Meg still remembered what was most attractive about Almack’s: the cavernous, mirrored long hall, reflecting the light of a host of lanterns, and the exceptional music, pleasing even when the company was not. She felt again the impolite stares, heard the trail of whispers. The appraisals were almost a weight upon her. But she continued to smile.
They moved closer to the roped off area where Aunt Pru could find a seat. Louisa also took a seat, claiming, to Meg’s surprise, that she did not feel in the least like dancing, but she turned with such energy and enthusiasm to speak with some of her acquaintance that Meg had to wonder at the decision.
“She thinks herself noble,” Ferrell told her. “By freeing my time to circulate on business. But do not worry-I shall lure her on to the floor at some point. Now Meg, you must allow me to lead you out for the first two dances. And Lucy, you must permit me at least one following. Miss Burke,” he acknowledged Lucy’s friend, who had come up to them immediately, “would you be kind enough to grant me an early dance?”
Amanda Burke blushed, but nodded an assent.
Bertie claimed the very first dance with Lucy, even as a number of admirers in fancy coats and cravats presented themselves as potential partners. Lucy was busy scribbling names on to her dance card as one darkly handsome young man turned from her to Meg.
“Miss Meg-do you remember me? Harris Wembly.” He bowed.
“Oh, Harry! Of course-how are you? How is your family?”
“We are all well. Here in town now these two years. Though I am usually up at Oxford. I am studying to take orders””
“That is excellent news, Harry. I am so glad to see you. It has been too long. You used to ride over often”
“Yes, Miss Meg. I have missed that as well. Though I have had some word through mother’s correspondence with Miss Lucy.”
Meg glanced over at her surprisingly secretive sister, who had never mentioned she had regular contact with Mrs. Wembly.
“I hope you have successfully obtained a dance or two with Lucy, Harry.”
“I have indeed, Miss Meg, and I hope to be equally successful with you-if you would grant me that pleasure.” Meg did so, just as the music started up.
Ferrell led her out for the first set. He was a fair dancer, careful and attentive, and thankfully never given to chatter. Meg, who loved music, considered that trait most agreeable. She had been to very few dances in the past three years, only occasional Buxley or Tenby assemblies, which were in the nature of community constitutionals. Though she had always enjoyed dancing she had feared she might forget the steps. But by the time she and her brother-in-law had completed two dances she felt relaxed and cheerful. She wondered if he and Louisa had intended as much.
Her limited surveys of the crowd had failed to reveal any sign of the Earl of Sutcliffe. Perhaps Sally Jersey had spoken purely from spite.
Bertie claimed her for the third dance.
“Little Lucy is thrilled beyond measure,” he told her with some impatience. “‘Tis impossible to make a peep of one’s own! I hope she lets some of the chaps open their mouths now and then, or she will frighten them away. What a rattle!”
“She is excited, Bertie, and you are her brother. Naturally she will be easy talking to you”
“Perhaps. I see she’s a bit more subdued with Ferrell, but not much. It’s good to see Harry here. He’ll keep her steady.”
“Yes” Meg eyed the young man as he regarded Lucy. “Did you know Lucy and Mrs. Wembly were corresponding?”
“What?” Bertie shrugged. “Well those two were always matched in zeal. Stands to reason they’d stay close, even though Wembly and father fell out.”
Meg wondered. Harry Wembly was a serious young man, and though he moved to stand up with Amanda Burke for the following dance, his gaze remained on Lucy.
“Lady Jersey told me Lord Sutcliffe might be here tonight, Bertie,” Meg told him. “Though I haven’t seen him.”
“Sutcliffe can do naught here, Meggie. We’ve seen to that. He’ll approach you at his peril.” Bertie’s lips set stubbornly.
“I shouldn’t want a scene at Lucy’s comeout”
“Won’t be any scene, Meggie, as he’ll simply be removed from the scene.” Bertie gave her hand a squeeze. “Father insists you enjoy yourself.”
