Well, Meg wouldn’t stand for her friend to be coerced into spending time with him, as Louisa had been forced to do in London. If she couldn’t speak up, Meg would for her.
Before she could kindly remind the gentleman to return to his seat before the performance began, however, Mr. Pratt spoke behind them.
“How long do you plan to stay in York, Mr. Abbott?”
“For a few more weeks, I believe.”
“You must join us at Hollridge House for our Twelfth Night revels then,” Mrs. Pratt offered.
Meg glanced to Louisa. Could Mrs. Pratt not see her daughter’s blush burning brighter? Her shifting eyes? Or was she attempting to push gentlemen toward Louisa as she pushed ladies toward Matthew?
“Thank you, I would enjoy that.” Mr. Abbott’s smile lingered on Louisa before voices sounded below, signaling the beginning of the performance. “Well, it was a pleasure to see you all again, but I fear I must return to my friends. Good evening.”
He tipped forward in a bow then finally broke his concentration on Louisa and left their box. Meg and Louisa took their seats once more.
“Are you well?” Meg asked in a whisper.
Louisa simply nodded.
“I cannot believe he followed you here,” Meg continued. “Not to worry though. I shall help you be rid of him, just like at the masquerade.”
It was the least she could do after all the help Louisa had been to her over the past few days. But when her friend made no response, merely focused more intently on the performance finally beginning below, Meg frowned. Was Louisa behaving so strangely because of Mr. Abbott’s sudden appearance? Or was something else upsetting her? Miss Wells and Matthew perhaps?
Meg couldn’t blame Louisa for her silence when she herself wasn’t feeling up to speaking either, especially when the performance proved to be the longest of her life.
When it finally ended, Meg was so emotionally spent from trying to keep her mind and eyes from straying toward Matthew that she didn’t say a word in the carriage, feigning sleep until they reached Hollridge. Once inside, Louisa silently departed to her room, and Meg went straight to bed, hoping rest would provide her with the respite she desperately needed.
But no relief came, for as she tried to sleep, her mind raced faster than Miss Michaels on ice skates. Eventually, she gave up, pulling on her dressing gown and tiptoeing through the corridors toward Louisa’s room where light shone forth from the bottom of the door.
“Louisa? Are you awake?” she asked, tapping on the door.
A moment passed before she replied. “Yes. You may come in.”
Meg slipped into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The light from the fireplace and the single candle flickering on Louisa’s bedside table cast low shadows around the room. Louisa sat up in her bed, leaning against a pillow and the headboard. She lowered her book and greeted Meg with a weak smile.
“Can you not sleep either?” Meg asked, motioning to the book as she crossed the room.
“I’m afraid not.”
Meg sat at the foot of the bed, tracing circles in the flower pattern of Louisa’s cover. “Are you worrying about Mr. Abbott?”
“Among other things.”
Meg paused. “What other things?”
Louisa pulled her eyes away. Her voice was so soft, Meg had to lean closer to hear her. “My brother.”
Of course, Louisa was upset with his behavior toward Meg that evening. She was such a dear friend, always concerned for the well-being of others.
“I suppose we shall simply have to work a little harder to draw his attention to me then,” Meg said, attempting light-heartedness.
“Or…or perhaps we ought to stop inflicting our will on him and let him choose his life for himself.”
Meg stared. “What do you mean?”
As Louisa met her eye, her solemn expression pressed the truth into Meg’s mind. “You…” Meg swallowed. “You no longer wish for me to marry your brother?”
Louisa leaned forward, grasping Meg’s hand in her own. Her cold fingers sent icy threads up Meg’s arm. “Of course I do. I wish to call you my sister more than anything. I only feel as if perhaps we have become a little carried away with our matchmaking.”
Meg’s mind was spinning, creating a dizziness worse than when she and Matthew had spun together on the ice. If Louisa still wished for Meg to marry Matthew, why was she telling her to stop pursuing him? Was she truly more upset with Meg’s attention to Matthew than with Mr. Abbott following her from London?
