But was that not what he wanted? What he and Meg had agreed she would do? Of course it was. I just want to be sure she is protected, he told himself. To know she has found a man worthy of her trust and affection, who will love her as she deserves to be loved. Which is why he needed to keep her in his sights and make certain she didn’t fall prey to unscrupulous scoundrels and rogues.
The set concluded and Gresham offered his arm to escort her from the floor. They had gone no more than ten feet when a rather dandified pair of gentlemen approached, their gestures making it clear they were importuning Gresham for an introduction. Cade watched as Meg smiled and made some remark that drew laughs all around. Moments later the group grew larger still as two more young men came over. Bows and curtsies were exchanged.
A few choice words and he could send them all scurrying, he thought, smiling at the idea of pouncing like a cat into a flock of pigeons. He took a few steps to do just that, then stopped, reminding himself once again that Meg needed to meet eligible suitors if their plan was to succeed.
Thrusting the tip of his cane against the polished floor with a hard tap, he turned and went in search of a drink. The night was going to be a long one indeed.
Nearly three hours later Meg excused herself from the dancing to escape down a long, crowded hallway and into the relative peace of the ladies’ withdrawing room.
A pair of women stood inside, conversing quietly as they tidied their hair and rinsed their hands in the porcelain washbasins provided for the guests’ use. Meg glided past to a curtained area arranged to one side where she could take care of her more personal needs. As she moved behind a small screen, she heard the other women depart, leaving the room blessedly quiet.
She paused, taking a moment to savour the sensation of being alone after the constant press of bodies and noise in the ballroom and corridors beyond. Not that she wasn’t enjoying the festivities. The dancing was lively and fun, and she had suffered no lack of available partners—standing up for nearly every set so far.
Yet even as she danced and chatted with one gentleman after another, she found herself viscerally aware of Cade. During the interval between sets, he would often come to “check” on her, staying to make sure she had everything she required. Twice he brought her a refreshment—a glass of cool lemonade or punch to ease the dryness from her throat. The remainder of the time he sat in a chair along the ballroom’s periphery.
True, he didn’t spend every moment watching her—sometimes she would glance over to discover him in conversation with another guest. But far more often he was alone, his deep, forest green gaze trained upon her.
When she had suggested he go to the card room, or find a group of gentlemen with whom he could talk, he refused. Leaning close, he’d whispered in her ear that their affection for one another would hardly look convincing if he abandoned her entirely.
So, at his urging, she had continued to dance. Yet in spite of her best attempts to relax, she could not, her body simmering with the constant knowledge that he sat only a few feet away. But not even Cade could follow her here to the ladies’ withdrawing room—although if she tarried too long, she supposed he could send Mallory or the dowager to find her. With that in mind, she went about the business of answering nature’s demand.
She was just about to move out from behind the privacy screen when she heard a new pair of women enter the room, their conversation carrying readily to her ears.
“…Well, I must say it’s all proving vastly entertaining watching Lord Cade dance attendance on that new fiancée of his, even though the poor man can’t actually dance a step. Such a pity about his leg.”
Her companion made a sympathetic murmur of agreement, their skirts rustling as they moved farther inside. From the location of their voices, Meg surmised they had taken seats on the padded benches she’d noticed when she first entered the room.
“He used to dance beautifully, and fence, too. I understand Angelo actually got tears in his eyes when he received news of Byron’s injuries. He was overheard to remark that he’d just lost the finest student to ever grace the halls of his academy.”
“From what I understand,” the other woman said in a conspiratorial tone, “Cade Byron’s leg is the least of his wounds.”
“Oh, how so?”
Yes. What does she mean? Suddenly Meg was glad she hadn’t tried to make her presence known.
“My husband has contacts in the military, you know. Word is, Lord Cade was captured somewhere in Portugal and savagely tortured by the French. Not only was he gun-shot, he was strangled and beaten to within an inch of his life! They think the French had him for days, though no one knows for sure.”