“I will, Bertie. I am” She was silent for the rest of the dance, content to watch Lucy’s smiles, her aunt’s nodding pleasure, the shifting reflected light against the floor and the dancers. She stood out the next dance to speak to Louisa and Aunt Pru. Two young friends of Lucy’s asked for dances; Meg wrote them on her card, suspecting Lucy had put them up to the invitation as a test of their devotionfor they seemed not the least inclined to remain in her company. Meg was not surprised. Though she had hoped she would no longer be considered worthy of remark, she caught enough averted glances to realize that Meg Lawrence was still infamous. She was certainly not being pressed by potential partners.
She was impatiently tapping her foot to the music when Louisa said,
“I see Mr. Cabot has come.”
Instantly Meg’s tapping stopped. She followed Louisa’s gaze to the other side of the room, where Cabot had indeed made an appearance. His hair shone in the lights. He was dressed superbly, his shoulders hugged by a coat that could only have come from Weston. In the dark, formal clothing he looked devastatingly distinguished, and far removed from the laboring man she had last seen in his shirtsleeves. Meg’s gaze locked on to him as he conversed with his companion, a man as tall as himself and with similar features, but thinner and fairer. All her thought and attention focused on Cabot, until she overheard the conversation beside her.
“Who is this Mr. Cabot?” her aunt asked.
“The architect that father and Bertie have had out at Selbourne. I’m certain Lucy has mentioned him.”
“Oh, yes. Apparently much sought after. That’s Hayden with him you know, Louisa.”
“Yes, I see. I shouldn’t have thought the marquis was a regular attendee here at Almack’s.”
“No indeed. Quite the contrary. Most unusual. He must be here because of your Mr. Cabot. They are friends?”
“Relatives, auntie. Cousins”
“Indeed? Cousin to the Marquis of Hayden, heir to the Duke of Braughton? That is very good ton”
Meg did not care for the gist of the talk. She waited impatiently for Cabot to look their way-she had seen him notice Lucy; he had smiled and bowed. When his attention at last found her, Meg met the force of it with as much steadiness as she could summon. So many yards across the hall she could not read his gaze, she knew only that it was hers. Even that tenuous a contact made her tremble. As Cabot briefly inclined his head to her, Harry Wembly blocked her view, claiming his country dance.
Meg reluctantly let him lead her out. They found an opening at the far end of the room. Meg had planned to quiz him further about his plans to join the clergy, but awareness of Cabot had robbed her of any other direction or purpose.
When Harry returned her to the circle of the Lawrences, Lucy was taking an enforced rest.
“You saw that Charles came, Meg?” she asked. “I thought he might.”
“You thought he might! Why on earth should you think so?”
“Because I asked him. He told me he liked to dance, so I asked him. If he were to be in town of course. You knew he said he would try to attend my ball. But it’s even better that he should be here tonight as well.”
“Lucy, you shouldn’t have. You do not ask a bachelora man who is a virtual stranger. .
“Don’t be silly, Meg! It’s just Charles.”
Meg’s attention again shifted to Cabot’s spot across the way. A lovely redhead, older than any ingenue, was now conversing with him. The lady’s gold and white gown, trimmed in the finest lace, boasted a scant bodice that was shockingly immodest.
Meg’s face warmed as the woman placed a hand on Cabot’s shoulder and pressed her generous bosom against his arm. Meg could tell the two had been close,
in a manner that she could only imagine. That such intimacy could be so apparent somehow hurt her.
“Who is that … that woman clutching Charles?” Lucy asked.
“I do not know, Lucy,” Meg said faintly. “You must ask our aunt.”
“She is positively brazen! I wonder how he can bear it!”
“He does not appear to mind,” Meg remarked, rallying as she realized that was indeed the case. Her agitated reaction was absurd, missish. Cabot was certainly free to choose his own company. He was older than Bertie, and had traveled the world; she should have expected as much.
“The Countess d’Avigne,” Aunt Pru told them disapprovingly. “Formerly Vanessa Paxton. You will remember, Louisa. Her husband, the French Comte Thibault d’Avigne, took his own life.”
“Oh, how awful!” Lucy said, sincerely shocked. And Meg’s gaze returned pensively to the couple.
“You look well, countess,” Chas said as she leaned into him.
