas wisely removed himself from the Wemblys’ vicinity. He guessed there were several hundred people in attendance. In the course of the first hour, he danced with a number of sweetly interchangeable debutantes, all the while keeping most of his attention and all of his thoughts on Meg. Tonight she did not lack for partners, a fact to which he had a mixed reaction. When she moved to another part of the house, he moved as well, even as the crush of guests impeded pursuit. The evening was not as he would have pictured one of his final ones on earth-he would have imagined a night of revelry with his cousins, or one of quiet reflection walking the grounds at Brookslea. But as he again sought a glimpse of Meg’s dark locks he knew he could not have been more satisfied.

  “You are staring,” Hayden said to his side.

  “I do not care”

  “She will know.”

  “By now-she should” He turned to look at Hayden, who was examining his cravat and collar through a quizzing glass.

  “Dietz?” he asked.

  Chas nodded, as well as he could in the stiff contraption.

  “You have possibilities, Chas,” Hayden said dryly.

  “Unlikely to be explored. I have just suggested Dietz remove himself to Brookslea. I refuse to be ruled by my valet.”

  Hayden sighed.

  “There are worse things.”

  They parted to do their duty as bachelors, Hayden with Lucy, and Chas with Lady Billings. The dance was a quadrille, which Lady Billings navigated with a great deal of panache. Chas complimented her in its aftermath.

  “You are not the only one, young man, who can cut a dash on the dance floor,” she suggested roguishly.

  “We must do this again, Lady Billings.”

  “Perhaps at your wedding?”

  “Oh, long before that I hope” As he bowed he knew he had disappointed her. But she was doomed to that in any event. He would not be offering for her niece.

  He presented himself to Louisa, standing nearby, for the next dance, which was enjoyable enough until he espied Meg partnered with Walter Wembly for the same. Despite his best efforts, Chas could not command his gaze.

  Louisa noticed.

  “He is not near as good a dancer, Mr. Cabot,” she told him.

  “He is a much better physician”

  “It is lucky then-that my sister has always been in excellent health.”

  He had to laugh.

  “You must pardon my aunt, Mr. Cabot,” Louisa added. “She is elderly-and has her hopes.”

  “It is not a bad thing for any of us to have hopes, Mrs. Ferrell.”

  “Except for you?”

  As they moved apart in the steps he did not respond. But his curiosity warred with his good sense. If anyone were likely to have Meg’s confidence, it was Louisa. When they came back around again, he asked,

  “Should I hope, Mrs. Ferrell?”

  “Yes.”

  The single word struck him silent. Sir Eustace and Louisa seemed to be in accord, and intent on shaking his resolve.

  “Lucy is being very bad about Harry,” Louisa remarked. Indeed, the youngest Miss Lawrence had rebuffed Harry’s invitations to dance at least three times that Chas had noted. “Might you say something to her, Mr. Cabot? She values your opinion.”

  “Having thrown me over several times, she now considers me her sage advisor, does she?” They smiled at each other as they took their leave.

  Chas sought out the belle of the ball, who had just finished with Lord Knowles. After one look at her face, Chas speculated that Knowles’s famed loquacity had eclipsed even chatty Lucy-even at her own ball.

  “I think I must have your cousin Lord Hayden, after all, Charles,” Lucy mused, as though an offer were outstanding. “His address is so perfect! He is always most attentive and complimentary, and he does not talk … quite so much as some. He does dress divinely, doesn’t he? Is he very, very wealthy?”

  “Very, Miss Lucy. Which is why it does him no harm to spend much of his time gambling”

  She frowned.

  “And is your uncle, the duke, in good health? I know it must be a dreadful thing in a family, to have so much of one’s standing depend on the standing of another. One would never wish for unfortunate events of course, but they do happen. Though on its own a marquisate is a very high station, isn’t it?”

  “My uncle is hale and hearty, Miss Lucy, and likely to live another thirty years or more”

  Again the girl frowned.

  “Does your cousin have any particular interests or hobbies? Perhaps he is a sportsman, or a scholar, or a patron of the arts?”

  “He is exceedingly fond of port, which will no doubt give him the gout “

  “Oh, but surely he is too young?”

  “He is two years older than I, Miss Lucy, and I have already noticed some gray in those distinctive gold locks. He is likely to be completely gray within the year.” As Lucy bit her lower lip, Chas said, “Mr. Harris Wembly did manage to attend tonight, Miss Lucy. Are you not pleased?”

  Lucy roused herself from her blue study.

  “If he were going to come he should have told me so, instead of pretending otherwise, and having me so anxious and upset. I have scarce been able to concentrate on all the arrangements for the ball, I have been so troubled by Mr. Wembly’s excuses and delays.”

