A Magnificent Match

by Gayle Buck

  “Nor I,” said Megan with a smile. She longed to be given the opportunity to see a little more of the world and to form friendships with others who might have interests that had noth­ing to do with horses and horse breeding. As for acquiring a husband, that was farther afield in her thoughts just now but certainly she was not completely adverse to the notion.

  Lady O’Connell’s expression was softened by a degree of warmth. “I have always liked you, Megan, for you have never been a bit of trouble to me. So biddable, so even-tempered! I am fortunate that you are not a selfish, forward minx like so many of the daughters of my London friends.”

  “Thank you. Mama,” said Megan, a little taken aback.

  “I shall do my very best on your behalf, my dear Megan,” said Lady O’Connell, feeling expansive. “I shall particularly make known to Princess Kirov that she must act as my deputy on your behalf. Then you may be quite comfortable in consult­ing Princess Kirov regarding the eligibility of any offers that you might receive. There! Is that not handsome of me?”

  “Indeed, ma’am. I do not know what to say. However, I am certain that Princess Kirov shall regard your confidence just as she ought,” said Megan dryly. “Pray convey my regards to Princess Kirov and my acceptance of her gracious invitation. I shall be most happy to join her in St. Petersburg once I have acquired a suitable wardrobe.”

  Lady O’Connell looked taken aback. “A wardrobe?” she faltered. “But I do not think—”

  “I could not possibly go to Princess Kirov otherwise, ma’am. Why, I have not been to a modiste in two years,” said Megan.

  “But a new wardrobe,” said Lady O’Connell. She shook her head. “It is out of the question, Megan.”

  “You would not wish the sophisticated gentlemen of St. Pe­tersburg to stigmatize me as a dowd, Mother,” said Megan, gesturing down at her drab mud-splattered riding habit. “None of them would look at me twice unless I was tricked out in the very latest styles.”

  Lady O’Connell looked unhappy. “No, of course not. Very well, then, I suppose that I must accompany you to a modiste. It is very inconvenient. I have several friends coming to stay in a few days.”

  “I cannot conceive any reason why you should disrupt your own schedule for me, ma’am. Why do I not have Mrs. Tyler accompany me? She has quite good taste. You have said so yourself,” said Megan. “And since Colin is shortly to return to England, he may very well accompany me there.”

  Lady O’Connell brightened. “The very thing! Of course! Colin can have no objection. And dear Mrs. Tyler, what a dear she is. She will know just what will be best. Yes, that is the very thing.”

  “I will convey your wishes to Mrs. Tyler on the instant, as well as your insistence that she procure a few items for herself. I know that you will wish her to be well-provided for on the journey to Russia, as well,” said Megan. Her mind was work­ing quickly as she tried to catalog everything that would be needed to accomplish such a long journey.

  “Do I?” Lady O’Connell looked startled.

  “I assumed, of course, that Mrs. Tyler would be accompanying me as a trusted chaperone on the journey. It would not be at all the thing for me to travel alone,” said Megan. “You have told me many times that I could not go up to London without someone trustworthy to keep me in hand. And Russia is a good deal farther away than London. Besides, I do not know what Mrs. Tyler would do with herself while I was gone. Perhaps she might make one of your retinue. But I do not think that is a happy solution.”

  “No, nor do I,” said Lady O’Connell, with perfect truth. Her widowed cousin was completely suitable to be her daughter’s companion, but she was scarcely a valuable addition to one’s own entourage. “You are entirely correct, Megan. I entrust you completely to Mrs. Tyler’s capable hands. She will know just how to look after you on the journey to Russia and will be your guide in all things proper.” She beamed at her daughter. “I am glad that it is all perfectly settled. Now you must be off to tell Mrs. Tyler the good news.”

  Lady O’Connell’s interest in the conversation was already waning, but Megan was not yet ready to be dismissed. She held her ground, determined to have all pertinent points set­tled. “Shall I have the modiste’s bills sent to you or to your man of business?”