“As well as `La Lawrence’?” she asked archly. “Ah, do not be surprised, Chas. You see, I am well used to men’s consideration. Of me … or of others”
Chas schooled his features. He was tempted to ask her why she would choose to give herself more pain. Instead he said affably, “There is no comparison”
Vanessa smiled and playfully tapped his arm with her fan.
“You are wasted on this insipid place, Chas”
Chas looked at her more closely. She had been several years older than he, but now he would have guessed considerably more. When, fresh out of university, he had first met her, Vanessa d’Avigne had been married a decade. She had chosen, early and avidly, to live freely. Though young and admiring, Chas had not chosen to join her. But he had thought of her again while living in Vienna, when he had heard of the count’s suicide over gambling debts. How the countess had managed since he had not heard, but he had known her well enough to be certain that she would.
“Why are you here, Vanessa?” he asked softly.
“This is my stepdaughter’s first season. I … superintend” She smiled, as though the thought were absurd. “You would be doing me a kindness, and no doubt thrill the child, were you to ask her to dance” She nodded toward a petite brunet standing in a cluster of similarly gowned debutantes. “Candace d’Avigne.”
“‘Twill be a pleasure,” Chas said, though he regretted the distraction from his own purpose. Again his gaze drifted unwillingly to Meg.
“You were always a good boy, Chas,” Vanessa said, “and now it seems you have become a good man. So I must warn you to watch yourself. Lord Sutcliffe does not care for attentions to Meg Lawrence.”
Chas looked out over the dancers.
“Then he must be a most unhappy man”
Vanessa laughed.
I believe he must be. But you understand me. And now because you’ve promised to be kind to Candace I shall be kind to you. Who knows?” She gave a very Gallic shrug. “Perhaps such knowledge will be useful someday. I had it from a friend of d’Avigne many years ago, a friend who had reason to know.” Again she pressed herself close. “Should it come to it, Chas, you must choose pistols. The Earl of Sutcliffe shoots highby one or two inches. Though he may compensate, those two who have survived him avow it. Yes, I thought that might interest you” She shrugged once more. “Be careful, mon brave.” She squeezed his arm hard before taking herself off to livelier entertainments.
Chas’s attention again sought Meg as she moved to the dance floor with a dazzled mooncalf. The youngsters seemed to be the only ones approaching her. Perhaps they had not heard-or Sutcliffe did not concern himself with the minnows.
He indulged himself by letting his gaze rest on her as she danced-noting the lustrous dark curls against her forehead and nape, the cameo pure skin, the slight flush to her cheeks, her soft curves in the new gown …
“D’you mind telling me, Chas, why I’m dawdling here-a mere spectator?” Hayden had returned from his conversation with one of his friends. “If you’ve no intention of dancing I’d prefer to take myself off.”
“A moment, Hayden. There is one more favor I would ask you” Chas’ attention still followed Meg as she gracefully dipped and twirled on the other side of the room.
Hayden traced his interest.
“Oh mon Dieu. . ” He actually groaned. “You are a rogue! When you ask a favor of me. . ” His gaze fixed on Meg’s dark head. “Why did I not recognize the name? Chas-you must listen. She is Sutcliffe’s.”
“She is not. The devil may stake a claim, but it needn’t be honored”
“But think, Chas. Sutcliffe has killed others for less. Can you not … find someone else?”
Chas turned to look at him. Whatever Hayden read on his face must have convinced him that the possibility was remote.
“I shan’t be able to have her for myself, Hayden. But I need to do this. Do you understand?”
Hayden shook his head. For a brief moment he examined Meg Lawrence through his quizzing glass. Then he asked wearily,
“What d’you want?”
“Go put our names on the Lawrences’ dance cards. You, at least, shall lend them considerable countenance, Hayden. Assign me an early dance with Lucy, whilst you dance the same with Meg. Just choose whichever event you feel you can endure-no doubt she will appreciate one partner older than twelve. You might oblige me by dancing as well with Lucy later, if you can. But with Miss Lawrence … On Meg’s card, be most particular to write yourself in a second time, for the waltz.”
“Two dances with Meg Lawrence, and one the waltz! But you know I don’t waltz, Chas. I can scarce abide the romp through a country dance”
“You won’t waltz, Myles” Chas held his cousin’s blue gaze.
