“Let us start with the life and death items first,” Ian said. “Those dealing with the Kingdom’s continued survival will have to wait.”
Stephan laughed. “Sir, I would have brought the life and death matters to you in Worcester. As for the Kingdom’s survival. That is the middle stack.”
Ian sighed. The man might be joking. Then again, he might not be.
“Anything from Lord Greenville?” Ian’s stomach clenched into a tight ball. He had responded to his friend fighting in Portugal from Worcester over two weeks earlier. It was too soon to expect a response. But that did not eliminate the worry.
“No, Your Grace. And I have asked both Bradford’s and Oxford’s secretaries to let me know if their employers receive word.”
Wise, he thought but Stephan didn’t realize that Duncan would write to him if he had a problem. His bond with both Brock and Jack was as close as the one he had with Ian. But different. Duncan had explained it that when talking to Brock, it was like talking to a statue of Alfred the Great. A standard that was hard to match. And talking to Jack was like talking to a fellow officer. The man had fought the French on the high seas and could well understand what Duncan was going through.
But, talking to Ian was like talking to a friend. A man who would never understand but wanted to.
Ian nodded his appreciation to Stephan before leaning back and thinking of Duncan fighting the French. It made his aching heart seem so foolish. The man was facing true terror daily. It put his own troubles over the loss of Meg into perspective.
What would Duncan think of her? Would he think Ian was a fool for losing his heart to a Lady’s maid? Or for that matter, for losing his heart at all.
“Your Grace,” Stephan said, interrupting his thoughts. “Was your trip successful? Did you ever complete that portrait, the one of the young woman sitting at the table?”
Ian’s gut tightened. “Yes, it was productive. As for the portrait, why do you ask?”
Stephan smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “I thought she might have a sister.”
Ian froze, then laughed. That was so typical of Stephan. A few words and he had pulled his employer out of the dreaded black dog of depression before it arrived.
“If she did,” he answered. “You would be a waste on her. Women want romance not numbers and correspondence about numbers.”
Stephan laughed, “Your Grace would be amazed by what women not of the nobility find attractive. Not everything is viewed through the prism of a title.”
A cold shiver ran down Ian’s spine. Was his secretary correct? Had he completely misread Meg? They had never really talked. Never discussed dreams and desires. Never grown to learn about each other. How could he possibly understand her world? Her expectations. No. It was impossible.
He sighed heavily. Questions to which he would never have an answer.
“Don’t delay me,” Ian said with a sarcastic tone as he nodded to the piles of papers before him. “You know how much I have been looking forward to this.”
Stephan laughed then began reading from his notes. For the next two hours they worked their way through the correspondence. First were the bills before parliament, who supported which and the ramifications of each proposed law. In addition, there was the blatant politics involved. Who would be upset if he went against them? And who would feel beholden?
Next was the correspondence from his agents throughout Britain. Men responsible for administering his lands. Collecting rents, ensuring the tenants were taken care of. Overseeing his manufacturing and mining concerns. The men who really saw that things were accomplished.
A dozen decisions needed to be made, everything from agreeing to the building of a new mill to the purchase of new breeding stock. In almost every event, he agreed to his agent’s recommendations. After all, that was what he paid them for.
Once those were completed. They moved on to the newspaper articles that Stephan had put aside thinking he might find them interesting. Ian allowed his mind to wander as Stephan provided quick summaries of each.
What was Meg doing at that very moment? he wondered. Every part of his being demanded that he track down Lord Duval but she had given him no indication that was what she wished. Surely, she would have sent him a letter. There had been more than enough time.
“And now, Your Grace,” Stephan said indicating the largest of the piles. “Invitations. I kept those that you might be interested in.”
Ian scoffed as he waved his hand. “The season cannot end quickly enough in my opinion. I will not be attending balls or afternoon teas. Nor the opera, or the races.”
Stephan frowned. “Your mother’s secretary passed that your mother hoped you would escort her to A Lord Evens event this Thursday. It seems it is unusual for him to host a dance.”
A cold shudder passed between the Duke’s shoulders. “I think not, the man is a toad with the personality of a bar stool. No wonder he doesn’t host events. He doesn’t wish to be embarrassed by the low turnout.”
Shrugging, Stephan placed the invitation into the to be discarded pile and moved on. They worked through the entire list until his secretary held up the last invitation. “Her Grace, The Duchess Bradford?”
Ian sighed. “Of course. The woman is an angel. Besides, Brock serves the best whiskey. When?” Attending a ball at his best friends did not seem onerous. His only regret was that he wished Meg could attend. Would she enjoy a glimpse into his world?
No, probably not. She would probably see silly people with silly rules accomplishing absolutely nothing.
“Monday of next week, Your Grace.”
Ian nodded. “Ensure Prescot knows. Also, my mother’s secretary. If Her Grace desires to attend then I am more than willing to escort her. He is my best friend after all. You might inform her that it will be the only event I will be attending for the rest of the season.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Stephan said giving him a quick frown. The man obviously understood that something was disturbing his employer but he had the good sense to keep his worries to himself. “Is there anything else, Your Grace?
