A Dance of Manners

by Cynthia Breeding, Kristi Ahlers, Erin E. M. Hatton

  * * * *

  “Lady Catherine is to wed Shelton? Your cousin, Catherine?”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  Megara ignored her aunt's flaring nostrils and waved the letter announcing the betrothal. “I believe they will be most happy with one another.”

  “The girl has a gap as wide as the channel between her front teeth!”

  “Which Shelton found irresistible. What is done is done, Aunt. Shelton and Catherine will be quite happy, I assure you, else I would not have introduced them to each other. And my brother did say the final decision concerning marriage was to be mine. So...” She tossed aside the letter and cleared her throat. “I have reconsidered. I believe I would enjoy a Season in London. Being presented. Balls. Going to Hyde Park and being seen. Assemblies and such. Why are you frowning? You did say an earl's daughter should do these things.”

  “Six years ago!”

  “I have changed my mind. Six years ago I knew it would come to naught.”

  “What has changed?”

  Megara smiled as the image of William came to mind. “I have met the man for me and he will be in London.”

  “Wickerdun, eh? Not surprised. Why did you not snap him up while he was here?”

  “Because I was not free to do so. Now that Shelton and Catherine are engaged, I am free. Unless you have arranged another under-standing on my behalf?”

  Her aunt shook her head.

  “Why are you frowning? What do you see?”

  “This is such short notice, Meg. ‘Tis already March. You will need an entire wardrobe of new clothes, and that takes time. I shall have to contact my friends when we arrive, and see who—”

  “I shall write to Maddy, Ardmoor's sister. She is now Countess of Spode. Doubtless she will be able to aid me.” Undoubtedly the best person in London to aid me since she's married to William's oldest friend.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  To London

  Wickerdun wasn't sure how much longer he could keep smiling. The mindless drivel, boring monologues, and vicious gossip were near driving him mad. How had he endured all this in past Seasons? Another simpering laugh or bored sigh and he was sure he'd snap. It was all her fault. Megara.

  All was fine upon his arrival in London, three weeks ago. He felt renewed, in body, mind and spirit. Looked forward to the coming Season. Seeing Lady Emily and his brother Geoffrey hadn't bothered him in the slightest. In fact, he was now completely convinced Lady Emily had chosen the proper man. She wasn't right for him at all, but perfect for his brother. With that settled in his mind, he was ready, nay, eager, to find a wife.

  It began in the park. It was April, the sun was shining, and people were out, riding and walking. He'd so looked forward to his first ride. He planned to re-create what he'd described to Megara. He had, but it didn't soothe him, didn't bring him the satisfaction he expected. He wasn't pleased. Neither did he find enjoyment in the Season's consequent entertainments. As he met the debutantes and renewed his acquaintance with ladies available for matrimony, he mentally crossed each off his list. None measured up to Megara. His outlook had changed, and with that, unfortunately, everything had changed.

  He noticed the singing two weeks ago when he was in the park, singing that sounded suspiciously like wood nymphs. Then he kept thinking he saw Meg. Was he going insane? Had Megara placed some sort of faery curse on him?

  * * * *

  “Nonsense, I am delighted to help you!” Maddy, the Countess of Spode said.

  Megara breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, for I had not realized when Aunt Susan said country manners wouldn't do for London that I would be so restricted in my efforts! How does a woman indicate her desire to be pursued without appearing to be a strumpet?”

  “Well...”

  “I have seen him in the park, but Aunt Susan absolutely refused to allow me to initiate a conversation. She says she must be introduced to him first, and then I may speak to him. Really, I never had such problems in the country.”

  Maddy laughed. “The country is more relaxed, but then, everyone knows everyone, do they not? I shall have my husband introduce Wickerdun to your aunt. That should suit. I am surprised Wickerdun did not acknowledge you by a nod, at the very least. Ardmoor said he was quite taken with you.”

  Megara grinned and fanned her face. “I was much taken by him. As to his acknowledging me, he always looked a bit shocked when he saw me, as if he was not sure it was really me.” Megara inched forward. “Do you happen to know if I have any competition? I so hate to disappoint someone, but William and I are destined to be together.”

