by Maureen Lang
Refusing to dwell on any number of dire possibilities, Meg trusted the calm facade Ian presented.
“I found him just arriving at the house,” Nelson said, “with apologies for his tardiness. But that doesn’t matter, does it? We’re all here now.”
Ian looked around. “I must say you know how to plan a party. Everyone looks to be enjoying themselves, and the violins are bound to attract more people than you’ve planned.”
“Music should be for everyone, don’t you think?” Nelson asked.
Kate joined them, smiling as easily as if this were any other day, as though she and Ian were the true friends they pretended to be. All of which steeped Meg in confusion. Not knowing what Kate was about to do only added to the tension this night had already brought. At the same time she marveled at their self-control. It required more than composure to do what they did just then, in their elegant grace—each wanting the opposite outcome. How did they do it?
She’d expected her fears to subside once Ian arrived, yet his presence did not ease her anxiety after all. If anything, her heart pounded harder, and she could not even look at Claire.
The rest of them sat chatting while Meg watched silently, barely keeping up with the topic at hand. Her best training couldn’t keep her mind on what was being said. It all seemed so mundane and unnecessary.
Why had Claire proven herself so fully capable of being a friend? Even Evie, who just now laughed with the scullery maid, as troublesome as she could be, possessed not one ounce of true malice. Youthful self-centeredness, yes, but though she had yet to show a trace of the piety both her siblings demonstrated, she crossed class barriers far easier than any one of her Fifth Avenue neighbors might.
The violins played nearby, low enough to allow conversation but loud enough to cover a quiet voice. Meg leaned closer to Ian while the others continued to eat and talk.
“Is everything . . . all right?” she asked.
“And why shouldn’t it be? I’m only a bit late, not absent altogether. I hope to speak to you, though. There is something that must be said.”
“Yes, I have so many questions. Did everything—?”
“It’s fine, Meg.” His gaze held hers, and she wanted to stare into the dark-blue depths far longer than she should allow. There was something new there, a sort of peace that she could not recall seeing since the day she arrived at his home on the Hudson. Was that what came of completing a challenge? It was exactly what she’d expected to feel. Triumph. Joy, even, that she’d proven herself to be her father’s daughter, fully capable of working with Ian and thus with her father. She’d proven he was wrong to have shut her away all those years.
Yet she didn’t feel peace at all.
They ate in silence for a while, even as Meg grew more restless for answers. This was neither the time nor the place for a discussion, and yet somehow they must have it.
Not long after Nelson delivered his speech—one that only compounded Meg’s guilt because of his goodness—the chairs were rearranged and the musicians relocated off to a corner, leaving free what appeared to be a makeshift dance floor. Because of the music, and because it was a Saturday evening in a public place, others besides the Pemberton staff were attracted to the sounds just as Ian had predicted. Soon there was dancing both within the circle of chairs and beyond it.
Ian asked Kate to dance first. Meg watched him holding her in a polite waltz, yet a closer look revealed their conversation seemed anything but polite. It was quiet but earnest.
Perhaps Kate could be convinced not to bring Ian or Meg any trouble. She was no squealer, after all. Was she?
Meg wanted to be relieved when both Ian and Kate smiled her way after their dance ended. They’d obviously come to some kind of agreement for the very first time. But complete relief was not to be found. This was likely the last function in polite society Meg would attend. Her life as a thief had already begun, and if her part in the crime was discovered, it would be the end of any welcome except by other thieves like her.
Ian could hardly wait to hold Meg in his arms. It was likely the last time he would be able to do so.
He’d wanted her to be the first he danced with but knew he needed to speak to Kate, just in case her presence meant any trouble. What he’d told her forestalled any of that. She’d been only too happy to hear what he’d had to say. Meggie was safe; that was all that mattered. She’d agreed to keep quiet about all of it, to not even tell Meg what he’d done to protect her. No sense risking her reaction until everything else had gone according to plan and Ian’s goal to see Brewster made the fool was complete.
On his way here, he’d wondered how he would feel when he saw Meg. If she knew the truth, would she hate him? Be disappointed? And which would be worse to withstand?
The force behind his love for her had surprised even him. If he’d doubted himself before tonight, he would never do so again. He was capable of loving someone more than gold, after all. Enough to do what was best for her . . . even if it was not best for him.
At last he was able to lead Meg to the dance circle. He wished he could lavish her with a gaze of admiration, but he looked at her only when he thought she couldn’t notice. Tonight, for the first time since landing in this country, Ian had conquered the loss he’d carried with him since disembarking from that ship without his family. He hoped it would make what he was about to do easier or at least bearable.
“You’re lovely, Meg,” he whispered, because in spite of his intention, he couldn’t keep the words inside or stop himself from holding her close. Let this dance be as unconventional as the rest of the party. “But then I’ve noticed your loveliness ever since you were a child. From the first time I saw you.”
“Have you?”
The two words came to his ears in breathless happiness. Yes, he would savor that. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he’d loved her since that first moment—even before that, from the moment John had told him about her. He wanted to ask her how it was possible she hadn’t seen his love the moment she’d stepped off that carriage in Peekskill all those weeks ago.