“Dreadful!” the first woman declared with equal measures of shock and fascination.
“Yes. What’s more, the heathen frogs pitched him into a drainage ditch when they were through. Apparently they were in a rush to leave, and assumed he was so near death that he couldn’t possibly survive. It was a sheer miracle that he did.”
“So some of our soldiers found him?”
“No, not at first. He crawled his way out.”
Crawled? Meg put a fist over her mouth to muffle her gasp.
“Hmm. Dragged himself out through the mud and offal using a discarded animal bone, or so the reports said. A peasant found him a few yards away and sent for help. Harold told me Byron’s face was so battered and swollen he was all but blind. He also says there were bodies in that ditch.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“A local family the French had killed. They flung him in there with them, as if he were already dead.”
Meg shuddered and curved an arm around her waist, pressing her fist tighter against her lips. Oh, Cade! She cried inwardly, thinking of what he’d endured. What was it he had told her? That his fiancée was killed by the French. Dear God, surely one of those bodies had not been Calida’s? With a growing sense of horror, she knew it had been. Brushing a hand over her cheek, she was startled to find it wet with tears.
“He didn’t speak for weeks after he was found and sent to hospital, and apparently not for some time after his return to England either,” the woman continued with a morbid interest Meg now found sickening. Still, she couldn’t help but listen, feeling as if she owed it to Cade to see what was being said about him, no matter how vicious the gossip might be.
“Of course he went to that northern estate of his to hide away like some recluse. He always was a wild sort, doing whatever he liked no matter the consequences. But there’s speculation now that his ordeal may have driven him over the edge into madness.”
“Surely not!” remarked the other woman. “He seems fine this evening. A touch glowering at times, but then strong men so frequently are.”
“True, but appearances can be deceiving. And though I am loath to mention it…”
She doesn’t sound loath, Meg thought. She sounds delighted. Twisted bitty.
“… insanity has been known to run in that family.”
Insanity?
“Yes,” her companion agreed. “Wasn’t there a cousin who committed suicide about twenty years ago?”
“Indeed. And a great-uncle they locked away at one of the lesser ducal estates after the deluded fool burned down his own house! I wouldn’t be surprised if poor Lord Cade ends up the same way one of these days, just like Mad King George. Tragic.”
“Horribly,” her companion agreed.
Only by sheer willpower did Meg hold back the indignant snort that rose to her lips. Ridiculous women! Cade might have suffered a great deal, but he was in complete control of his faculties. Walking out from behind the screen, she reached for the curtain to reveal herself, but at the last minute stopped, needing somehow to hear the rest.
“And of course there is this hasty engagement of his that has everyone talking. I believe half the guests here tonight came just so they could get a glimpse of his mysterious fiancée. I’ll grant Miss Amberley seems a pleasant girl, and lovely enough that one can readily
understand the attraction. But she’s only an admiral’s daughter and has little in the way of fortune. The dowager duchess and the duke surely cannot be pleased.”
Why ever not? What is wrong with being an admiral’s daughter! Meg’s hands curled at her sides.
“Some say Lord Cade compromised her and they are being forced to wed. Others claim their understanding is of long duration, made before his traumatic ordeal, and that they are desperately in love.”
“He certainly appears to dote on her.”
The other woman made a noise of agreement.
“Well, whatever the truth, it’s clear something out of the ordinary prompted the match. Speculation is running rampant, and I understand the betting books are fairly bursting at the seams. Still, given his difficulties, I cannot help but wonder if Miss Amberley may come to regret her choice of husband.”
“That’s doubtful, not with his wealth and good looks. I mean, which would you rather have? Mad Cade Byron, or one of the usual crop of deadly dull bores? I think I’d take my chances with Lord Bedlam between my sheets any day.”
The two laughed, skirts rustling again as they got to their feet.
