She couldn’t conceive what possible reason there could be for such urgency, but she raised her eyes impatiently and looked in the direction Mrs Treadwell had indicated. The object of her attention was an establishment selling children’s toys, she saw. It made a brave show with its bright colours and varied stock, enough to delight any child’s heart, but it could be of no possible interest to her. She was about to say that she didn’t even know any children, certainly not well enough to wish to buy them trinkets, when she saw why Hannah had called on her with such insistence, and why she had been so quick to make sure that they were not seen into the bargain. As she watched in horror, she felt the blood drain from her face, and thought for the first time in her life that she might swoon.
Meg and her companion beheld a pretty family scene. A tall, young lady, who was dressed with great neatness and propriety but not, perhaps, in the first stare of fashion, was laughing as two bright-eyed, curly-haired little boys in identical frilled shirts and nankeen trousers tugged at her hands and begged her to help them choose. It was sufficiently obvious that they had been told they might have one gift each, and to pick carefully. The poke of the lady’s modest chip-straw bonnet was moderate in size and did not conceal her glossy dark ringlets, expressive brown eyes and smooth brown skin. Meg judged her to be rather older than herself, maybe in her mid-twenties. The boys, a handsome pair of perhaps six and five years old, were made in her image and plainly her sons. The gentleman who accompanied them, who was laughing with them and teasing them with the ease of long familiarity, was known to her. Very well known to her. It was Sir Dominic De Lacy.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so carefree. The worries that still oppressed her seemed to have left no mark on him, she thought bitterly, as she watched him engage in earnest debate with the smaller child about the merits of a miniature cricket set over a box of toy soldiers. The little boys plainly stood in no awe of him, and when at last their choices were made and Sir Dominic paid for their prizes, they at first thanked him politely, as prompted by their smiling mother, and then flung their arms about him, as high as they could reach, and hugged him fiercely. She could see that he protested at their boisterous show of affection, but in a joking way. He was very good with them, loving and patient, and why should he not be? Clearly, he was their father.
Meg was frozen in astonishment, still as a statue, and there was not the least need of her companion’s whispered admonition to keep silent; she had no idea what she might say if she spoke, and she certainly had no desire at all to attract Sir Dominic’s attention to her presence. Could anything be more mortifyingly embarrassing than such an encounter? Yesterday, he had asked her to marry him, had come close to some sort of declaration of deep feeling, if not of love; today, she beheld him, happy, smiling, intimate, with his mistress and their two young sons. He might be famous for his polished ease of manner and habitual cool self-possession, but even he, surely, would struggle to navigate such a situation. What could he possibly say, to either wronged woman? The books of etiquette could be small use in such a situation. There would scarcely be a chapter on How to Introduce One’s Mistress and Natural Children to the Lady to Whom One Has Just Proposed Marriage.
As the shock subsided a little, and as she watched the family make their way towards the exit of the building, the older child clutching Sir Dominic’s hand securely, chattering away to him nineteen to the dozen, and the younger jumping excitedly at his mother’s side, showing off his new toy, Meg realised one more nightmare detail: the woman was familiar in appearance. It wasn’t so much her pretty, animated face as her tall frame, good shoulders and queenly bearing. She’d last seen her mirror image in Covent Garden, a few nights ago, by the handcart that dealt out food and succour to the children of the street. Angela Jones. Mother Jones. And now she recalled the woman’s words, and a name: Annie. ‘She’d be so pleased to see you. They all would.’ And Sir Dominic: ‘That’s good news. I’d like that.’ It seemed so strange to her, that Mrs Jones had been easy and friendly with Sir Dominic, who must be the aristocratic seducer of her daughter, the father of her illegitimate grandchildren. But perhaps he provided handsomely, perhaps there was some story behind it all of which she was ignorant… It seemed she was ignorant of a great deal. What a naïve fool she was. It hurt more, she accepted, because of her tentative decision this morning. She’d been so happy. She’d thought they could have a future. He would never know it, she would make sure of that, but he had betrayed her most cruelly.
Hannah said significantly, ‘Well, I never did! And I thought so highly of him when I met him, and you too, I’ll be bound. That was a sight I didn’t expect to see this fine day, Miss Meg, I do declare!’
‘Nor me,’ Meg replied levelly, though it cost her an effort to retain her fragile composure. She could say no more just now, and hoped Hannah had no further desire to discuss the subject and exclaim over Sir Dominic’s shocking secret. There was a pain, somewhere inside her – not a sharp, stabbing pain, but a dull one. An ache she did not care to put a name to, lest naming and acknowledging it made it worse. Foolish girl that she was, she had thought, hoped… She felt sick, all of a sudden, she realised, heavy, and very tired. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said. ‘Let’s hail a hackney and go home directly. I’ve had more than enough of shopping.’
