Candice Hern (79 page)

"Are you gentlemen all right?" the coachman asked.

"We're fine," Sedge replied as he reached across Albert to hand the pistol to Pargeter. "As you see. Now, may we please continue with this endless journey? I begin to despair of reaching London before the Season ends."

The coachman returned to his seat on the box and Albert's valet climbed back up to the servant's seat. Before resuming his seat, Pargeter, who had disappeared briefly, appeared at the open door once again, and handed a pistol across to Sedge.

"Thank you, Pargeter," Sedge said as he took the gun and tucked it into the empty sword case beneath the window.

Pargeter nodded and closed the door. The carriage bobbed slightly as he took his seat in the back. With a word from the coachman, the carriage lurched forward as the horses took off once again.

Albert turned toward Sedge, his eyes blazing with outrage. "How could you do something so foolhardy? Have you lost your mind? My God, man, those two might have fired back."

"But they did not."

"But you could not have known that!" Albert said, his voice rising with fury. "You might have got us both killed, you bloody fool."

"Oh, for God's sake, Bertie," Sedge said, his own impatience and anger mounting, "those two oafs fled like scared rabbits. Their type is only out for money, not murder. And I was not as willing as you to part with mine."

Albert shook his head in dismay. "I have never known you to act so recklessly."

"Blame it on my black mood."

"And so," Albert persisted in a sarcastic tone, "just because your head ached and you were angry with Miss Ashburton, you rushed headlong into potential danger, putting both our lives at risk? I cannot believe it. I simply cannot believe it!"

"Oh, stubble it, Bertie! You are neither dead nor stripped of your valuables. And all because my bad temper prompted me to action. Seems to me you ought to thank me, not berate me."

Albert crossed his arms and set his mouth in a tight line. He turned away from Sedge and kept his gaze fixed out the window. Blast it all, what was wrong with Albert, anyway? Why couldn't he allow Sedge to enjoy even the smallest moment of triumph in one of the more wretched days of his life? Sedge snorted in disgust, sank back against the squabs, and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

After a few moments, Albert spoke again, spitting his words out like so much venom. "I did not even know you had brought a gun. You might have warned me."

Sedge heaved a sigh and turned to look out his own window. "That's Pargeter's doing," he said. "The man is terrified of his shadow. Always insists I carry a gun when we travel. Places a loaded gun within my reach with every journey."

Albert turned and waved a finger in the direction of the sword case. "So he put it there? Not you?"

"Yes," Sedge replied. "But I saw it as soon as I sat down. He generally tucks it someplace where it is both inconspicuous and handy."

"And that one," Albert said, still pointing, "the one he handed you. Is that one loaded, too?"

"Of course. He simply retrieved the second gun from the traveling case. He has no doubt already reloaded the first one. I told you, the man takes no chances."

"No, you take them all for him."

"Damnation, Bertie!" Sedge's voice rose as he had lost all patience with his cousin's belligerent attitude. "You act as though you would rather those two louts had been successful in robbing us."

"No, I do not," Albert said in a tight voice. "I simply do not appreciate the cavalier way in which you reacted. You might have got us killed."

"Oh, shut up, Bertie!"

And so now not one but two black moods darkened the interior of the carriage as the two cousins turned away from each other and spoke not a word for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Meg walked through the next few days in a listless stupor. Sedge's illicit offer had had a profound effect upon her, causing her emotions to swing wildly between fierce anger and unrequited longing. His offer had been insulting, infuriating, disappointing, confusing, and ultimately heartbreaking. For though she hated him for what he had proposed, there was no denying she had fallen in love with him. The more difficult thing was to fall out of love with him. And so far, that was something she had not been able to accomplish.

She kept remembering how he had touched her, kissed her, looked at her, smiled at her. Even the most fleeting memory of his touch was enough to stir her blood in a most uncomfortable manner. He had awakened her body in ways she had never before imagined. And now the thought of never knowing that touch again made her feel empty, cold, and hollow with longing.