Ian took a deep breath as a feeling of desperation filled him. There was so much else. But none of it could be addressed. “Send a letter to Reynolds in Buckinghamshire.”
Stephan hurriedly rearranged his ledger so that he could take notes.
“There is a cottage, on a stream, just outside of the village of Stokenchurch, not far from High Wycombe. He will know the one I mean. I stayed there a few years ago.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Stephan said as his brow furrowed, obviously concerned that his employer was making plans for another escape.
Ian remembered fondly his stay there. Out of the way. Isolated. It was as if there was no one else in the world.
“Tell him to have it prepared. If there are tenants in residence, see if they would be willing to move to a nicer, larger holding at no additional increase in rents. And ensure he is to understand, the tenants are not to be forced. I am sure I have other cottages on other estates.”
“Why that one, Your Grace?”
Ian smiled. “Because I like the sound of the stream. And because it is within a day’s ride of London.” But in reality. He didn’t know why. Perhaps an escape. Somewhere to go to get away from the pain eating at his stomach. Or … Just a foolish hope that he was unwilling to unpack at the moment. After all he was rather positive it would never come to pass.
After his secretary had departed, Ian took a deep breath and turned to stare out the window. Really there was no solution. He would have to accept that he would never see Meg again.
Chapter Fifteen
A numbness continued to fill Margaret’s very soul. Another week had passed and still, it lingered. It was as if a thick gray cloud had descended to cover her in a dull pain.
Nothing helped. Her mother’s arrival had been a disappointment, making everything even worse. The fact that her mother agreed with her father had been a crippling blow. In the back of Margaret’
s mind had been a small hope that her mother would save her.
Instead of rescuing her, both, her mother and Aunt Vera had spent their time hastily arranging a wedding that would lock her into a life of misery.
“There, M’lady,” Susan said as she tucked in a pin to hold her mistress’s hair in place. Her maid looked at her with a sadness about her eyes. As if to say that it was a shame. This should be a wondrous event. Attending a London ball. One given by a Duchess no less. What woman wouldn’t be thrilled?
Margaret gave her maid a small smile of thanks. Another ball. Why? They had already announced the betrothal at Lord Even’s ball last week. A sickening, sad affair in Margaret’s view. The entire evening had been filled with an awkward tenseness.
Lord Even’s had been disappointed by the turnout. She had been disappointed in her betrothed mainly simply because he was her betrothed and because he was so churlish. Her parents had been terrified she would balk and embarrass them. Even Aunt Vera had been rather quiet. As if she knew that everything about the betrothal was wrong.
A cold shudder ran down her back as she recalled Lord Evens making the announcement. More than a few women had shot her quick looks of empathy. Not the jealous, envious looks a woman hopes for when her future husband is announced.
Now, tonight, another ball. Her mother had explained that Lord Evens wanted to show her off. Of course, he did, she thought with a shake of her head. It was as if he had bagged a prize during a hunt. That was what she was to him. Nothing but a trophy to be shown to the world. It was all she would ever be to the man.
Her thoughts jumped to Ian. What was he doing? Where was he? What would he think if he knew about her betrothal and the coming wedding? Would he feel sadness? Or perhaps relief in knowing he need feel no guilt. A thousand questions. All of them unanswerable.
No, that path lay madness, she reminded herself. She had determined not to pine after the man. He was to be relegated to her past she thought with a fierce determination. A part of her life she would never know again.
Sighing heavily, she studied herself in the looking glass. Her dress was new. A high waisted imperial gown of blue with a lavender bow and Belgium lace at the cuffs and neck. Ian would like the color, she thought before she could stop herself.
Another expense her father would never have been able to cover if not for the bride price. What of Lord Evens? she wondered. Would she be provided an adequate allowance once they were married? Or would he make her come to him for every expense? Again, that all to familiar shudder ran through her.
“M’lady,” Susan said, pulling her back to the present. “I believe the others are waiting.”
Margaret was tempted to delay. Making them wait would be a touch of revenge for forcing her to go through with this. But really, it would only upset Father and make the evening even more troublesome.
“Of course, Susan,” Margaret replied. “We couldn’t disappoint my family, now could we.”
Susan’s eyes winced with pain before she could stop herself.
As Margaret turned and started for the door Susan reached out and held her arm to stop her. “M’lady. … I have a bit put aside. Not much. But perhaps enough for you to get away. If you had somewhere to go. Somewhere safe? A person who could help?”
Margaret’s heart lurched. Her maid was offering up not only her life savings, but her very employment. All to help her mistress. Next, her mind jumped to a new worry. Did Susan know about Ian and their time together? Was that what her maid was suggesting.
No, she couldn’t do that to Susan. Besides, it would never work.
Shaking her head, Margaret said, “Thank you, Susan. I understand the sacrifice you are offering. But there is no need. I assure you. And really, there is no one who could help.”
Susan’s brow furrowed for a moment as if she were watching a goat being led to slaughter. Margaret sighed internally and left to join her family.
