A Lady's Point of View (19 page)

At that moment Meg wished
devoutly that she could turn to smoke and vanish up the fireplace. Again and
again over the past few weeks she had tried to envision the scene in which she
would reveal the truth to the marquis. Never had she imagined, even in her
cruelest nightmares, that the revelation would be made at such an awkward time
and in the most embarrassing of circumstances, certain to make her actions
appear in the worst possible light.

“My name is Margaret Linley,” she
whispered. “I’m... not really a governess. Myra Lindsay was on the mail with me
and my maid from London. She was mistakenly accused of theft, and had
hysterics. Even though the purse was found, she insisted on turning back.”

A spell of silence elapsed while
everyone in the room digested this information. Coldness edged the marquis’s
voice when he spoke at last. “Interesting. However, it fails to explain your
presence here.”

Vaguely Meg became aware that
others had entered the room. She caught a glimpse of Germaine, Squire Roberts,
and other guests, as well as servants. There was no avoiding an answer,
although she dearly wished the marquis would interview her in private. But from
the hardness of his expression, she could expect no mercy.

“I was travelling from London to
Derby with my maidservant,” she said. “She was to arrange my transportation
from Manchester, and then make her own way to Liverpool, to be married.”

“Never heard of such a thing.”
Mrs. Geraint sniffed. “I’d have given her the sack!”

Meg ignored the remark. “I was in
my private salon, awaiting the driver from the post chaise, when a coachman
came to the door inquiring about Miss Lindsay. I assumed he meant me. I’m so
nearsighted that I didn’t recognize the carriage for a private one.” Intense
silence radiated from her listeners, like pine scent from a Christmas tree. “I
was brought here, to Brynwood, where I encountered your lordship and the
children, and discovered I had been mistaken for a governess.”

“And you thought it would be a
great sport to pretend that you really were Miss Lindsay?” Disgust hardened the
marquis’s features to a mask. “A lark to entertain your friends when you return
to London?”

How to explain what she could not
justify even to herself? “No! It wasn’t at all like that. I liked the children
very much, and I enjoyed feeling useful.”

How weak her words sounded to her
own ears, and how wintry and distant the marquis appeared. “You told me all
this in jest, I recall. That must have increased your amusement, to pretend to
tell me the truth and joke with me about it. What a fine
on-dit
that
will make among your silly friends.”

Had he ceased to love her so
thoroughly that he could now suspect her of almost unlimited wrongdoing? “I
haven’t sunk so low as that!” she retorted. “I have no use for cruel gossip. My
mother is Lady Mary Linley, and I am a good friend, as it happens, of Miss
Geraint’s cousins, Helen and Edward Cockerell. Indeed, they were kind enough to
sponsor my sister, Angela, at her come-out.”

“Helen’s mentioned you in her
letters,” cried Germaine. “Good show! Getting on the wrong carriage--bully for
you, sticking it out. Been a good governess, too, and not many ladies could
handle that job. Knew from the first that you was quality.”

“Disgraceful carryings-on,”
muttered Mrs. Geraint.

“Let the girl be,” said her
husband. “Rousing good story.”

“Kind of thing the fine folks in
London is always doing, ain’t it?” said Squire Roberts. “Going about having a
lark? Don’t see no point in taking on about it. No harm done.”

Much nodding greeted this remark,
amid a general sense of relief that Meg Linley had turned out to be respectable
after all. With that, the crowd dispersed, presumably to their previous
activities.

Fred and Artie eyed Meg
speculatively, as if debating how to turn this situation to advantage. Any
plans they might have hatched were cut short when Franklin handed each a packet
of food and escorted them firmly to the back door. After they departed, the
butler discreetly made his own exit into the hallway, leaving the two
principals alone.

Meg stared up at the marquis,
hope dying at the revulsion she saw on his face. “Please believe I meant you no
harm. I am not the kind of thistle-brain you believe me, my lord.”

He turned on his heel and stalked
away.

