Candice Hern (82 page)

"We are fortunate that Lord Pemerton arrived when he did," Wigan said, shattering the tense moment. "Otherwise ..."

The butler left the thought unspoken, but it was clearly understood. Sedge might have been killed.

Pargeter entered at that moment, bearing a tray of food and a pot of coffee. Wigan cleared a space on the bedside table, where Pargeter then deposited the tray. The butler poured coffee for each gentleman into small straight-sided porcelain coffee cups that seemed incongruously delicate for a masculine household. They must have come from Sedge's mother.

Jack signaled for the two servants to leave.

"Drink it, Sedge," Jack said when they were alone. "If you refuse, be prepared to have it forced down your throat."

Sedge glared at Jack, then took a small sip. His mouth puckered up like a drawstring bag and a shudder shook his shoulders.

"Drink it!" Jack ordered.

And Sedge drank it. His hands shook so that the coffee sloshed about in the porcelain cup, threatening to spill over the sides. After the first sip, the next few swallows seemed to come more easily. Jack reached for the tray and spread a slice of bread with a generous dollop of jam. "Here," he said, handing the bread to Sedge. "You'll need something sweet to help keep the coffee down."

Sedge took a bite of the bread and another swallow of coffee. Finally, he sank back against the headboard, balancing the bread and coffee on his lap. "Thank you, Jack," he said quietly. "Thank you."

* * *

Jack stayed with Sedge through most of the night, making him eat and walk and drink coffee and talk. When they finally came back to what had happened here tonight, Sedge was full of shame. Though grateful for his friend's timely intervention, he was nevertheless chagrined that Jack should have been witness to such a thing.

Without a word from Sedge, Jack seemed to understand his shame. He suggested that they keep tonight's events confidential. No one need know what had occurred, he promised. Jack believed the servants could be trusted, but agreed to have a word with Wigan when he left. He would himself never mention the incident, although he admitted he would probably tell Mary, since he had no secrets from her and she would wish to know where he had been all night. And Mary could be trusted. Sedge could be sure that neither of them would ever mention it again.

Sedge had no desire to spread the tale of his ultimate shame, so he agreed with Jack that the incident would be kept secret. The fire had done what Jack had been unable to do: it had forced Sedge to face the truth. It seemed that he was forever having to be reminded of the truth. At Thornhill, he had been forced by his cousin to admit that not only had he been malingering and had long overstayed his welcome, but that he was weaving foolish dreams about Meg. Dreams spun out of loneliness and boredom. Not based in truth. Never in truth.

And then Jack, good old Jack, had tried to make him see that he was avoiding the truth through drink. And Jack should know. For that matter, so should Sedge. Was he not the one who had cajoled and berated Jack for behaving like a fool when Mary left him practically at the altar? For not handling it all in a more mature and sensible manner? And God knows Jack had more reason to despair than Sedge. Meg had never agreed to marry him, after all. And yet here he was, behaving in the same idiotic manner as Jack had done.

"Is our sex doomed to behave like idiots over women?" he asked.

Jack laughed. "Probably. But I can promise you, my friend, that once those moments of madness are past and differences resolved, they are really quite pleasant creatures. I would no more trade my Mary for my old life of debauchery for all the treasures of the world. Such a woman is worth waiting for."

Sedge heaved a sigh. He was more than willing to wait for Meg, but he had no confidence that she would ever come to him.

"Speaking of treasures," Jack said, "thought you might be interested in the latest Incomparable to hit Town."

"There's a new one every year," Sedge said. "What's different about this one? Are you trying to tempt me with a tasty diversion, hoping I'll forget about Meg?"

"Not exactly," Jack said, slanting a glance at Sedge from his position near the window, silhouetted against the rosy glow of sunrise. The smell of smoke still permeated the air, and the window had been thrown open some hours ago. A soft breeze now ruffled the edges of the draperies that framed the window. "I just thought," Jack continued, "that this particular one might pique your interest."

"Why? Who is she?"