“What has brought about this change?” Meg breathed, her back beginning to curve like an evergreen bough heavy with snow.
Louisa’s words were soft, barely louder than the snapping fire in the hearth. “It was something Miss Warren said last night, that Matthew and Miss Josephine were taken with each other.”
Frustration simmered within Meg. She pulled her hand away from Louisa. “So you believe her words? You believe your brother has formed an attachment with Miss Josephine? I can assure you that he has not.”
The truth of their kiss was at the tip of her tongue, ready to fall off in an instant, but Meg pulled it back. She had longed to tell Louisa, but after Matthew’s less-than-ideal reaction to their affection, she’d been too fearful to admit their kiss aloud.
“No, I don’t believe that in the slightest,” Louisa said. “But I…I don’t believe he has formed an attachment with anyone over Christmastide.”
The words penetrated Meg’s defenses, frozen daggers stabbing at her already battered heart. She stood from the bed, moving closer to the hearth. “I see. Anyone, including myself.”
“I hope you know why I say such a thing, Meg. It is only to protect you. To keep you from becoming hurt, should you place too much hope in his falling in love with you. I could never forgive myself if I pressured either one of you into a relationship that would never work. It would hardly be fair.”
Meg nodded, chewing on her bottom lip to keep her senses about her. “So you think I am being unfair in my treatment of him? That a relationship between us would never work? Do you think I am feigning my love? Treating this as a game?”
Louisa pushed back her covers and moved to stand beside Meg. “No, not at all. I know you have sincere feelings for him. But ever since Christmas, you’ve changed. You are no longer lighthearted and carefree. It is as if…as if you are obsessed over capturing his love.”
Obsessed? Capturing his love? Meg huffed out a disbelieving breath. They’d had slight disagreements before, but Louisa would simply walk away and keep her frustrations to herself. Now, however, she was speaking so openly, Meg could hardly believe her ears.
“This is not a game for me, Louisa.”
“In a way it is. At times, I feel as if you push so hard to have your own feelings known, you forget others have their own will.”
“When have I done this?” Meg asked, her voice raising.
Louisa lifted her hands out to her side in a weakened stance. “You are doing so right now. You tell me you will help me be rid of Mr. Abbott when I don’t know if I want to be rid of him.”
Meg pulled back, her brow furrowed. “You have feelings for the squirrel?”
“I am twenty-one, Meg. I cannot stay unmarried forever.”
“But to have to settle with—”
“I would not be settling, I…” Louisa broke off with a sigh, pressing a hand over her eyes.
Meg stared at her incredulously. How could Louisa wish to be with the man? She’d never mentioned a word about him, only that he was serious-minded. Mr. Abbott wasn’t unattractive by any means, but was he not the dullest person they’d ever met? Louisa, wish to marry him? Meg could hardly believe it.
“Never mind that now,” Louisa continued, drawing Meg’s attention to the present. “I speak only out of the deepest love for our friendship when I say that either Matthew wishes to be with you, or he does not. You cannot force someone to fall in love with you, Meg.”
Meg’s mouth fell
open in surprise. “I-I’m not forcing him. I’m merely helping him to see…” She ended with a sigh.
Louisa didn’t understand. She must be simply confused after seeing Mr. Abbott that evening. She couldn’t love that man, just like she couldn’t truly believe that Meg would force Matthew to love her.
With a sinking feeling in her heart, Meg backed away toward the door. Matthew would love Meg. He just needed her help. Didn’t he?
She shook her head. “I’m sorry to have burdened you with this, Louisa. You may rest assured I shall not any longer.”
And without another word, she fled from the room. Louisa didn’t call after her.
As Meg returned to her room, she plopped onto her bed with a frustrated groan. How could Louisa believe Meg was simply playing a game, essentially trying to trick Matthew into falling in love with her? Meg genuinely loved Matthew. Why would she ever trick him into doing something he didn’t wish to do?
She brought her thumb to her mouth, chewing on her nail as her eyes wandered to her dresser, where rested on top the small, white berry Matthew had handed her from the kissing bough.