  “You saw this?”

  “When my Sight works, I can see for anyone. Yet when it comes to myself, I cannot see far. I feel William and I are a suitable match, although my aunt says I have a difficult time ahead of me.” Megara wrinkled her nose. “I think she said that just to twig me.”

  * * * *

  Wickerdun halted and stared across the room. When his view was obstructed by people he moved to look again, sure the vision of his faery would be gone. But no, she was still there. Gowned as befitted an heiress, in something gold that flowed over her body, and with a large plume in her hair. She was magnificent. Who was she? She could be Megara's double in appearance, but would she have Megara's personality? It would be too much to hope she would have freckles. Ladies did not permit freckles to mar their complexion.

  His breath caught when she turned and smiled at him. Please, oh please ... let that be a sign she's the one. He smiled when he saw Spode and his wife beside his vision. Good, he'd be able to get an introduction.

  He kept his eyes on the woman as he approached. His steps slowed. The closer he drew near, the stronger the feeling of unreality. She couldn't be Megara. Megara was a strange, wild and free faery who walked the forest and passage to summer. She was friendly with blue, shaggy unicorns. Wood nymphs sang for her pleasure. He'd confided in her because it was safe, because she was a faery. By Jupiter, he'd removed his clothing in front of her! This couldn't be Megara!

  He kept his eyes on the woman even when Spode and his wife turned to him. He knew before he heard the introduction it was Megara when she smiled at him. Lady Megara Ivers, sister to the Earl of Blackhyrst. Only when he was introduced to her aunt did he speak, the practiced words coming out effortlessly. Before anyone spoke, he bowed and excused himself.

  “Zounds!” Spode exclaimed as he stared after his friend.

  * * * *

  “Oh, dear!” Maddy said.

  “That is the man you are set to wed?” Aunt Susan asked.

  Megara stared after William, her welcoming smile slowly fading. Why had he been so angry? Anger and ... what was the other emotion she'd caught? Betrayal? She slowly shook her head. What convoluted notions were wending their way through that man's brain?

  * * * *

  “I am waiting, Ardmoor,” Wickerdun said the next morning. After storming into Ardmoor's study, he trusted his clipped words conveyed his vast disgruntlement

  “You can bloody well wait until I have the right of this, Wickerdun. I would say you were foxed except you are not a man to indulge this early in the day. Neither do you appear to have been up all night. Never heard any talk of you jumping off the course, you are unfailingly polite to the point you would slit your own throat before uttering a derogatory word, and I would swear you to be the kind of man who explores every possible ramification before opening his mouth. Therefore, I am bloody well confused about what I have to apologize for.”

  Having surmised he'd been the object of a grand bit of sport, Wickerdun had been keen to demand satisfaction. He couldn't very well challenge Lady Megara. Ardmoor was the obvious target, since he was the one who'd suggested he travel to the wood. But Ardmoor was a war hero, and missing part of his right leg. He couldn't demand satisfaction from the man. But he could bloody well demand an apology.

  Wickerdun's eyes swung to Ardmoor's bouncing leg. “Will you stop ji
ggling that beribboned peg? The fluttering is distracting.” He nodded briefly when the movement ceased. “I told you, I saw Megara last night, Lady Megara Ivers. It was she, Megara from the enchanted wood!” Wickerdun waited, his lips thinning the longer he waited. “Well? What have you to say?”

  Ardmoor blew out a breath and shook his head. “I am waiting to hear something of importance. Maddy mentioned Meg and her aunt had come to town. Did she insult you? Give you the cut? What?”

  Wickerdun ran a finger under his cravat. “No, no! She said not a word. She smiled at me!”

  Ardmoor chuckled.

  “Ah ha! You think it is funny! A grand jest at my expense. Tell me, has everyone heard how the Earl of Wickerdun fell under the spell of the faery Megara?” Ardmoor's incredulous expression gave Wickerdun a moment's pause.

  “The faery...? You truly believed Megara was a bloody faery?”

  Wickerdun pursed his lips and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “What else was I to believe?”

  “I asked you if she told you she was a faery, and you said no. Why should...?”