Meg kept to herself as much as possible those first days, with her emotions in turmoil and dangerously near the surface. She found herself close to tears more often than was comfortable. She had a horror of breaking down in front of her family or the staff, a thing she had never done in all her life. Meg was a woman who seldom resorted to tears, and when she did, she did so in private. These days, she seemed to require a great deal of privacy.

So she stayed away as much as possible, making a special effort to avoid Gram and Terrence. Meg was not ready just yet to face her grandmother's inevitable questions or her brother's quizzical looks. She rose early each morning, rode out and stayed out as long as possible, then spent the rest of the day in and around the stables. The constant activity in the stalls, the tackroom, and the exercise paddocks, as well as the sometimes raucous joviality of the grooms and stable boys, helped to keep her mind off the miserable state of her heart. In the evenings she took a tray in her room, claiming fatigue.

This morning Meg had ridden Bristol Blue hard and fast to the farthest reaches of Thornhill property. She slowed as she reached the river, and stopped to let Bristol take a drink. Then she walked him at a leisurely pace along the river's edge so that he could cool down completely and catch his breath. They ambled along past clusters of spiky, leafless coltsfoot. The strange plant sprung almost magically out of the ground each spring, the woolly, scaly shoots each topped with a single flower. It was only after the flowers had withered and gone to seed that its fuzzy, hoof-shaped leaves appeared. Each summer Meg accompanied Gram in long walks beside the river's edge, gathering baskets of coltsfoot leaves for the still room. But just now, their yellow blooms announced the arrival of spring.

Spring. The time of year when the social Season became a backdrop for the Marriage Mart. Meg pulled up sharply on the reins.

Marriage?

Must she forever dream about the offer she had hoped for, rather than the offer she had received? She silently scolded herself for behaving like such a ninny and she angrily swiped at the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. If she did not stop dwelling on what might have been, she would surely go mad with despair. She had to get over this disappointment and get on with her life. Until then, it would be nearly impossible to face her family. They had always known her to be strong, even-tempered, tough-skinned. Hard-hearted, even. Her own brother thought her entirely without feminine sensibilities. She only wished all of their expectations were true. Just now, Meg was none of those things. And until she put this ridiculous little episode out of her mind, she never again would be.

She flicked the reins and Bristol moved on. As they made their way back toward Thornhill, Meg's head continued its battle with her sore heart, scolding that Sedge was a cad and that she was well rid of him. Her heart weakly confessed to still loving him, to dwelling all too often on how it had felt to be in his arms. Her head scoffed that it was unfortunate she had permitted her infatuation for him to develop into something deeper. It was unfortunate that she had not recognized, or perhaps acknowledged, his true colors earlier. It was unfortunate that her own naïveté had allowed him to make a fool of her. The whole ugly situation was merely an unfortunate episode. Nothing more. Not life-threatening. Not earth-shattering. Simply unfortunate. And best forgotten. She could and would survive. She had learned her lesson and would pick up the pieces of her life and move on.

Meg's heart finally conceded defeat to her head in this battle. She repeated the logical admonitions over and over in her mind on the ride back to the stables—he was a cad, she was a fool, the whole thing was best forgotten. She continued to repeat them while she rubbed down Bristol and brushed his coat to a high gloss, while she replenished his grain tub and hay feeder, and while she refilled his water bucket. She kept up her litany of logic as she returned to the house, took a leisurely bath, and changed into a fresh sprigged muslin dress.

When a knock sounded at her bedchamber door, Meg was feeling more confident and ready for the first time in two days to face whoever it might be. She swiveled on her dressing table stool and turned toward the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Gram entered. "Oh, good," Gram said. "You are dressed. Does that mean you will be joining us for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, Gram. I was planning to come down." Meg turned back to face her mirror and continued to brush out her long hair. "I just need to finish my hair."

"Here, let me do that," Gram said as she reached for the brush. "It's been a long time since I've brushed your hair, Meggie. You used to enjoy it so when you were a girl."

