by Meara Platt
Meggie found it hard to catch her breath. “What did I say to you?”
“I’m not going to tell you now. Perhaps another time.” He drained the last of his tea with his typically hearty enthusiasm and rose. “Shall we go?”
She nodded, casting him a warm smile as she took his outstretched hand. “William, are you all healed? Or do your wounds still require treatment? Is that really why you stopped by your father’s clinic?”
“No, Megs. I’m fine. In the pink. I stopped by for exactly the reason I told you. I wanted to spend a little time with him. As for my wounds, we may think of these tribes as uncivilized, but the truth is that in some things, they are far more advanced than we are. My injuries were treated with great care and I felt very little pain. I even brought my father some ancient healing powders that I thought would interest him.”
He looked out the window and then turned back to her. “Looks like the wind has died down.”
“We could walk back through Hyde Park,” she suggested, knowing that after what he’d told her, she could not hold back her secret. “That will give us time to talk. That is, if you’re not too busy to spend a little more time with me.” Her eyes suddenly widened in alarm. “But can you walk the distance on your injured leg? I didn’t notice a limp. In truth, you look quite fit.”
He cast her a tender grin. “It healed months ago. Of course, I can. Besides, do you think I’d ever admit it to you if I couldn’t?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Very well, but you’re too big to carry in my arms should you collapse like a delicate flower.”
“I’ll try my best not to. Your grandfather’s driver can follow us with your carriage. Have your maid and footmen keep a discreet distance behind us. But that’s for you, in case you grow tired. We’d make the front page of all the gossip rags if I were seen carrying you in my arms, my delicate Scottish flower.”
“Hah! We’ll see who’s the delicate one.” They walked out in the December sunshine. Meggie regretted that the sun would fade early at this time of year. She would have liked more time to stroll with William in the gentle light of day.
The streets around the museum were quiet, but Meggie knew they had only to turn the corner to be struck by the noise of Oxford Street and its clattering horse carts and fine carriages. Fortunately, the noise as they made their way through the busy heart of London would allow them to speak without being overheard.
She put her arm in his as they strolled, surprised by how naturally they seemed to fit together.
But she quickly dismissed the thought.
Any woman would think the same if she were walking beside William.
Meggie took a deep breath and held a little tighter onto him as she began to open up to him. “It all started when I caught a fever earlier this year. We’d just been through the winter and spring was now upon us. At first, I thought…indeed, we all thought, it was merely a passing cough that would be cured with a little tea and honey.”
She felt the ripple of tension along the muscle of his arm, and knew when he frowned, that he was frowning at the thought of her illness and not at her. “But it wasn’t a mere cough, I gather.”
She took another deep breath, for her heart was pounding furiously now and she needed to calm herself down. “No, it was so much worse.” Her lips began to quiver and she struggled to keep tears from welling in her eyes, for she did not want William to see her cry.
She dared not show him any weakness.
“What happened, Megs?” His voice was still achingly tender.
He stroked her hand lightly with his thumb, somehow conveying that he would give her all the time she needed to put herself together. “The cough turned into a fever that raged in my body for several weeks. A very high fever. I was delirious. I required ice baths. My lungs burned whenever I took a breath. My heart beat so erratically, at times, I couldn’t catch my breath…and then one night I almost died.”
He wrapped his fingers in hers as they stood on the street, staring at each other amid the noise and bustle. He looked ready to swallow her up in the protective cocoon of his arms and never let her go.
“So you see, we’ve both had our brush with death this year.” She cast him a wistful smile. “But that isn’t the worst of it for me.”
“It isn’t?” He paused to stare at her a long moment. “I don’t see it, Megs. You look beautiful. You look perfect, to me.”
She shook her head. “But I’m not. There’s more.”
Chapter Four
William sucked in a cold breath, his lungs filling with the icy sting of impending winter as Meggie continued to confide in him. Mother in heaven. She’d almost died.
All his protective urges surged to the fore. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was for not being by her side during her darkest hours. But he’d gone off to secure new materials for the Farthingale mills, needing to make a name for himself.
Needing to make his father proud of him.
No, that wasn’t quite true. His father had always been proud of him, had loved and doted on him like a mother hen. He had been the one to feel the need to prove himself to his father.
And he’d left Meggie unprotected to do that.
“My life is not in danger now,” she said with a soft roll of her ‘r’ and a reassuring smile, “but it has taken an unexpected direction.”
“How so, Megs?” They were once again walking arm-in-arm, and it struck him that she fit quite nicely against him. He was almost a head taller, but that meant she was the perfect height to lean her cheek against his shoulder. Her curves were just the right proportions for his hands. Of course, he would never run his hands along her body.
So why were his thoughts drifting that way?
He silently berated himself.
“Your father might explain it better, but fevers are an infection of the body. A particular fever may be caused by an infection of the blood or of a particular body organ such as the heart or lungs or liver. Mine was a combination of several. My heart was weakened, but your father thinks I’ve made a full recovery there. My heartbeat is strong. In truth, I feel fine. No sweats or chills or fluttering beats. But there is another part of me that did not heal and never will.” She took a deep breath and released it with a ragged ache before continuing. “I cannot have children.”
