by Anna Bennett
Lord Torrington offered his arm to Meg. “Would you do me the honor?” She glanced worriedly at Uncle Alistair, but Charlotte was already asking him about his latest project, putting him at ease.
“Thank you.” They filed into the dining room and took their seats. Will’s mother was on his right. Seated next to her were Lord Torrington and Charlotte. On Will’s left were Lady Rebecca, Lord Redmere, and Uncle Alistair. Meg sat at the end of the table, opposite Will, where she would have an excellent view of him as he conversed with the well-endowed debutante.
She took a long draw of her claret and prepared for a trying evening.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Will announced, raising his glass. “Forgive me for beginning on a somber note, but as most of you know, when I lost my cousin, Thomas, my life was turned upside down. Lately I’ve realized, however, all that I have to be grateful for and all that I have to look forward to…”
As his voice trailed off, Meg looked down at her plate, afraid to meet his eyes. He was alluding to a future with her, she was sure of it. Or maybe she just hoped it.
The wistful, self-satisfied expression on Rebecca’s face said she hoped for the same.
Lord Torrington coughed into his hand and arched a sardonic brow. “Do you have some news to share, Castleton? Some big announcement perhaps?”
Rebecca and her father edged forward on their seats. Will’s mother stared at him, slack-jawed. Meg held her breath.
Will hesitated. “Not yet.”
“Good.” Lord Torrington wiped a hand across his brow, feigning relief. “You hosting a dinner party is odd enough. If you were to blindside me with something else, I might well fall off my chair.”
“Lord knows we would not want that,” Will said dryly, then raised his glass again. “To the future.”
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
“Hear, hear,” Will’s guests murmured, even though they were clearly puzzled by his toast. He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought—except Meg. He’d wanted to reassure her, to let her know that he was changing because of her—and trying desperately to meet her in the middle.
He gazed down the long table, wishing she weren’t so far away.
She was supposed to be enjoying herself, secure in the knowledge that the twins were in Mrs. Hopwood’s capable hands. She was supposed to be delighted by her Uncle’s arrival, touched by Will’s thoughtful gesture.
But her red-rimmed eyes and anxious expression told him that something was wrong—and that he was most likely to blame.
Even with Charlotte on one side of her and her uncle on the other, she appeared ill at ease. As though she’d rather be anywhere but in his dining room.
“That was a lovely toast,” Lady Rebecca cooed. Her breasts were precariously close to spilling out of her dress, but the effect was more ridiculous than seductive. It was a wonder she could converse, much less eat, with her corset tied tightly enough to squeeze up everything north of her navel.
“It’s kind of you to say so. It wasn’t my most eloquent speech.”
“I think I understood it, though. Sometimes the loss of a loved one makes us realize what’s truly important in life. It puts everything in perspective. Suddenly, decisions we’ve been struggling with become clearer.”
Will blinked and set down his fork. “Well said.”
“I felt much the same way when my mother died two years ago.”
“That must have been very difficult for you.”
Lady Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. “In the months afterward, though, I realized that we mustn’t settle for less than we deserve. And that if we want something badly, it’s up to us to pursue it.”
Will hazarded a glance at Lady Rebecca’s father, on her left. He pretended to be wholly preoccupied with the fish on his plate, but Will suspected he hung on every word of the conversation.
“I agree with the sentiment,” Will said slowly. “But sometimes, what we think we want is not what’s truly best for us.”
“True, Lord Castleton. That’s something we’d all do well to remember.”
Good God. Will took a large gulp of wine and turned his attention to the other side of the table. While Alec droned on about the adorable—to him—antics of his daughter, Abigail, Will’s mother cast furtive glances at Meg, as if she feared Meg would run off with the silver candlesticks. And as Meg listened to Torrington and Charlotte’s tale of how they’d searched for Abigail’s white cat in a snowstorm, she grew increasingly pale. She’d barely touched the food on her plate.