  Lady O’Connell had already turned away. Her dresser had located the heavy garnet necklace for her inspection and the subject was already exhausted as far as she was concerned. Without glancing around, Lady O’Connell waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “Send them to Henry, of course. I do not care to have anything to do with them. He shall take care of whatever transactions you may have.”

  “Very well, Mother.”

  Megan curtseyed and left the bedroom. A smile curved her mouth. She was slightly ashamed of herself for pushing for­ward her own interests so blatantly. However, Megan soothed the twinge of her conscience with the reflection that once she had made the decision to make the most of Princess Kirov’s invitation, it was imperative that she gain all that she wanted at this single interview. Once the question of Megan’s going to Russia had been settled, Lady O’Connell would not give the matter another moment’s consideration.

  Megan knew her mother well. Lady O’Connell concerned herself in her daughter’s affairs only when Megan became something of a distraction to her ladyship’s own pursuit of pleasure. Her ladyship would have sent Megan off to Russia willy-nilly, without giving a thought to wardrobe or funds or protection.

  It was not that Lady O’Connell was particularly a cruel, cold woman. She was simply too vain and self-centered to want to be bothered with anything that did not have to do with herself. So Megan had herself put forward those things that she deemed important to her own well-being. If she did not, who would? And now she was going to tell her favorite person in the world of the treat in store for them.

  With a growing sense of adventure and lively excitement, Megan went downstairs to find her mentor and friend, Mrs. Tyler. She found the trim widow in the parlor, engaged on a new embroidery design.

  Mrs. Tyler was two-and-thirty. When she had been left a widow by an unfortunate road accident, she had discovered herself to be in uncomfortably straitened circumstances. It had been an unlooked-for blessing to have been accepted as Miss O’Connell’s companion and she was highly appreciative of her good fortune. Though her cousin, Lady O’Connell, pre­ferred not to acknowledge her, the daughter had proven to be an easy and surprisingly amicable charge.

  Shutting the door, Megan smiled across the room at her companion. “Gwyneth, I have just been told the most extraor­dinary thing by her ladyship. I am being sent to Russia to stay with my mother’s friend, Princess Kirov, in the capital of St. Petersburg. And you are to go with me.”

  “Russia?” Mrs. Tyler dropped her embroidery to her lap. She looked at her charge in mingled amusement and dismay. “But isn’t that a very long way from Ireland?”

  “Yes, indeed. Thousands upon thousands of miles,” said Megan cheerfully. “Only think of it, Gwyneth. The whole Russian empire at our feet. We’ll be the toasts of St. Peters­burg. It will be a positively grand adventure.”

  “I don’t know that I am the stuff of which an adventuress is made,” said Mrs. Tyler.

  “Oh, Gwyneth, how can you say so?” asked Megan quizzingly. “You are forever reading the latest romances and you followed every word that was printed about the war and the diplomatic intricacies and you have wanted to travel for ages and ages.”

  “Yes, that is as may be,” agreed Mrs. Tyler with a show of spirit. “But it scarcely follows that I wish to be whisked off to the ends of the earth.”

  “Not to the ends of the earth, just to St. Petersburg,” said Megan, sitting down on the silk striped sofa next to the older woman. “Only think, Gwyneth! I shall be brought out into so­ciety in St. Petersburg by Princess Kirov and meet all sorts of exotic princes and fascinating people.”

  “That is something, indeed,” said Mrs. Tyler, much struck. Better than anyone, she knew and understood Me
gan’s frustra­tion at not being allowed the come-out that was a young miss’s introduction into polite society. “St. Petersburg is not London, of course. But I have heard very good things said about the Russian capital. Personages from all over the world visit St. Petersburg at one time or another.”

  “You do see how good it will be for me,” said Megan. “I shall simply waste away another year unless I make the most of this opportunity.”

  “Oh, yes, there is no denying that! It is past time that you were exposed to more society than is to be had here,” agreed Mrs. Tyler. She sighed. “I have always wished that you could have the opportunity to spread your wings. Indeed, I have spo­ken to her ladyship on more than one occasion on this very subject, but without success. I suspect that her ladyship hopes that you will be as accommodating as Celeste and bestow your hand on one of the local gentry before she is absolutely forced to do something for you.”