"Don't know, precisely." Jack propped a hip against the broad windowsill and stretched one thigh along it. Leaning his back against the open shutter, he crossed his arms over his chest and idly swung the raised foot back and forth. "Never have heard her name. Mary told me about her." He smiled. "You know, as much as Mary loves Pemworth, she still adores all the bustle and fuss of the Season. Knows everyone. Goes everywhere. Hears everything. You know Mary."

"Yes," Sedge said, wishing Jack would get to the point. "Delightful woman, Mary."

"Isn't she, though?" Jack grinned. "I simply adore her. But, as I was saying, she has told me of the latest Incomparable. Seems she is quite an Original. Has a court of dozens of young swains eager to earn her pleasure."

"Like I said before, there's a new one every year. What makes this one different?"

"Let's see if I can remember all the details," Jack said, tapping his chin and staring at the ceiling until Sedge wanted to shake him. "She has red hair, I believe. And a sort of amber- colored eyes. Or maybe it was more like sherry."

Sedge sat up straight in his chair, as sober as a Methodist for the first time in weeks. Red hair and sherry-colored eyes?

"The interesting thing is," Jack continued, "she is apparently no green girl straight out of the schoolroom. A mature woman, Mary says. Very poised and elegant."

Sedge swallowed with difficulty. Could it be? Had she come to Town? What did it all mean?"

"Oh, and I almost forgot the best part of all," Jack said as a grin split his face. "The lady is six feet tall if she's an inch."

Sedge bolted out of his chair. "She's here! Meg's in London!"

Jack smiled. "Apparently, so, my friend."

Chapter 18

Meg opened and closed the sticks of her fan and wondered if this would be the night. She had looked for Sedge at every function she had attended and had yet to see him. As their carriage sat in the line of traffic queued up for the reception at Grosvenor House, Meg craned her head out the window to see how large a crowd tonight's function would boast. The line of carriages and link boys stretched as far down Park Lane as she could see.

"Meg!" Gram scolded. "Close that window and turn around, my girl. You will have people thinking we are bumpkins straight from the country."

Meg laughed. "Aren't we?" Catching her brother's eye as he sat facing her on the seat opposite, he grinned and winked.

"Hardly bumpkins," Gram replied. "No one would dare call you a bumpkin in that gown," she added with a sniff of disapproval.

Meg grinned and turned her head to peer out the carriage window. She was really quite pleased with tonight's gown. French gauze over a sea green crepe slip, it was cut deep in the front, showing a wide expanse of bosom. The rich green chenille embroidery at the neckline, matching that along the hem, set off Meg's fair skin to perfection. Or so the modiste had said. Meg had no eye for such things and simply trusted Madame Yolande to provide her with the sort of wardrobe she required.

"I think her dress is fine," Terrence said. "You look beautiful, Meggie."

Meg felt her cheeks color up at her brother's uncharacteristic compliment. "Thank you, Terrence." The fact was, she did feel beautiful. Ever since she had arrived in London, all snugly wrapped up in her secret purpose, she had felt like a new person. Like a woman. Nothing like the gawky hoyden of six years ago. She faced London this time with all the confidence of a mature woman who knows what she's about.

Gram had disapproved of much of the new wardrobe. But she had been so thrilled that Meg wanted to come to Town at all that she had acquiesced in the end. Meg had wished for a wardrobe more suitable for a worldly, mature woman, and had hinted as much to Madame Yolande, who had been happy to oblige. Gram had soon admitted that Meg's new gowns were no more daring than almost every other gown they had seen at
ton
affairs. And she had finally agreed that Meg should not have to dress in the whites and pastels of a young miss in her first Season. Even Meg realized that such pale colors did not suit her. Madame Yolande had agreed.

"Do you suppose Lord Bellingham will be there tonight?" Gram asked. "Such a nice young man."

"I do not know," Meg replied. Nor did she care. There was only one gentleman whose presence would make any difference to her.

"Well, if he is there," Gram continued, smiling contentedly, "I have no doubt he will seek you out. He always does."

"Yes," Meg said. "He does."

"And not only Bellingham," Terrence added. "You seem to have gathered quite a court, Meggie."

