“What are you two whispering about?” Princess Désirée demanded. “What are you plotting? I see no reason why I should not be consulted on which affairs I wish to attend.”
“I do,” Jean-Marc said. “Your opinion will not be sought. If you like you can help me decide on some events to be held for you. Lady Holland has met Papa on a number of occasions and has graciously offered Holland House for your ball.”
Meg stopped breathing at the thought.
“Oh, what a fuss,” Princess Désirée said. “It will be so gaudy.”
“And you, my dear, will be so grateful for the honor. But we have other things to consider first. We already mentioned a musicale, and I suggest that should be the first event. How to make it different, that is my concern. Your invitations will be only for the most glittering and intriguing events, don’t you agree, Miss Smiles?”
“I do, indeed.” The idea excited her. “Why not a theme for the musicale? Everyone would come in costume. Perhaps an Eastern theme? I’ve read that some extraordinary costumes are produced for an Eastern theme. People do so love to dress up and pretend, don’t they?”
Jean-Marc stared through the mantilla and said, “Apparently. That is a sterling idea, Miss Smiles. Yes, indeed, so shall it be. What do you think, Désirée?”
“If Meg likes it, then so do I,” she said shortly.
He still marveled at Désirée’s attachment to Meg, and there was no doubt that his sister thought a great deal of her companion. And her companion had already proved herself a brilliant find. “Good. You will inform the seamstresses that we need costumes for the two of you, Miss Smiles?”
“I will take care of that. Of course, making my own will be a simple matter. I shall be glad to advise you, if you would like.”
Would he like? “Oh, yes, please Miss Smiles. Yes, I should like that very much. I hope you have not forgotten that you will go to Bond Street today, to shop for those items you need.”
Bond Street? “I’m sure I need not go there, My Lord. There are other places where I can get what you require for so much less.” Of course, if she went to Bond Street she could visit Mme. Suzanne and buy the much needed preparation for her hair.
“My coachman has been instructed to take you to Bond Street,” Jean-Marc said. “Send word when you are ready to leave. Do you have any jewelry?”
She hated feeling stripped of her privacy like this. “I have a jet necklace that was our mother’s and which Sibyl and I share. And some pearls, and pearl earrings. They are perfectly adequate.”
“Very well,” he said, rising. “Then we’d best get on.”
Rench knocked on the door and entered. “There you are, Miss Meg,” he said, his head bent to one side as if pained. “An Adam Chillworth has called. From Number Seven. Will you see him?”
At the sound of Adam Chillworth’s name, Meg experienced a longing for familiar faces, and old friends. “I’ll see him.” She turned to Jean-Marc. “If you don’t object, My Lord. And if there is somewhere we can talk.”
“Show Mr. Chillworth in,” Jean-Marc said, continuing to assemble envelopes. “I think it good form to meet the people who care so about you, Meg. Don’t forget to move swiftly on the musicale. Verbeux will have Pierre help him oversee preparations for the ball at Holland House. Again, we will waste no time. I have already sent Lady Holland my most heartfelt thanks.”
“Oh, dear.” Princess Désirée sighed. “Such a great deal of silliness.”
“If you can think of a simpler and equally effective way to meet a man with whom you can make a suitable match, please enlighten me.”
“Mr. Chillworth,” Rench announced.
Meg went to greet him and was grateful that he made no comment on her mantilla. “Adam,” she said. “How lovely to see you. I miss all my friends.”
“Aye, lass,” he said. “But we’re only on the other side o’ the square. It’s easy enough for ye to come t’us, or t’send word for us t’come t’ye.”
“I know,” Meg said. “And I feel reassured at the knowledge. How is everyone?” She didn’t care if the Count was bored by her prattle. “Hunter and Lady Hester, and Latimer—and the servants?”
“They’re well enough,” he said, staring through the mantilla. “Missing you, but they know ye’ll be back. I’ve something to tell ye, but Sibyl says I’m t’be careful not to upset ye.”