He wanted to ask her if she was all right, but he would have had to shout across the table, which was not only the height of bad form, but would have also drawn all eyes to her. And, somehow, he knew Meg wouldn’t be pleased.
He couldn’t do anything right, damn it.
“Please excuse me for a moment.” Meg abruptly pushed back her chair and stood.
Charlotte gasped. “Meg, are you well?”
“Yes, forgive me. I don’t want to interrupt your meal.”
Will’s mother rolled her eyes. “You already have.”
Meg regretfully placed her napkin on her chair. “I must see to something but will return shortly.” She shot Will a brief but pointed look that begged him not to intervene.
“Certainly,” he said, standing quickly, even as he heard his mother clucking her tongue in disgust.
Charlotte appeared as worried as he felt; the rest of the group merely looked bewildered and a bit pitying as Meg rushed from the room, almost colliding with Gibson on her way out.
Why in God’s name did she have to make everything so difficult? He wasn’t asking her to change who she was, but was it too much to ask that she show up to a damned dinner party at the appointed time and remain in her seat throughout the meal? The whole point of this bloody affair was to show his family and friends that she was more than a wallflower.
And to maybe convince her too.
But Will didn’t think he’d changed anyone’s mind tonight.
* * *
Meg’s conscience had propelled her from her chair. She couldn’t sit and make polite conversation while guilt twisted her belly in knots. Every story that Charlotte told about her charge, Abigail, reminded Meg of Diana and the awful way she’d treated her before she’d come down for the dinner party. She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems that she’d snapped at a six-year old—even when she’d tried to apologize.
Meg had seen the disappointment in Will’s eyes as she’d fled the room, and she would eventually have to apologize to him as well. But first, Diana.
She reached the nursery and put her ear to the closed door, for once hoping that the girls were still awake. When she heard Mrs. Hopwood humming softly inside, she released the breath she’d been holding and entered quietly.
The nanny sat in a rocking chair situated between the girls’ beds, the lamp beside her burning low. She knitted as she hummed and rocked, and Meg fought a stab of envy. The nursery rarely seemed so peaceful when she was in charge.
Upon seeing her, Mrs. Hopwood froze, concern written plainly upon her face. “My dear,” she whispered. “Whatever’s the matter? You look very pale. Come sit and let me fetch a cool cloth for your head. It’s just the thing when you’re overtired.”
Meg shook her head, too full of emotion to speak. Mrs. Hopwood’s solicitous and caring nature reminded her so much of her mother. Like the nanny, Mama had had a knack for dispensing just the right amount of sympathy while somehow making her believe that everything would work out fine. Meg felt a sudden, raw longing to hug her mother and hear her voice again.
One sleepy head popped up in her bed. “Miss Lacey?”
“Yes, Valerie, it’s me. I’m sorry to wake you.”
Diana bolted upright, too. “We weren’t asleep. Mrs. Hopwood was singing to us.”
Meg kissed Valerie’s forehead, then sat on the edge of Diana’s bed. “I’m glad you’re still awake. I wanted to speak with you.”
“With me?” Diana’s asked,
her voice thin and small.
“Yes. I owe you an apology. Earlier, when the chocolate spilled, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I shouldn’t have been upset with you.”
Diana hung her head. “I don’t blame you. I would have been angry with me too. Trouble follows wherever I go. That’s what Mama says.”
Meg pulled the girl against her side and rubbed her thin shoulder. “No, the chocolate was an accident, and those kinds of things can happen to anyone.”
“True,” Valerie chimed in thoughtfully. “But they happen to Diana a lot more.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. And then Diana giggled. Which caused Valerie to fall into a fit of laughter, and soon, Mrs. Hopwood and Meg were giggling as hard as the girls.
Wiping tears from her eyes, Meg blew out a long breath. “You asked me for forgiveness, but I should be asking you. Will you forgive me, please?”