He’d enjoyed kissing her, she knew that. But was his avoidance of her that day not proof enough that he regretted the action? What if, by that kiss, he feared that Meg loved him, a feeling he could not reciprocate?
And what if, for reasons Meg couldn’t understand, Louisa did have feelings for Mr. Abbott? Had Meg ever asked her? Or had she just assumed all the blushing and downcast eyes were due to Louisa’s dislike of the man—rather than her love of him?
She winced, regret settling deep in her heart. She’d done terrible things. She’d pushed her will on her friend. And she’d tricked Matthew into kissing her because she’d wanted it for herself. Never mind that he’d tried to prevent it a number of times. She hadn’t had a care what her friends felt or thought. She hadn’t since the masquerade and she’d pulled Louisa away from Mr. Abbott and forced Matthew to dance with her, though she knew he disliked the pastime.
If Meg truly loved Louisa, she would let her choose her own future. And if Meg truly loved Matthew, she should be happy for him if he found a woman whom he wished to marry. If he didn’t love Meg, then she needed to accept it.
Drawing in a deep breath, she rose from her bed and retrieved the berry from the dresser, clasping it in her palm and lumbering toward the window. With a heavy hand, she pushed the black-leaded pane open. The cold air burned her lungs, but it was a welcome relief to the bitter remorse stinging her heart.
Louisa was right. It had been an obsession for Meg. She’d feared not possessing Matthew’s love, not remaining in his family, and having to stay with hers. But it wasn’t fair anymore. She would no longer make Matthew or Louisa a pawn.
She stuck her hand out of the window, the berry trembling in her palm before she tipped it to the side, and her supposed pearl dropped to the ground.
She loved Matthew and Louisa. It was time to show it by asking after Louisa’s true feelings. It was time to show it by letting Matthew go, by allowing him to be happy with whom he chose. Tomorrow, she would apologize to Louisa, she would begin her life anew.
And if Matthew didn’t love her, she would find someone who did.
Chapter Eight
“Ah, here they are.”
Matthew’s heart tapped against his chest at Mother’s words. He knew of whom she spoke. He and his parents had been waiting for Meg and Louisa to come down from their rooms for nearly ten minutes now. At this rate, they would most certainly be late for the musicale at the Lincolns’. Not that he cared. He was mostly just trying to find a distraction to keep himself from looking up at Meg. He was afraid one glance would ruin his resolve to forget about what had occurred between them.
Nothing had happened, of course, apart from what naturally occurred beneath a kissing bough. Their kiss was completely normal, and he’d enjoyed it as much as any man would. Never mind that he had lingered or that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from thinking of it for longer than a few minutes at a time. He simply needed to ignore his overworking heart, especially right now, as her slippered feet came closer and closer toward him.
“We must apologize for our delay,” Louisa said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “We were speaking and lost track of time.”
Matthew noted their shared smiles and linked arms out of the corner of his eye. Of what had they been speaking?
“I also had to change my gown again,” Louisa continued. “The other one didn’t match with Meg’s quite as nicely. This one does, though, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, surely,” Mother said. “You two look as beautiful as always.”
Matthew watched from the corner of his eye as Father placed a soft kiss to each of the girls’ hands. “You know, there are times when I do believe you and Meg are the twins, instead of you and Matthew. Wouldn’t you agree, son?”
Matthew focused intently on smoothing out his jacket sleeve. “Indeed. Shall we depart? The Lincolns will be awaiting our arrival.”
“Since when have you ever been anxious to depart for a social gathering?” Father asked, a smile in his voice.
“Since I discovered that it would help me reach home sooner,” Matthew returned.
“But, Matthew, you didn’t even look at us,” Louisa said. “Come now, or we shall refuse to leave the Lincolns’ home this evening and keep you there forever.”
Matthew sighed. He supposed determining not to look at Meg ever again was rather ridiculous, seeing as how she practically lived with them. Very well, he would take one glance at their gowns then look away. Under no circumstances would he stare or allow his thoughts—or heart—to run rampant again.
