Both her uncles had had excellent style when it came to ladies’ clothes, Meggie had been told all her life. Her own father did too, one assumed, since all Sherbrooke males had unconscionable portions of luck and style, but as a vicar, he normally didn’t let his style out in full company.
Mary Rose, Meggie’s stepmother, and Meggie, in a house full of males, had long ago pulled together and seen to their own shopping, enjoying it immensely. Because they weren’t dolts, the four males in the Vicarage household, including Alec and Rory, knew that they were to instantly compliment any new garment, the greater the length of the compliment, the better treatment accorded them. Their father, hardly ever a dolt, roundly endorsed this.
“Now, Douglas wishes to leave as soon as he changes from his riding clothes. He has a meeting with the foreign office this afternoon. I do hope it’s not yet another offer of a diplomatic post. The last one was to Rome. It was very hot when we were there. We spent a lot of time with cardinals and bishops, and that meant I was very well covered up.”
“I would perhaps consider Paris,” Meggie said.
“He turned that down two years ago,” Alex said. Indeed, Lord Northcliffe had turned down several diplomatic offerings, and was frequently called in by the King, George IV, particularly on matters pertaining to the French, a people Douglas understood very well, and then he would snort.
An hour later Meggie and her uncle were discussing fashion with Madame Jordan in her elegant shop in the heart of Regent Street, at #14, on the east side.
It wasn’t raining, a miracle, Meggie said to her uncle, since it had poured all the way to London, poured the entire previous evening, but beginning at dawn, April was strutting beautiful spring plumage. Flowers were bursting out and trees were turning green. Meggie couldn’t breathe deeply enough.
There were only three ladies and their maids in the shop that morning because it was quite early. Madame Jordan took one look at Meggie’s uncle, and flew to him, presenting her cheek to be kissed, which he did. After tea and gossip, Madame Jordan said to Uncle Douglas, considering Meggie irrelevant to the process, which she was, “Just fancy, a young lady for you to apply your excellent taste to, my lord. She will be a beauty, with my assistance. Hmmm, a nice waist, which is good since ladies are now allowed to have waistlines again, and her bosom is ample. Yes, nice skin, and that hair, the same rich color as Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke’s and Lady Sinjun’s, all blonds and browns and sunlight. And those blue eyes, I will make them sparkle with magnificence. Now, let me take her measurements, and we will see what is what.” Meggie was stripped to her petticoat and chemise and stockings, stood upon a small dais, measured, large swatches of material draped over her, from the filmiest silks to the most brilliant and shimmery satins, all with Uncle Douglas looking on, making comments, stroking his jaw, looking like a man in charge of an army, and every soldier in that army was ready to do his bidding.
When she saw the ball gown Douglas picked out for her to wear the next evening, Madame Jordan nodding enthusiastically, her heart thrummed with excitement and pleasure. It was glorious, tulle over white satin with two lines of exquisite embroidery from the waist down the skirt to the hem, suggesting an open robe.
“Thank God you look very fine in white, Meggie,” he said, looking her up and down and nodding. The sleeves were short and tight, the neckline square. There were very narrow flounces, one at the hem, the second nearly to the knees.
“It’s not overdone,” said Douglas, “and at last the waist is where it should be. You have a nice small waist, Meggie, and your bosom is particularly pleasant—ah, perhaps I shouldn’t point that out in your hearing, but it’s true, just as Madame said. Yes, this style will become you. No more schoolgirl gowns, my dear. You are now a young lady in her first Season.”
Madame Jordan sighed. “Remember, my lord, when you first brought your young bride to me? What atrocious taste she had, and still has, for that matter, but she did understand the power of her magnificent bosom, and dug in her heels.”
“Women always understand the power of the bosom,” Douglas said, snorting. “As for my wife, she still wears her gowns cut nearly to her knees, and I don’t like it any more now than I did then. Men ogle her, Nicolette. Three men could ogle her at the same time, she is so well endowed.”
Madame Jordan laughed and poked his arm. “Ah, a jealous husband, isn’t it delightful, my dear?”
Meggie looked from Nicolette to her uncle, getting her first glimpse of uncharted territory. “Yes, ma’am, now that I am thinking about it, why yes, it is quite delightful.”