  Wickerdun sat heavily across from Ardmoor. “Why? An enchanted wood? Her enchanted wood, she said. Passage to summer? The songs of wood nymphs, which, by the way, I am starting to hear again! Oh, and let us not forget the shaggy, blue unicorn! And you ask why I might think she is a faery? My God, Ardmoor! I undressed down to my shirt and breeches before her!”

  “Ah,” Ardmoor said and sat back. “Wickerdun ... the shaggy blue unicorn is a horse. A bloody expensive horse. A gift from me to Meg's aunt. An Andalusian. The old bat dyes it blue and attaches a horn. I gather you did not have a close look.”

  Wickerdun let himself slump. “No. Meg, er, Lady Megara said it was not safe to approach.”

  “Because it bloody well hates the bloody horn attached to its bloody face!”

  Wickerdun sat back and closed his eyes. “I suppose you have a logical explanation for everything?” He snorted when Ardmoor grinned. “Very well. Explain for me please.”

  Wickerdun swirled his brandy while Ardmoor spoke. Finally he cut in. “I shall accept the hot springs theory because nothing else makes sense, although I truly doubt it would account for the summer-like weather. I do recall you said the Earl of Blackhyrst's estate was near yours, so when Lady Megara said the wood was hers, she meant her family. I do have difficulty accepting the fact that wood nymphs exist, let alone they sing to please Lady Megara.”

  “No, you misunderstood me, Wickerdun. Wood nymphs sing all the bleeding time. Cannot get away from their bloody, chirpy voices if you are near a wood. Our Meg is appreciative and tells them so. Therefore, when she is near, they make sure she hears their song. That is why you have started hearing them again. Because Lady Megara has come to town.”

  Wickerdun stared. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “You bloody well hear them, do you not?”

  “But wood nymphs do not exist!”

  Ardmoor arched his brows. “Do they not? Then why do you hear singing, Wickerdun? You have attics to let, do you?”

  Wickerdun stared at his snifter and then swallowed. “Why me? Why now?”

  Ardmoor shrugged. “I expect it is due to your blood. As for why now, I surmise it is due to the fact Lady Megara showed you how to view things differently.”

  “What do you mean, my blood?” He drew his brows together. “You said that before, did you not? Concerning Joy's wish and my brother ... Lady Megara also said I had some of...” A silly topic. His eyes narrowed. “Do you hear the wood nymphs, too?”

  Ardmoor grimaced. “All the bleeding time. It is our wild blood, don't you know. The Ivers, though, they hail back to Eric Ivarsson who married a truly wild-blooded woman. That blood passed down through the generations, and when an Ivers female married into the Wilde's, it passed into our family.”

  “You are related to her family?”

  Ardmoor leaned forward to slap his knee. “You would be surprised how many people have the wild blood. Makes them a bit different. Special.”

  Wickerdun nodded and held out his glass. The two men drank quietly together until Wickerdun rose. “I have to offer for her.”

  Ardmoor nodded. “I can see that.”

  Wickerdun closed his eyes and shuddered. Good God, what kind of family am I marrying into? I am done for. After we are wed, we shall have to retire to the country.

  "You look—pardon my blunt words—like a tired, old whore about to take on fifty sailors."

  Wickerdun didn't reply.

  “If it is any consolation, I do not think she will refuse you. Seems to have set her cap for you.”

  * * * *

  “You what?” Maddy exclaimed.

  Ardmoor caught the biscuit, but missed the spoon. It hit him in his chest. “Aim is off, Maddy. You used—” He ducked, the cup missing his head. “Better. What has you so exercised?”

  “You told Wickerdun that Meg came to London to marry him!”

  “No, but it comes down to that, does it not? It is perfect.”

  His sister laughed sarcastically. “Given he feels honor bound to offer for her, and being told that is what she intended in the first place, how do you think that makes him feel?”

  Ardmoor smiled. “Lower than a snake's belly, I would imagine. As I'd said, it is perfect.”

  His sister raised her brows. “Oh?”