Diana’s bottom lip trembled, and she threw her arms around Meg’s neck. Valerie hopped off her bed, jumped into Diana’s, and latched onto the hug.
“You see?” Mrs. Hopwood said soothingly. “All’s as it should be.”
Meg sat with them for a while, feeling more at peace than she had all day. When Diana’s head grew heavy on Meg’s shoulder, she patted her back. “Are you falling asleep?”
She answered with a yawn.
“I’m sleepy too,” Valerie admitted. “Would it be all right if I stayed in Diana’s bed tonight?”
Meg looked over the girls’ heads at the nanny. “That’s up to Mrs. Hopwood.”
“Oh, I think it would be fine just this once,” she said, winking at Meg. “Now you should return downstairs.”
Meg extracted herself from the twins’ embrace, settled them, and pulled the covers up to their chins. “I suppose I should,” she said, not bothering to hide her reluctance.
“Do you feel better?”
“Two stone lighter.”
“Then you’ve done the right thing. Do not be overly concerned with what the guests think. Stay true to yourself.”
“Thank you.” Meg smiled over her shoulder as she slipped out of the nursery and closed the door behind her. Earlier she’d bemoaned the fact that she had no fairy godmother … but perhaps, in a way, she now did.
When she returned to the dining room, she was greeted with varied expressions—concern, relief, disgust, and pity. Taking Mrs. Hopwood’s advice, she shrugged off the negativity. “I apologize for leaving in the middle of dinner. I needed to speak to the girls.”
Will frowned. “I trust they’re well?”
“Yes,” she assured him.
“Making the entire episode rather unnecessary,” Lady Castleton murmured.
Will ignored his mother and smiled at Meg. “I’m glad you’re back in time for the dessert course.”
“It’s my favorite course.” She patted Uncle Alistair’s hand and smiled at him. “My uncle’s, too.”
“That it is,” he said jovially. “But a fine gathering such as this is about far more than culinary delights. I am honored, Lord Castleton, that you would think to include me among your redeemed guests.”
“I believe you mean to say esteemed,” Lady Castleton corrected.
“Pardon?” Uncle Alistair’s bushy white brows formed a V.
Meg glared at Will’s mother, then spoke slowly, through her teeth. “I think everyone understood his meaning.”
Uncle Alistair scratched his head. “Didn’t I say esteemed?”
“I believe you did,” Charlotte replied, ever loyal.
“In any case,” he said, “I’d like to take this opportunity to make an announcement, Castleton. With your provision.”
Oh no.
Lady Castleton and Lord Redmere snickered, but Will gave Uncle Alistair an encouraging nod. “Of course. You have the floor.”
He blinked as though puzzled, but took a bracing breath and—
Meg had to stop him. “Uncle, I’m sure Lord Castleton’s guests would be interested in your latest observations of the moon’s movements.”
“I’m sure I would not,” muttered Lord Redmere.
“No, no. I won’t be distracted from my purpose, dear Meg.” He pushed back his chair, stood, and cleared his throat.
Meg wanted to slink under the table.
Her uncle waved his arms expansively. “I would like all of you to be the first to know, that in honor of my three young and extremely lovely nieces, I intend to host a grand ball.”
“How delightful!” Lady Rebecca cried, her breasts jiggling in proportion to her considerable excitement. “A ball!”
Dear God. “It’s more of a soiree, actually,” Meg added quickly.
“And what is the date of this momentous event?” Lady Castleton asked.
“Two weeks from tonight,” he said firmly.
A fortnight? It was not nearly enough time. Even a year would have been insufficient. “We’ll send out proper invitations with the pertinent details,” Meg hurried to add. “We still need to discuss some of the arrangements with my sisters.”
“No, no,” Uncle Alistair protested. “It’s all settled. The ball shall go on, and I humbly request the honor of your pretense.”
“I’d love to attend,” Charlotte said graciously. “I look forward to it.”