Then came a riding habit in royal blue that made Meggie want to weep it was so beautiful. “Oh goodness, Uncle Douglas, it is too fine,” she whispered as she ran her fingers over the fabric that one of Madame’s minions had delivered directly to Meggie’s fingertips.
“We will come back tomorrow, Meggie, to order up more gowns for you and to have your ball gown fitted. This is just the beginning. Tomorrow evening you will look like a princess for the Ranleigh ball.” He said to Madame, “Her coming-out ball will be in two weeks. I want something very special for her that night.”
“I will find it,” Madame said comfortably, and if Meggie wasn’t mistaken—and she wasn’t since she’d seen the same look many times in Mary Rose’s eyes—there was a gleam of pure lust in Madame’s fine dark eyes as she watched Uncle Douglas leave her shop.
“She, er, really appreciates you, Uncle Douglas.”
A dark eyebrow went up. “You are eighteen, Meggie, a vicar’s daughter. What do you know of men and women sorts of things?”
She laughed. “I live with my father and Mary Rose. Those two—they laugh and hug and sneak kisses when they think they’re alone, which they never are in the vicarage. What’s more, Rory came into my bedroom two weeks ago, afraid because he’d heard his mother yelling. I am not an idiot, Uncle Douglas.”
“Your father is a very happy man,” was all that Douglas would say to that revelation. Then, later, he laughed and said, “Ah, I would like to hear some day how you dealt with little Rory’s concern. Now, Meggie, I have something to say to you. You will enjoy yourself here in London. You aren’t hunting for a husband, just having fun. There is no pressure on you to attach some idiot gentleman. That’s all your grandmother’s idea, not ours. Your father is in complete agreement. Also, you are something of an heiress, so there will be some men drooling on your slippers in hopes of attaching you. You will be careful of any man who goes over the line. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes. Aunt Alex told me that she was thrown at you because her papa needed money desperately, but, she told me, since I’m not in that situation, I can just skip about and smile and flirt with whomever pleases me. Papa kept telling me that I was to waltz and learn how everything worked and remain reasonably modest. Mary Rose wants me to see all the plays. Now that I think about it, Uncle Douglas, I don’t think Papa wants me to marry and leave the vicarage until I’m thirty.”
“That’s possible,” Douglas said, and smiled, imagining that he wouldn’t want a man near his daughter, if he and Alex had produced one, which they hadn’t.
“Grandmother Lydia tells me I must be vigilant or I will end up on the shelf like Aunt Sinjun nearly did. She kept insisting that eighteen was the perfect age to marry.”
Douglas laughed. “Bless my mother, at least she will never change. You will have fun, Meggie, that’s what it’s all about.”
The evening of the Ranleigh ball, Alex said as she smoothed her hands over the soft silk of her deep rose ball gown, “I am so pleased that my waistline is finally down to where my waist actually is.”
“On the other hand,” Douglas said, looking over at his wife, “you always looked splendid in the empire style, with the focus on your endowments.”
Meggie wasn’t particularly surprised; it had always been so with her aunts and uncles. She saw her uncle’s fingers creep toward her aunt’s shoulder, pause, then fall back to his side.
After Douglas
had seated his two ladies in the Northcliffe carriage, tapped his gloved fist against the roof, he said to Meggie as the carriage rolled forward, “You will be treated very nicely because, to be very honest about it, no one would ever dare to insult one of my family. On the other hand, both Alex and I are rather well liked in society, as is your uncle Ryder and aunt Sophie. You will be your charming self, and if you have a question about how to behave in any given situation, just ask either Alex or me.”
“It’s still rather scary,” Meggie said. “I suspect the balls here are very different from ours in Glenclose-on-Rowan.”
“People are the same,” Alex said. “It’s just the gowns and jewels that are more splendid.”
“Some people are idiots,” said Douglas.
“And some are not,” Alex said. “Just like at home.”
“However,” Douglas said, “as I told you, if any man does anything that makes you uncomfortable, you will immediately tell him to take himself off. Then you will show me the clod and I will feed him a few choice words.”