A new group of women came in just then, prompting Meg to retreat again behind the screen. She waited until she no longer heard the voices of the women who had been talking about her and Cade, then walked into the anteroom, acknowledging the other ladies there with a faint nod.
Trembling, she washed her hands, her eyes widening when she caught a glimpse of herself in the pier glass—her skin as white as rice paper. Reaching up, she pinched her cheeks to restore some colour. Then, with a false smile on her face, she drew a deep breath and returned to the dance.
CHAPTER 11
Bouquets of flowers arrived at the house the next morning—great vases of hothouse roses and cultivated lilies, with a few nosegays of violets, sweet williams, and forget-me-nots sprinkled in for variety. Colour and scent spread through the drawing room like a burst of springtime, beckoning the occupants to draw nearer in order to enjoy the greenery’s succulent sweetness.
Most of the blossoms were for Mallory, who exclaimed aloud in surprised delight as she came into the drawing room where the servants had arranged the mass of floral offerings. But a check of the cards revealed that three of the bouquets were intended for Meg.
One was from Mr Faversham. Another from Mr Milbank, an older man with whom she had danced an enthusiastic, though toe-crushing reel. And the last had come from Lord Gresham.
He’d sent her roses—two dozen long-stemmed beauties in a spectacular shade of blush pink. His accompanying note was written in strokes of slashing black ink characteristic of his personality.
“‘In appreciation of a memorable evening,’” Cade read aloud from over her shoulder. “Hmmph.”
Startled, Meg spun about. She hadn’t heard him enter the room. Despite his injury, Cade could be as stealthy as a cat when it suited his mood. “Gracious,” she said, reacting to the nearness of his large body and the clean scent of starched linen and the soap he must have used to bathe and shave. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“That much is apparent,” he murmured to her before raising his voice to address the room at large. “I heard all the feminine squeals and thought I’d come investigate. Place looks like a deuced florist shop.”
Turning her back to him, Meg took a moment to tuck Gresham’s card in among the blooms, gathering her scattered senses as she did.
“You can be so ungallant sometimes, Cade,” Mallory remarked in a sisterly scold. “Meg and I do not ‘squeal.’ Nor does Mama.”
“Quite right, dear,” agreed the dowager with a smile playing on her lips. “I would assume, however, that your brother’s remark stems more from irritation at the notion that his fiancée already has gentlemen vying for the position of cicisbeo than any real effort on his part to liken us all to piglets.”
Mallory laughed at her mother’s remark, while Meg smiled. She turned in time to see that Cade had not joined in the humour, his brows drawn into a heavy scowl.
His expression cleared moments later, however. “You mistake the matter, Mama. As far as I am concerned, Meg may receive all the posies she likes so long as she remembers to whom it is she is promised.”
Meg shot him a glance, her eyebrows furrowing. Lord, he can certainly lay it on thick when he chooses! Suddenly annoyed by his game, she crossed again to the flowers that had been sent to her. Deliberately, she picked up the vase containing Lord Gresham’s offering.
“Good,” she announced, pink roses bobbing their fragrant heads as she walked. “Then you shan’t mind if I take this bouquet to my room? I imagine it will look perfect in my window.”
A muscle ticked near his eye. “Certainly not. I’ll have the servants carry up the rest as well.”
She tossed him a saucy smile. “Oh, don’t bother, dearest. This one arrangement will suffice. Roses always have been my favourite, you know.”
But no, she reminded herself as she sailed from the room with the flowers, he doesn’t know. Nor does he care. As she strode down the corridor, she wished she could say she didn’t either.
Mallory’s come-out ball was held a week later, a grand, glittering event that befit her status as the daughter—and sister—of a duke.
In the days leading up to the ball, Meg marvelled at how the town house buzzed with activity. Everywhere around her servants scurried to and fro as they cleaned and polished, dusted and aired, arranged and decorated with a frenzied eye toward perfection. The kitchens hummed as well, the chef outdoing himself when it came to creating an array of gastronomic delights sure to tempt the palate of even the most jaded connoisseur. The cream of London Society would be in attendance, even Prinny, who had sent word that he planned to drop by for the event.