  He leaned forward. “Has Meg ever had anything denied her? Yes, Meg is a sweet girl. But she has never had to work for anything has she? She ... “—he thrummed his fingers in the air—"she manipulates things her way. Meg has never wanted a man before, has she? Well, she will have to bl—work to get him if she wants Wickerdun.”

  Maddy issued a soft snort. “Meg is more than you know, Ardmoor. She cares about people. And I certainly hope Wickerdun has more sense than to approach her with a proposal of marriage due to an inane belief he compromised her!”

  * * * *

  Wickerdun was relieved Lady Megara resided in Mayfair. The house was in good repair, impressive in fact. Why hadn't he met her before? Surely they would have crossed paths in past Seasons? The abundance of trees near the house gave Wickerdun pause. The low murmur of singing changed to loud song when he approached the house, bursting into maniacal happiness when he started up the steps. He fairly flung himself inside to escape when the butler informed him Lady Megara was receiving.

  Wickerdun took himself in hand and followed the servant to the drawing room. The singing of wood nymphs, while annoying, was not important when viewed with the important reason for his visit. Namely, he was here to propose to Lady Megara, set the date, and allow her time to prepare her trousseau. They would wed, and if—a large if—he was satisfied she'd not be an embarrassment to him, they would remain in London while Parliament sat. She could be taught how to be a proper hostess. If not, they would retire to...

  Wickerdun closed his eyes. No, he couldn't return there. Not with her.

  * * * *

  Megara looked up when William entered. His colors were not good, dark and holding close to his body. “Welcome, my lord.” She smiled and turned back to Mr. Shields. “You were saying, Mr. Shields?”

  “Do you really see Lady Delphine as my future wife? For I have had thoughts in that direction, but she is always surrounded by other men. Didn't see as I would have a chance. Well, being the third son and all.”

  Megara smiled. “My lord, of course she is always surrounded by other men! She is a delightful creature who exudes nothing but happiness and good will. Who would not want to be near such a person? But I assure you, Lady Delphine seeks a husband such as you. Because of her dowry, she has the freedom to accept or refuse as it pleases her, which, in a perfect world, would be best for all of us, would it not? A man such as yourself, a man from good family, sensible, good health and pleasing appearance, oh yes, she watches you! Tonight, put forth yourself. Speak to her from your heart and you'll not be disappointed.”

  * * * *

  William stood while Lady
Megara spoke with her callers, awaiting his turn. He hoped he hid his surprise upon seeing her drawing room filled with flowers and suitors. Obviously, Megara, Lady Megara, had a successful evening. But what the devil was she saying that kept each man riveted to her every word? He closed his eyes and hoped it wouldn't come back and haunt them. He snapped open his eyes. Spode was a stickler. If there was any hint of derogatory talk concerning Lady Megara, he'd not have introduced her. Wickerdun breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, Ardmoor had said the Wilde's and the Ivers were related. Since his wife was a Wilde, might Spode have felt obligated to introduce Lady Megara? No, he didn't think so.

  What the devil was taking so long? Why did each fellow quietly wait his turn? He'd never attended a morning visit such as this. Mentally rehearsing his speech, Wickerdun didn't feel quite so desperate. The marriage might work out. She acted quite normal, in fact. He tipped his head and studied her. A vision of loveliness, one that had stepped off a fashion plate. Not that he knew the latest fashions, but she was certainly gowned as other women who always wore the latest and most fashionable styles. What might be her preference for jewelry? Emeralds? He'd enjoy seeing her wear something he chose for her. Which brought Ella to mind. Should he give her something extra, aside from a good settlement, when she was given her conge? Wickerdun knew it was expected he'd retain his mistress after his marriage. Yet, that, he couldn't do. Not only was it reminiscent of his father, but the thought of sleeping with Ella and then his wife did not agree with Wickerdun. Once wed, he intended to be faithful.

  The room cleared sufficiently that a chair became available. Unfortunately, it placed him next to her aunt. He'd forgotten about the aunt who dyed horses blue and attached horns to their heads. Surely, there would be talk about her. Of course, he'd never heard any talk about the Ivers, had he? With that cheering thought, Wickerdun turned and smiled at the aunt. She arched her brow, and he turned his gaze toward Lady Megara, but he could feel the aunt's stare.