A Lady's Guide to Rakes (7 page)

When Meredith learned that she was to come to live with her aunts in Mayfair, a stone’s throw from Beth’s family home on Berkeley Square, she’d convinced herself that things would be different outside the confines of Miss Belbury’s. At first, she actually thought Beth had grown a heart in her adulthood, for she was kind and generous… once she learned Meredith was blood kin to the grand Featherton ladies, anyway.

That is, until the day Meredith fell from. Society’s grace after being left at the altar. Beth’s behavior when Meredith was at tier lowest proved just how beastly the woman could be: she supplied the
on-dit
columnist of the
London Times
with a detailed account of Meredith’s humiliation on her wedding day. It took a full month, and a palmful of guineas, but Meredith eventually confirmed to her satisfaction that Beth was the columnist’s anonymous source. Mrs. Beth Augustine was soulless, and as far as Meredith could gather, to this day, the wench hadn’t aged at all.

Meredith rose and took her straw bonnet from Mr. Edgar. “I am ready, Auntie.” Truth to tell, she would ler empty all the chamber pots on Hanover Square in go to this horrid breakfast. But her aunts wished for r to attend the event with them, and as her sister Grace to reminded her in her frequent letters, Meredith owed much to the two old women.

Meredith knew this was true. For without their aunts, she and her two older sisters would have been cast out on the streets after the death of their parents.

Still, Grace, thinking Meredith was as much of a hoyden as their older sister, Eliza, would not leave her behavior to chance. When Grace had last visited, she shoved her wailing golden-haired son into Meredith’s arms, and forced from her a promise always to do as their aunts asked. Why, the child’s screams made her ears throb and his nappy reeked so powerfully that Meredith would have agreed to anything at that moment just so Grace would take the child away. So promise she did.

An hour later, because of that very promise, Meredith found herself standing in the Augustine parlor, surrounded by a dozen other unfortunates who’d been pressed into oohing and aahing over Beth’s black-eyed, moonfaced babe.

“What is this?” Beth asked loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in attendance. She snatched Meredith’s left hand and held it close to her dark brown eyes. “What is this?” She turned her gaze and met Meredith’s eyes. “No ring? Can it be that Miss Merriweather is not yet married?”

Meredith’s chest tightened. “I daresay, you would have heard had I wed, Beth.” She twisted her hand from their hostess’s firm grasp.

“Oh, that’s right. Do forgive me, dear.” Beth let out a long, sad sigh and pushed her lower lip outward. “I own, it completely slipped my mind that you were left at the altar at St. George’s Church.”

Anger suffused every fiber of Meredith’s being. Her fingers folded inward into a fist, and had her aunts not leaped before Meredith, the new mother would have soon been sporting a swollen purple lip.

“Of course, you could not have heard, Mrs. Augustine, being confined as you have been, unable to attend upper-society events,” Aunt Letitia said.

Aunt Viola slipped her arm around Meredith’s waist. “You see, Meredith is all but affianced to Mr. Chillton, of Russell Square.”

“R-really?” Beth stammered.

Ha! It was lovely watching Mrs. Augustine claw the air for words.

“In fact,” Aunt Letitia added smugly, “I do not doubt that we shall all be together again at a wedding breakfast before the year is out.”

“Is this true, Miss Merriweather?” Suspicion sharpened Beth’s gaze.

“Tis.” Meredith cringed inwardly as the single word burst from her lips.

“Well, I shall be counting the days to the happy event,” Beth said, turning to nod to the ladies encircling them. “We all shall. Shan’t we, ladies?”

As the entire assembly of women bobbed their heads in agreement, Meredith’s cheeks burned as surely as though they’d been pressed with a branding iron.

For if Chillton did not offer for her soon, in Society’s eyes, she, in addition to all else, would be branded a liar.

———

“Damn me, man, I just don’t know how much more of our gentlemanly behavior I can take.” Georgie nudged is gelding up the small slope near the center of Hyde ark and drew his mount alongside Alex’s to better make imself heard. “You’re just… oh, I dunno… no bloody ‘an anymore.”

Alexander snickered at that. But it was true, wasn’t it? The old man’s dictates were crippling, and damnation, they were making him old beyond his years. Why, just last eve Alex had plucked out a wiry gray hair he’d found jutting from his right sideburn. Had to have One check the rest of his head to be sure there wasn’t another lurking beneath his sleek black locks.

