But entering the parlor with Meg, feeling her presence and her support as his mother turned another glare his way, this felt like something deeper than mere family.
This was the possibility of true partnership, of never being alone even if they were apart, because their souls were united as much as their bodies and their lives. And that was thrilling and terrifying all at once, for he knew he didn’t deserve such a bond.
He broke away from Meg gently and moved to the sideboard where Emma was already holding out a cup of tea for him. He forced a smile to his mother and said, “I am happy you have arrived in time for the wedding, Mother. I thought you might join us sooner—was my letter delayed?”
The duchess arched a brow, the cruel line of her lips tilting in a nasty half-smile. “It was not. I just saw no need to rush over to celebrate this humiliation you’ve brought on us. And as for what you thought, I have thought a great deal about you, my boy. Would you like me to recite all the thoughts I’ve had?”
He flinched not only at the harsh cruelty of her words, but at the way every other person in the room shifted with discomfort at witnessing her set down. Everyone, that was, except for Meg. She rushed forward, smiling as if nothing had happened, even as her eyes snapped with defensive anger on his behalf.
“Your Grace, why don’t you sit? You’ve had a busy day. I’ll bring your tea,” she said. “Two sugars and milk, yes?”
The duchess appeared surprised that Meg knew that and nodded. “Yes, just so. Thank you.”
His mother moved away from Simon to a place before the fire and settled in for a conversation with the dowager as Meg and Emma prepared the rest of the tea. Simon walked away from them, crossing the large room to stand aside at the window and observe.
It took James less than thirty seconds to break away from the ladies and join him. Simon refused to look at his friend, but continued to watch Meg handle his cranky mother with grace and kindness. From time to time, she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes with a purpose, with a message that she was his ally.
And she was more than that, in truth. She was his best friend. She had been for what seemed like forever, far more than even James or Graham had ever been.
“You all right?” James asked at last.
Simon still didn’t look at him. “Oh yes. My mother has despised me for years, as you well know. Now she just has a larger group of people who agree with her assessment of my poor character. It will make her happy to have so many who see me as a failure as a man and a friend.”
James stepped in front of him, forcing Simon to look at him at last. James’s jaw was set hard, his eyes lit with emotion. “I don’t despise you,” he said softly.
Simon caught his breath. Since the scandal that had started all this, he and James had not spoken of what he’d done. He’d been avoiding the topic, truth be told, for he didn’t want to hear James say he hated him. He didn’t want to lose one of the people he loved most, especially since he’d already lost Graham and who knew how many others in their circle.
But now James held steady in his regard, making his position as clear as the window that overlooked the garden behind them.
“No?” Simon asked.
James slowly shook his head as a response.
Simon wanted to hold onto that answer with both hands. He wanted to take it and feel that he deserved it. But then he thought of Graham’s crumpled expression before he left, of the way he had broken himself not just from Simon and Meg, but from James and the others.
“After I destroyed your friendship with Graham, ruined your sister and damaged your family name, you still don’t despise me?”
“No,” James said firmly.
“Well, you should,” Simon whispered.
“You despise yourself enough for both of us,” James retorted.
Simon was ready to respond, but before he could, his mother rose to her feet. “I would like to retire.”
He sighed and stepped forward. “May I show you to your chamber, Mother?”
She looked him up and down, then shook her head. “No, thank you. I prefer to have Grimble do it. Good afternoon.”
Simon clenched his teeth as she left, hating how the rest of the room, his friends and his future bride, all stared at him, pitying him when he deserved censure, not understanding. He let out his breath in a burst and said, “Excuse me.”
Without waiting for a response, he left the room, running from what he felt, what he wanted and what he knew he should not have.
Meg stood on a wooden box in the middle of her chamber, holding perfectly still as the seamstress made a few last adjustments on her gown. In less than twenty-four hours, she would don it to become Simon’s wife.
This was an event she had often pictured, especially after her betrothal to Graham. In fact, sometimes the fantasy of her wedding gown was the only thing about that marriage that she had actually looked forward to. And today her mind wasn’t on it at all, despite how beautiful the dress was, with its pale pink silks, creamy lace overlay and the hand-stitched pearls that danced along the skirt.
“May I ask you a question?” Emma asked as the seamstress excused herself to fetch some additional fabric from her carriage on the drive.
Meg nodded. “Of course.”
“When the Duchess of Crestwood arrived today, I expected her to be…”
“Different?” Meg asked, clenching her teeth as she thought of her future mother-in-law’s nasty behavior. She’d forced herself to be kind in order to ease Simon’s discomfort, but what she’d wanted to do was slap the duchess across the face.
“Yes,” Emma said. “Why is she so cruel to Simon?”
Meg sighed heavily as she stepped down from her perch and crossed to the fire. Memories mobbed her, including one strong one of Simon standing in the stable six years ago, tears streaming down his face as he tried to process his father’s death. She had held his hand—it was all she could do.