  “Perhaps he did not know until the last minute”

  Lucy’s little nose tilted dramatically.

  “Some things should come first,” she said.

  “Yes,” Chas agreed on a sigh, and let her continue uninterrupted as she eagerly relayed plans to visit Astley’s circus. He had tried. At least he had countered some of her intere
st in Hayden.

  He joined Hayden and Bertie in observing the ensuing country dance.

  “I believe I have done you a service, Hayden,” Chas said. “You are a graying, gouty gambler.”

  Hayden’s eyebrows rose.

  “I promise to return the favor. Perhaps with Miss Meg?”

  “You needn’t trouble. She is avoiding me easily enough without your reinforcement.” Indeed, as he remarked it Chas realized that Meg had never once tended in his direction. At once he felt unjustifiably angry, particularly when he noticed that Walter Wembly was partnering her in this dance-his second.

  “What-should you like to dance with Meggie, Cabot?” Bertie’s gaze was openly inquiring. Chas reflected that it was in its own way refreshing-that Lawrence, so taken with town’s distractions, was capable of being so utterly oblivious. “I shall nab you the supper dance-the second in the next set”

  “Thank you, Lawrence”

  As the dance came to a close, Ferrell and a morose Harry drifted over to their quiet group.

  “Harry is being cut,” Ferrell informed them.

  “I cannot make her out,” Harry said. “I have done just as she wished. I slaved to take my exams early. I could not possibly have done more.” He drew a deep breath. “I shall probably be plucked. Yet she promises only … to drive me mad.” He watched Lucy step lightly through the last measures of the dance. “Thank God for my work.”

  “Amen, Mr. Wembly,” they agreed, in surprising chorus. They exploded in laughter. They were still in good humor when Meg brought a subdued Lucy over to Harry.

  “I hesitate to interrupt your entertainment, Lord Hayden. Gentlemen.” Meg curtsied to them all. “Mr. Wembly, my sister has discovered an error.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wembly,” Lucy said, looking to the floor. “This dance is free-should you desire it.”

  “I do indeed, Miss Lucy,” Harry said with alacrity. He bowed to Meg before offering Lucy his arm. “Thank you, Miss Meg,” he said gratefully.

  As the young couple moved to the floor, Bertie asked Meg,

  “How did you fetch her?”

  “I told her-that if she did not dance with Harry at her ball, she would regret it the rest of her days.” Meg’s gaze was on Lucy and Harry.

  “And that was sufficient inducement, Miss Lawrence?” Hayden asked.

  Meg turned to smile at him.

  “Does a lifelong regret not strike you as severe enough penance, my lord?”

  As Hayden answered with silence, Bertie said, “This is our dance I think, Meggie,” and led his sister away.

  Hayden observed them through his quizzing glass.

  “You must marry her, Chas,” he said at last, “and soon. Else I fear I shall be forced to it.” He dropped the glass and turned to him. “And that you know you would regret” He walked off toward the other room, leaving Chas to reflect that his cousin might be preferable to Dr. Wembly-but not by much.

  He waited. The music was good, though the few instruments with the piano sounded thin compared to Almack’s orchestra. The tune just barely bested the hum of conversation. The rooms had warmed with the lights and the activity of the dancers; the cool garden beckoned. But Chas would have his dance. He watched Meg with her brother. For some reason Sutcliffe came to mind-for the first time since the dancing had begun.

  Chas tried to dispel the thought but could not. The image was of the music continuing, of the evening still bright and lively, of Meg still dancing-with Lawrence, with Hayden, with Knowles and Demarest and Wembly. But he himself watched as though through a veil, as though he had passed on.

  “What is it, Cabot?” Ferrell asked him. He had been standing to the side in companionable silence.

  “A shadow across my grave, I should imagine, Ferrell.”

  Ferrell contemplated Lady Billings’s grand ballroom, with its high ceilings, glowing sconces and chandeliers, and decorative swags.

  “He isn’t here tonight, Cabot,” he said perceptively. Then he grinned. “Nevertheless, would you care for something to drink? Negus-or something stronger?”

  Chas thanked him but declined. The dance was coming to a close. As Ferrell wandered away Chas kept his gaze on Meg. He was determined that she should not elude him again.

  When the music stopped he moved quickly to intercept her. Bertie had just placed her hand upon his sleeve when Meg withdrew it.

  “I believe I shall take a rest now, Mr. Cabot. I am feeling fatigued.”

  “But you cannot . . ” He stopped himself from pleading. She did not look fatigued. “Of course, Miss Lawrence. As you wish.”

  He stood with her. She could not very well dance with anyone else after such an excuse. He stood close enough to note how exercise had dampened the fine wisps of curls against her forehead. As she fanned her face he had the overwhelming desire to kiss her delectable neck. When he noticed her foot tapping to the beat of the music, Chas knew he had had enough.