“As do I,” said Lord Torrington, who could be forgiven for his lack of enthusiasm.
“You may be sure I’ll be there.” Will said, and the rest of the guests took their cue from him, murmuring their agreement.
“Very good!” Uncle Alistair proclaimed. “I have long wanted to give my nieces a proper introduction into society, and now at last, I shall. There shall be much music, dancing, and reverie.”
Meg sighed as Gibson set a dessert dish in front of her. Even orange and lemon ice cream couldn’t salvage the disastrous evening.
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Will couldn’t wait for the evening to end.
After dinner, he and the other men drank the obligatory glass of port before going through to join the ladies in the drawing room. But shortly after that, Torrington and Charlotte bid their farewells, as did Meg’s uncle.
Meg excused herself immediately after, scurrying out of the room as if she were fleeing the Underworld.
Which, Will supposed, made him Hades.
The only poor souls who remained with him were his mother, Lord Redmere, and the scantily clad Lady Rebecca.
As Will poured himself a brandy, his mother glided over and hissed in his ear. “Take her for a turn about the room.”
He took a gulp of his drink, then shook his head. “I don’t wish to encourage her.”
“No one could accuse you of that. You’re lucky she hasn’t run away screaming after this farce of a dinner party.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now, go play the part of a gentleman. Unless you’d like me to make good on my threat of taking up residence here again…”
Damn it. “I’m going.”
While his mother conversed—and no doubt plotted—with Lord Redmere, Will approached Lady Rebecca, who perched on the settee, delicately sipping her tea. He didn’t bother with flattery, preferring to keep the entire encounter as short as possible. “Would you care to walk about the room?”
“I’d be delighted!” She stood, bouncing predictably.
He offered her his arm, and she clung too tightly as they ambled around the perimeter of the drawing room. “Tonight was the first dinner party I’ve hosted in ages,” he admitted. “It didn’t go as smoothly as I’d planned.”
“It wasn’t terrible,” Rebecca said, which was about as diplomatic as one could be under the circumstances. “I confess I barely noticed the other guests.” Her demure smile and pink cheeks seemed completely incongruent with her revealing neckline.
He attempted to steer the conversation in another direction. “My mother tells me you have a bevy of suitors.”
“I do.” He respected that she didn’t deny it. “And Papa is eager for me to marry one of them.”
“But you
are not equally enthused?” They paused at the far end of the drawing room and gazed at the moonlit garden. The secluded spot would forever remind him of the night he’d gone there with Meg—when she’d surrendered to desire.
“I wish to have some say in whom I marry, but the group of gentlemen my father deems suitable and the group I find acceptable barely intersect. In fact, there is exactly one man who meets both my father’s criteria and mine.”
Good God. “When making such a monumental decision, it’s best to explore all options—to the extent possible, that is. You may trust your father to know what is best for you.”
“And does your mother know what’s best for you?” she challenged. “Because she certainly seems to think I’m a catch.”
Will began walking again, guiding Rebecca toward her father as fast as good manners would allow. “I’m sure she does. But I make my own decisions, Lady Rebecca, and my affections are otherwise engaged.”
She frowned slightly, as though putting together all the pieces of a puzzle. “I see. And does the lucky lady return your affections?”
“That’s a very good question,” he said. He was certain that Meg cared for him, but would it be enough? “I wish I knew the answer.”
* * *
Will said good-bye to the last of his guests, drank a well-deserved glass of brandy in his study, and trudged upstairs to his bedchamber. He’d just shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat when he heard a light knock at the door.
Meg. God, he hoped it was she.
He cracked open the door and spied her in the corridor. Her hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders, begging to be touched. Her faded blue dressing gown revealed the sweet curves of her breasts and hips. “Good evening, Miss Lacey.”
She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “May I come in?”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. It’s awfully late and you have lessons to teach in the morning.”
“Will, please.”
As if he could deny her. He grinned and opened the door wide. “Be my guest.”