A Lady's Guide to Rakes (23 page)

“Explanation for what?” She gazed up at him, waiting for some cocky retort. Instead, he just stared down at her.

“Because, Meredith, I adore you. With all my heart and all that I am, I adore you.”

Adore? Adore…not love.
“Oh” was all Meredith could manage.

“And I know you adore me as well. Do not even try to deny it. If my years as a rake and rogue taught me anything, it was to know the look of adoration in a lady’s eyes when I see it.”

He kissed her gently, yet passionately, and gazed down into her eyes. And she knew what he was really seeing in them. Because she felt it.

Love.

She did love him.
Damn it all.

———

Meredith suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Why, here she was, the soon-to-be authoress of a cautionary guidebook on rakes—in love with the most notorious of them all. “S-so is this why you brought me here?” she stammered.

“Partially.” Alexander took both her hands into his. “I wanted to tell you, that at the Euston ball, I want to announce our betrothal.”

“What?” It took several seconds for Alexander’s words to soak into her mind. “So… so I have no choice in the matter? My aunts have agreed; you wish it—so we are to be married? Just like that?”

Alexander threw his head back and laughed. “No, my dear, of course not.”

Meredith expelled her pent-up breath in relief.

“Do not be ridiculous. You have three long days until the ball. That should be plenty of time to decide to marry me.”

Suddenly, though her lungs were burning, Meredith could not seem to draw another breath.

———

The three long days Alexander had promised Meredith passed more quickly than she could have ever imagined. At the encouragement of her aunts, she’d spent those days, sunup to sundown, frantically searching every crack, crevice and shadow of the house for her missing guidebook. Of course, her rummaging had been futile—

“Just a little anxious is all.”

“I heard.” Annie nodded her head knowingly. She glanced around, as if to be sure no one could hear their conversation, then bent down to whisper in Meredith’s ear. “And I don’t fault you for feelin’ a wee bit edgy. It ain’t every day a miss from Dunley Parish is betrothed to an earl—I mean… a lord who’ll be a grand earl, you know, as soon as his pa meets the Reaper.”

Meredith twisted around in her chair and stared, shocked, at the abigail.

Annie, who never failed to overstep the bounds of the servant-mistress relationship, straightened and set her hands on her wide hips. She chuckled softly.

The merriment died on her lips the very next moment when the Featherton ladies drew up on either side, book-ending her. Annie stuffed a sparkling paste sapphire pin into Meredith’s hair, then brushed her hands together. “Well, now, that ought to do it You’ll be the loveliest woman in the ballroom.” She glanced around at the other young ladies in the withdrawing room then, as if to be sure of the truth of her statement. “Yes, truly the most lovely.”

Aunt Viola critically appraised Annie’s handiwork, taking in the deep blue silk gown and the twinkling of brilliants in Meredith’s burnished copper locks.

She didn’t need to say a word. Meredith could see it in her eyes. And la, if she didn’t truly feel beautiful this eve… even if the gown’s neckline was carved lower than certain
more
conservative
parties might deem appropriate.

Meredith smiled at the whiteness of her generous decolletage, sure—and quite pleased—that Alexander was
not
one of that lot.

“Are you ready, dear?” Aunt Letitia looked every bit as apprehensive as Meredith felt, but yes, she was ready.

She was sure.

That surety, however, hadn’t come easily. She’d settled upon it only after several days, pacing and fretting and searching for her notes. It came only after nights spent tossing and turning, wondering if accepting Alexander’s troth was the best thing to do.

At first, the only thing she knew for certain, knew in the depths of her heart, was that she loved him.

Oh, she’d tried not to—because heaven knows that she, of all women who’d been burned by love in their youth, was all too aware of the folly of offering such potent emotions to a man of Alexander’s roguish background.

But she had had no choice.

After careful consideration, and discussions with her aunts, she finally listened to her Aunt Viola, who advised her that to live cautiously, to live without trust, was to hardly live at all.

And so tonight, she would entrust her heart to Alexander and agree to become his wife.

A little zing shot through her limbs as she stood and turned to take her aunts’ gloved hands.

“Yes, I am ready.” Meredith drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly through her lips. “At long last, I am ready.”