“Yes, Douglas is quite good at that, although he hasn’t had much practice for a long time.”
Douglas sighed, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just think, Alex. In a couple of years all the boys will be let loose on London. Can you begin to imagine the sorts of messes they will embroil us in?”
Alex groaned.
Meggie laughed. She thought of their twin boys, James and Jason—the most beautiful males she’d ever seen in her life. She rolled her eyes, thinking of the two of them strolling into a ballroom and hoards of wide-eyed ladies swooning in ecstasy.
Lord and Lady Ranleigh greeted their guests at the bottom of the grand staircase that led up to their pride and joy—a ballroom occupying the entire second floor.
“The first Sherbrooke offspring to appear in Society,” Lady Ranleigh said, smiling at Meggie. “You are blessed with your family, my dear. There are many people eager to meet you. I trust you will enjoy yourself.”
Meggie said, “Oh yes, ma’am, Aunt Alex says I am to dance holes in my slippers.”
Meggie continued to smile, to laugh, to make jests with all sorts of people who were perfectly pleasant to her. Young gentlemen came by to meet her and stayed or asked her to dance. It was just before the midnight dinner that she saw a tall man she knew looked familiar. She cocked her head to one side as she stared at him.
Surely she’d met him before, but where? The tilt of his head, she knew she’d seen him somewhere before. But it wasn’t just his air of familiarity that held her in place. It was the oddest thing. Meggie felt the impact of him to her toes, which, she was forced to admit, were on the sore side what with dancing every dance.
She recognized that impact in the deepest part of her. She hadn’t forgotten it. It had simply lain dormant for a goodly number of years.
She was still looking toward him when she reached her aunt Alex. Her heart was beating, slow deep thuds. Why wouldn’t he turn around? It had to be him, it just had to.
“You are enjoying yourself, love?”
Meggie managed to look away from him a moment. “Oh yes, I just danced with Viscount Glover. He speaks Spanish fluently and wants to enlarge his father’s succession houses.”
“Hmmm. He is an interesting young man. I believe he lost his wife in childbirth just last year.”
Meggie nodded, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was staring at that man. “Who is that man, Aunt Alex? The one who is speaking to the three gentlemen beneath that chandelier?”
Uncle Douglas came up behind his wife just then. “What man, Meggie?”
“That one,” Meggie said, and watched her uncle turn to look at him. At that moment the man finally turned.
“Well,” Douglas said slowly, “this is a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t known he was in town.”
Meggie was staring. No wonder she’d felt the familiarity, the impact that jarred her to her soul. It was Jeremy Stanton-Greville, Aunt Sophie’s younger brother. She had fallen in love with him when she was thirteen years old and he was a wild young man of nearly twenty-four. She’d looked at him with a young girl’s full heart and fallen at his feet, at least metaphorically speaking.
Douglas said to her, “I’m surprised you don’t recognize him, Meggie, it’s Jeremy Stanton-Greville. One of your numerous cousins.”
“Oh no, he isn’t really my cousin, Uncle Douglas,” she said, and was so glad of that fact that she nearly shouted with the relief of it, with the wonder of it. He was finally back in her life, and now she was finally old enough for him. “He’s my almost-cousin.”
3
MEGGIE LOOKED AT him again, really looked, and she was so excited, she had to really pay attention or she knew she’d stutter herself right out of the ballroom and look like an idiot. “He looks a bit different. Of course it’s been a very long time since I last saw him. Goodness, I don’t remember him as being so very tall, and so stylish. Was that his laugh? Oh yes, I’m sure it’s him laughing. It was a wonderful laugh, all deep and full, don’t you think; and—” Meggie pulled back from the precipice and gulped because her aunt was looking at her with a good deal of appalled comprehension.
“Hmmm,” said Uncle Douglas, all his attention focused on Meggie now. She’d been the cutest little girl, a benevolent tyrant to her brothers, the ruler of all the male cousins. But she wasn’t a little girl any longer. Jeremy Stanton-Greville? There were a lot of years separating them—a good dozen—too many in Douglas’s opinion. At least Jeremy wasn’t yet married; Douglas would have been notified. “All right, then,” he said slowly. “Why don’t I fetch Jeremy and we can enjoy dinner together? Get reacquainted?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Alex comfortably. “It’s always interesting to reminisce, don’t you think, Meggie? We haven’t seen Jeremy in at least five years. He appears to have become a fine-looking man.”
