“Won’t I what?” Aunt Cynthia appeared, her presence sending the maid scurrying.
Meredith quickly shot up. “I was just telling Lizzie that I’d prefer to visit with you after I’ve freshened up a bit.”
Cynthia set her hands on her hips. “I would have preferred that, too, but I’ve already wasted half my day waiting for you to make an appearance.”
Meredith yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “My night lasted a bit longer than I expected.”
“Don’t they always?” Cynthia drawled, making her way toward the vanity at the far end of the room.
“Not always,” she defended, noting the censure in her aunt’s voice.
Cynthia sat on the bench in front of the vanity and adjusted one of the artfully placed feathers within her elaborate hair arrangement. “You’ve been out late nearly every night this week.”
“Your bath is ready, Miss,” Lizzie announced.
“What about my chocolate?” Meredith pouted.
Her aunt turned from the mirror, rebuking her with a glance. “Just get in the bath and never mind the chocolate.”
Meredith tossed her blankets aside and quickly shed her night clothes. She padded over to the tub and submerged herself, sighing as the warm water enveloped her.
“Comfortable?” Cynthia asked.
“Very,” she answered. The water instantly soothed the sore muscles she’d earned from all the dancing she’d enjoyed the night before.
Cynthia signaled the maid. “Leave us, Lizzie. I’ll assist Miss Castle if she should need anything.”
The maid nodded, backing her way out of the room.
“But my hair?” Meredith whined. “Lizzie always washes it for me.”
“Perhaps you can wash your own hair today?”
Meredith sunk further into the water. “I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. I’m too tired anyway.”
Her aunt crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure you are, after the night you had.”
“How would you know?”
“Because your name was splashed all over the gossip rags this morning.”
“Better to be talked about than not thought of at all,” she sang.
Cynthia shook her head. “Notoriety is far different from being of note. You simply can’t keep gallivanting around London as if it were your own personal stage.”
“I had a chaperone.”
“Some chaperone.” Her aunt snorted. “Remind me to fire Mrs. Nelson. It’s become apparent she can’t keep you under control.”
“It’s not as if I did anything wrong. Those silly writers for the broadsheets have nothing else to do but spread stories about me.”
“Flirting shamelessly? Dancing with the same man multiple times? Disappearing on balconies for extended periods? That bit about the lavender gown with a ridiculously low neckline in which you practically exposed yourself to all of Vauxhall? Are you telling me these are all lies?”
“Some of it,” Meredith answered. “The part about my gown is grossly inaccurate. It was violet, not lavender.”
Cynthia shook her head. “We must do something to repair your reputation.”
Meredith rubbed her head, the ache undoubtedly from all the champagne she’d enjoyed, which inevitably, had led to all the dancing. “There’s not been any scandal.”
“None that I haven’t been able to get you out of.” Cynthia held out a towel.
“You act as if I’m ruined.”
“Not yet, but you’re certainly on the brink. I’m starting to think that perhaps your association with the Ribbons has done far more damage to your reputation than good.”
Meredith stepped out of the tub, one heavy leg at a time, using the towel to cover herself. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who encouraged me to make the best of my time here in London? You insisted that I make friends, so I did. You wanted me to earn my ribbon, so I did.” She’d done far better than that. She’d worked hard to assume leadership of the group and helped restore their reputation to its former glory.
Cynthia sat back down on the tufted bench in front of the vanity. “That was quite a while ago. Five years ago you were an original and able to get away with far more than your current position allows. You’re three and twenty now. Although you may all wear the same colored ribbons, you’re still very different from them. This is the last year you’re eligible for membership. Once lost, you’ll no longer have their good names to elevate your own standing. Do I make myself clear?”
Meredith flinched; the truth hit her like a smack to the face.
She’d taken her aunt’s advice and allowed herself to remain unmarried as she built up her reputation. Cynthia provided her with a hefty allowance, which she quietly sent on to her mother. As long as she could keep her mother comfortable, there wasn’t any need to settle for the first man with a proposal. Without that dire sense of urgency steering her otherwise, she’d decided to make the most of her time in London. Two Seasons had turned to three, three had become four, and so on. Five Seasons later, her popularity was waning. Many of the other Ribbons had already secured husbands. Sure, she was still liked well enough, but she’d lost the novelty which had led to her original success. There were younger, prettier girls coming up on her heels. And if she didn’t do something quickly, she’d lose her footing entirely.
