My Brown-Eyed Earl (24 page)

And only succeeding in smearing it all over her bodice.

She swallowed, willing herself not to cry. All was not lost. She'd take off the dress and soak it properly to remove the chocolate. The fabric was thin and shouldn't take long to dry. Some women dampened their gowns on purpose, didn't they? She would miss drinks before dinner, but it couldn't be helped.

A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Lacey? It's Mrs. Hopwood. I'd like to help. Is there anything I can do?”

Meg bit back the harsh words in her throat.
You might start by not permitting the girls to prance around the house while carrying cups of sticky chocolate.
“No, thank you. I just require some time to repair the damage.” She wrestled the dress off her body, but a sleeve caught on her hair, turning her neat top knot into a messy bird's nest.

“The girls are very sorry,” the nanny called from the hallway. “So am I.”

“Yes, Miss Lacey,” piped Diana, on the other side of the door. “I'm sorry I spilled my chocolate on your pretty dress.”

Meg plunged the bodice of her gown into her washbasin and counted to three in her mind before she spoke. “I know it was an accident.”

“Then you forgive me?”

She dabbed at the spot, and when that proved useless, she scrubbed. Harder than she should have handled the delicate muslin. The water in the basin turned brown, but the stain barely faded. And that was when she
knew
.

Charlotte's dress was ruined, quite beyond repair.

Heart pounding madly, Meg rushed to her armoire, yanked open the doors, and perused the half dozen unfashionable gowns she owned. Russet brown, greyish lilac, faded navy, and other, even less identifiable, shades. Blast, blast,
blast
. What had she hoped to find? It wasn't as though she had a fairy godmother to conjure the gown of her dreams. She slammed the doors, crumpled to the floor, and erupted into tears.

“Miss Lacey?” Diana called again, banging her fist on the door. “Please, please,
please
say you forgive me.”

Meg's self-control snapped like a twig. “
Leave. Me. Alone.
”

Diana wailed in response, and Mrs. Hopwood tried to calm the girl as she ushered her away. Meg felt a twinge of guilt, but honestly, was a half hour to herself too much to ask?

She could plead a headache. It would be the easiest way to avoid humiliation. Possibly the only way.

But she couldn't do that to Will. For reasons she didn't fully understand, this night was important to him.

At that very moment, he was probably glancing at the clock, expecting her in the drawing room. And, like it or not, she was going to have to make her grand entrance wearing a dress that would make most kitchen maids turn up their noses.

 

Chapter
TWENTY-FIVE

 

A quarter of an hour later, Meg was as ready as she could possibly be—which was to say not very ready at all.

She'd decided that her navy dress was the least of all evils, and had coaxed her hair into her usual, simple style. She still felt as though she were on the brink of tears, but most of the red splotches on her face had faded to light pink.

Her belly twisted in knots, she headed for the drawing room. She didn't know what she'd say to Charlotte or how she'd ever repay her for the gown she'd ruined.

But she knew precisely how to deal with Lady Castleton, Lady Rebecca, and the rest of the guests, whoever they might be. She had exactly one weapon in her arsenal, and it was pride. She'd hold her head high—and refuse to let them see her fear or pain.

In her considerable years as a wallflower, this tactic had served her well. She'd perfected the art of acting as though she didn't give a fig what people thought of her. So much so that she'd almost convinced herself she didn't care.
Almost
.

She paused outside the drawing room doors and took a deep breath. The muted, civil tones of adult conversation made her long for the lively, uninhibited ruckus of the nursery. But for the next three hours, she could manage to play the part of a proper young lady—for Will's sake.

She went in and immediately spotted his dark head and broad shoulders among the smattering of guests who'd formed a loose circle around the room's main seating area.

The warm smile he gave her as she approached melted some of her anxiety. “Miss Lacey, I'm delighted you're here.” He took her hand and led her into the circle. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Torrington.” More loudly, he said, “Lord Torrington, this is Miss Margaret Lacey—a friend of Charlotte's and my new governess.”