“And now he wishes you to marry the Merriweather chit.” Georgie glanced sidelong at Alexander as their horses tamed off the grass and trotted down the soft earth of Rotten Row. “You know”—Georgie paused for a long moment—”word is, she was left at the altar by that rotter Pomeroy.”

“So I heard. Concerned me at first, but then I charged One with checking into the details.”

“Good story?”

“Hardly. Miss Merriweather’s aunts, the Feathertons, are well-positioned within Society. Pomeroy evidently saw the benefit of a connection and relentlessly wooed Miss Merriweather, though she was little more than a gel just out.”

“Oh, I see where this story is headed.”

“And you’d not be wrong. Once the man had her rapt, he apparently obtained a special license and rushed her to St. George’s, hoping to ring her finger before her aunts became the wiser.”

Georgie’s ruddy eyebrows drew close. “Good plan. But why did he leave her wailing at the altar?”

“Because Pomeroy’s a fool. He assumed that Miss Merriweather shared her aunts’ financial affluence.” Alexander tugged at the reins and his mount slowed. “When the dolt realized his error, he was off to Cornwall on the trail of some no-name heiress, leaving Miss Merriweather to face her rain alone.”

“Tarnished.”

Alexander halted his horse. “While she might have been left standing at St. George’s, believe me, there is
nothing
tarnished about that gem.”

“Oh, so she’s at least tolerable?”

“Lord, yes.
Gorgeous
, but in a… nonconventional sort of way. Flaming hair, jewel blue eyes and skin like porcelain.”

Georgie laughed. “So she was the owner of the red strand of hair you found the other day. Already taken her for a romp, have you? Why, Lansing, what would your dear father say about that?”

“He can’t say a bloody thing, for I’ve been naught but the veriest gentleman with the woman—not that I wouldn’t have liked to have enjoyed her charms. But she wasn’t the least interested.”

“Well, blow me down. Losing your touch already?”

Alexander stiffened. “Hardly. Seems the Merriweather miss is already betrothed.”

Georgie snorted back a laugh. “Since when has that stopped you?”

“Hasn’t… and mightn’t yet.” Alexander exhaled slowly. “Still, I’ll have to think on it a bit.”

“What bloody foreman?”

“My father wishes me to marry her. If I tell him the woman is already affianced, he will simply mandate another eligible female. And this time, perhaps one not half as comely as Miss Merriweather.”

“Well, then, there’s only one solution.”

Alexander pulled his reins back, and when his great ebony mount halted, he looked pointedly at Georgie and awaited the blessed solution.

“Why do I have to inform you this? After all, you’re the master when it comes to deception.” Georgie reined in his gelding. “Neglect to tell the earl anything. He’s still burrowed into the countryside, is he not?”

“For the last ten years.”

“You see, he won’t be any the wiser.”

“You didn’t observe him when he last visited. He’s serious this time. He has persuaded himself that I have somehow compromised Miss Merriweather, though I know ‘tis only his excuse to see me snared in the parson’s mousetrap before the season is through. No, if the Merriweather woman is betrothed, as she claims, he will learn of it soon enough.”

“You say that as if you have some doubt, Lansing.”

Alexander squinted up at the hot sun, then lifted his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “Let us just say that I am less than convinced of her betrothal. Had Two check the
on-dit
columns in the
London Times
for me, but there was no mention of her engagement. Still, I intend to know for certain before the week is through.”

“And if, contrary to what she claims, she’s not yet matched?” Georgie asked.

“Then Miss Merriweather will be mine for the plucking.”

A grin sprang to Georgie’s lips. “And your inheritance will be—”

“Mine again. All
mine
.” Alexander allowed himself a momentary self-satisfied grin; then his thoughts progressed. “Got a few guineas to spare, Georgie?”

Georgie patted his coat until he appeared to feel the weight of his purse. “I do indeed. Have a mind to stop by White’s?”

“Close.” Alexander pinched the brim of his hat. “Lock’s. If I am to truly win over Miss Merriweather, I could do with a new beaver topper.”

———

“Quite respectable.” Meredith stood staring at her reflection in the cheval glass. “What do you think, Hannah? Perhaps the white Hnen frock might be more appropriate for the occasion.”