  “I have no intention of running off with anyone,” said Megan. She was not at all shocked by her companion’s frank assessment of her situation. She and Mrs. Tyler were scarcely a dozen years apart in age and had formed a friendship that went far beyond that of mistress and companion. Mrs. Tyler had never pretended ignorance of the cold atmosphere in the O’Connell house, nor tacitly condoned it by downplaying a young girl’s hurt. In addition, Megan and Mrs. Tyler were much alike in temperament and spirit, so that sharing of inter­ests and confidences came easily.

  “I should hope not, indeed! I trust that you will show a bit more sense,” said Mrs. Tyler. She took up her embroidery again and set a stitch. “I must be fair to Celeste, however. She had little hope of contracting a marriage in the usual way and she knew it. It is something to be thankful for that Patrick Kennehessey turned out to be such a doting husband and fa­ther. Most such marriages are generally unhappy affairs.”

  “My father’s extreme disapprobation could not have been anything but a blight against their happiness,” said Megan. “He refused to acknowledge them for months. Yet I do not think that either Celeste or Patrick have ever held it against him.”

  “Indeed, their forbearance has been remarkable. However, it would have been so much easier on everyone if Celeste had had the advantage of a London Season and had been courted in the usual way,” said Mrs. Tyler, shaking her head as she re­called those turbulent times. Her thoughts naturally turned into common channels. “What a pity that you have not yet had a Season, Megan, for I believe that you would go off very well.”

  “Dear Gwyneth! I think that you harbor greater hopes for my future than I do,” said Megan, smiling at her companion.

  “Nonsense! Only see how excited you are at the prospect of a come-out in St. Petersburg,” said Mrs. Tyler, glancing up with a smile. “I do hope that Princess Kirov does well by you. Indeed, I pray that she does. It would be the height of anything were you to meet some eligible gentleman.”

  “I had supposed that you might wish to accompany me, Gwyneth. I own, I would feel more comfortable with a friend beside me. But if you prefer to remain here in Ireland with my mother until she returns to London, I shall not be inconsolable,” said Megan.

  There was a moment of silence. Then Mrs. Tyler said feel­ingly, “You are an awful girl.”

  “Then you’ll go?” asked Megan.

  “Of course I shall, as you well knew,” said Mrs. Tyler tartly. A smile hovered about her mouth. “Perhaps I shall meet a few princes myself.”

  Megan hugged the shorter woman. “I knew that you would prefer to go with me! And so I have already persuaded my mother to allow me to outfit us both with proper wardrobes. I envision a perfect orgy of shopping, Gwyneth! You cannot be a respectable chaperone and accompany me to balls and other functions without looking the part.”

  Mrs. Tyler chuckled. “I own, it does sound to be rather fun.”

  “Good! I intend to leave for England directly after the dress ball. Colin is to escort us over. We shall stay at the town house while we are in London, of course,” said Megan. “I shall write a note to that effect and put it into the post today. I do not know how long we shall be there before we depart for Russia. Indeed, it depends entirely upon the extent of our wardrobe re­quirements.”

  “But do you know of a decent modiste?” asked Mrs. Tyler.

  “Indeed I do.” A hint of mischief entered Megan’s smoke-gray eyes. “We are going to visit my mother’s very own modiste,” she said, rising to her feet and going to the door again.

  “Isn’t Mademoiselle Rochet rather expensive?” asked Mrs. Tyler hesitantly.

  “Shockingly so,” said Megan cheerfully. “And we are to send all of the bills to Mr. Henry for whatever we need. My mother explicitly said so.” Her eyes twinkled. “I anticipate needing a terribly lot, Gwyneth.”

  “Oh, my,” said Mrs. Tyler with perfect and dismayed under­standing.

  Megan laughed and whisked herself out of the parlor.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Once each year during her annual sojourn in Ireland, Lady O’Connell held a dinner and grand dress ball. It was not that she particularly wished to do so or even enjoyed it. In her opinion, nothing which was not done in London was of any in­terest. However, the dress ball was extremely important to Lord O’Connell and she perforce bowed to his wishes.