The four of them sat in silence the entire way to the dance. Each lost in their own thoughts. If it weren’t so painful, she would have laughed. Four people ashamed of what was happening. Each with their own doubts. Deep in her heart, she believed even her father regretted the betrothal. But they were each trapped by circumstances.
As the carriage slowly made its way through the long line of guests, her mother pulled the curtain back to take a quick look. Margaret was reminded that her mother had been kept in Cornwall for most of her life. It was rather obvious that she found London both exciting and a little worrisome.
“It is going to be quite a crush,” her mother said.
“Our hosts are very popular,” Aunt Vera said with a hint of superiority. Her way of reminding her sister-in-law that she was intimately familiar with the inner workings of the London ton.
“I do hope Lord Evens isn’t caught in this queue,” her father said as the carriage lurched forward a few feet then came again to a halt.
Margaret pushed back against an urge to scream. Who cared how many people would be there tonight? What did it matter who was where in line? None of it mattered. Not when compared to the pain she was feeling and the hopelessness that filled her.
Once she was again under control, she pulled back her curtain and peered into the darkness. Where was Ian? Her heart ached for him. Had he moved on to some other English village? Searching for the perfect scene. Looking for some kind of truth. Perhaps he had already found a new model for his paintings. Or worse, a new maid for his bed. The thought made her insides twist into a knot.
Once again, a deep sense of shame filled her. She should have told him her true identity. It had been wrong to mislead him. Granted, she might never have known a night in his arms. But at least she wouldn’t be feeling this constant guilt.
“Finally,” Aunt Vera said as a footman opened the carriage door.
As Margaret stepped down from the coach she was overwhelmed by a sense of doom. A feeling that her world was about to be destroyed. Of course, she had been feeling something similar since the moment her father had announced they were leaving for London.
Shaking it off, she joined the line waiting to enter and meet their hosts. Margaret was surprised to find the Duchess of Bradford so young and so beautiful with an intelligent look that spoke of an inborn grace. But then a man as powerful and strikingly handsome as the Duke of Bedford would accept nothing less in a wife.
Dropping into a curtsey, Margaret glanced up from beneath her brow and was surprised to see the Duke give his wife’s hand a quick squeeze. The kind of gesture a man in love makes. The Duchess gave him a knowing smile filled with a thousand meanings.
Margaret’s heart lurched as she realized she would never know that feeling. It was impossible to imagine her and Lord Evens ever sharing such a moment.
Oh, how she wished she could talk privately to the Duchess to learn her secret. How had she found her true love? What miracles had she performed to end up with the one man in the world she wanted. But, custom dictated that she move on, her hosts had hundreds to be greeted.
The house smelled of flowers and wood polish. Margaret took a moment to examine and catalog. While she would never rise to the level of a Duchess. As a Viscountess she would be expected to present a fashionable home to her guests.
As she followed her parents to the main room, Margaret memorized every detail. The cut of the glass vases, the selection of flowers. The new candles in the chandelier. Each fact was registered and put away to be used later.
When she entered the main room, she was struck by the number of people. So different than Lord Evens’ ball last week. This was the top of the top. Dukes, Earls, rich businessmen, high ranking soldiers. All resplendent in the latest dress or stiff uniforms. No powdered wigs, she realized. It seemed the fashion set by the Duke of Wellington had taken ahold of society.
The women wore high waisted dresses that fell straight like Greek pillars. Pastels mostly. Their hair adorned by light touches, flower sprigs, feathers. Each obviously hoping to draw attention without being to
o blatant or obnoxious. All of it presenting an air of superiority and wealth.
The heart of the empire she realized. This was to be her world. Unless Lord Evens hid her on his estates in Devon she realized with a touch of sadness. London would be so much easier. She would be able to hide from her disappointment by losing herself in this rich life.
“You must not dance,” her Aunt Vera whispered to her. “Not until Evens has arrived.”
Margaret fought to stop from rolling her eyes. She was perfectly aware of the rules. She didn’t need to be constantly reminded by her aunt. Besides. It wasn’t as if she were in the hunt for a husband. After all, that task had been resolved.
.o0o.
Ian took a deep breath. God, how he despised these things. If it hadn’t been for Ann and Brock he never would have attended. These balls seemed to pull energy from him like a long slog up a steep mountain. At the end, he felt winded and useless.
He glanced at the entryway to the main room. People were filing in at a steady pace. The place would be packed tighter than a bishop’s Christmas mass. Ann would be pleased he thought to himself. Good, she deserved every joy in life. His only regret was that Oxford and his wife had left for their country estate. It seemed his friend Jack was to be a father and had rushed his wife from the ills of London as soon as he had learned.
It seemed he was to be left to himself until his hosts could break away. Knowing Brock, it wouldn’t be much longer before they could sneak off to the man’s study and enjoy a whiskey and perhaps a cigar.
Yes, that would be the way to spend the evening. Just the two of them sharing memories.
“There you are Suffolk,” his mother said as she came up behind him. “I thought perhaps you had already disappeared.”
He laughed, “Not yet mother. Ann would kill me. I promised her a dance before I can leave. If I am lucky it will be one of the first.”
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