“A pleasure, Miss Lacey.” Shorter and stockier than Will, Lord Torrington had an athlete's physique and a poet's eyes. She could easily see why her friend was smitten.

“Charlotte has told me much about you, my lord. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance.” She offered him her hand, which he bowed over gallantly, as though he didn't notice her lack of gloves. Her one and only pair had fallen victim to the chocolate.

“I've heard much about you and the twins as well,” he said, kindly. “My daughter, Abigail, is fond of them.”

“Meg!” Charlotte hurried toward her, leaned in for a hug, and whispered in her ear. “Did you receive the gown?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. I'll explain later.”

“You look lovely, as always,” her friend assured her.

God bless Charlotte. “Well, you look even lovelier than usual.” Her friend's violet satin gown shimmered in the candlelight—a perfect complement to her dark tresses.

As Will talked with Lord Torrington, Meg began the inevitable greetings around the circle, bracing herself for a chillier reception from the other guests. Will's mother, the countess, acknowledged her with a tight smile. Dressed in gold silk and dripping with jewels, she looked as though she might have been attending a ball. Or a meeting with the queen. “Miss Lacey,” she sang. “I see you've managed to escape the nursery this evening.”

Meg curtsied. “They do let me out from time to time. While I adore the girls, I must confess it's nice to have the chance to converse with adults.”

“Without having to shout above the screams of a child in the midst of a tantrum,” Lady Rebecca chimed in as she glided over. A vision in white with a light blue shawl and satin sash, she would have been the very picture of innocence, if her gown's neckline had left something—anything at all, really—to the imagination. Meg had to resist the urge to tug it up for her.

“Diana is usually very sweet and charming. I wish you could have met her under different circumstances. You would have seen that she and her sister are delightful girls.”

“I'm gratified to hear that, as I've no doubt I shall see them again,” Lady Rebecca purred.

Meg knitted her brows. “Oh?”

Lady Castleton's eyes twinkled mischievously. “I suspect Lady Rebecca will be spending a good deal of time here in the upcoming weeks and months.”

The younger woman fanned herself with impressive vigor and cast a conspiratorial glance at Will's mother. “I do hope so. Papa would be so pleased, as would I.”

Meg's blood boiled, and she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. She couldn't fault Rebecca for setting her cap at Will, but to hear her declare it—in front of his mother no less—while her breasts spilled out of her dress … It was too much.

The debutante couldn't know the nature of Meg and Will's relationship—Meg barely knew it herself. But she
did
know that the mere suggestion of a match between Rebecca and Will made Meg want to do one of two things, both of which were entirely unacceptable.

First, she dearly would have liked to take Rebecca's glass of claret and pour it directly into her cleavage. Barring that, she wanted to drag Will to the center of the room by his cravat and kiss him soundly in front of the entire party—so that there could be no doubt he was
hers
.

But was he?

When they were alone, it certainly seemed so. It was difficult to doubt his feelings for her when his mouth was pressed against her lips and his hands were caressing her body. But here, among his family and friends, it was harder to know where she stood.

Anyone who walked into the room would easily spot her as the outsider. And it was due to more than just her horrid dress.

“Papa,” Lady Rebecca said to a tall man with dark brows and an angular face, “allow me to present Lord Castleton's governess, Miss Margaret Lacey. Miss Lacey, my father, the Marquess of Redmere.”

“Miss Lacey,” the marquess said in a gravelly voice, “it's a pleasure.” His discerning gaze roved over her, but once he'd determined that she was no threat to his daughter's marriage ambitions, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned easy. “How long have you been in Castleton's employ?”

“Just a fortnight or so. But we have known each other since we were children.” Meg couldn't imagine what had possessed her to reveal that bit of history; she supposed she didn't want to be so summarily dismissed as a potential competitor for Will's affections.

“You don't say,” the marquess drawled, his interest clearly piqued. He was on the verge of continuing the conversation when the butler cleared his throat and announced that dinner was served.

