“The wound is little more than a scratch.” The occasional lie could be necessary. “You should not have taken such a risk.”
He stood straight. Even if she did not like him, Meg had to admit to herself that the man had poise. “I would not have considered doing other than take the risk,” he said. “There comes a time when a man must face his demons and consider his life. I have done so and I am not glad at what I’ve seen. For you and Sibyl to be turned out of your home for me was wrong. Oh, it was the law and carried out accordingly, but I should not have rested until I had persuaded you to remain.”
Sibyl’s fingers tightened on Meg’s, and she knew her softhearted sister wanted to comfort William. Meg gave a sharp little twist on Sibyl’s hand, a warning to remain silent.
Suddenly and brilliantly, William smiled. “But that is all behind us now. I have seen the error of my ways and am determined to put things to rights. Sibyl was not comfortable speaking in your absence, Meg, but she will be happy to do so now. I have asked her to be my wife, and for the two of you to return to Puckly Hinton with me. There.” His smile grew even wider. “How could I have wasted so much time in bringing this news to you? I confess that I have known for some time that this was my heart’s desire. Sibyl isn’t strong, Meg, so you shall keep house and I know that will make you happy. You are not a girl who enjoys time on her hands. And the two of you will be such a success in the neighborhood. It will, of course, fall to you to forge bonds with all the other ladies of importance. You are both educated—quite possibly too much so, but your father had some unusual ideas—you are educated and will become sought-after hostesses. Yes, you will make me a proud man.”
Neither Sibyl nor Meg spoke. Sibyl held Meg’s hand even tighter.
“I have stolen your breath away—and your words.” William laughed and rocked from his heels to his toes, clearly delighted with himself. “I understand completely. You are overwhelmed. Your lives will change so dramatically and you never hoped for such a magnificent chance.”
“William—”
“No.” He held up a hand and shook his head. “No, do not thank me. I shall only be embarrassed. But I will most definitely bask in the reflected joy you feel. Oh, my delight is so intense as to be overwhelming. I feel cleansed, and relieved. We are to forge a family.” He lowered his eyelids a fraction to send Sibyl an intimate glance. “Perhaps I speak too soon on such a subject, but I cannot help myself. The thought of the children we shall have, of their growing up with loving parents such as we will be, touches my heart.”
Meg turned to Sibyl, she had to, and looked for her honest reaction. Sibyl’s brow was puckered, and she had drawn her upper lip away from her teeth. She shook, and her fingers were damp in Meg’s. “Am I to speak for you?” Meg asked quietly, and Sibyl whispered yes, then shook her head slowly.
“Thank you for your kind offer,” Meg said to William. “We appreciate your concern for us, but there is no need. We are now gainfully employed and expect to remain so.”
“I have caught you both by surprise,” William said. “Sit down, my dears, sit down and collect yourselves. This is not a dream. I shall not be stolen from you. It will come true. You must have wondered why one such as I had not married long before now. Well, I have certainly been sought after by many, but I could not give myself to one of them. Now I realize why. It was you, Sibyl, on whom I was to bestow the prize of my undying affection.”
Sibyl released Meg’s hand and walked directly to stand before William. “You are not listening,” she said, amazing Meg. “I do not wish to marry you. I thank you for the generous offer, but cannot accept it.”
Meg came close to applauding.
William managed to capture Sibyl’s fingers and take them to his lips. He closed his eyes and settled his mouth there.
Poor Sibyl’s back looked stiff. Meg said, “William—”
“No,” Sibyl interrupted. “Don’t worry, Meggie, this is for me to deal with. William, thank you for your flattering proposal, but I cannot accept.”
“You must accept,” he said, slowly raising his head. “I insist that you do.”
“It would be better if you left at once,” Sibyl told him.
“Why? What has happened to you? You are a girl who knows her place. You have never questioned the rightful order of things. It is your duty to accept me.”
This stunning announcement rang in Meg’s ears. He believed, actually believed what he said.
