Anne Barbour (9 page)

There was, she admitted to herself reluctantly, another consideration. The anger and contempt with which the earl had treated her before was nothing to the rage he would feel toward her if he suspected the truth. She had noted what seemed to be a softening in his attitude toward her. This afternoon they had conversed quite amiably and she had found much enjoyment in his company. She laughed a little at her surprise when she discovered that the Earl of Marchford actually possessed a sense of humor. She knew he had threatened to ruin Lissa Reynard, and she knew he was a man to be feared, but even more she feared the idea of seeing those tawny eyes cloud over with hatred for her.

“Good Lord, Alison,” Lady Edith had exclaimed impatiently at her request to be left at home that evening, “you are becoming a positive ninnyhammer over this business. You have played cards on any number of occasions since you have been with me, and never have you displayed so much as a hint of—of an unwarranted expertise.”

Which was perfectly true. It was difficult to escape the occasional game of piquet or whist when one lived in Bath, but Alison had taken great care to display nothing but the most mediocre skill. She generally managed to lose more than she won.

“At any rate,” continued Lady Edith, “with the masquerade being held at the Upper Rooms tonight, we must rely on a private party for entertainment,
which is why I accepted the Dunsaneys’ invitation. Now, let us hear no more about it.”

So, here she was, and as luck would have it, she found herself partnered almost immediately with the earl for a game of whist. The other players were Lady Edith and the Reverend Rayburn.

“Do you play often. Miss Fox?” asked the earl.

Alison’s heart leapt into her throat, where she thought it would choke her, but she answered calmly enough, “Oh, no, my lord. I—I do not enjoy it much.”

“Ah, you are not a gamester, then?” The words were innocently spoken, and she could read nothing but the most casual interest in his eyes. She forced her hammering pulse to still and drew a deep breath.

“Not at all,” she said quietly.

“As I can confirm,” interjected Lady Edith, smiling. “Alison is a dear child, but I wish you well of her as a partner. You will be lucky not to lose your shirt.”

When play commenced. Lady Edith’s dictum was borne out. Alison made one blunder after another, so that at the end of the evening, the Earl of Marchford declared his pockets wholly to let.

When the three arrived back in Royal Crescent, Lady Edith said good night at once and climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber, again leaving Alison to bid the earl good night.

“You did not appear to enjoy yourself tonight, Alison,” he said slowly. She was intensely aware of his nearness and of their isolation in the candlelit shadows of the hallway. The use of her first name did nothing to quiet the racing of her pulse. “A skill at cards is not considered a social necessity, after all,” he concluded, and, while she did not doubt that the statement was intended to comfort her, her heart lodged once more in her throat, and she swallowed convulsively.

“No! That is”—-she knew her smile must be a grimace—”I would not mind for myself, but I fear I must be a sad aggravation to anyone unfortunate enough to partner me.”

“Believe me, Alison, the loss of a few pounds did not outweigh the pleasure of your company this evening.”

The earl leaned closer as he spoke, and Alison fancied she could see her consternation reflected in his eyes. The pounding of her heart threatened to suffocate her, and she was sure he must hear it. “It—it is getting late, my lord. I must...”

“Do you think we could dispense with ‘my lord’? “ His smile was decidedly leonine, she thought desperately. “Please call me March, as do the others in this house.”

“Oh! Oh no, I don’t think I could—” She was interrupted by an odd sound that seemed to come from the back of the house.

It progressed in a series of muffled thumps, culminating in a crash. The earl stepped back abruptly. His eyes were still on her, however, and they contained an expression she could not fathom. He looked away, finally, toward the direction of the sound.

“What the devil ... ?”

The two hurried toward the door that led to the service area belowstairs. March wrenched it open and immediately found himself clutching a small figure, swathed in a hooded cloak.

“Who—?” growled March. “What... ?” A sob escaped the figure and the hood slipped to reveal a tumble of golden curls.

“Meg!” gasped Alison and March in unison.

Chapter 7

“Meg!” repeated March, this time in a voice of thunder. “What the devil are you about? Have you just come into the house?” Observing the satin mask that hung about the girl’s neck, his eyes narrowed. “The masquerade! My God, Meg, did you attend that infernal ball?”