“Simon’s father wasn’t like ours,” she said at last. “Not abjectly cruel. He ignored Simon, though. Utterly ignored him. Nothing he could do ever brought him attention. Good marks in school, good behavior, bad behavior, all of it was for nothing.”
“He must have longed for connection,” Emma said softly, her hand straying to her stomach, as if to shelter the baby inside of her from such cruelty.
Meg nodded. “And he found it, with my brother and their club full of friends.” She sighed. “Part of why he is so devastated by his role in the breaking of his friendship with Graham, I think.”
“And his mother was the same as his father?” Emma asked, returning to the original subject.
“No, she has always been all about appearances. Looking to be the perfect family, the perfect duke, the perfect everything.” Meg folded her arms. “But when Simon found acceptance with his friends, he stopped seeking it from his father. He spent holidays with us, not them. Just before his father died, the duke sent Simon a letter. It was horrible, filled with demands.” She winced. “Simon didn’t answer. His father died shortly thereafter and Simon did not go home for the burial.”
“The duchess was angry,” Emma said with a sad shake of her head.
“That service was to be one of her finest moments, with all eyes on her in her loss. I’m sure she had it planned perfectly, from every sniffle to each twist of her handkerchief,” Meg said, unable to keep the disgust from her tone. “And instead she had to spend it explaining why her son was not there. Of course, it was because Simon was here, trying to process the death of a father he’d never truly had. But she’s never forgiven him.”
Emma sighed heavily. “Well, that certainly explains a great deal about Simon.”
Meg wrinkled her brow. “Like what?”
Emma shrugged. “Well, the past few weeks aside, he is never serious. When he’s with others, he often pretends that he has no depth, though it’s obvious that isn’t true. And he doesn’t…fight, even for what he wants or believes in.”
Meg flinched. That last observation hit so very close to home. Simon had never fought for her.
“A-And you think that is because of what he experienced as a child?” she whispered.
Emma nodded. “We all carry our past with us, don’t we? I know I do. James did for many years, and even now when the weight is lighter, he still holds it on his shoulders. Simon is no different. I can imagine if he spent his life never receiving his father’s attention or meeting his mother’s impossibly high standards, it would make him reluctant to try to win anything.”
Meg pondered that. She’d never thought of it in those terms before. “I suppose you’re correct. Pretending to be easy and satisfied at all times would be easier than striving for what was unattainable.”
The seamstress returned then and Meg stepped back into place as Emma changed the subject to something less personal in front of the stranger. But Emma’s words rang in Meg’s head.
It was possible Simon was incapable for fighting for what he wanted. But if he didn’t, she wasn’t certain she would be able to fight hard enough for both of them.
Chapter Fifteen
Simon had been married for eight hours. Though the service was small, with only the vicar and their families in attendance, somehow the day had still stretched long. He and Meg had never been alone, dragged from one duty to the next.
But now, as they stood in the parlor, after-dinner drinks in hand, Simon was beginning to see a light at the end of this very long tunnel. And the light was going to bed…with his wife.
He shivered at that thought, of having her after so many days apart. Of having her when she was truly his and he was truly hers. There was meaning in that, even if he wanted so desperately to deny it.
James was talking, and for the first time in several moments, Simon actually took in the words coming from his friend’s mouth. “—back to London in two days,” James said.
Simon blinked. “I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering. Why return to London so soon?”
Emma tilted her head and her gaze slipped between him and Meg. “James believes that returning to London as a family group, rather than hiding in the countryside, will show the world that we give full-throated support to your marriage. It will encourage acceptance no matter what level of scandal remains.”
Simon pressed his lips together. He could well imagine the level of scandal was high, indeed. Unless someone else did something truly horrifying, he and Meg would be the topic of conversation for what was left of this Season and likely all of the next.
“We must go on with life,” Meg said, her tone falsely bright. “I agree that a return to London will give us the opportunity to do so.”
She shot him a glance and he caught his breath. They were married. When they returned to London, she would move into his townhouse in the city. They would truly live as man and wife.
He cleared his throat and tried to find some focus. “Yes, well, I suppose it is all we can do. Now I find I’m very tired. It was a long day.”
Meg set her drink down and moved toward him. “I’ll—I’ll join you,” she said, her cheeks flaming a little.
He swallowed hard and offered her an arm. Together they said their goodnights and then he guided her toward the parlor door. They had only taken a few awkward steps toward the staircase when his mother stepped out of the room behind them.
“Simon,” she said.
He turned, drawing Meg with him and barely contained a sigh. The now-Dowager Duchess of Crestwood looked just as sour and judgmental as she always had. This was clearly not to be a supportive moment between them. Not that he could recall one from before, either.