———

Standing at the edge of the sweeping Euston ballroom, Alexander gazed at the pocket watch his mother had given him when he left Oxford, three days before she died.

To his great surprise and consternation, he had not seen or heard from his father in two days. Still, Alexander knew the earl was more than likely just undergoing a cautionary examination by the physician he retained at Har-ford Fell, given the imagined exertions a ball was sure to inflict on his body.

“Quite the coxcomb this eve, aren’t you?”

Alexander snapped his watch closed and slipped it into his fob pocket. He looked up to see Georgie, with some tasty morsel, whom Alexander had never met, on his arm. “I shall tell you only once more: One will never leave my household, so you might as well resign yourself forever to being the
second
best-turned-out gentleman at any gathering.”

Georgie laughed, and his confused-looking, blank-eyed miss followed suit. “So is it true then? You will announce your betrothal to Miss Merriweather this eve?”

A jolt raced through Alexander. “Where did you hear that? From my father?”

“Damn me, Lansing, you’d think it was a secret by the way you are acting.”

“It was.”

“Might have been at some time or another, my man, but the entire ballroom is abuzz with the news.”

“What?” Alexander blurted out.

Georgie exhaled an uncomfortable laugh. He laid a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and leaned close. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve made the book at White’s.”

“The hell you say.”

“ ‘Tis true, I am afraid. In fact, I’d venture to say that half the gentlemen here tonight are in on the wager—odds are against you going through with it. You know: ‘Once a rake, always a rake.’ “

“What did you say?” Alexander swallowed deeply. Hadn’t Meredith made the same claim?

“Come now, can’t be a surprise.”

“Well, I daresay it is. For not only have I truly reformed, but I fully intend to make Miss Merriweather my wife before year’s end.”

“Lansing, this is
me
you’re talking to—” Georgie’s grin fell away from his face when it became clear that Alexander was quite serious. “Damn me! You’re going to do it. You are really going to do it.”

Alexander tugged at his neckcloth and straightened his spine. “I am.”

“No, you are not,” came his father’s voice from behind. “I forbid it.”

Alexander whirled about. “Sir. I—I did not see you arrive.” Stunned, he stared at the portly earl, who was standing just behind him, proud as a peacock, in his outmoded turquoise blue frock coat. Surely he misheard his father. There was no possible reason he would forbid a marriage to the Feathertons’ grandniece.

“Come with me, son.” His father grabbed his arm, rumpling Alexander’s coat sleeve. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

“Sir, Miss Merriweather should be down presently. Perhaps our discussion might be postponed until after—”

“This cannot wait.” The earl’s tone was firm and the look in his eye sober.

Alexander looked to Georgie and gave a shrug. “I hope you didn’t wager against me, man. For I
will
marry her. You can take that bit of news back to White’s.”

———

Meredith and the Featherton ladies entered the ballroom with elation in their hearts, but curious stares upon their persons.

Still, Meredith didn’t much care. Interested eyes had followed her for two years now, wherever she appeared. Well, she was finished with walking with her eyes cast downward. She was through with caring what others thought of her.

For tonight, she would proudly take Alexander’s hand before the entire assembly and accept the troth of the man she loved.

Her heart was buoyant and she could scarce wait to find Alexander. Her gaze flitted excitedly about the ballroom, waiting to alight on Alexander’s handsome face.

Her feet were light, and she danced a little on her toes as she rose up to scan the room.

“Calm yourself, gel,” Aunt Letitia teased. “Your man will be along presently, I am sure.”

Even Meredith had to admit that her face smarted a bit from the broad smile tugging at her cheeks, but she couldn’t deny her feelings any longer. “Oh, Auntie, how can I possibly calm down—for this eve, there is certainly no happier woman in all the world.”

———

“Please take a seat, son.”

“What is this about, Father?” Alexander settled uneasily into a tufted chair beside the saloon window. “I must return to the ball. Meredith will be looking for me.”

The earl motioned for Alexander to remain seated; then he withdrew a red leather book of notes from his coat pocket. “There is something you must see.”

Silence is his answer. Hear it.