  “Did you receive my violets, Miss Lawrence?”

  The fanning briefly paused.

  “I did, thank you”

  He turned fully to her.

  “But you are determined to do to me … what your sister did to Harry?”

  “It is not the same,” she insisted, again fanning vigorously as she kept her attention on the dancers.

  “You must know-it is worse” That drew her gaze. His own was steady; he reminded her silently of their shared kiss in the park. It was best she know that he thought her unfair. As her fanning lapsed altogether he pulled her into the remainder of the dance.

  They had to skirt the set. He deftly maneuvered her past the orchestra, toward a door to the garden. And when the music stopped he slipped her quickly outside into the night air, just as everyone else headed to supper.

  “Mr. Cabot…”

  He placed a finger against her lips, and coaxed her further, away from the circle of light at the door, down the steps and on beyond a line of clipped pear trees. The scent of lilacs again filled the air, and the leaves on the pear trees rustled. The shadows of the trees and of the high garden walls crossed the light from the ballroom.

  “Do you not hear it?” he asked softly, drawing her closer. He had had her in his arms before-she belonged there always. “Do you not hear the waltz?” He turned with her as though to music, holding her as he had at Almack’s, even, perhaps, a bit tighter-because there was no one to seeand she did not protest. He recognized helplessly that he was above all things a lover.

  He led her silently through a series of slow, gliding turns, his arm hard against her waist. Her face was pale in the darkness, her eyes large and beautiful. When they closed, he leaned to kiss her.

  His lips, the wonderful warm lips she had missed, had just touched hers again when Meg heard something quite different from the muted rustling of leaves. It sounded distinctly intrusive-a soft scraping against brick; it sounded as though someone were climbing down the garden wall to their side.

  Instantly Cabot put her from him and moved to the wall, listening intently as he eyed its height. There was no gate to the alley beyond. He returned to grasp her hand and pull her none too gently toward the ballroom.

  “You must stay inside,” he commanded as he ran her up the steps. His voice was now anything but coaxing. “I have been incalculably foolish”

  Meg was deposited, blinking dazedly, in the suddenly harsh lights of the ballroom, where only the musicians still lingered away from supper. As Cabot strode quickly ahead of her, she trailed in his wake, conscious of the first flush of embarrassment. If Cabot were to tell father, or Bertie, they would know she had been out in the garden with himalone …

  Cabot did not go to the supper room but out through the library behind the dancing gallery. The library’s tall glass doors fronted both the garden and the mews; none of the doors was open. Cabot unlocked one in back and straddled a low iron rail to jump easily down to the lane. Meg knew the back route well, since she and Bertie had used it often as their exit for their early morning rides. From
the safety of the library, she watched Cabot rapidly walk the length of the garden wall and beyond into darkness. Nothing was in sight-no people, no horses, no carts or carriages. Meg could not imagine how someone could possibly have gained the top of the wall without aid-and then disappear so quickly.

  When Cabot reappeared down the alley, he entered at the kitchen door below.

  Meg looked about the library, which had been used as a card room. Dealt hands still lay upon the tables, awaiting renewal of the games. The players must have recessed reluctantly for supper, though the sound of conversation and laughter from the dining room was continuous and cheerful, and clearly, Meg thought enviously, untroubled.

  Cabot returned to her in the library and pointedly locked the glass door to the mews.

  “Someone helped him up. There are no signs of hooks or ropes. Our visitor must have been atop the wall for some time. Since before the guard was posted at the kitchen door, at least-for he saw nothing. The guard says he heard only what he believed to be a cat. It is dark enough the sneak could have slipped quietly into the shadows and been off in mere seconds” He sighed heavily. “Curse me for a simpleton!” He brushed off his coat with impatience.

  “You could not have known … ,” Meg said.

  “I should have guessed. Even with guards front and back I should not have taken you out there. I apologize, Miss Lawrence”

  She watched his face, wondering if he apologized for everything. If so, she did not want him to.

  “Come, let us say nothing of this.” He placed a warm palm at her waist to direct her back toward the hall. “Nothing further can be done. It would only distress the rest of your family.”

  “You think he was-someone from Lord Sutcliffe?”

  “I know he was.” He stopped her there in the library and turned her to him. The playfulness of her waltzing partner had disappeared. All was tense expectancy and purpose. “Your father said you return to Selbourne Saturday?”

  “Yes.

  “That’s for the best-for now. Sutcliffe can reach you too easily here in town”

  Meg thought her face must betray her guilty secret, the meeting at Monsieur LeBecque’s and the earl’s dreadful offer. Cabot was looking at her too closely.