William’s voice climbed. “You will come home with me. Both of you. This very day. Do you understand?”
“Sibyl,” Meg said, “we really do have to return to Number Seventeen. I have to go to Bond Street and the Princess is expecting you.”
“The Princess,” William said, curling his lip. “How they must laugh at you for thinking yourselves suitable to wait upon a princess. You are country girls, both of you. I cannot imagine what these people are thinking of, retaining such unsuitable help. Or perhaps I can imagine, but I’d rather not do so.”
Meg made herself meet his gaze directly. “We must go, cousin. Allow us to walk you out.”
“What is being done about the shaving blade?” Now William blustered. “Has every member of the household been interrogated? Do you truly believe I could return home knowing that you are in mortal danger? There is absolutely no need for you to work like common women of no means.”
“We are women of very little means,” Meg reminded him. She was tempted to speak of their dwindling trust funds but pride prevented her. “There is no shame in making one’s way honestly.”
William’s deep breath expanded his broad chest. “You bring dishonor on the family. Not one of your predecessors has ever sunk so low as to go into service.”
To argue with him would be pointless. “It has never been our intention to embarrass you, William,” Meg said. Why shouldn’t she mention why drastic measures had been necessary? “We were informed that if our trusts were to last for at least some years, then the amounts we received must be lowered at once, and they have been. Our need has been to supplement that income. Even with Sibyl’s music lessons and my sewing, we were falling deeper into distressing circumstances. We are not women who simply fade away at such times. We act. We have acted, and we are enjoying the knowledge that we can take our fate into our own hands.”
William trembled, and Meg did not imagine it was with thwarted passion. The man was beside himself and amazed that the objects of his proposed generosity had not thrown themselves upon him and cried out their gratitude.
A tap on the door and Meg’s “come in” produced Old Coot, who surveyed the room with his bulbous, hooded eyes, nodded, and said, “You are receiving, then?”
Verbeux stepped around the butler and brought his elegant and confident presence into the parlor.
“I say,” William sputtered. “Get out, I say. Get out at once. This is a family discussion.”
Verbeux looked to Meg. “Count Etranger sent me, Miss Smiles.”
“Did you hear me?” William asked. “We are dealing with serious topics here. And Etranger be damned.”
Meg and Sibyl gasped in unison.
Verbeux actually smiled. He showed no sign of retreat.
“Off with you, I say,” William demanded. “Before I call a constable and have you thrown out.”
“One might ask on what grounds,” Verbeux said mildly. “I am to drop you at Number Seventeen, Miss Sibyl. Ash is there. Seems you must help make decisions. For the musicale. Short notice. Invitations to be hand-delivered.”
“Oh, of course,” Sibyl said, and only a blind person would fail to see her relief at the diversion. “I’ll come at once.”
“You will not leave until I tell you you may,” William said.
Verbeux turned to Meg. “I am to carry on to Bond Street with you. Urgent. So the Count says. Should leave now. Appointments.”
Meg understood the general gist, if not all that Verbeux said in his peculiar verbal shorthand. She smiled warmly at William and said
, “Please don’t doubt that Sibyl and I are deeply touched by your concern. And of course we shall never forget your kindness. Why, I even feel I would like to return to Puckly Hinton for a holiday soon. I thank you for that, William. You make me feel welcome.”
“I…I…”
“Yes, indeed,” Sibyl said. “A holiday in dear Puckly Hinton would be most pleasant. Perhaps late in the summer?”
William, all expression wiped from his features, marched to the door and threw it open. “Your silly heads are turned by all this folderol. Sooner or later you will regain at least some of your natural common sense. In the meantime I shall forgive you your foolishness and continue to watch over you. You have only to say the word and I shall be at your sides. And you will say the word. Take note of that. You have been drawn into a most unsavory situation. I feel it here—” he pounded his breast “—that you are not safe with these people, who cannot have honorable intentions toward you.”
“We must leave,” Verbeux said, and both Sibyl and Meg picked up their reticules.
