A Magnificent Match

by Gayle Buck

  “I know very well where St. Petersburg is,” said Mrs. O’Connell irritably. “I am not an idiot. However, I fail to un­derstand why you are going there at all. Whatever can you be thinking? St. Petersburg is for all intents and purposes on the other side of the world! And how will you go on? Though an estimable woman, Mrs. Tyler is certainly not an entree into Russian society! Not that I’d care for that, in any event, for I understand that they are a barbaric people.”

  “My mother received an invitation for me from a friend, Princess Elizaveta Kirov. The princess has offered to introduce me into Russian society,” said Megan.

  Mrs. O’Connell’s gaze was arrested. She stared at Megan for a long moment, before a small smile touched her lips. “I see. Of course. My dear mother-in-law has always got one’s interests so close to heart. Well, Megan, I do not say that I envy you. But I do wish you well.”

  Megan was surprised by her sister-in-law’s well-wishing. “Thank you, Sophronia. It is kind of you to say so.”

  Mrs. O’Connell shrugged. “Not at all, Megan. Of all of the O’Connells, I find you least objectionable. It is a pity that you are to be shunted off in this paltry fashion, but I imagine that even St. Petersburg must offer more than what you would have if you remained here. Certainly you cannot expect a London Season.” Her eyes wandered to her husband’s stocky form and her mouth drooped in a pathetic expression.

  Megan noticed. Impulsively, she said, “Sophronia, if you are so unhappy, why do you not simply leave? Why Bath? Why not London? You were used to be such a happy creature. Perhaps a change of scenery, a new existence with routs and balls and picnics and admirers would—” She brought herself up short. Her sister-in-law was staring at her in shocked in­comprehension. “Forgive me, Sophronia. I am speaking out of turn. I see Lady Mansfield. I should go over and greet her.”

  Megan rose and quickly made her escape. She could not un­derstand how she had come to speak so bluntly to her sister-in-law. Intimacies were not encouraged in the O’Connell household. One did not intrude upon another’s private affairs, for it was an understood thing that to do so constituted a breach of the rigid propriety that was to be observed.

  After a few minutes of easy conversation with the guests, most of whom were well-known to Megan from past years, she was summoned by her father with a crook of his finger. Obediently Megan crossed over to him. “Yes, Father?”

  Lord O’Connell stared at her from under beetled black brows. His mane of hair was grizzled with silver and his fig­ure, though thickened, was still that of an athletic gentleman. “Lionel informs me that you took the gelding over the Patterson fences during my absence.”

  Megan drew in her breath. Ever so slightly her fingers curled in the folds of her skirt. Very calmly, she replied, “Yes, I did. I had told Lionel all week that the gelding was ready. My brother disagreed.”

  Lord O’Connell frowned at her. “Lionel is in charge of the stables, daughter.”

  Megan smiled slightly. “However competent Lionel is with the horses, you have said yourself that I often have the better instincts. In this instance, I believed in the gelding enough to give him a try.”

  “How did he do?” asked Lord O’Connell.

  “Very well, sir. He likes to jump,” said Megan.

  Lord O’Connell nodded. The flicker of a smile crossed his features. “Good, good. I do trust in your instincts, Megan. However, I have set Lionel in charge of the stables when I am gone on a buying trip. In future, I ask that you abide by his au­thority.”

  “Of course, Father,” said Megan unemotionally.

  “I am glad that we understand one another. You may work the gelding hard after your mother’s ball. We must have him ready in a few months,” said Lord O’Connell.

  “I am sorry, Father, but that will not be possible,” said Megan. “I am going to St. Petersburg. But I am certain that now he knows of the gelding’s readiness, Lionel may very well work with him.”

  “St. Petersburg? This is not at all convenient, Megan,” said Lord O’Connell sharply. “I need you here during the selling season. You are one of my best riders.”

  “I am sorry, sir. Mother has accepted an invitation upon my behalf from Princess Elizaveta Kirov. I do not think it is possi­ble to bow out without giving grave offense,” said Megan. She did not say so, but she was anxious that her father not deny his permission for the journey. Now that she had made up her mind to go, she really did not want to give up the adventure that the trip to St. Petersburg offered to her.