“Yes,” Meggie said, never taking her eyes off him. “Do I look all right, Aunt Alex? My gown? My hair? Is my nose too shiny?”
“You look perfect.” So much for flirting and just enjoying herself and not husband hunting, Alex thought, seeing her niece’s heart in her beautiful Sherbrooke eyes as she stared at Jeremy Stanton-Greville, who had now turned and was speaking to Douglas. He was nearly Douglas’s height, well formed, a big man, and his hair was a dark rich brown, his eyes dark as well. Then he smiled and nodded and walked beside Douglas toward them. Alex saw that he limped slightly and remembered that he’d been born with a club foot, but it hadn’t slowed him down a bit, according to his brother-in-law, Ryder, who’d seen that he’d learned to fight dirty and ride like a centaur. He’d been a terror, Ryder had proudly said, during his years at Eton.
As Meggie watched him come closer and closer, her stomach pitched wildly. She felt like a fool, a dolt. She couldn’t think of a word to say. All she wanted to do was hurl herself at him and beg him to marry her.
Well, perhaps not yet. That would be rushing things just a bit. Maybe tomorrow or even the next day. She cleared her throat. She had to say something, had to charm him, show off her wit, if she could manage to find it.
Oh dear. What would happen now?
At three o’clock in the morning Meggie crawled beneath the thick covers on her bed and turned onto her back. She smiled, an idiot’s smile, but it didn’t matter. She was thrumming with happiness, with anticipation. Giddiness washed through her veins, and she wanted to shout to the cherubs that adorned the ceiling of her bedchamber, she was so very happy.
Imagine, her very first week in London and she’d met her future husband.
Jeremy Stanton-Greville. Meggie Stanton-Greville. Lady Stanton-Greville. It sounded wonderful. It sounded perfect.
What a beautiful man he was. Just imagine, her almost-cousin, and she’d known him nearly all her life, and here he was in London at exactly the same time she was and surely a sign that he’d been sent here for a specific reason, namely to see a grown-up Meggie Sherbrooke through a man’s eyes and throw himself at her feet
. Oh yes, the last time he’d seen her, she’d been thirteen—bossy and loud, smacking her brothers and cousins whenever they deserved it, which was often. Not very appetizing memories for him. Her memories of Jeremy were, now that she thought of it, of a young man constantly in motion, constantly on horseback, always racing, windblown, laughing, white teeth. And he’d been full of himself. But it hadn’t mattered. She’d loved him the moment he opened his mouth that last time she’d seen him when she was thirteen years old. He’d come with Aunt Sophie for a visit. She’d taken just one quick look and it had been all over for her. She’d not let him out of her sight. Then he’d left and time had passed. Five whole years. And, after all, she was young and there was so much to do, and she’d forgotten about him, about the impact of him. He’d had but to reappear and that impact was back, slamming her hard, right in the heart. Talk about heated blood, hers was boiling her from the inside out. It was entirely too wonderful.
No, evidently, tucked away deep inside her, she hadn’t forgotten him entirely. She smiled up into the darkness.
And tonight, there he’d been and everything was different, everything had changed. When he’d taken her hand, when he’d smiled at her showing those lovely white teeth again, she’d wanted to throw herself in his arms. What would happen then—ah, kisses and more kisses. Nothing of that sort had happened, naturally, but to dance with him, she’d feel ready to burst with happiness.
After a few polite phrases had been exchanged, Jeremy had asked Uncle Douglas if he could pay a visit—today, in not more than eight hours from now.
He had another party to attend this night, a pity, but there it was. Just before he left them, he took Meggie’s hand, smiled at her yet again from his superior height, and told her she’d become a beauty, and kissed her cheek.
“Young men will take one look at you and fall to their knees,” he said.
“I used to line up Max, Leo, and Alec on their knees so Rory could walk over them,” she said, and thought, I only want you on your knees.