Was it her imagination, or was his accent more pronounced than usual? “I can’t think that anything you might say would upset me.” She remembered her manners. “Allow me to present Jean-Marc, Count Etranger of Mont Nuages, and his sister, Her Royal Highness, Princess Désirée.”
Adam’s features became more rigid, but he approached the Count and the Princess and bowed to each of them. “I’m honored to meet ye,” he said. “Ye must be nice people because you saw how our Meggie was a gem. You’re lucky to have her. She’ll do ye proud. The best, that’s what Meggie is.”
Meg cleared her throat in an effort to distract Adam from his embarrassing endorsement.
He responded at once and looked at her as if for direction.
“I expect you’d like to go somewhere private, Adam,” she said.
“I can’t imagine why,” Jean-Marc said at once. “Surely there isn’t something so awful it must be hidden from us.”
“No, no,” Adam protested at once. “Not at all.” He looked beyond Meg to Princess Désirée, and his attention locked there.
“In that case,” Jean-Marc said, “pull up a chair and I’ll ring for some refreshments.
Adam murmured assent, but without taking his concentration from the Princess. And she returned his gaze. Today she wore a new morning dress, a cloud of pink sarcenet with delicate pleating around the neck and over puffed shoulders. Rows of the same pleated bands adorned the skirt almost to the knees. In the Princess’s hair, Meg had wound pink flowers fashioned from the same fabric. She was a delight to behold.
“How are ye enjoying your London Season, Your Royal Highness?” Adam said, surprising Meg with his deference. “I hope ye are not too overcome by so much coming and going. Ye don’t look the type to like a lot of fuss, if ye know what I mean.”
“Oh, I do,” Princess Désirée said, and Meg didn’t fail to note how her mistress assessed every inch of handsome Adam. “I’m a quiet person. I do not much like having to rush around so.”
Adam grimaced. “I don’t blame you. To those of us as likes our homes and a little gentle company, a crowd can be painful.”
“Oh, yes.” The Princess was emphatic. “What do you do, may I ask?”
Meg saw Jean-Marc shift restlessly.
“I’m a painter, Miss—I mean, Princess. Or that’s how I try to make my way. It’s difficult for someone unknown who doesn’t have any connections.”
Protective urges spurred Meg. “Adam is a fine portrait artist. Not that he’s ever let me see any of his work. Very secretive he is about that. But a friend of Lady Hester Bingham’s—she owns Number Seven—her friend said Adam had painted portraits of the children of another friend and they were breathtaking. That was exactly the word she used, breathtaking.”
Adam turned his head away. “Thank ye for that, Meggie, but you’re biased, m’dear.”
“You deny you’re a fine painter?”
“I am a humble man and not given to complimenting myself. I’ve had my moments.”
“I’ve got to have a portrait painted while in London,” Princess Désirée said. “Papa insists. I know I’ll have to sit still for hours and I hate it.”
“There are ways to ease the discomfort,” Adam volunteered.
“Then you shall paint me,” Princess Désirée declared.
Meg looked to Jean-Marc, who raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“He can, can’t he, Jean-Marc?” the Princess said. “Please. I can feel that I should be comfortable with him.”
“We will see,” her brother said, sounding almost indulgent. “Of course we would have to see examples of Mr. Chillworth’s wo
rk—and find out if he is interested in such a commission.”
“Will you?” Princess Désirée asked. “Show some paintings and agree?”
“Possibly,” Adam said, and gave her one of his rare and charming smiles. “If the Count is serious, I’m sure he will contact me officially.”
“Quite so,” Jean-Marc said, a deal too quickly to make Meg comfortable.
“Meggie, I’ve come because I think Sibyl needs ye.”
She clasped the correspondence to her. “Something’s happened to Sibyl? She’s due here within the hour.”
“I’m sure she intends to come—if she can talk herself free of Mr. William Godly-Smythe, your esteemed cousin.”
“William?” Meg said. “I thought he was in Puckly Hinton. That’s what Reverend Baggs said.”
“Reverend Baggs is another issue. He is to share Latimer More’s digs. When he’s in Town on church business. Awkward for all concerned, I should think.”