27
Yesterday, Meg would have sworn, as she lay on her sister’s bed contemplating the canopy above her and wondering what in heaven’s name she was going to do, that she could hardly feel worse; today, the problem that had loomed so large had in a sense been solved for her, and yet she was much, much more distressed. She realised that she was weeping, had been weeping for a while, and wiped away her tears with an unsteady hand.
She couldn’t possibly marry Sir Dominic, that much was crystal clear. Whether under her own name or her sister’s, she could not invest her happiness and all her hopes for the future in a man who kept such grave secrets from her and was so irrevocably committed elsewhere. Not even for Maria’s sake could she do such a thing. She was quite prepared to accept that he had a past – he was a man of almost thirty, of course he did – but what she had seen today had not been past but present, and indeed future. Those innocent, trusting boys needed a father, and would till they were grown, and she needed a husband who would share his whole life with her, not some small part of it, some meagre corner. It wasn’t a matter of infidelity – he hadn’t been unfaithful to her, as he’d only known her a few days, and plainly this woman had been a presence in his life for many years. It was a matter of commitment and of honesty. What other secrets might he be concealing? Above all, it was a matter of trust.
And there was more. If she was an acceptable bride because she was of noble birth and had blonde hair and blue eyes, and Annie was not because her mother was an African, and yet she was good enough to share his bed and bear his children, that didn’t reflect terribly well on Sir Dominic either. She had thought better of him. She was, she acknowledged, profoundly disappointed. Hurt. She’d though the electric physical attraction they shared was something special, perhaps – now she admitted to herself, now that it was too late – a sign that something deeper could develop between them. But she must face the fact that he had shown himself to be promiscuous, and not to be trusted. He hadn’t lied to her, he hadn’t explicitly said, I am free to marry you, free of all ties and able to commit myself to you utterly. Free to love you. But she’d thought that was what he was promising. It was what she would offer, if ever she married anyone. Herself, all of herself, without reservations or nasty little secrets. Or big secrets, for that matter. This was a big secret.
Damn him, with his insinuating charm and his captivating smile and his air of being someone she could depend upon for honesty, when plainly she couldn’t. She supposed, sniffing, that she’d had a lucky escape. Her heart was bruised but not broken. She wouldn’t allow it to be. It had only been a few days. Damn him.
She would tell him, in dignified words with no unbecoming show of emotion, that she had reflected upon the matter and had come to the conclusion that the idea they should marry was not feasible. Not even to help her sister could she do it. She’d tell him that she could not entertain those sentiments for him that a woman should feel towards her husband. That his was not a character that could ever inspire such sentiments in her, and he could take that however he liked. If he didn’t have a guilty conscience, he should – think of those little boys looking up at him so trustingly, and their mother, so relaxed and happy in his company, and Meg herself, who’d been beginning to think that… But no point going down that road. Not now.
Meg was looking forward to telling her sister of her decision even less than the necessary encounter with Sir Dominic. She was under no obligation to reveal her true feelings to him; she could tell him as much or as little as she cared to, and by all the rules of honourable behaviour he could press her no further. With Maria, the case would be different. She’d tell her how wounded she was, and perhaps find comfort in doing so, but the upshot of it all would be that she could not help her. Maria’s ingenious plan for both their futures would be in ruins. Their restored sisterly relationship was still so new and so fragile that it might easily be damaged by the revelation; she hoped her sister would not think her selfish. But now that she knew the truth, she felt she had no choice. Perhaps she was selfish, then, to put herself first.
The thought that Maria might think that she was concerned only with her own future happiness to the exclusion of everyone else, even her twin, hurt her, and if she couldn’t do anything about Sir Dominic, could she perhaps do something about that? It occurred to her now that there might be some other way that they could puzzle out between them that would allow Maria to live the life that she wanted. Could they perhaps swap identities somehow in any case, so that Maria could be with Lady Primrose as Meg, and Meg remain in her father’s house as Maria? She could easily do so much for her sister, if it wasn’t a matter of marriage – and just now, she felt sure that it would be a long, long time before she’d contemplate trusting another man enough to marry him. The engagement could be called off – there would be gossip, but the world did not need to know a reason, andshewould be the one facing down the stares and the whispers, not Maria, which she was quite prepared to do. This fresh idea, of course, had the drawback that it would not enable Maria to lay hands on her fortune – but might that detail be overcome? Her mother had taught her to break down a knotty problem into its component parts so that they appeared less overwhelming: she would do that. She felt as though some faint glimmering of an idea was lurking deep in her brain, and could only hope that it would emerge into the light in time to be of some use.