After a stunned moment, Meg retreated, shaken, to
her room. Standing before the mirror, she removed the sea-green silk, her
fingers smoothing the soft material. How beautiful it had seemed before, and
how she hated the sight of it now. The most splendid evening of her life had
ended in disaster. All her self-justification and excuses had come to naught.
She had been exposed in the most humiliating manner possible.

Why did it have to happen just
when she was on the verge of the greatest happiness of her life? Tears slid
unchecked down Meg’s face as she recalled the tenderness in Lord Bryn’s eyes
when he proposed to her. Then she burned with shame, recalling the wanton
manner in which she had allowed herself to be caressed.

He could ruin her forever, her
and her family, if he chose to make common gossip of her conduct. As for her
heart, it remained his possession to cast into the dust heap if he wished.
Falling across the bed in her cambric slip, Meg buried her face in her arms and
wept.

A rustling at the door announced
Germaine’s arrival. The woman sank onto the bed. and stroked Meg’s hair
sympathetically. “Bravely done,” she declared. “No harm in a bit of a prank.”

“Andrew will never forgive me.”
Meg tasted his dear name on her lips, salty and bitter. “You must believe me, I
never intended a prank. It was weakness that kept me here, but he refuses to
see it.”

“Damn fool!” said Germaine. “He’s
fallen in love with you, ain’t he? Don’t bother denying it. I have eyes in my
head. Would he have preferred that you’d gone on about your business? It was a
rare stroke of luck, you landing here by mistake and not stalking off in a
huff. Anyone else would claim they’d been kidnapped!”

“Do you think he might calm down
by morning?” Meg asked without much hope.

“If he has any sense, he will.”
Germaine kicked off her shoes, which hit the wall with a thump. “Men are such
fools. Even Squire Roberts. But he’s a bit of all right, all the same.”

“Do you suppose word of this will
get back to London?” Meg asked. “I don’t mind so much for myself, since I’m
already in disgrace. But my sister—”

“No one will hear of it from my
family,” Germaine assured her. “And I doubt his lordship will want this
awkwardness bruited about. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll lecture his servants
soundly on the importance of keeping quiet.”

“And your mother? She was
scandalised.”

“My mother may prose on about
propriety, but she despises gossip.”

“That’s a mercy.”

“Indeed it is.”

Meg lay awake for a long while
after her friend left, until the music ended downstairs and she heard carriages
rattle away through the night. Some of the guests were staying until morning,
and she heard them rustling and laughing as they went to their rooms.

The next day, she breakfasted in
her room and waited. The summons from the marquis didn’t come until the
overnight guests had departed. Then, at a word from Mrs. Franklin, Meg trailed
reluctantly down to his lordship’s study, which held such tormenting memories
from the previous night.

Lord Bryn remained seated behind
his desk as she entered. His face looked thin and stretched, as though he
hadn’t slept.

Meg paused in the doorway,
longing to reach out to him. “My lord—”

“Be seated, Miss Linley.” His
voice snapped at her like a lash.

She perched on a chair. Not for
the world would she have touched the settee. “I know I’ve done wrong, but it
was always my intention to tell you the truth. I meant to, that night Miss
Geraint arrived, and again yesterday before I—” She couldn’t bring herself to
say “accepted your proposal” and so finished, “before I gave you my answer.”

“I have devoted some
consideration to this matter.” The marquis closed his eyes for a moment, as if
to gain better control. “I realise that from your point of view, as Squire
Roberts said, your conduct constitutes nothing more than a lark of the sort so
popular among the
ton
.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I’m not finished.” The words
rapped out with harsh authority. “I believe it would be best for both of us, if
nothing more were said of this unfortunate incident.”

Including his proposal of marriage.
Meg stared at Lord Bryn in misery.

Taking her silence for assent, he
continued, “Tomorrow I will arrange for you to be driven to Manchester, where
you may take the mail wherever you please. We shall return you to where we
claimed you. Does that suit you, Miss Linley?”

Her hands clenched into fists.
“There are other matters I wish to discuss before I depart, Lord Bryn.”