  Lord O’Connell had been scowling, but suddenly his ex­pression turned reflective. “Kirov? Kirov? Where have I heard that name?”

  “Her highness is a friend of my mother’s. I met the princess very briefly two years ago in London,” said Megan. “Perhaps Mother mentioned Princess Kirov to you?”

  Lord O’Connell waved his hand dismissively. “No, that was not it. Lady O’Connell collects all sorts of titles. One rarely means anything more than another to me. However, the name Kirov rings a bell.”

  Megan waited patiently while her parent gave the matter thought. She knew that it would not be a welcome move on her part to excuse herself without permission.

  His face clearing, Lord O’Connell snapped his fingers. “I have it! I thought that there was something of importance I had heard. The Kirovs are directly related to several of the nobility who specialize in breeding the Orlov carriage horses and the Kabardian trotters.”

  “Are they?” asked Megan with scarce interest. “I had not re­alized.”

  Lord O’Connell was suddenly all good humor. “By all means, Megan, go stay with Princess Kirov for as long as she wishes you to remain! Perhaps you may be able to arrange for the purchase of one of the Orlovs or Kabardians.”

  Megan was startled. “I do not think that I have either the ex­perience or the credibility to even begin to embark upon such a task, my lord!”

  Lord O’Connell waved aside his daughter’s protestation. “Nonsense! My credit is well enough known, at least in Eu­rope, so you may rely upon that. As for the rest, I trust that you have a shrewd enough head on your shoulders to know an ad­vantageous deal when it is offered to you. It will be necessary to make funds available to you, of course.” He thought for a moment, while Megan regarded him with growing astonish­ment. “Come to my office in the morning, Megan. I shall write out a letter of transfer for you to carry with you to St. Peters­burg so that you may be able to open an account in a bank. Princess Elizaveta will undoubtedly be able to point you to a respectable banking establishment.” He bent an abruptly stern regard on her. “And I expect you to spend a few pounds on yourself, too, for I wish you to make the very best appearance possible. A good appearance is imperative in business deal­ings, Megan. You will do me the courtesy of respecting my wishes in this matter!”

  “Yes, of course, Father. I will do just as you advise,” said Megan, marveling at her good fortune. She had never been handed a virtual carte blanche in all of her life. More than ever, she was glad for the invitation to visit Russia. It promised to be an opportunity unequaled in her limited experi­ence.

  “You look very well this evening, by the way. I am glad to see that you are becoming a bit more elegant in your wardrobe. I have disliked the gowns that you have worn in the past. Not at all up to the mark. I never have cause for com­plaint of you in the field, though. I am always proud of how you make the horses look,” said Lord O’Connell.

  “Thank you, sir,” murmured Megan.

  Lord O’Connell’s gaze wandered from her. “Ah, there is Sir Bartram. He is always good for a jumper or two. He has brought his son with him this year. Pray be a good girl and make yourself friendly, Megan. I have arranged with your mother that you are to be seated beside the son at dinner. I ex­pect you to talk up the jumpers to him. You know the sort of thing.”

  “You may rely on me, sir,” said Megan, stifling a sigh.

  “I know that I can rely on you, Megan,” said Lord O’Con­nell with a paternal smile.
“You at least have some under­standing of what is required. Sophronia is worthless at that sort of thing. Colin intends to desert me when I need him most, drat him! As for Celeste, she is a disappointment to me tonight. My son-in-law informs me that she will not be down for fear of becoming ill and making a scene before my guests. He thought it would not set the right tone.”

  “There is truth in that,” said Megan, willing to risk a stiff setdown in order to uphold her brother-in-law. She was sur­prised by her father’s reaction.

  Lord O’Connell snorted. “Quite right! I never thought to hear anything so sensible come out of that windbag Patrick’s mouth.” He patted Megan on the shoulder and started off to­ward his quarry.

  Megan had to bite back a wide smile. Patrick Kennehessey had actually managed to excuse his wife’s indisposition with­out incurring Lord O’Connell’s wrath. That was a feat indeed and Megan thoroughly appreciated her brother-in-law’s ingenuity. It was the brightest spot in the whole conversation with her father. Megan was still smiling when her brother Lionel descended upon her.