“Ah! I see. Well.” Hayden raised his chin. “Now we are for it ” He did not dawdle. He walked around to the Lawrences, stopping only twice for acquaintances-which must have been a record in alacrity. Chas watched him pay his respects to the family, saw the plump aunt’s eyes goggling and Lucy’s mouth agape. They had probably never before seen quite as exquisite a creature as the Marquis of Hayden. Meg curtsied as Hayden asked for her card. As Chas sensed her gaze lift to his own he quickly looked elsewhere. He must remember to pay that little attention to Candace d’Avigne.
At the next pause in the dancing, Hayden returned to him.
“All is in hand, Chas. You have the dance after this with Miss Lucinda while I lead out Miss Lawrence. The waltz is the last dance in the next set. And you should know that Sutcliffe has just arrived with his hell-hound, Mulmgren.”
Chas nodded and quickly crossed the floor to be presented to Candace d’Avigne. The girl was shocked at his request, but at a nudge from one of her companions assented at once to the next dance. Chas suspected he had demoted some earnest youngster.
As he led little Candace through the steps, his gaze found Sutcliffe. The earl’s manner commanded attention. Though he was only of an average height, he had all the arrogance and haughty demeanor of station-the disdainful set to his lips looked cruel. His dark hair had grayed at the temples, his sternly chiseled face was thin. His late wife’s dowry had made him one of the richest men in England, but apparently he never had enough-if the hungry manner in which he stared at Meg Lawrence were any measure.
Chas almost missed a step with Miss d’Avigne, so focused was he on the Earl of Sutcliffe. The poor girl blushed, and Chas forced himself to attend. He chatted amiably in French, to put her at ease, and was most complimentary as he took his leave. Before the next dance he waited just long enough to watch Hayden lead Meg to the floor, noticing that they made a striking pair-Hayden so blond and Meg so …
“Charles,” Lucy hissed, moving to his side, “do hurry or we shall miss the set!”
Chas drew her quickly into the dancing. That he should have permitted her to manage him spoke volumes about his distraction.
“You look tolerably well, Miss Lucy. I note you are the belle of the ball.”
“It is so much fun!” She laughed
. “I have been seeing everything you told me to see, and more besides! And we have been here scarcely two weeks! You should come to visit us at Aunt Pru’s. You will have to present yourself to her, you know; you should have before. She will forgive you, though. She is in alt over your cousin. Isn’t he just magnificent? Why, the sapphire in his cravat alone must be worth a fortune! And isn’t he brave-to dance with Meg? I shan’t know what to say to him.” For a second, little Lucy worried her lower lip. Chas suspected he had been supplanted in her affections.
“You shall be most compatible, Miss Lucy, for Hayden loves attention, and you seem happily willing to give it”
“He’s getting attention now, but not the sort he probably wants” Chas looked toward his cousin, only to find himself watching Meg yet again. Just at the edge of the set, Sutcliffe stood seething. His bold look was possessive.
“That hateful man,” Lucy complained. “Brother Ferrell says he believes in senior-no, seigniory,” she said loftily.
Chas stifled a laugh.
“No doubt. I would not relay that outside the family, though, Miss Lucy. You would not wish Mr. Ferrell to face political troubles”
“Oh no!” she said. “But the earl is beastly, isn’t he? Why must he ruin everything?”
“You must not permit him to ruin anything, Miss Lucy. You must enjoy yourself. The Sutcliffes of this world always come to a bad end”
“Do they, Charles?” she asked hopefully, her wide blue eyes raised to his. “That’s rather a nice thought.”
He kissed her hand in the midst of the step, which threw her into confusion, and thankfully kept her quiet.
Chas returned her to her brother and quickly took his leave before Meg and Hayden returned. He wended his way amongst the bystanders so that he might observe Sutcliffe. As Hayden led speechless Lucy onto the floor, Sutcliffe approached Meg.
Bertram and Ferrell moved to either side of her, as though suspecting the earl would contemplate stealing their sister in view of Almack’s attendees. Seeing her so promptly protected gratified Chas. Indeed, he wondered why he should trouble to involve himself. But he knew the answer to that particular puzzle-as little happiness as it brought him.
Quiet Meg Page 7