“Now that the Ribbons are back on their feet, I thought I’d consider marrying again. After all, my funds are dwindling and I won’t be able to keep up with expenses without replenishing the accounts.” Cynthia’s taste in men had a tendency to lean toward the very rich and the very old. A lifestyle like hers was difficult to maintain with inheritance alone.
“Then I shall find a husband tomorrow,” Meredith proclaimed.
Cynthia laughed. “You will?”
Meredith slipped behind her screen to dress. “It was your idea I wait to marry until my work rebuilding the Ribbons was finished. Now that it is, I suppose it’s time I get around to it, don’t you think?”
“It’s not as simple as all that. You’ve lost some of your luster and we need to find a way to brighten you back up—shine up the tarnish on your reputation. We must first increase your value before we sell you off at Market.”
Meredith stepped out for her aunt to assist in tightening her gown. “You make me sound like a cow.”
“There are similarities.”
It was her exploits that had made her so popular in the first place. But now, her transgressions were not so easily forgiven. Her aunt was right. Her reputation wasn’t what it used to be.
Gown laced, Meredith turned and looked down at her aunt. “Well?”
Cynthia took a step back. “I think I have an idea.”
Chapter 6
Meredith studied her reflection in the vanity as her maid put the finishing touches on her hair. Her straight blond strands were pulled back into a simple bun at the base of her neck.
Her aunt appeared behind her in the mirror, hands set on her hips. “You look lovely!”
She spun around. “You couldn’t possibly be serious. I look matronly.” Considered a muse for her dressmaker, her vibrant fashion sense made her the darling of every dandy in London. She could only imagine what they’d say if they saw her now, sporting a pale-pink gown with as much shape as a wool blanket.
“You look like a respectable young lady,” Cynthia countered.
“Then it’s worse than I thought.” She groaned. Meredith tried to pull down the bodice of her gown, but the chaste cut didn’t allow for manipulation. “It’s cruel, you making me wear this sack just to impress these people.”
“Stop being so dramatic, it’s nothing of the sort.”
Meredith took a final glance in the mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at her. She sighed and followe
d her aunt to the drawing room to wait for their guests.
“Remind me why we’re making such a fuss again?” Meredith asked, falling into a chair and kicking her legs up onto an ottoman.
Cynthia immediately pushed her legs down off the furniture. “Lady Marshall, as in Viscount Marshall’s wife, sought me out for assistance with her daughter Ophelia. Miss Marshall, it turns out, is terribly shy. So I simply suggested that perhaps young Ophelia find a mentor—a more experienced young lady that could provide some guidance through her first year in London.”
“And you think that I’m the best choice for such a task?” Meredith had been called many things before. Mentor was not one of them.
“Why not? Who knows more about maneuvering through the Season than you? Lud knows you’ve done it enough times.”
Meredith ignored the insult. “What do you expect me to do?”
“I’m sure there’s something. I can think of no one better to teach her a thing or two about overcoming adversity. You were unknown, coming up from virtually nowhere, and despite all of that working against you, you still succeeded in creating quite the splash.”
She scrunched her nose. “I thought she was supposed to be the one helping me further my own position? What am I to gain from all this?”
Cynthia moved a vase of flowers from one table to another, then stood back to admire her work. “It’s all about the trinity around here. Miss Marshall is beautiful, rich, and her father holds a very old title. Social recluse or not, this girl is going places, and you’ll be going with her.”
Meredith nodded, the picture her aunt was painting becoming clearer. The girl’s reputation was pristine, and Meredith’s own status would benefit by association. Once she was reestablished, she’d be certain to receive the best possible offers for marriage.
Which is what all this had been about in the first place.
Cynthia tossed a book onto Meredith’s lap, snapping her attention back to the present.
“What’s this?”
“A book.”
Meredith resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I know that, but what do you want me to do with it?”
“Pretend to read. Lady Marshall told me her daughter is an avid reader.” Cynthia picked up the vase again, returning it to its original location. “Didn’t you used to enjoy books?”
Meredith glanced at the cover and flipped through a couple of pages. “There wasn’t much else to do in Middlebury.”
Her aunt exhaled deeply. “Perhaps you could play a piece on the pianoforte? That’s certain to impress them.”
Meredith shrugged. She hardly played anymore—there simply wasn’t enough time between all the parties and callers to practice as diligently as she once had.
She missed it.