Her emerald eyes began to glisten with tears. “Please don’t say anything, William. I’m not looking for pity. In truth, I’m coming to accept my fate. It could have been so much worse. But this unexpected change has forced me to reconsider the path of my life.”
She took a swipe at a tear that had fallen onto her cheek, seemingly angry that it was there and obviously determined not to let another fall. “What man would offer for me knowing that I could never give him sons?” She emitted a mirthless laugh. “Or daughters, for that matter.”
William’s heart ached for her.
He wanted to say something soothing, but words failed him. He did not wish to sound trite or come across as pitying her situation. Mostly, he felt anger. At himself for not being there. At the heavens for depriving Meggie of something she so obviously desired. She would have been a wonderful mother. And why deprive children of a good parent? She had all the best qualities. Tenderness, compassion, intelligence.
He understood what she was going through better than she realized. He’d never known his mother. She had died shortly after giving birth to him. He’d never been given the chance to know her. His Aunt Sophie had raised him with all the love in her heart that she’d given her own daughters. He’d never felt deprived. But he still felt the loss of his own mother. “There will be men. Good ones who will be proud to make you their wife.”
“No, William. You’re wrong. The best men will understand their duty to their families and marry a woman who can give them an heir. The worst men will not care in the least, but I would not have any of them.”
“Megs, you’re wrong.”
She regarded him with impatience. �
�Am I? What would you do if you were faced with the choice? Would you knowingly take on a barren wife? Would you do so knowing that you would never have fine sons and daughters to carry on the proud Farthingale traditions?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Farthingales have no proud traditions. Not yet, anyway. We chaotically trip through life, if my cousins are any example. But somehow it all turns out well. Dillie got her duke. Laurel got her baron. Rose got her viscount–”
“I know. I know. Daisy got her war hero who was awarded a title for his bravery. I’ve heard all about your cousins’ adventures. Lily married my brother, after all. That was a little too much of an adventure for all of us.”
“Scared the wits out of all of us,” William admitted. “But that just proves how unpredictable life is and how we ought to grab happiness when it is offered.”
Meggie pursed her lips. “No matter the consequences? Our choices have lasting effect. The man who marries me will not have a son and heir while I am alive. How long will he be content with that? How soon before he dallies with another woman who will give him an illegitimate child? No one wins in the end, least of all the innocent child.”
They reached the park and continued to walk along the paths lined with floral beds that were now dormant. “You are looking at the worst possibilities,” he grumbled.
She pinned him with a glare. “No, William. I am looking at the likely outcome. Don’t you think I’ve given this thought?”
Obviously, she had.
But it did not mean he had to agree with her or accept the choices she had made for herself.
His dreams had been of her as he lay dying.
That had to signify something.
He paused a moment to tuck Meggie’s scarf more securely about her neck. “We’ll be dining with my father and Evie tonight, but tomorrow we’ll all be at Uncle John and Aunt Sophie’s for the traditional gift drawings.”
She nodded. “My grandfather and I will be there.”
“Good. When Aunt Sophie passes around the cards for us to write what gift we’d like for Christmas, I want you to take a second card.”
“Why?”
His hands rested on her slender shoulders. “That first card is for the sort of gift wish anyone can fulfill. You know, I wish for a new pair of gloves. A new scarf. A book. But that second card is the miracle card.”
“Miracle card?”
He nodded. “I want you to write down the one thing you want most, the gift your heart needs. Your heart, Megs. No one else’s. Think only of yourself.”
He could tell by the sudden blaze in her eyes that she wasn’t liking his suggestion. “I would wish for a child. You know that already. It isn’t going to miraculously happen. Besides, I’d need the right husband first.”
“Fine, then wish for a husband.”
“But I don’t want just any husband.”
Her mouth was pursed in a delicious pout. He was so tempted to kiss her. “You are sulking again. I will not allow that. Now think about how you are going to fill out that second card, because you are going to do it. Write down whatever your heart tells you to write down. Your heart, Meggie. Yours alone. Don’t think of anyone else. What does your heart desire most?”
“And then what? If I do write down my deepest, secret desire, who do I share it with? Certainly not with the entire family.”
“That’s the point, you get to share it only with me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And then my wish is supposed to come true?”
“Maybe. I hope so.” He thought on it a moment. “Yes. It comes true.”
She turned with a muttering grumble and continued to walk toward Lotheil Court. “What are you, my Christmas fairy? I am not a child, you know.”
“I’ve noticed.” There was nothing innocent in the outrageously beautiful shape of her body, and he silently cursed himself for even thinking of her in such a manner at a time like this. She was hurting, and he did not know how to ease her pain. He sighed as he easily kept stride with her. “And I’d rather be thought of as your Christmas angel.”