Meg didn’t pursue that. Later would do. “Why do you think I need to go to Number Seven.”
“I don’t think, I know.” He glanced at the room’s other two occupants. “Less said, the better. Your cousin’s got some notion that he’s responsible for Sibyl and ye. Sibyl excused herself on some pretense and came up to me. She tried Hunter first, but ye know how difficult he is to find at home.”
“Yes, yes,” Meg said, her agitation mounting. “But what did she say?”
“Pretty simple, really. He’s got it all worked out, a way to make it unnecessary for ye to do work he thinks unsuitable for any member of his family. Excuse me,” he told the Count, who gave a jerky nod. “He’s decided to marry Sibyl and take the pair of ye back to Puckly Hinton.”
17
Jean-Marc had actually suggested that he accompany Adam and Meg, but she’d prevailed in convincing him that such a move would only make her already arrogant cousin feel more important. And more threatened. If she and Sibyl were to divert him from his mission with the minimum of effort, then he should be treated with kind gratitude and turned firmly away.
She crossed the square with Adam Chillworth. Would Jean-Marc wait for her response to his proposition, and if she didn’t answer, be too proud to approach it again himself? Well, she would never mention it again, and she should hope he didn’t, either.
That wasn’t what she wished for.
“That Godly-Smythe was roaring when he came through the front door this morning,” Adam said. “Frightened Sibyl fiercely. I told him he ought to take a walk and calm down. There was a moment there when I thought the man would try to punch me—but he thought better of it.”
Meg looked up, way, way up at Adam’s profile. “I’m glad my cousin has at least a little wisdom. No doubt he looked at you and knew he would not be the victor in any skirmish.” They drew close to Number 7, and she sighed. “He has no power over us, yet he persists in dwelling on the fact that he is our closest relation, and a male, and that he feels a responsibility for us. He did not feel it when Sibyl and I had to leave Puckly Hinton because we were no longer made to feel welcome in our own home. I will never understand the rules of men, especially those who insist on such things as not passing property to female descendants. Because of that, we have been in a pretty pickle, Adam, but we could never be in so much of a pickle as to submit to becoming William Godly-Smythe’s charity cases.”
“No, ye couldn’t,” he said vehemently.
“He’s all but ignored us since we left Puckly Hinton. I don’t understand why he is so changed now.”
Adam glanced at her. “It’s not my business, but I’d be very careful with that one if I were ye. On another subject. Forgive me for asking, but why did ye change your hair?”
She giggled at his reticence. “I can’t explain it to you. It would be too embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?” He raised a single eyebrow. “Now ye have my entire attention, but I shall try to be patient. I hope ye will tell me eventually.”
Meg considered, and gritted her teeth. Could she ask such a thing of a man, of Adam? “Well…will you consider a bargain?” She stopped until he did, also, and faced her. “If I promise that one day I will tell you what my plan has been, will you go to Bond Street for me? I would tell you exactly how to find the establishment I need, and give you a note to take to the proprietress.”
“What sort of shop?”
“Well, I suppose I could call it an apothecary’s of sorts, although not exactly. Perhaps—no, an establishment where one buys potions of a certain kind.”
Adam looked blank.
“I’m sorry I asked. I shouldn’t have.”
“Give me the note,” he said. “Whatever the place is, I’m sure I shall manage to find it and to bring back what ye need.”
Meg let out a long breath. “Oh, thank you. Could you go today?”
There was laughter in his eyes, but he said, “For ye, I can.”
She touched his cheek, but withdrew her hand at once. “Thank you. I shall get the note to you. Thank you, Adam.”
“You’ve already thanked me—several times.”
“If you could put it in our flat that would be perfect. There’s a spare key on Old Coot’s board.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They continued, only to pause once more and let a horse with a cart filled with coal pass.
“Look at the daffodils,” he said, pointing to the park. “Now they’ve courage. It’s been a cold winter and there’s not much sun even now, but it’s their time and there they are. No responsibility but to lift our spirits.”