“Wait,” Will said, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “We're expecting one more guest, Gibson. Let's give him another quarter of an hour. If he hasn't arrived by then, we'll proceed to the dining room.”

The butler scowled, making no secret what he thought of rescheduling dinner to accommodate a tardy guest. “Very good, my lord,” he said with a curt bow.

At least Meg hadn't been the very last person to arrive. She turned her attention back to the marquess, who gestured to the sideboard. “May I pour you a drink, Miss Lacey?”

“That would be lovely.” While he applied himself to the task, she took a moment to congratulate herself on managing the introductions quite well. Perhaps the night would not be as wretched as she'd feared.

Lord Redmere handed her a glass of wine and frowned at the drawing-room doorway. She followed his gaze and saw the last, mysterious guest.

Oh no.

“Greetings, all. Please forgive my tardiness. I was unexpectedly dismayed.”

“Uncle Alistair?”

“Meg, my dear!” Wisps of white hair wafted above his ears as he toddled over happily and pulled her into a warm hug. “So good of Castleton to invite me to dinner, wasn't it? Capital fellow.”

“Yes.” She forced a smile for Uncle Alistair's sake. But truly, what could Will have been thinking? Was he trying to make her more of a laughingstock than she already was?

“Julie and Beth send their love. They made me change my jacket three times. How do I look?”

“Very dashing.” She kissed his cheek, and he blushed.

“Welcome, Lord Wiltmore.” Will shook his hand. “Thank you for joining us. I'd hoped to surprise Miss Lacey … and I think we succeeded.”

“You certainly did,” she said through her teeth.

Will clasped a hand on Uncle Alistair's rounded shoulder. “I regret having to rush you into the dining room when you've only just arrived, but if we aren't seated soon, I'm afraid Gibson's head may explode.”

“Gibson?” Uncle Alistair asked, more than a little alarmed.

“Lord Castleton's butler,” Meg explained. “He's only jesting.”

“Oh, of course.”

The incredulous murmurs of the other guests and their pitying stares filled Meg with rage she only barely managed to suppress. Perhaps Uncle Alistair interpreted things a bit literally and occasionally confused his words. He was still one of the most intelligent, generous men she knew, and these shallow people had
no
right to judge him.

Will offered his mother his arm, and the rest of the group began to pair off as well. Lord Redmere escorted his daughter. As it happened, they were the next highest rank, which meant Lady Rebecca—and her impressive décolletage—would be sitting beside Will. The very thought set Meg's teeth on edge.

Lord Torrington offered his arm to Meg. “Would you do me the honor?” She glanced worriedly at Uncle Alistair, but Charlotte was already asking him about his latest project, putting him at ease.

“Thank you.” They filed into the dining room and took their seats. Will's mother was on his right. Seated next to her were Lord Torrington and Charlotte. On Will's left were Lady Rebecca, Lord Redmere, and Uncle Alistair. Meg sat at the end of the table, opposite Will, where she would have an excellent view of him as he conversed with the well-endowed debutante.

She took a long draw of her claret and prepared for a trying evening.

“I'd like to make a toast,” Will announced, raising his glass. “Forgive me for beginning on a somber note, but as most of you know, when I lost my cousin, Thomas, my life was turned upside down. Lately I've realized, however, all that I have to be grateful for and all that I have to look forward to…”

As his voice trailed off, Meg looked down at her plate, afraid to meet his eyes. He was alluding to a future with
her
, she was sure of it. Or maybe she just hoped it.

The wistful, self-satisfied expression on Rebecca's face said she hoped for the same.

Lord Torrington coughed into his hand and arched a sardonic brow. “Do you have some news to share, Castleton? Some big announcement perhaps?”

Rebecca and her father edged forward on their seats. Will's mother stared at him, slack-jawed. Meg held her breath.

Will hesitated. “Not yet.”

“Good.” Lord Torrington wiped a hand across his brow, feigning relief. “You hosting a dinner party is odd enough. If you were to blindside me with something else, I might well fall off my chair.”