“Yes, Mother?” he ground out, focusing as much as he could at the gentle feeling of Meg’s fingers against his arm. They were tightening a fraction now, a buoy against what was to come.
“Because I have little choice, I shall support you as best I can in public,” the dowager said. “My going against you will only make it harder for me.”
He shook his head slightly. “Well, I’m sure Meg and I appreciate the support no matter for what reason it is given.”
He moved to go, and his mother snapped, “I am not finished.” Meg tensed at his side as they returned their attention to the dowager as she continued talking. “You have always been a disappointment, Simon, so I ought not to have expected more from you in this. But I want to be perfectly clear that my public support in no way reflects a private sentiment. Your ridiculous decision to act on your heart rather than with your head shows me what kind of fool you are. Straighten up, or you shall lose all your allies. Including me.”
Simon gritted his teeth. He’d heard some variation of this speech from her over the years. Today it hit home, for he remained raw over all he’d done to bring them to this place. He opened his mouth to reply when Meg slid her hand from his arm and stepped forward.
“Your Grace, Simon and I are infinitely aware of all the damage we have done to ourselves and those around us, both socially and in terms of emotional damage. No one needs to tell us, for aside from the Duke of Northfield, I do not think anyone is suffering as much as we are. Not that you offer comfort, but there we are.”
“Margaret—” his mother began, her eyes flashing.
Meg held up a hand. “I am not finished. The fact is that Simon will need support, not just publicly, but privately, as we work through this difficult time. If you are not equipped or inclined to provide it then I offer a solution: stay away from us.”
His mother’s lips parted and she gasped in a breath that seemed to echo in the hallway. “How dare you? What right do you have to speak to me in such a way?”
“I married your son today,” Meg all but growled. “Which makes me the Duchess of Crestwood now, and responsible for the appearances we choose to uphold. I will make myself clear—if you ever again speak to my husband in the manner you just did, I will cut you out of our circle so fast, you will not know what happened.” Meg smiled, but it wasn’t the usual warm and welcoming one that graced her lips. “You and I can be allies, or we can be very public enemies. It is your choice. But choose wisely, for I know how much appearances mean to you.”
They all stood for a moment, both Simon and his mother shocked by Meg’s statement. At last, the dowager stepped toward him. Simon tensed, ready for another attack or set down or demand.
Instead she met his eyes. Her nostrils were flaring with upset, her eyes flashing with anger, but to his utter shock she said, “I apologize, Simon. I spoke out of turn. Of course you have my full support.”
Simon could only stare. In all his years on this earth, his mother had never apologized to him. He had certainly done so to her dozens of times, but never had that act returned. Now he hardly knew what to do.
Not that it bothered Meg. She gave another tight smile and leaned in to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Your Grace. Now my husband and I will retire. Come along, Simon,” she said, taking his arm again and turning him toward the stairs.
He followed her, almost blindly, his ears still ringing from what had just happened. What she had said and done.
The fact that she had championed him, which no one had really ever done in his life. As they reached the door to his chamber, he turned toward her.
“Meg,” he whispered.
She lifted her face to his, dark eyes clear and focused on him. He caught his breath, knowing she was his and still hesitant to let that be.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?” she asked, lifting a hand to touch his face.
He shook his head. “You know what. What you said to my mother.”
A shadow crossed her expression. “I know it was speaking out of turn and normally I wouldn’t be so blunt, but I am tired of the way she treats you, Simon. And I will not stand for that in my house, not while I am duchess.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “You have been duchess all of eight hours and already you lay down
your rules.”
She nodded and reached around him to open his chamber door. “I do. Now come inside and we can—”
She cut herself off and he turned to look at whatever had caught her attention in the room. When he did, he caught his breath. The chamber was lit with dozens of candles, there were flowers adorning each table, and a fire burned. There was a bottle of wine at the table next to the bed and two glasses.
Meg shook her head. “Emma.”
Simon lifted his brows. “You think so?”
“Yes.” She moved into the room, walking around to smell the roses closest by. “This will be the first time we’ve done this where we weren’t sneaking around.”
He shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock slowly. “Yes. And since all the other guests are gone and my mother has been put in a chamber on the family side of the house, no one will be able to hear us, either.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes now lit with desire. “That sounds very promising,” she whispered.
He frowned as reality began to edge in. “Meg,” he said.
She moved to him in a few long steps. “Stop,” she ordered. “You will have a lifetime to tell me how wrong this is. How terrible you feel. How much we deserve to suffer. Tonight, just touch me. Please.”
She caught his hand as she spoke and gently lifted it, pressing it to her breast as she maintained focused eye contact. He looked at his fingers against the lacy pink gown, closing them around the globe of her breast beneath. Her breath caught and he smiled.
“Are you seducing me, Your Grace?” he asked.
She nodded. “Indeed, I am, Your Grace.” She turned her back to him. “Now unfasten me.”
Her Favorite Duke Page 14