“And they do,” Meg said. She looked up at Adam again. He was trying to divert her. She was tempted to share some of what was happening to her—not the intimate details, of course, but her feelings and fears. Adam had been a close ally since she’d arrived in London, and they’d had many a long talk by firelight. He was a complex and proud man. There had been a time when she’d wished he felt more for her than friendship, but she’d eventually been forced to abandon all such thoughts. Adam was wedded to his work.
They climbed the steps at Number 7, and Adam used his key to open the door. Once inside, they both glanced upward and Adam said, “I’ll come and be with ye, if you like.”
“If I didn’t know you would faint, I should kiss you for that offer,” Meg said. She smiled at him, and it felt good. “Thank you, but no. I am not afraid of my second cousin—just tired of him, although I should be kind and believe he is truly concerned for us.” She took a pen and paper from her reticule and bent over a table in the vestibule to write the note for Adam.
He surprised her by stroking her cheek and smiling. “There is no one like ye, Meggie. No one more kind, more generous.” He removed his hand and waved her ahead of him up the stairs. “Don’t you forget that you and Sibyl are important to me. You’re important to everyone in this house. If ye need help—of any kind—ye come to me. You understand?”
Meg trudged upward and said, “I understand. And I’m grateful. Should you like to paint the Princess, Adam?”
He paused, and when she looked back at him, his eyes were thoughtful. “Aye, perhaps I would. Interesting face.” He snorted. “And it wouldn’t be the first time I painted someone who…”
“Someone who?”
“Never mind that,” he said. “If there’s a chance I might get the commission, then, yes, I want it. Good day to ye, Meggie. Don’t forget I’m here for ye.”
For a moment or two longer, while Adam’s imposing figure carried on up the next flight of stairs, Meg puzzled over what he might have meant. It was time to rescue Sibyl.
The scene in the parlor at 7A was even more disheartening than Meg had expected. Cousin William stood before the small fire in the grate, his hands beneath the tails of his coat, his muscular legs planted apart—and with a dark frown on his face. Sibyl also stood, but on the opposite side of the room and already wearing the heavy black pelisse she donned for walking because she felt the cold so deeply.
�
�Good afternoon,” Meg said to William. She smiled widely at Sibyl and told her, “There is to be a musicale for Princess Désirée. It will be such fun. I think we are decided on an Eastern theme—since it was suggested we stage a costume event. But we can discuss all that later. I shall expect you to guide me.”
“Meg,” William said in his most ominous tone. “I must insist that you give me your entire attention. You and Sibyl. She has certainly refused to do so as yet, despite the sincerity with which I have come to her—and to you.”
She would not, she decided, attempt any pretense with him. “I already understand you came to make a proposition to Sibyl, and to myself. I know the general nature of your suggestion, and I am flattered. I’m sure Sibyl is also flattered. And you must be disappointed that your wishes do not coincide with our wishes.”
William’s neck puffed up above his collar, and his face became a shiny puce. “What has happened to you, Meg Smiles?” he said. “You may always have been a rather…definite girl, but you were never so unpleasantly forceful. Forcefulness is not at all the thing in a female.”
At his disparaging tone, Meg lowered her eyes.
“Yes, well,” William said, sounding regretful, “you have been alone in a city that is no place for any gentle countrywoman. I say you, more than Sibyl, have been alone because it was inevitable that since you have the stronger will, it fell to you to take the lead and protect her. If it is possible for a girl to protect anyone in so unsuitable a city.”
“We have looked after each other,” Sibyl said in a small voice. She moved closer to Meg. “Haven’t we?”
Meg held her sister’s hand and said, “Of course we have. We’re the only family we have. In Mama and Papa’s memory we are bound to be upright, and to support one another.”
William leaned on the mantel and looked at the fire. He had become thoughtful. “How is your hand, Meg?”
Immediately she put her injured hand behind her back.
“Reverend Baggs learned the details from a member of the Count’s household. Then he had the good sense to send a rider to me with the news. And I left at once to come here. I traveled all night—at great peril, I may say.”
All Smiles Page 20