“Honestly, I don’t think which gown you wear will matter to my brother.”

Meredith chewed her lip. She was running out of time. In less than an hour, her Mr. Chillton—oh, and some other dreary guests Meredith didn’t care a fig about— would arrive for her aunts’ monthly musicale and she still hadn’t settled on a gown.

“It does matter, Hannah. I was certain Arth… Mr. Chillton was going to offer for me on Tuesday. But he didn’t, and I am sure it was the fault of my French-cut sapphire gown. I must have looked like a strumpet or the like… though I daresay I thought it quite lovely.”

Distractedly Meredith remembered Lord Lansing’s appreciative gaze when he saw her in the dress. She shook her head, hoping to whisk the man’s image from her mind. It didn’t matter what he thought, after all.
He’s a rake,
she reminded herself.
A selfish, untrustworthy rake.

In the mirror’s reflection, she saw Hannah sitting atop the tester bed, kicking up one foot, then the other, in her utter boredom. “I seriously doubt it was the gown. My brother doesn’t concern himself with such things. Probably just coughed up a hen’s feather.”

Meredith turned and faced her. “You really think that’s all?”

“I do.” Hannah slid forward until her feet met the floor. “La, a gentleman doesn’t offer for a woman from such an esteemed family every day. I do not doubt some small amount of fear and worry plagued him… not knowing whether you would accept his troth—”

Meredith clutched Hannah’s upper arms. “But I would have accepted. Truly, I would have. You will make sure he knows this, won’t you? He has nothing to fear from me.”

Hannah laughed as she brushed a lock of hair from Meredith’s face. “Do not worry yourself over this. I will make sure he knows of your feelings—though I own, I may be wasting my breath. For maybe he plans to offer for you this very eve.”

Presenting a weak smile, for it was all she could muster, Meredith sent a silent plea to the heavens:
please, please let her be right.

She couldn’t face the humiliation of being brushed aside… again.

———

The moment Chillton’s eyes met Meredith’s own, she knew that the virginal white embroidered gown was indeed the right choice. Why, it trimmed at least three years from her age.

Even Hannah, who was in the first bloom of youth, claimed they would be taken for twins this night—though not the identical sort, owing to differences in their hair. Meredith’s coif being so vivid and Hannah’s as black as the depths of a well.

And who was Meredith to argue? The dress not only made her look as though she’d just left school, but she felt actually far younger than her one and twenty—
practically a spinster
—years.

Oh, she didn’t miss the derisive look Mrs. Beth Augustine gave the girlishly prim white gown, but honestly, Meredith wasn’t going to let it concern her this night. Let everyone think what they would. It was Chillton’s impression that mattered, and judging by his supreme at-tentiveness this eve, she knew the new
demure
Meredith garnered his complete approval.

As she took his proffered arm and allowed herself to be guided to her seat, Meredith caught notice of more than one lady’s interested gaze.

Ha! She’d show them all. Despite her rain, she would marry respectably. And soon too.

Meredith adjusted her fichu to cover her bosom more fully, and did not miss Chillton’s endorsement of her behavior. This was the Meredith he wanted—and the one he would have.

All he needed to do was ask, and she would be forever his. She could get used to wearing less stylish clothing.

She always preferred comfort, anyway. And, well, Chillton was absolutely right. She would succumb to far fewer colds upon her chest with a fichu providing extra protection, now wouldn’t she?

Hannah seated herself before the pianoforte and had just lifted her rich voice in song, when Meredith heard the door to the music room open, then close once more. Hoping to see who had had the audacity to arrive so late, she turned her head ever so slightly—for she did not wish to appear less than rapt by Chillton’s sister’s song—when her gaze met that of the rude latecomer.

Heat shot into her cheeks, and she yanked her head forward. It was none other than Lord Lansing.

Oh…my… word.

Meredith worked to swallow the massive lump that had risen into her throat. She could feel the rake’s gaze boring into the back of her head, making her own eyes widen until she feared they might pop out and roll right down under the pianoforte.

What in heaven’s name could her aunts have been thinking, inviting the rogue here? This was a gathering of genteel society, after all, and Lansing had the veriest worst possible reputation. Oil and water did not mix. How mad were her aunts to have even attempted such a feat!