She’d speak to Sir Dominic first, though. It was all very well for him to say that he wouldn’t pressure her or renew his suit while matters remained so confused and uncertain, but all the while the day of his wedding grew closer and closer. It was time, she thought, to put a stop to that nonsense. She was not going to stand in a church and commit herself irrevocably to someone on whom she could not place her reliance. Thank God she had realised in time exactly what he was.
28
Meg scribbled a hasty semi-discreet note to Maria, telling her that she had made discoveries about A Certain Person’s life and character that made it impossible for her to contemplate tying herself irrevocably to him. She was going to see him, she explained, and tell him so, and then would visit Maria as soon as she could to explain matters more fully and to see if they could puzzle out some new solution between them. The money was the chief problem, she wrote, and as she did so the infuriatingly elusive idea seemed to nibble at the edge of her conscious thoughts once more, only to dart away, like a fish in a stream, when she tried to capture it.
A colder, more carefully considered and formal missive went off to Sir Dominic, asking him to call on her at his earliest convenience, and once it was despatched Meg could only wait. She realised – once it was too late to do anything about it – that Sir Dominic might easily not be in, sitting idly around waiting for a summons from her; was it not excessively likely that, after the touching family scene she had observed, he had accompanied his mistress and children to wherever they were staying, and that he remained there still in domestic bliss. Domestic bliss, and yet yesterday he had offered for her! ‘He could be gone for days!’ she said aloud to the empty sitting room, pacing up and down it. ‘Days!’
However, Meg’s worst fears were not realised; a surprisingly short while later, her anxiously straining ears caught voices in the hall, and Sir Dominic was announced and ushered in without any greater ceremony; the butler knew, of course, that she’d sent a note to him not an hour since and that he must be calling on her in response to it. He knew, too, as all the senior servants did, of Maria’s disappearance and her own masquerade, and so it was no wonder he showed her visitor directly into the room rather than enquiring if she was at home. Of course she was at home to her supposed betrothed and co-conspirator.
Sir Dominic was as immaculate as ever in snowy cravat, blue coat, pantaloons and shining hessian boots with jaunty gold tassels. (Those damn boots.) There was a warmth in his eyes as he greeted her that would have been highly gratifying in other circumstances; now, though, it angered her. No doubt he is attracted to me, she thought. I can hardly take it as a unique compliment! No doubt, like many a man, he thinks he can have everything he wants, including several willing women at once at his convenience. Well, he can’t. Not me, not this time.
‘Sir,’ she said coldly. ‘Won’t you sit down? There are urgent matters we must discuss.’
A little frown appeared between his brows, and the ardour in his gaze was replaced by a searching regard. Whatever you might say about him, however untrustworthy he was, he was far from stupid. He knew instantly that something was wrong, though he could not have the least idea what it might be.
‘Has something happened, Meg?’ he said. ‘Some more bad news?’
‘No, but I have been considering, and I have come to the conclusion that I cannot marry you – whether in my sister’s name or in my own. I thought it only right that I told you so directly.’ Meg was proud that her voice barely wobbled as she said this. The new, chilly version of herself was unfamiliar and not particularly likeable, but she wasn’t trying to be likeable just at the moment, and to speak so correctly and emotionlessly served as a sort of armour, she was discovering.
‘And yet you say that nothing fresh has happened to bring you to this decision?’
‘Nothing. I have reflected deeply on the matter, and I am resolved that I am right. To marry you in the guise of my sister is clearly impossible, for many excellent reasons. If I cannot so help her, to marry you as myself would serve no useful purpose at all. The wedding must be called off without loss of time.’
‘“Serve no useful purpose”?’ Sir Dominic mused. His face was almost expressionless, but there was a spark of something in his eyes – Meg could not tell, and should not care, whether it was hurt, or anger, or some combination of the two. His feelings could be of no possible significance to her, and no doubt it would do him good not to get his own way for once in his life. ‘That is a curious choice of phrase. I confess that when I so maladroitly pressed my suit – was it only yesterday? – it was not because it “served some useful purpose”. Nothing can have been further from my mind than any considerations of sordid practicality.’
‘That cannot be so,’ she said steadily, her anger at his hypocrisy giving her strength, ‘because you have made it quite clear to me in the past that your main reason for seeking my sister’s hand was to obtain a legitimate?—’
‘Your sister’s hand, yes,’ he cut in impatiently. ‘I’ve never denied that. But not yours. Be damned to legitimate heirs and the requirements of the family and all that nonsense. Marrying you would be quite a different matter, for me at least. I thought you knew that, Meg.’