  Lord O’Connell was one of the few Irish landowners who still had hereditary lands. Once impoverished, he had managed to keep hearth and home together by consistently winning races with his own well-bred stock. Then he had had the good fortune to marry an English heiress and he was able to enlarge his stables. He began to sell racers, hunters, and jumpers.

  The annual grand dress ball was not so much an entertain­ment as it was an opportunity to extol the good points of Lord O’Connell’s stock. Personages from all over Europe regularly journeyed to Ireland for a long house visit at the O’Connell es­tate. The grand dress ball was the opening gambit of the gath­ering and was followed by shooting forays, steeplechases, and foxhunting. Through it all, business was conducted. The nego­tiations were heavy and long, but several lucrative transactions were always completed. Thus was the wealth of the O’Connells generated over and above what the estate might ordinar­ily bring in.

  Lady O’Connell was bored by the incessant talk of horses that pervaded the entertainments under Lord O’Connell’s aegis. She much preferred visiting with her own set in London and Paris, but she knew what her lord demanded of her. Lady O’Connell had always collected acquaintances with ease and frequently these same individuals descended upon the Irish countryside in the dreary winter months. It was the only entertainment that Lady O’Connell could look forward to during her exile from the cosmopolitan world.

  Lord O’Connell had no objection to his wife’s friends. They were potential buyers, after all. Nor had he any objection to the wife of his bosom fleeing to London as soon as spring an­nounced its coming. He was content as long as he had an effi­cient hostess for the fall and winter months when he entertained the world and sold his horses.

  His lordship’s heir, the Honorable Lionel O’Connell, had embraced the horse-based economy of the estate with a pas­sion that was nearly equal that of his parent. He pursued a pos­sible transaction with the tenacity usually reserved for a lover in pursuit of the object of his affection. His wife, Sophronia, had good reason to know that she was not particularly impor­tant to her husband’s comfort. Thus she rather monotonously complained about the advent of the guests and gleaned all that she could about each personage’s personal limitations in fi­nances in order to prick her husband’s hopes of making a good deal.

  Each year Captain Colin O’Connell made his annual pil­grimage to his parents’ home. His presence was acknowledged not with fondness but with satisfaction. He was wanted solely for window dressing. There were not many who could equal him as a rider. He made the horses look and perform at their best. If it were not for his sisters, Celeste and Megan, he would have stopped coming back to Ireland altogether.

  Megan w
as regarded in much the same light as her brother, Colin. She had light hands and an unexceptional seat on any mount. Her erect, graceful carriage on a horse enhanced its good points. During company, she was always tricked out in the finest of riding habits. Indeed, she practically lived in that attire year-round, preserving her best habits for the annual houseparty and wearing her old ones for everyday use.

  There was little place in Megan’s life for an extensive wardrobe, since she rarely went anywhere but to the parish church or on an occasional jaunt to her elderly aunt and uncle in England. She therefore possessed but a handful of day dresses and other necessary additions to a female’s wardrobe. She had only one ballgown, commissioned two years before. It did not occur to Lady O’Connell to wonder whether her daughter’s ballgown was still sufficient for the upcoming grand dress ball. Nor had Megan thought about it, except in a fleeting manner that had always been superseded by more pressing concerns.

  That evening as Megan tried on her old ballgown, she had cause to regret her lack of forethought. The ballgown had been let out once the previous year. There was therefore no al­lowance left to accommodate the maturing of her form into more womanly curves.

  Megan tugged on the inadequate bodice with dismay. “It is impossible, Gwyneth,” she said.

  “I own, it leaves much to be desired,” said Mrs. Tyler dubi­ously, regarding the younger woman standing at the mirror.

  Megan looked at her companion’s reflection. Her lips twitching on a smile, she said, “That is not in the least amus­ing, Gwyneth, when I am all but spilling out of the top of the thing.”

  “Oh! Quite so,” said Mrs. Tyler, flushing and yet laughing over her inadvertent pun. “Perhaps a shawl would help. I have a lovely Norwich silk that you may borrow.”