  “So, did Father tell you that I am to be in charge?” he asked condescendingly. He looked at her with a knowing curl of the lip.

  Megan raised her brows slightly. “You may have the run of the stables with my goodwill, Lionel,” she said.

  She walked away, leaving her brother smiling in a satisfied way. Megan saw no reason to tell him that she did not care what he did since she would not be there to see it. Let Lionel realize it for himself, she thought. She would not demean her­self by coming down to his petty level.

  Megan’s attention was at once claimed by Lady Mansfield, a dowager built on formidable lines. Her ladyship’s autocratic face and commanding figure hid a placid nature, however, and Megan was not at all adverse to obey her penetrating sum­mons. “My lady, you wished to speak to me?”

  “I have been put in mind of something, my dear. I wish to know if it is true that Captain O’Connell is betrothed?” said Lady Mansfield, not bothering to lower her voice.

  Megan glanced around, aware that there had been a ripple of interest at her ladyship’s question. She shook her head, smil­ing. “No, he is not. Not to my knowledge, at any rate. Why do you ask, dear ma’am?” She drew the lady courteously over to a settee, which chanced to be a little removed from the crowd.

  “A rumor passed on to me by m’sister in London,” said Lady Mansfield, sitting down heavily. “She wrote me some­thing about Captain O’Connell making up to some chit or other and the parents taking rare exception. I thought it might be a mistake. Your brother is not known for cutting a dash among the ladies.”

  “I should hope not! But I have heard nothing of this,” said Megan. “Certainly Colin has never mentioned anything of the sort.”

  “Daresay m’sister might have gotten her stories confused, she often does, and it wasn’t Captain O’Connell at all,” said Lady Mansfield.

  Megan agreed to it and introduced another topic. However, she could not but wonder whether her brother had indeed stirred up some sort of gossip about himself. Her eyes sought out her brother’s tall figure. He was leaning against the mantel in a ca­sual pose, a smile on his face as he listened to another gentleman. There was no denying that Colin was devastatingly attractive, es­pecially in his military regimentals, Megan thought. It would not be surprising to learn that he was the object of some young woman’s admiration, nor that he had entered into a light flirta­tion. But what Lady Mansfield had related was of a more serious nature. Megan could only hope that such a story, true or other­wise, did not come to Lord O’Connell’s ears.

  His lordship might view his children with indifference, but he demanded a high standard of propriety. Lord O’Connell’s harsh reaction to his eldest daughter’s elopement had resulted in a painful and lengthy separation for Megan from her sister. Megan did not desire a similar estrangement with her brother.

  When Megan separated at last from Lady Mansfield, she started to seek out her brother and ask him about the story. Be­fore she reached him, however, Megan had thought better of it. Colin would not thank her for prying into what was essentially his private life, and he would no doubt greet her question with a chilly reserve. There was an unspoken rule in the O’Connell household. One did not involve oneself too closely into the af­fairs of others.

  Lady O’Connell shortly announced dinner and paired up the guests. Megan smiled and graciously accepted the escort of Sir Bartram’s son. She quickly discovered that he was a rather in­sipid young man without a single original thought in his head. He did not open his mouth except to parrot his domineering fa­ther’s opinions.

  Megan was excruciatingly bored, but she dutifully held up her part of the conversation as well as she was able. She was never more glad than when Lady O’Connell rose from the table, signaling the end of dinner and the departure of the ladies from the dining room so that the gentlemen could enjoy their after-dinner port in privacy.

  Lady O’Connell took the opportunity afforded in a lull of conversation to murmur to her daughter, “That is not the same gown that you wore last year, surely?”

  “No, ma’am, it is not. My own gown had become quite in­decent and so I had to make shift at the last minute with this one,” said Megan quietly. “I have already received several compliments this evening. Even my father offered a kind word for my appearance.”

  Lady O’Connell looked as though she wanted to inquire more closely into the gown’s origins, but her attention was claimed by a guest. Megan was glad of it. She had little taste for a public discussion about the inadequacies of her wardrobe. Least of all did she want to air the fact that she was wearing a cast-down gown from her mother’s dresser’s wardrobe. She was thankful to be spared that embarrassment.