By the time the momentous evening finally arrived, Mallory had developed a dreadful case of nerves. Meg wasn’t much better, her stomach doing flip-flops as she let Amy help her into an evening gown of pale pink silk capped by short, belled sleeves and an overskirt of tulle dotted with tiny gold stars.
Now, as Meg stood beside Mallory in the receiving line, she couldn’t help but notice how well the other young woman looked, a picture of innocent beauty in a gown of ethereal white. Mallory’s dark locks were arranged in an upsweep of soft curls, her only adornment the simple strand of pearls fastened around her slender neck.
On Meg’s other side stood Cade, handsome and urbane as he introduced her as his fiancée. In contrast to the easy confidence of his manner, she felt like a fraud—her smile forced, her hands turned to ice beneath her gloves by the time the ordeal was done.
Their duty complete, Edward led his sister out for the first dance. Meg might have accepted the hand of another gentleman and joined in, but decided to remain at Cade’s side, knowing he could not take to the floor. With her hand on his arm, they made the rounds, pausing to talk to one guest after another, including an extremely amusing older gentleman with tufts of hair that stuck up like bunny tails on either side of his temples, as well as a younger man who was a friend of Cade’s from his days in the army.
As the evening wore on, Meg expected Cade to encourage her to accept the offers of the gentlemen, who approached her for a dance. Instead, he shooed them away with a good-natured wave of his fingers, smiling as he kept her tucked at his side.
By the end of the ball, even she might have believed the fiction that they were in love. Everyone else certainly seemed convinced, guests tossing friendly smiles their way, a few pausing to offer them warm good wishes for their future married life.
The two of them were even written up the next day in the Times and Morning Post, the columns recounting tales of “young Lady M’s glorious come-out ball and Lord C’s impetuous love match to the golden-haired beauty who had obviously captured his heart.” Cade smiled at the gossip over his toast and eggs, while Meg worried that their act might be getting them in a bit too deep.
Over the next three weeks her concerns d
id not abate. Amid the never-ending rounds of social calls and entertainments, Meg found herself in a curious situation. Meeting eligible men was easy enough, she discovered; making a real connection with any of them was proving discouragingly hard. How could she invite anything but the most casual regard, with Cade never more than twenty feet away?
In his guise as the attentive fiancé, he escorted her everywhere. To the opera and the theatre, to routs and balls and soirees, teas and breakfasts and supper dances. He even accompanied her and Mallory to Almacks, where years before he had apparently sworn never to tread again.
Yet even when he gave her a measure of freedom and withdrew to the card room, as he had lately taken to doing, she couldn’t relax, nor could she seem to put him from her mind. When she was with Cade, he was in her thoughts. And when he was absent, he was there as well.
As for Cade himself, he certainly didn’t appear to be suffering any such difficulties. When they were alone, he treated her with the same casual affection he showed his little sisters, proving that his lover like behaviour in public was only a mirage. He might like her, she realized, but beyond that he was simply biding his time, waiting for the day she set him free.
And set him free I shall, she vowed, no matter what it may take. Meanwhile, she would just have to try harder. She would find the right man, she vowed. Someone she had yet to meet. Mayhap he was waiting just around the next corner.
And so, as the last of April dawned, she redoubled her efforts, throwing herself into the fray with an enthusiasm that bordered on the relentless.
On Monday she promenaded in the park with Lord Longsworth. Tuesday, she took supper with Mr With-row. On Wednesday she went driving in Lord Peacham’s high-perch phaeton. Thursday was a group outing to Hyde Park where she let the Earl of Astbury take her rowing on the Serpentine. Friday and Saturday passed by in a frenzied blur filled with breakfast parties, afternoon teas, and balls where she danced until her feet ached—so tired by the end of the festivities that she fell into bed already half asleep each night.
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