For the first time, Meg lifted her head, and Alison observed that her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes swollen from crying. Her bodice was torn and an expression of lingering terror lay on her delicate features.

“Answer me, Meg,” continued March, the fiery thunder now hardened to ice. “What have you done?”

At this. Meg broke into sobs so loud and violent that she couldn’t speak. The earl observed her in silence for perhaps ten seconds before reaching to shake her by the shoulders.

“By God. Meg, we’ll have none of your histrionics. Tell me what happened. Did you actually go to the Upper Rooms unattended? Have you been out alone on the streets at this time of night, like the veriest drab?”

Observing the very real signs of imminent collapse displayed on Meg’s face, Alison intervened hurriedly.

“My lord, she is genuinely distraught. As you can see, she is unable to speak right now. Let me take her to her room and you can talk to her tomorrow.”

March opened his mouth, but the denial he had been about to utter died on his lips. He very much wished to inform Miss Fox that her interference in a family matter was quite unnecessary. On the other hand, it was obvious that she was eminently correct in her assessment of Meg’s emotional state, and he experienced a craven desire to remove himself with all possible speed from the vicinity of a young woman who gave every sign of bursting into strong hysterics.

With a dignified nod, he drew his coat about him. “Very well, I shall return in the morning.” He shot a minatory stare at Meg. “At which time I shall want a full explanation of what transpired tonight.” So saying, he made a hasty exit from the house, closing the door behind him with unnecessary force.

Alison turned to minister to Meg, who was leaning heavily against her. The girl’s sobs increased on the way up the stairs as she began an incoherent explanation, Alison forbore to say anything until they had reached her room, where Finster, Meg’s maid, was awaiting the return of her mistress. Her eyes widened on observing that Lady Margaret was accompanied by Miss Fox, and on being told rather sternly by that lady that her services were not required any further that evening, she flew from the room in obvious relief.

Alison guided her tearful charge to the bed and, lowering her gently, sat beside her and began unfastening the ties of the crumpled domino.

“You’re all right now, Meg,” she said soothingly. “Safe and sound at home. Now, tell me what happened.”

“Oh, Alison!” cried Meg. “It was so awful! Yes, I did go to the masquerade—with Sally. It seemed like such a lark, and I truly did not think there was anything so wrong in it. I only wanted to dance with Mr. Renfrew,” she concluded in a wail.

“And did you?”

“No-oo!” she hiccupped on a sob. “He was there—and as soon as I saw him I went up to him.”

“Oh, Meg, how could you? What must he think? And what will he tell everyone?”

“Oh, no, Alison. That part is all right. He didn’t know it was me. We—we only spoke for a few seconds.” Once more, Meg’s eyes filled and tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I saw him as soon as we entered the ballroom. He was just coming in—carrying two glasses of punch, and we almost collided. I said good evening, and so did he and he said something about what a crush it was and—well, I was just about to tell him who I was when—oh, Alison!” she wailed. “He was joined by a young woman! He excused himself and turned to her and ... and gave her a glass of punch and kissed her on the cheek!”

“No!” cried Alison. “I cannot believe the drawing master at Miss Crumshaw’s School would behave so in public.”

“Well, he did—and then he turned back to me and laughed rather sheepishly and said to please beg pardon, but he and the young woman had just become engaged!”

“Meg! Oh, I am so sorry my dear. How awful for you. What did you do then?”

“Sally was standing right beside me, and—she is such a good friend, Alison. She did not say anything, but led me to a nearby bench—otherwise I really believe I would have fallen to the floor in a swoon. There were a great many people there, all in masks, of course, and some of them—particularly the women—were ... were behaving in a manner that was not at all proper. After a moment, when I had recovered myself, I told Sally I just wanted to go home, and she was more than willing. She really had not wanted to come, after all, and we were receiving some very unwelcome attention from a group of—well, I could scarcely call them gentlemen—who were standing nearby. I think they were somewhat the worse for drink. We had a little difficulty then, because they followed us as we made our way out of the ballroom, be we were finally able to elude them.”

“Did you have any difficulty on the way home?” asked Allison with concern, noting the condition of Meg’s gown.