  The gentlemen shortly joined the ladies. The orchestra was given the signal to begin and the entire company drifted into the ballroom. The night was danced away.

  During the course of the evening, Megan told Captain O’Connell that, if it was convenient to him, she wanted to leave for London on the morrow as soon as she had seen their father.

  “Called on the carpet, are you?” asked Captain O’Connell, smothering a yawn. “I wondered how long it would be before Lionel would get his own back. Shall I go with you and tell Father that I was as much to blame since I did not try to stop you from jumping the gelding?”

  “I have already been scolded. This is a different matter alto­gether. And no, I do not think you should accompany me. Fa­ther has made it quite plain that he is not best pleased that your leave has not been extended this time,” said Megan. “If he were to see you, he would likely say something that will set up your back. And I am of no mind to travel with you after you have been thrown into the sulks, Colin.”

  “Spoken like a true O’Connell,” said Captain O’Connell, flashing a grin. He was not at all insulted. “Very well, then. I’ll let you go into the ogre’s den on your own. I made the offer with a notable lack of enthusiasm, in any event.”

  “As I noticed,” retorted Megan. “Mrs. Tyler and I will be packed and ready to depart at any time after I have seen Fa­ther.”

  “That will suit me admirably,” said Captain O’Connell. “I have it in mind to go up in the morning to say good-bye to Celeste and then we can be off. I only hope she is not ill while I am in the room!”

  Megan laughed and parted from her brother on good terms. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning before the O’Connell’s grand ball ended. The houseguests staggered to their rooms, the neighbors departed, and Megan was at last free to seek her own bed.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  The next morning all transpired as planned and the travelers took to the road before luncheon. Captain O’Connell rode, firmly declining to share the carriage with the ladies and the maid.

  “I’ve no intention of riding bodkin between a stack of fe­male baggage and a lachrymose maid,” he said forcibly.

  Megan really could not blame him. Her maid had bee
n snif­fling dolefully ever since she had learned that she was to leave Ireland. However, the woman had said that it was her duty to accompany her mistress to the ends of the earth, whether it be London or Russia. Megan almost regretted bringing the maid at all, for it was bothersome to be obliged to witness Betty’s discomposure. But she and Mrs. Tyler could scarcely be ex­pected to do without a tiring-woman.

  Captain O’Connell’s decision did not weigh with Megan on another count, as well. Without her brother’s demanding pres­ence, Megan could allow her thoughts to roam at will without being obligated to making conversation. She and Mrs. Tyler knew one another so well that there was no constraint between them even when not a word was spoken for several moments.

  Mrs. Tyler occupied herself with embroidery while Megan di­vided her attention between the book in her lap and the passing miles. The journey to London was made without incident, dis­counting the maid’s wretched bout of seasickness while crossing the Irish Sea, which made Captain O’Connell declare that he felt quite able to tumble the unhappy woman into the choppy waves.

  Soon enough Captain O’Connell left the trio at the town house in Albemarle Street, expressing his relief at being able to relinquish his responsibility for them into the capable hands of Lady O’Connell’s domestic staff.

  * * * *

  The next week was very busy. Megan and Mrs. Tyler made visits to several shops to acquire everything that occurred to them which might be useful in a cold, inhospitable climate. They also visited the expensive modiste, Madame Rochet, and ordered several ensembles. Allowing themselves to be guided by the astute modiste’s advice, they ended up commissioning an enormous number of gowns, day dresses, carriage dresses, pelisses, dominos, and other stylish garments. This, coupled with the purchase of bonnets, inexpressibles, innumerable pairs of gloves, hose, and other feminine fripperies, began to give Mrs. Tyler’s conscience a definite twinge.

  “My dear, does it not occur to you that we are taking advan­tage of Lady O’Connell’s directive?” she asked falteringly, having caught sight of the price of a very pretty fringed shawl that Megan was just then purchasing. She had unconsciously been keeping a rough total in her mind and it was beginning to concern her. Of course, there was no knowing what the modiste’s bills were, for those were to be directly forwarded to Lady O’Connell’s agent, Mr. Henry.