William paused on the threshold to say, “You may tell your master—” and he pointed to Verbeux “—that if something happens to my cousin while she is in his employ, I shall hold him responsible. After all, she was in his house when someone placed a shaving blade where it was bound to injure her. Or might that be, where they hoped it might kill her?”
18
Spivey here.
Oh, it’s no good. After all, I’m only human. I mean, I’m only a simple ghost…no, not simple at all. I am a highly complex ghost and I have suffered enough. You’ll have to excuse me while I confront and accept my true feelings.
Aargh.
No, no, no, I cannot bear it. I cannot. I have bitten my knuckles until they bleed…well, would bleed if…if. Oh, hell’s teeth and drat and dash it all.
Aargh.
How I long for the ability to stamp my feet and pound a door. Oh, for the satisfaction of giving a few servants their marching orders and watching them beg and blubber. What bliss it would be to kick a peg leg from beneath its owner, or to offer a match girl a shilling, only to snatch it away the instant her fingers touched it.
I want to feel satisfaction, triumph.
I deserve to have my way, and quickly.
I will have my way and the devil take…Slip of the tongue. I will have my way and the devil will be glad.
There—at least I am collected again. Exhausted, frustrated, robbed of the perfect solution because I—because someone wasn’t aware of certain convenient possibilities—but collected.
William Godly-Smythe wants to marry Sibyl and take both of those foolish Smiles creatures away—at the same time—forever. It would have been such a delicious event. There would have been not the slightest fear that one or the other of them would remain.
But Meg Smiles has encountered l’amore, she has tasted—passion. She fancies herself in love. And unless I can divert what seems inevitable, I have no doubt we shall soon be witnessing…Ahem. Forget what I started to say. It was nothing. Certainly I shall not be responsible for sullying your eyes or ears with such abominable exhibitions of…abominable exhibitions. Trust me. I will save your tender sensibilities.
Why didn’t I know about William Godly-Smythe before I embarked on another, much more difficult course?
Well, I didn’t and that’s that. But now I am the more determined to bring my plan to its essential conclusion. Speed, that is the word. Speed, my friends. I shall do all in my power to plant seeds that convince our friends to turn their beloved Season into a whirl, the better to throw my willing lovebirds together as often as possible. A note here, a message there, a suggestion, perhaps.
You know, I begin to wonder if Etranger might be a less unfeeling man than I had thought. The idea makes me shudder, but it could be that he even has a dash of the—dare I say it?—Romantic. The word turns me cold. But it could help me, couldn’t it? I shall definitely see if there’s something I can exploit there.
Ahoy there, Mr. Marlow. Didn’t see him coming at first. Fellow flies like a turtle, heavy in the middle and all flippers flipping. I’m well, thank you, Sir. Helped anyone write a good play lately? Ah, not deliberately, hmm? No, I haven’t seen Mr. Shakespeare recently. No, I certainly won’t tell him you’re looking for him if you don’t want me to.
Good afternoon to you, too, Sir. Oops, watch for tall trees, hmm? Ha, ha, yes, indeed, that was a close one, Sir. Goodbye.
There he goes. Over the rooftops and far away. Very far away from me I hope. Brawling Christopher, we call him. But I’m glad he was a better writer than he is a flyer.
Bear with me. I shall report further progress.
Aargh.
19
Meg pressed herself into dark green squabs at her back and peered through the windows of Count Etranger’s carriage. If she’d considered the events ahead for Désirée, she would have expected to travel often in carriages such as this. But she hadn’t really considered a great many things well enough.
Little Meg Smiles of Puckly Hinton riding to Bond Street in a most beautiful green carriage, a carriage that glistened in the afternoon sun. And beyond the windows a milling crowd of people about their business or pleasure, their faces animated, their hands keeping pace with their chatter.
Verbeux had handed her into the carriage and seated himself beside the coachman. Meg was grateful he had not joined her inside, for she was not comfortable with him.