As Meredith waited at the edge of the dance floor, desperate for Alexander to appear, she nervously twisted her fan. Dark pangs of doubt punctured her airy mood, deflating her spirits as surely as the balloon that had fatefully sent her crashing into Alexander’s life, uninvited.

“Don’t fret, poppet.” Aunt Viola took Meredith’s hand, which was now trembling just a bit, and squeezed it. “Your Lord Lansing will be along soon enough.”

Meredith wasn’t so sure, though she wished with all of her heart that she could believe her aunt. Still, this eve was beginning to feel eerily similar to the morn she stood inside St. George’s… waiting for another, who never appeared.

A tapping on the ballroom’s parquet floor redirected Meredith’s gaze to her Aunt Letitia, who passed straight through the middle of a well-populated quadrille to reach her. She was quite breathless when she drew alongside Viola.

“There now, you see, gel? Everything is going to be all right,” Aunt Letitia began. “I just spoke to the duchess and she told me that the earl has taken his son to the saloon to talk.” She puffed her cheeks and rounded her eyes, then expelled a little chuckle. “Weren’t we being a flock of geese, worrying for nothing?
Nothing,
I tell you both. No doubt the earl is just imparting some last-minute fatherly advice. This is a momentous occasion for Lord Lansing too, you know.”

Meredith smiled a little. “I… I am sure you are right, Aunt Letitia. And I should not worry.” She stood straight and tall. “I trust, Alexander.
I do
. He will not leave me standing alone. He loves me… and I love him.”

———

The earl thrust out his wobbling triple chin and shoved the red leather book of notes toward Alexander. “It belongs to your Miss Merriweather.”

Alexander did not take the book, but merely peered at it through squinting eyes. “Yes, I have seen the notebook before.” He turned his confused gaze upward to his father. “Why do you have it?”

“Came in the post today. Don’t know who sent it or why, but the timing could not have been more fortuitous.”

“How so? I do not understand.”

Seeing that Alexander was not about to take the book, the earl heaved his body into a large armchair opposite him. He tapped the notebook nervously upon the buckle of his knee breeches. “I knew I was familiar with the Merriweather gel’s name when you first spoke it. I thought it itched my memory because she was kin to the Featherton ladies, whom I’ve been acquainted with—peripherally, of course—for many years.”

“And now?”

“Now I recall why her name is so fresh… She was the talk of Society, not two summers past.”

Alexander exhaled. “Is that all? Father, I know Miss Merriweather was left at the altar by that jack-a-dandy Pomeroy. That was hardly through any fault of her own.”

“Perhaps you do not know the story in its entirety.”

“Sir, I believe I do. Lord Pomeroy, the gentleman— and I use that term very loosely in this instance—was a fortune hunter of the most ruthless sort. Miss Merriweather was naught but an innocent who was taken advantage of.”

The earl leaned back in the chair. “That does not excuse her actions.”

“Her actions? Father, her so-called ruin is entirely the doing of Pomeroy.” Frustrated, Alexander rose, folding his arms over his chest.

The earl sighed. “Son, I know ‘twas I who insisted upon your connection with Miss Merriweather—”

“And I thank you for that,” Alexander interrupted. “Had you not guided me, I would never have learned what an exceptional woman she is.”

His father raised his hand. “Allow me to finish, if you will. I no longer believe that marrying Miss Merriweather is prudent. Connecting the Lansing title with… her sullied name, well, I’ll not have it. I just won’t.”

“
You
won’t have it?” Rage exploded within Alexander. “Sir, the decision is not yours to make.”

The earl’s heavy jowls flushed red, and he shoved the book toward Alexander again. “Read this, and tell me if you still insist on wedding the chit. I daresay, this notebook will change that stubborn mind of yours.”

When Alexander made no move to take it, the earl flung it at him. It hit his chest hard, just below his throat, and fell to the floor. “Nothing will change my heart, sir. I love her, and she loves me as well. I shall marry her.”

“Loves you?” The earl forced a breathy laugh. “You really should read her notes. She no more loves you than she loves me. You are naught but an experiment to her, a test, bome of some misguided effort to spare other young women the pain of rain at the hand of a London rake.”

A cold prickle raced across Alexander’s skin. “W-what do you mean?”