Meg did not answer for a moment, but looked down at her hands. “Everything was fine until we reached Sally’s house. She lives in the Circus, you know, so we had not far to go. And, since it’s only a little farther to Royal Crescent, I anticipated no trouble, but”—her eyes widened in remembered terror—”as I hurried along Brock Street, I was accosted by a
terrible
man. I believe he thought I was a—a woman of the streets. Oh, Alison, I am so ashamed. He said dreadful things to me, and grabbed at my—that is, he tried to—but I managed to tear away from him and I ran and ran and ran. I came into the house through the stables, for Finster left the back door open for me. Oh, dear heaven, I am so glad to be home!”

With this she flung herself into Alison’s arms, sobbing once more in rising hysteria. Alison gathered the young girl to her, murmuring softly and inconsequentially.

“There, there. It’s all right now, Meg. It’s all over and you are none the worse for your adventure.”

“But I am so very sorry, Alison. It was such a stupid thing to do—especially after you and Aunt Edith warned me, and March—oh, good heavens—March! What am I going to tell him? He will be furious. You don’t suppose he will forbid me to come to London, do you? Oh, Alison, I am the most wretched creature alive!”

These words, uttered from the increasingly soggy depths of her bosom, convinced Alison that Meg’s most immediate concerns did not include Mr. Renfrew’s defection.

“There, there,” she said again. “If you wish, I will speak to your brother when he arrives tomorrow.”

Meg lifted a tear-stained face. “Oh would you, Alison? I should be everlastingly grateful! He is greatly taken with you, I can tell, and he will listen to what you say.”

Alison flushed uncomfortably and lifted Meg to her feet, accomplishing in a few moments the removal of the torn gown and the rest of her garments. By then, Meg was more in command of herself and accomplished her nightly ablutions at the pitcher and bowl on her commode without help. Shrugging into tier night rail, she settled into bed with a long, shuddering sigh.

“Thank you, Alison, for being so understanding. I truly have learned a lesson.” She assayed a watery chuckle. “I wish I could say that I shall never do anything so stupid again, but knowing me, I’m afraid I can’t make that promise. I will
try
to be good from now on, though,” she added. “Particularly while I am still staying with you and Aunt Edith. It’s not really fair of me, I suppose, to make you suffer for my buffle-headedness.”

With this, she blew a repentant kiss to Alison and snuggled down amid her covers. Smiling, Alison returned the salute and, blowing out Meg’s bedside candle, she tiptoed from the room.

On arriving in her own chamber, she retired immediately, feeling quite exhausted by the events of the day. Sleep, however, was a long time in coming. Her thoughts, as they tended to do too often these days, flew to the Earl of Marchford. His presence, she was forced to admit, was having a disastrous effect on her peace of mind. Why just a simple touch from this man, whom she had already decided was a perfectly ordinary example of the species, should make her tremble, she could not fathom. She had been intensely aware of his nearness all afternoon at Prior Park, conscious of his brandy-colored eyes on her and his assessment of her every action. This evening, she had watched with a most unbecoming fascination his strong, slender fingers dealing cards. For once, she had experienced no difficulty in losing hand after hand. His touch at her waist as he guided her through doorways and into sedan chairs produced a spreading warmth that penetrated all the layers of her clothing.

Worst of all, she was beginning to like him as a person. He was certainly a product of his environment, arrogantly conscious of his rank and the dignity due his position. How could he be otherwise when it had no doubt been drilled into him since childhood? Yet, it was obvious that he loved his family with wholehearted devotion—particularly since the tragedy that had befallen them, and with them he was relaxed and unassuming. His laughter and warmth were genuine as he teased Meg and made his aunt giggle with his outrageous flattery. He was well educated without being pompous and displayed a genuine love of learning. For heaven’s sake, she thought despairingly, how could one
not
like such a man?

Then again, she reflected with unhappy irony, what difference did it make whether she liked him or not? She was still his avowed enemy and she must fear him. For an instant her thoughts flickered to the words Meg had spoken in Milsom Street. Was his hatred of her partly a product of a guilt he experienced because he felt he had abandoned his family? Not that
that
made any difference, either. She should be taking comfort in the thought that she had apparently convinced him of the sincerity of her affection for Lady Edith and that he would soon take himself off for his town house in London and the company of Lady Frances. If she took great care, she would probably never have to see him again. She was surprised by the profound sense of depression this thought provoked, and although she turned into her pillow with a determined sigh, it was many hours before she at last fell into an uneasy sleep.