Bond Street reached, the carriage bowled smartly past elegant shops, where both rich and poor pointed into windows filled with beautiful wares. When she felt the wheels slowing, Meg grew anxious. She had never been fond of surprises, and whatever was about to happen would undoubtedly be a surprise. Which shop was she supposed to enter? If she were choosing a place to buy slippers, it would not be on this street. Why, other than on her clandestine visit to Mme. Suzanne’s, she had not bought a single item here, could not afford to buy a single item.
They stopped.
She dared not look from the carriage windows now.
The door opened, and the coachman put down the steps. The sound of excited voices burst upon Meg, and she squinted against the sun to see what caused such hubbub. Verbeux reached in to offer her his hand and said, “If you please.” He assisted her to the flagway, where a whispering press leaned and craned their necks.
Meg checked behind her, glanced at the royal coat of arms on the door of the coach and back at the curious onlookers. “What are they saying?” she asked Verbeux. “Who do they hope to see?”
He laughed shortly. “You. They want to see you and discover who is so important. The proprietor and his staff await you, see? Mr. Birk is never present except to welcome very important customers.”
“Then they must all be disappointed,” Meg whispered and started toward the man she supposed to be Mr. Birk, two other men and a tiny woman. They all beamed. And they bowed or curtseyed. “How can they look at me and think me important? What foolishness is this?” Foolishness that caused her heart to beat hard and her skin to roast.
The bystanders edged closer, narrowing the path to the shop. “’E’s a prince,” Meg heard a woman say. “She must be a princess, then.”
“They see what they want to see,” Verbeux told her. “Do not speak.”
“But they mistake me for what I’m not.”
“Be flattered. And be quiet. Bonjour, M. Birk.”
“Good day to you, My Lord. A very good day to you. I’m sure you will be pleased with our progress.”
Verbeux did not correct the shopkeeper’s salutation. In fact, Verbeux made no comment at all. He followed Meg into a small jewel of an establishment and guided her to sit in one of a pair of blue brocaded fauteuils Mr. Birk rushed to point out. Promptly the door was closed and locked—and faces pressed the glass.
Mr. Birk, a man of indeterminate years despite a head of thick gray hair, waved his assistants into action. The small woman brought two glasses of lemonade on a silver tray. Verbeux gave on
e to Meg and took the other himself.
“My instructions,” Mr. Birk said, glancing at a sheet of paper he held, “are to provide slippers in every current popular shade. One of the lady’s slippers was sent as a pattern, and we have several finished pairs for you to try. Once we are certain to fit your feet to perfection, my shoemakers will work day and night to complete everything you need. Boots will also be made in many colors, and we have assembled a veritable feast of lovely decorative confections for your pleasure.”
“Drink,” Verbeux said, causing Meg to jump.
“Yes.” She did so, but not before several drops tipped on the carpet. She had been staring, amazed, at the shop proprietor. “Surely this isn’t intended—”
“It is. It is lemonade. Very good.” Verbeux’s spectacles definitely made his dark eyes the more compelling. “Please proceed, Mr. Birk.”
Much scurrying ensued. Slippers of the finest kid were placed upon Meg’s feet, and buckles and bows tried—and her face watched for reactions. Finally everyone seemed very satisfied, everyone but Meg, whose temper had slowly risen. She placed her glass on the tray and said, “Exactly how many shades are popular this year, Mr. Birk?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Approximately ten are considered all the kick. Perhaps another ten to fifteen are basic essentials.”
“Absolutely not,” Meg said, rising.
“Absolutely,” Verbeux countered, but with a smile on his face. “Thank you, sir. I am instructed to tell you that the silver slippers must be ready and delivered to Mayfair Square within three days.”
“They will be,” Mr. Birk said. “So will a goodly number of others.”
“Three days?” Meg frowned while she pulled on her gloves, cautious of the painful wound that at least showed signs of healing.
“In time for the musicale. The Count has decided to move quickly. Create a stir. First great event of the Season.”
“But the costumes?”
“More seamstresses,” Verbeux said.
All Smiles Page 21