“My angel?” She stopped and turned to stare at him in defiance. “You’re too big and not nearly pious enough to take on that role.”
“Think of me as one of those muscle-ridden warrior angels on display in the museum. Hard body carved of marble. Big wings. Big arrows. Massive quiver bulging with arrows, for that matter. And a fiery look in my eyes.”
“You’re making me laugh again. Stop it.” Her lips began to twitch and then her pout turned into an exquisitely gentle smile that stole his breath away. There wasn’t anyone prettier than Meggie at that moment. The sun gleamed down on her red hair, casting a fiery halo around it. Her eyes sparkled and the hint of a pink blush stole into her cheeks.
Her pert nose was already red from the cold.
She sighed and shook her head in surrender. “Very well, I’ll write down the wish that comes from my heart on that second card. But if I must bare my soul to you, then it is only fair that you should do the same.”
“And share it only with you?”
She nodded.
“Agreed.”
He turned to lead her out of the park, but she stopped him. “I have a question.”
“About the miracle cards?”
“No, about you.”
He eyed her with confusion, for her pretty, pink blush had just intensified. “What about me?”
“You told me in the teashop that you were shot three times,” she said, gazing at him with her big, green eyes. “Once in the arm and twice in the leg.”
He nodded. “That’s right. So?”
“Then you weren’t shot in your, um…backside.”
He cast her a wicked grin. “You’ve caught me. No, I was not shot in my arse. I only said that to tease you out of your pout. But that’s not all you want to know, is it?”
“No.” She now blushed furiously.
He tweaked her chin, glad for the opportunity to lighten the conversation. At this moment, he wanted nothing better than to make Meggie laugh. She had little enough reason to do so after recovering from an illness that had stolen something quite precious from her. “The answer to that is no, as well. No, I do not have a hairy arse. It is smooth and round as an apple. But I do have a few pimples and boils on it, so it isn’t perfectly smooth.”
“William, stop!” She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes closed tight. “I will not forgive you for putting yet another hideous vision in my head.”
He gently forced her hands from her ears. “Very well. But promise me you’ll fill out the miracle card as I’ve instructed. Be warned, I shall rip it up and toss it into the fire if you dare wish for something that will make others happy. You must think only of yourself. What does your heart want most? What does it need desperately? Promise me.”
She opened her eyes. “I said I would. I promise. But I still don’t believe in miracles.”
“That’s the beauty of it, Megs. You don’t have to believe in them. They’ll just happen.”
Chapter Five
Meggie spent the rest of the afternoon quietly at Lotheil Court thinking about what William had asked her to do. She was not certain she could dig deep into her heart and choose the one thing she wanted most. It had to be something important.
Something that could make her happy no matter what obstacles were thrown in her way.
She thought about it as she dressed for George and Evie’s supper party and continued to ponder it while securing the last few decorative pins in her hair. She must have been more distracted than she realized, for her maid suddenly scurried in wringing her hands. “Lady Meggie, I wish you had allowed me to help you dress and style your curls. You are ever so late, and your grandfather is pacing downstairs. He has summoned the carriage and is bellowing for you to come down right away. Can you not hear him?”
Meggie gave her hair a quick pat and smoothed out the russet velvet of her gown, then turned to Maude with a quick grin. “He always bellows. Thank you, M
aude. I’m ready. Mustn’t keep His Grace waiting.”
“You look lovely, m’lady.” But she began to fuss with the lace at Meggie’s bodice. “The scar was showing,” she said in a whisper, although they were alone in Meggie’s bedchamber which was so large, no one would hear them even if they were shouting across the room to each other. “Just the littlest bit. There, all properly tucked.”
She cast Meggie a sympathetic glance while handing over her gloves and cape.
Meggie hurried downstairs. “Sorry, I’m late.” She allowed her grandfather to help her on with her cape and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
He harrumphed and then sighed and shook his head. “Come along, child. You look lovely.”
“Oh, thank you.” She cast him a beaming smile, for he was not often forthcoming with compliments, especially after he’d stirred himself into a good bellow. “You look rather dashing yourself.”
Her grandfather wore his formal dinner jacket and neatly pressed white tie. Pinned to his jacket were several medals representing the various orders to which he belonged. Indeed, with his silver hair, stubbornly square jaw, and proud stance, he looked just the way a powerful duke ought to look.
He eyed her sternly as they were about to walk out to the waiting carriage with its gleaming, embossed Lotheil crest. “Well.”
Meggie regarded him in confusion. “Well what?”
“You met George’s son at the museum. When were you going to tell me?”
She said nothing until they were settled in his sleek carriage, seated side-by-side. “There’s nothing to tell, Grandfather. I hadn’t expected to run into him. It wasn’t planned. I promise you. I would have worn a much finer outfit had I known he would be there. And made certain my hair was fashionably styled. He’s very handsome, don’t you think? All the ladies are tripping over themselves to be noticed by him.”
Her grandfather groaned lightly. “He’s a Farthingale.”