The butler notified them of the arrival of Lady Marshall’s carriage. Cynthia scurried about, fluffing pillows and rearranging tufted ottomans before finally sitting down. She picked up a piece of needlepoint that Meredith suspected hadn’t been touched for well over a year, and proceeded to appear as if she were actually working on it.
It was Meredith’s turn to arch a challenging eyebrow.
“You’re in no position to judge,” Cynthia snapped.
She snickered, picking up the book—a collection of Lord Byron’s poetry—and opened to the middle.
“Lady Marshall and her daughter, Miss Marshall,” the butler announced.
Meredith looked up from the page and her mouth fell open.
Miss Ophelia Marshall was stunning.
How did her aunt think she’d garner any attention of her own if she were forced to stand by that all Season?
A wisp of a girl, with milky white skin; Miss Marshall possessed all the necessary physical attributes to be successful. She couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, her own figure far more curvaceous and her coloring a bit too dark by London’s standards. Even Miss Marshall’s mane of thick, chestnut waves managed to outshine her own flaxen locks, once regarded as her crowning glory.
The women exchanged polite greetings and sat down to enjoy tea. Aunt Cynthia led the conversation, shamelessly promoting Meredith and presenting her in the best possible light.
Meredith almost believed she was as good as her aunt was making her out to be.
“Why not take Miss Marshall out to see the garden so that Lady Marshall and I can catch up?” Cynthia asked during a lull.
Ophelia Marshall may be beautiful, but she presented little in the way of personality. The girl had sat there for the entire hour staring at her hands, hardly speaking a word. Meredith held little desire to entertain the little church-mouse alone. “Perhaps a bit later?”
Her aunt threw her a look.
“Or now,” Meredith acquiesced. “Yes, now is good.” She took a deep breath.
It was time to do what she did best—it was time to charm Miss Marshall.
Chapter 7
Meredith was first to break the silence after the two girls had completed the first turn about the garden. “Is this your first trip to London?”
Ophelia stopped walking. “Is it that obvious, then?”
The girl looked at Meredith with big brown eyes, filled with apprehension. Meredith recognized that look—she’d had it herself when she’d first arrived. Only hers was far less pitiful. “Not at all,” she reassured.
“I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me . . . thank you for that.” Ophelia resumed her leisurely pace down the rose-lined path. “I know I’m being difficult. Mother’s simply beside herself, worried I’ll end up a wallflower. Last Wednesday, she acquired vouchers for Almack’s. When it was time for us to leave, I barricaded myself in my room.”
“Those vouchers are difficult to come by,” Meredith remarked coolly, despite the sudden surge of envy. Neither her, nor Aunt Cynthia, had managed to secure one for at least two Seasons—and here this chit was letting them go to waste. “Why ever would that upset you?”
“The very thought of having to meet all those new people made it difficult for me to draw a breath. I thought it best not to leave my house after that.”
Meredith winced. “Well, London can be quite intimidating. Where exactly does your family come from?”
“Hamptonshire. Are you familiar?”
Meredith recognized the name. To her recollection, Hamptonshire was not that much larger than Middlebury. “Well, I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I can almost guarantee it will. If you haven’t noticed already, I’m not the most outgoing sort.”
An understatement.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that . . .” Meredith lied.
“Sure you would.”
Ophelia’s candor was refreshing. She looped her arm through the girl’s and resumed their promenade. “Despite its large footprint, London’s really just another village when you get down to it. Everyone knows everyone.”
“And I don’t know anyone,” she said quietly.
“You mustn’t say you don’t know anyone, when you at least know me.”
Ophelia smiled. It was a dazzling smile—spontaneous and genuine. Meredith remembered how easily she used to smile. “I suppose you’re right. I do know you. It couldn’t hurt knowing a few more people though.”
“I have a number of friends here,” Meredith continued. “If you’d like, I can introduce you. We have a bit of a club going, actually. Nothing along the lines of White’s or Brooks’, but we do offer something in the way of exclusivity for unmarried women.” The Ribbons had done wonders to set her spirits right after she’d first arrived. Perhaps under those same conditions, Ophelia would thrive as well?
She stopped again. “You don’t have to help me. I know my Mama put your aunt up to this.”
Meredith nearly stumbled. “You d
o?”
“I’m not an idiot, Miss Castle. My mother’s desperate. She’ll do anything to help me fit in.”
Ophelia was too bright to be lied to. “She may have,” Meredith confessed.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken the time out of your day otherwise . . .”
Meredith shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”
“But why else would you help me?”
Going Rogue (Ribbons and Rogues Book 1) Page 4