He shifted, clearly ill at ease.
“Naturally, in the light of these revelations, you cannot expect me to honour
the offer I made to you last night.”

“I certainly don’t hold you to
that.” As she spoke, Meg tried to store up every detail of his face. Lifting
her glasses from their ribbon, she observed the way the light from the window
played across his high cheekbones, the slight irregularity that gave his nose
distinction, the deep brown of his eyes. Must she be content with only memories
the rest of her days?

“What is it you wish to say?”

“First, I would appreciate it if
the children weren’t advised of this development,” Meg said. “They already know
that I’m leaving, and it might upset them unnecessarily.”

“I agree,” said the marquis.

“And, my lord—” she leaned
forward, desperation wrenching the words from her heart “—I made no pretence
when I told you my sentiments last night. My feelings have not changed.”

“Mine have,” he replied.

“I cannot believe that!” She
caught hold of the chair arms to keep herself from leaping to her feet. “You
can have cared little for me to have changed so quickly, and I do not believe
you would have proposed to a governess if you did not care for her a great
deal!’’

“You presume too much, Miss
Linley,” he snarled.

“I love you!” The cry came from
Meg’s heart. “I think I loved you from the start, and that is why I stayed.”

“Is this another of your jests?”
Fury blazed across his face. “You have no intention of keeping your success a
secret, have you, Miss Linley?”

“What can you mean?”

“My proposal is to be made sport
of in the drawing rooms of London.” He stood and gripped the edge of the desk
until his knuckles whitened. “What a tale you shall have to amuse your
frivolous companions.”

“I would never dream of such a
thing!” She jumped to her feet, furious that he would misconstrue her actions.

“You shall continue your journey
to Derby, then?” he inquired.

“No,” she admitted. “My mother
writes that I may return to London. I left because of a minor scandal—I cut
Beau Brummell, because I failed to see him.”

“Serves the jumped-up popinjay
right.” A trace of a smile vanished quickly. “Was that another of your tricks?”

“I think you misunderstand me
willfully!” She glared at him. Never had she dreamed the man could be so
impossible.

“Allow me to explain something to
you, Miss Linley,” he said coldly. “I abandoned society because I could no
longer tolerate its emptiness and its selfishness. It is precisely to avoid
young ladies like yourself that I have remained in the country these past two
years.”

“You didn’t wish to avoid me
yesterday!” she retorted before she could stop herself.

“There’s no need to remind me of
my folly.” What a stranger he had become, this tall, angry man. “In any event,
I will honour my word by saying nothing about this affair. If you choose to
make it one of your
on-dits
, however, I assure you I shall reconsider.
It wouldn’t do your reputation any good to have certain matters spread about,
would it?” His gaze trailed meaningfully down to the collar of Meg’s gabardine
dress, and her body flamed at the memory of their passionate embrace the
previous night.

She gasped. “You’d do such a
thing?”

“Only if you are the first to
speak.” A thin smile touched his face—not of happiness but of satisfaction. He
was convinced that she meant to make sport of him, that she had trifled with
his affections. How could she ever persuade him otherwise?

Meg stood in a ray of late-morning
sunlight, trying to think of a way to plead her case. To argue, beg, threaten,
say anything to break through this wall he’d thrown up between them. Before
entering the study, she’d vowed not to leave until she’d reawakened his
affections. But she had declared her love and he had only twisted her words
back on her.

Gazing into his unrelenting eyes,
she knew that she had lost.

“I’ll say nothing, nor had I
planned to, my lord,” she replied. “You have a false opinion of me, but I see
nothing I can do will correct it. If you should change your mind, I will leave
my direction with Mrs. Franklin.”

“You may do so if you wish,” he
said. “But you will not correspond with the children, Miss Linley. I don’t care
to have them exposed to someone of your character.”

She would have thrown something
at him then, but nothing came to hand. Instead she turned and stalked out the
door.

Someone of her character! She
would write to the children as she’d promised, and if the marquis wished to
intercept the letters, at least she would have done her best.

Anger propelled Meg all the way
back to her room, and then she burst into tears.