But instead he must keep that to himself, if tonight’s job were to be considered nearly complete. Soon she might remember this night as one she’d spent dancing with a man who’d lied to and humiliated her. If that must be what she believed in order to secure her future, so be it. A future without him or his ways.
“You should be dancing under these stars with someone like Mason,” he told her. What an accomplishment, to make his voice sound so sincere.
She was surprised by his words; he saw that immediately in the lift of her brows. “I thought it was already clear I’m hardly fit for permanent residence on Fifth Avenue.”
“You’re fit, Meg. More than fit for such a life. Mason himself would be all too eager to convince you of that. You ought to consider letting him.”
Her lips tightened, changing that look of surprise into anger. “If I didn’t know better, Ian, I would say you’re trying to be rid of me before we’ve split whatever spoils you garnered tonight.”
He laughed at the words that proved what she thought of thieves like him. “Perhaps I am.”
She still looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Kate once said you would never be satisfied. That I might be reaching for something I can’t get from my past, but that you’ll always reach for more to secure your future.”
His gaze left her briefly to land on Kate, who was dancing with Nelson. “She may be right.” Then he looked again at Meg. “Tell me, did you think nothing of the painting that hangs in the Pemberton office? Of Christ with the two thieves?”
She looked away rather than facing him straight on, and when she did not speak, he knew the truth. It had affected her as well. That was the best sign he’d seen all evening. Maybe this evening’s turn had been worth it from more angles than he’d hoped.
The dance ended too soon and Ian bowed, then squeezed her hand. “I’ve always wanted what was best for you. Never forget that, Meg.”
<
br /> He excused himself, found his way to the Pembertons, thanked them for the evening, then bid good night to Kate.
He would see Meg once more, just to be sure the consequences of the break-in went exactly as he had planned.
And after that, he would never see her again.
Meg watched Ian go, troubled by his early departure but more than that by the words he’d spoken. The dance had begun so promisingly. He’d told her she was lovely, that he’d thought so since she was a child. She’d held her breath at such words, fully expecting them to be followed by a declaration of love. In that moment she realized she’d have easily and eagerly returned such a declaration. She loved him. How could she have ignored it for so long?
But he’d gone on as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience. Someone he wanted to pass on to a man more willing to share her future.
She found her way to Kate, who was sitting next to Claire. Meg waited some time to speak alone with Kate.
“What’s changed your mind about your confession?” she whispered. “Did you make some kind of deal with Ian? That he would give up his partnership with me if you don’t endanger our plans?”
“What a lovely idea!” Kate said. “But no, I hadn’t thought of it. Why do you ask?”
“Because Ian acted so strangely this evening, and you . . . I thought you were going to tell everyone your real identity. And yet you haven’t.”
“I cannot make my confession without jeopardizing your entire social future, Meg. And I once promised your father that if ever you and I were to meet, I would love you with all the love I held for him. How could I do anything to hurt you?”
Meg watched the others who were dancing: Claire with her brother, Evie with one of the stable boys, the servants with each other. She knew the evening wouldn’t last much longer, but it had ended for her the moment Ian departed.
32
The truly elegant young lady always remains in control over her inner sentiments. She does not compromise grace by exhibiting melodramatic behavior that commands attention, whether she finds herself in the heights or depths of emotion.
Madame Marisse’s Handbook for Young Ladies
Meg had once believed her nights of investigation in the downstairs office resulted in the greatest loss of sleep. That was no longer true. From the moment she arrived home from the picnic, she was beset tenfold with anxiety.
Would the robbery be discovered? Sooner or later it must be. But when?
Once inside the Pemberton home, nothing happened.
No one went into the library or the office at such a late hour. There was no chance for anything amiss to be discovered.
All she had to do now was wait for Pubjug to retrieve the bricks from the garden. She saw them from her bedroom window, a neat, square stack that looked as untouched as it had since the moment it had been delivered.
Pubjug would come for them in just a few hours. The job would truly be complete then.
And if by the end of the week Nelson had no cause to go into his father’s office, if by next Sunday the missing gold had not been discovered, Meg would hint at her departure anyway.
Then, perhaps within a few days of that, she would leave without the slightest suspicion. Perhaps by then she would have learned to live with the fear of discovery. Perhaps that could even begin by dawn, after the bricks had been taken away.
Meg did not go to her bed at all that night. She watched the bricks. Before she heard the first bird welcoming dawn, she paced, waiting for Pubjug. Her restless heart picked up a beat when she heard him arrive at the servants’ entrance and the scullery maid let him in. He never looked up, never wavered from his task. He secured the rope-bound bricks to a dolly and wheeled them away. She watched, tears in her eyes that he had made it look so simple. The gold had been taken away without a noise, not even a grunt.
Meg sat silently, listening to the birds just waking. The garden below had only one spot left in need of attention. Soon the new, innocent bricks would be delivered and Mr. Deekes would hire someone to build the bench to her design. Then the garden would truly be complete.
Meg wanted to say it would be lovely. In the pinkish hue of the early morning, it might have been—to any other eye but hers.