Meg tilted her head forward as Gram's soft hands gently flipped the hair over her shoulders so that it hung down her back. As her grandmother began to pull the brush through the hair in long strokes, starting at the front of her head and continuing all the way to the ends, Meg let out a soft moan. "Ah, Gram. I still enjoy it." She let her head loll backward and closed her eyes. "That feels wonderful."

Gram continued to brush, in long slow strokes, and Meg became more and more relaxed. Just as she thought she might actually fall asleep, Gram spoke. "I have been worried about you, Meggie. I thought you might not be feeling well."

"I feel fine," Meg said in a drowsy voice.

"When you asked for a tray in your room the last two nights, I was concerned that you had taken ill. But then each morning you disappeared with that horse of yours and stayed away all day long." Gram continued the soft brushing. "Then I thought perhaps you were avoiding us."

Meg stiffened slightly, thinking her grandmother was too clever for her own good. But then Gram tugged the brush over her temples and behind her ears and Meg relaxed once again. "Why would I be avoiding you?" Meg asked in her most ingenuous voice.

"I asked myself the same question," Gram said as she tilted Meg's head to one side and began brushing out from her nape. "I thought perhaps ..."

"Perhaps what?"

"Well, I thought it might have to do with Lord Sedgewick's leaving."

Here it comes.
The conversation she had been avoiding for days.

"What made you think that?" Meg asked, trying to keep her voice flat, indifferent.

"Well... you did not come to the house to say a proper farewell when he and Mr. Herriot left."

"We had spoken earlier," Meg said, parroting the excuse she had been memorizing for just this occasion. "We had said our good-byes."

"Yes, so he said."

Meg's eyes popped open. "He did?"

"Yes." Gram did not elaborate, much to Meg's regret. She would be very interested to know just exactly what the viscount had said. "But then, ever since he left," Gram went on, "you have kept so much to yourself. I thought perhaps you were missing him. That you felt a bit sad to have him gone."

Meg sighed. "I guess I do miss him a little." A little? What a bouncer. She couldn't get the scoundrel out of her mind. "We spent a lot of time together. We had become good friends." In a softer voice, she added, "Or so I thought."

"Oh, Meg!" Gram wailed as she gathered up Meg's long tresses and began to twist them into a knot. "I had thought—"

"I know what you thought," Meg said. "But it was not meant to be, Gram. I am sorry to have disappointed you."

"Oh, my dear, it is not you who disappointed me, but Lord Sedgewick. He seemed so taken with you. I was sure he would make an offer."

"Oh, Gram!" So, we were both duped by the charming viscount.

"Or at least court you properly, in hopes of making an offer later." Gram's brows furrowed in frustration as she secured the knot with two tortoiseshell combs. "I was so sure of it! Oh, I simply do not understand it. He seemed the most amiable young man I have ever met. And I saw how he looked at you, Meggie. He could not take his eyes off you."

Oh yes, he desired my body. Enough to pay for it.

Gram rested her hands on Meg's shoulders and captured her eyes in the mirror. "I was so sure he was falling in love with you, Meggie. I was so sure of it." She gave Meg's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Is that what's been troubling you, dear? Were you sure of it, too?"

"Oh, Gram." Meg reached up and covered one of her grandmother's pudgy hands. "I suppose I had hoped a little myself. But remember, I told you more than once that I was not the sort of woman for him." Not for marriage, anyway. She patted Gram's hand and then rose from the stool. She placed an arm around the old woman's shoulders and led her toward the door.

"I do not care what you said, I had high hopes, Meggie. And I am very disappointed in that young man."

So am I, Gram. So am I.

Chapter 16

Sedge tipped the brandy decanter over and poured the last of its contents into his glass. Blast. Empty again. He would have to ring for Wigan to uncork another bottle. He shook the decanter so that its last golden drops trickled into his glass. As he held the bottle, the light from the fireplace shot through its blue glass like a star sapphire, entrancing him momentarily with its intense color. With an unsteady hand, Sedge slowly reached toward the side table to return the decanter to the silver tantalus which held two matching bottles, one labeled Rum, the other Hollands. Each of the same blue glass. Special radiant blue glass for which the city of Bristol was celebrated. Bristol blue glass.