Meg smiled at her brother and shrugged as if it all meant nothing. But, in fact, she was secretly pleased and surprised at all the attention she had received. She continued to be astonished at the attitude of people, gentlemen in particular, during this Season. It was such a marked contrast to what she had experienced six years ago. Then, she had been ignored. This year, she was fawned over, flirted with, and received more attention than she could ever have imagined. She was seldom without a dance partner, and there was much competition to escort her to supper.

"Well, I, for one, am exceedingly pleased to see Meg's popularity this year," Gram said. She reached over and squeezed Meg's hand. "Only good will come of it, just you wait and see."

Meg knew that Gram expected her to find some gentleman to make her forget Lord Sedgewick. She had said as much while they had planned their trip to Town. And Meg was almost certain she had dropped such hints to Terrence as well. It was the only explanation for the strange looks he sometimes gave her lately. And for the new solicitous way he treated her. Between Gram and Terrence, the way they coddled her, Meg often felt as if she had just recovered from a serious illness. Perhaps she had not done such a good job after all of concealing her broken heart. In any case, Meg had allowed Gram and Terrence to believe that she wanted to have another Season after all these years as a means to repair that broken heart. It was true, after all. No one need know what she really intended.

"Quite a change this time out, eh, Meggie?" Terrence said.

"Indeed. It is all quite extraordinary. I do not understand it at all." Meg could not be sure what precisely had wrought such a change. Other than a new wardrobe and a few extra pounds, there was nothing so very different about her. She was the same old Meg.

Terrence chuckled and waved a gloved hand at her gown. "I don't suppose the new dresses have anything to do with it?"

"Perhaps." Sharing a grin with Terrence, she knew they were both thinking of those horrible, girlish dresses Gram had made her wear six years ago. "But, after all," Meg continued, "I am still unfashionably red-haired and too tall by half. Same as before."

"Ah, but you are not the same as before," Terrence said. "That's just it. Oh, you are still tall, to be sure. But you don't try to hide it anymore. No more slouching or bent knees."

"I suppose it is just a matter of getting older and accepting things as they are," Meg said. "No sense in hiding it. I am what I am."

"And there you have hit on the very thing that sets you apart this Season," Terrence said. "You are more comfortable with yourself, and it shows. You no longer enter a room all hunched over, glaring at your toes. You walk in tall and proud, with your head held high, commanding attention. It makes all the difference, Meggie. You force everyone to notice you and appreciate how beautiful you are." He reached over, took Meg's hand, and brought her fingers to his lips. "I am very proud of you, my dear."

Meg was overwhelmed by her brother's words, and squeezed his hand before relinquishing it. He had never said such things to her in all her life.

She supposed there was a certain amount of truth in what he said. It was true, she was more comfortable with herself and her height. But there was also the fact that she cared so little about what Society thought of her. They could take her or leave her. She did not care. So long as she found Lord Sedgewick, the rest of them did not matter in the least. Perhaps by not trying to impress them, she had done just that. Or perhaps her secret motive for coming to Town had given her a certain air. The fact that she was ready and willing to enter into a sophisticated, clandestine affair made her feel like a mature woman of the world. It was possible that new confidence showed in her face or in her bearing or in her manner. Whatever the reason, she was certainly treated with a great deal more respect this Season than six years ago.

While their carriage inched its way to Grosvenor House, conversation turned to Thornhill. Terrence, who had been coerced by Gram's incessant badgering into accompanying them to Town, had reluctantly left Seamus Coogan in charge of the stables. It was breeding time, and he worried aloud about which stallions would be allowed to cover which mares, until Gram put a halt to such indelicate conversation.

Meg's mind wandered as Terrence fretted. She watched the congestion of carriages along Park Lane and thought how lucky they were to have received an invitation to Lord Grosvenor's reception. Somehow, though, they seemed to receive invitations to all the right places. As Gram had anticipated, Terrence's school friends, hunting cronies, and business associates had been the source of a continual stream of invitations. Gram still had many acquaintances in Town as well, having kept up a lively correspondence with several old friends throughout the years. And these, too, sent invitations. At any other time, Meg would have been terrified at the prospect of attending all the functions represented by the stacks of invitations lining the drawing room mantel. This time, though, any one of those functions could be the means to locating Sedge, and letting him know she had reconsidered his offer.