“Where are your hat and gloves, Evie? It’s almost time to go.”
“I don’t want to go to the park today, Clairy.”
“What?” Claire’s surprise was followed with an enlightened nod. “Just because Geoffrey and his family haven’t returned from Saratoga doesn’t mean you should avoid the fresh air.”
Meg slipped into her gloves as she watched the exchange. She could tell already that Claire would lose this battle; Evie had that not-going-to-budge look on her face, and of the two sisters, Evie was clearly the stronger.
“I had enough fresh air last night, but I’ll sit in the garden if I want any more of it. What I really want is to spend the afternoon in the aviary or the library.”
“All right, then.” Claire followed her capitulation with a glare. “But don’t get into any trouble.”
Evie offered a smile that would have been at home on the most innocent child. “Why would I cause any trouble? You won’t be here to enjoy it.”
Claire tsked but was clearly in good humor anyway. “We’ll be back early, then, just to make sure that you won’t miss us for too long.”
Then Claire forged the path through the foyer and out the front door, which was hurriedly opened by the butler, Mr. Deekes.
Meg glanced up at the sky. Myriad layers of clouds skidded along, white and gray, some wispy, some thick. All moving on something more than a gentle breeze.
“She may be right about staying at home today,” Meg said. “The fair weather looks to be changing.”
“We won’t stay long.”
The Pemberton driver paced the carriage at a healthy clip, as if knowing he raced with the weather. He gained entrance to the park at the familiar Scholars’ Gate. While Meg noticed the air didn’t hold the scent of rain, she realized her worries about something so mundane as a soaking seemed nearly a pleasure compared to the anxiety that had plagued her since last night.
Meg could think of nothing to chat with Claire about, not with her secretly burdened heart pulled firmly downward. She’d been alternately sympathetic and unaccountably irritated with Claire all morning. Sympathetic because of her own guilt, but irritated for the same reason. If Claire hadn’t been so easy to like, Meg wouldn’t feel nearly as guilty. Would she?
In the rare moment Meg’s mind drifted from the plague of her remorse, she strove to think of other things. But the strain was never truly pushed aside; it hovered over every thought she tried putting in its place.
You’re a thief, a liar, a fraud. If Claire knew the truth about you, she would demand justice as quickly as she’d demanded it of Evie. Every naughty thing Evie had done in her life did not add up to the grievous wrong Meg had helped perpetrate.
Meg continued to summon the image of her father, hoping his face would dispel some of the oppression. How had he lived with himself all the years that he had? Knowing he’d cheated people? Had he known any of his victims as well as Meg knew hers?
Perhaps she’d gone about it the wrong way; perhaps she shouldn’t have allowed herself to become so fond of the Pembertons. She would know better next time.
Next time! Her heart whirled painfully in her chest. Somehow the thought of doing such a thing again wasn’t as exciting as she imagined it would be. But that had been the goal, hadn’t it? To set herself up as Ian’s partner? That undoubtedly meant this was only the beginning.
When the driver left them at the usual footpath, Claire told him not to go far, that their walk would not be long today.
The park seemed different than it had just last night, when it had been the unlikely location for a servants’ ball. Meg glanced at the spot where the grass was still somewhat trampled—the keep-off-the-grass signs set neatly back in place. A moment’s reminiscence of dancing in Ian’s ar
ms nearly took Meg’s breath away. But even that brought little comfort, remembering most of their conversation had been less than romantic despite dancing under the moonlight.
A glance at Claire and her guilt settled back into place.
Perhaps Meg’s fortitude against this oppression would build, in time. She might become immune to it, desensitized. Surely she couldn’t live this way without developing a callus against the shame.
They took the usual path toward the usual park settee, but as they rounded the wooded curve, Claire stopped short. Meg looked ahead and stopped as well.
The settee was occupied.
That occupant, however, stood as if he’d expected them, waited for them. He was a stranger to Meg, though obviously not to Claire, whose breathing became irregular in her hurried step—which she cut short not ten paces from the man.
He was of generous height, thin but broad in the shoulders, and handsome in a rugged way. Despite the fine cut of his morning coat, he didn’t seem the Fifth Avenue type. He looked as if he should be on a trail out west or at the helm of a sailing vessel. Just now he held his hat in one hand, a walking stick in the other, shifting each from one hand and back again as if he couldn’t decide what to do with either item.
“Claire.”
“Jude.”
Meg’s eyes widened. Was this why Claire made a point of visiting this same settee every single day the weather permitted? Had she come here day after day with this secret hope?
Yet as the two stood staring at one another, Meg wasn’t at all sure Claire’s hopes had come true. She looked every bit as fearful as she did hopeful.
A surprising swell of protectiveness washed over Meg’s heart. If this man was the cause of the pain Claire had borne these past few years, Meg wouldn’t hesitate to sharpen her tongue and send him on his way.
“I’m sorry, Claire.” His gaze was intent on hers. “I’m such a sorry idiot. It was all my pride, every stupid decision I made since the day we parted. I’ve wronged you, and I came to ask your forgiveness.”