With steely determination, he finally looked up. And immediately, he failed.
He barely looked at Louisa before taking in the sight of Meg’s glowing white gown, red ribbon laced around her bodice, delicate pearls around her neck, and cheeks as rosy as her curved lips. One look was all it took, and the feelings he’d tried so hard to repress took residence once more in his confused, swirling heart.
This was why he’d been avoiding her, to prevent the heat rushing through his body and flushing his face. Why was he feeling this way at the mere sight of her? And why did she appear so completely the opposite? Her smile was easy, her stare stalwart. She didn’t fidget as he did. Did that mean she hadn’t felt any change since their kiss?
Disappointment rooted in his chest for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand.
“So?” Louisa’s voice echoed through his mind.
“They could be sisters, could they not?” sounded Mother’s voice next.
Matthew still stared. Just like he’d told himself not to. He blinked, pulling his eyes away and clearing his throat. “Yes, just like sisters.”
And yet, they were nothing like sisters, for that would make Meg his sister. And he’d certainly never had such musings for Louisa as he now had for Meg.
He shook his head. His feelings were superfluous, nothing short of a simple reminder that she was an attractive female, a reminder of the party spirit they’d both been affected by that late, New Year’s Eve night. He would do good to forget it.
“Shall we?” he asked, making headway for the door.
The carriage ride took longer than he’d hoped, especially with Meg seated right across from him. Each time their knees bumped together or their eyes met, he ignored his traitorous, quickening heart and refocused his attention on the task before him.
Despite his sudden and strange notice of Meg, the bargain with his parents still stood. He couldn’t believe he was almost completed with Mother’s list. With number seven—Miss Wells—having been seen to the night before at the theatre, Matthew only had two women remaining. He didn’t know much about number eight, a Miss Lincoln visiting her aunt and uncle over the winter, but Mother had warned him that she rather enjoyed speaking.
Matthew had brushed her cautioning aside, figuring any amount of speaking would be better than the si
lent Miss Wells, whom he’d only managed to pry a few sentences from the night before.
But, oh, how wrong he was. He was certain he’d never met a woman who spoke as quickly or as much as Miss Lincoln. Almost upon crossing the threshold of the Lincolns’ drawing room, the young woman was upon him, speaking right after introductions before he’d even straightened from his bow.
“Oh, I’m so pleased you’ve come, Mr. Pratt,” she said, her words blurring together in one, continuous stream, like water pouring from a glass. “My aunt has told me so much about you and your kind family. She also tells me you are not one for social gatherings. I must say, I am not so very fond of socializing with great crowds either, so you and I are similar in that regard. In fact, I’ve decided that I shall cling to you the majority of the night so we may take comfort in each other’s presence, knowing we are both terribly out of place. Will that suffice?”
Matthew stared, dumbfounded. Mother hadn’t been lying. Miss Lincoln did enjoy speaking. “I-I suppose that will do,” he said.
“Excellent, then I shall enjoy the evening even more so with you at my side. Do you know, I’m quite looking forward to this now. My aunt says we shall have the best women singing this evening. Though, I am one of those who will be playing the pianoforte, and I must say, I do not consider myself a very great performer. My aunt does dote on me, as much as my own mother does. I do think it a duty, if not a requirement, to look after one’s own female relatives. Why, your mother dotes on your sister, does she not?”
Matthew tried to keep up with her continual change of subject, slowly registering each of her words. He glanced to Louisa, hoping to share a look of humor, but she was no longer standing at his side. He looked around the room, spotting her and Meg standing with a few gentlemen. He returned his attention to Miss Lincoln, if only to distract himself from staring at Meg.
“Yes, I believe she does dote on my sister,” he finally responded.
Her words took flight again, like a butterfly flitting about in the air, unsure of which direction to take as it continued in random patterns from side to side.
Nine Ladies Dancing (Belles of Christmas Book 4) Page 10
