“Since it was only a little kiss, there is no need to make amends. Though Stafford is an earl, I’ve never liked the man. Too forward thinking for my tastes, allowing his daughter to run amok the way she has all these years—although his wife is a fine looking woman. In her younger days she could rival her daughter in beauty.”
Trevor’s mouth tightened. “The thought of making amends to Lady Meredith never entered my mind until you mentioned it.”
“Good. Forget I ever said anything.” The duke made a move toward the door. “I’ll expect you for dinner Friday evening. I’m having a small supper party. ’Tis only three days from now. I’m sure if you exert a supreme amount of effort, you can manage to stay out of trouble until then.”
“I make no promises,” the marquess retorted grimly.
The duke paused and turned toward Trevor. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said, in an uncharacteristic display of sympathy. “Your various exploits are often overlooked by Society. I’m sure this too shall be eventually forgotten.”
He gave his father a look of mock disbelief. “I am not interested in the opinion of Society.”
“Well, you should be,” the duke barked. A frown creased his brow. “You have made your position on this issue clear to me for several years and I know I will never be able to change your mind. Yet if you do not wish to guard your own reputation, will you at least have a modicum of concern for mine? This scandal will be forgotten if you behave yourself for the next few days. By the end of the week, the brunt of the attention will shift away from you and fall on the Barrington girl.”
His father’s comment roused the edge of Trevor’s conscience. It was true he was nearly immune to the censure of Society, having little regard for others’ opinions. But it was different for a woman.
Though it was well known to all that Lady Meredith had never been completely accepted by thebeaumonde, a breath of true scandal had never touched her. Until now.
Though he was loath to admit it, Trevor knew he would have to do whatever was reasonable to help her rectify that problem. And he was honest enough with himself to admit it frightened him to even think about what that might entail.
Six
Meredith had trouble sleeping that night. Her thoughts were consumed with the events of the evening and their possible consequences. As she listened to the clock strike each hour, she tried to assure herself all would be well. Yet as the morning sun invaded her bedchamber, she was not feeling as certain.
It was not only the kiss she had shared with the marquess and the possible consequences she might face because of her actions that disturbed her thoughts. It was knowing she would have to face them entirely on her own.
Though she prided herself on being a forthright, independent woman, Meredith was honest enough to admit that every so often she felt lonely for the comfort, company, and strength of a male confidant, a male champion.
Though in her head she knew the existence of a man who would accept her and all her eccentricities was more a product of her wishful imagination than a reality, her heart could not help but long for his discovery.
Yet on this morning after, Meredith had no intention of succumbing to the blue devils. With her usual forthright determination, she resigned herself to throwing off her melancholy mood as effectively as she threw back her bed covers.
She spent her morning in the usual manner, purposely adhering to her comfortable routine: breakfast in quiet solitude in the cozy informal dining room, a brief consultation with Cook over the day’s menu, a meeting with the butler to discuss a nagging problem with a member of the household staff.
Then it was off to her father’s study, where Meredith read through the monthly financial statements she received from her solicitor. After completing her daily correspondence, which included a rather lengthy letter to her childhood friend Faith Linden, now the Viscountess Dewhurst, Meredith decided to indulge in one of her dearest passions. Reading.
Relaxed at last, she was so engrossed in her book of poetry she did not at first hear the butler enter the library.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Meredith,” the butler said in an apologetic tone. “There has been a delivery of flowers for you. Would you like them brought in here, or shall I have them sent to the kitchens so Mrs. Hopkins can arrange them in vases?”
“Vases?” Meredith’s brow quirked. “Is it a particularly large bunch of flowers?”
“Several of them are quite large. The rest are of a more modest, appropriate size,” the butler replied dryly.
“Precisely how many bouquets have arrived?”
“Ten.”
“What!” Meredith stood so quickly her book fell to the carpet. She ignored it and instead accepted a pile of engraved cards the butler silently offered her.
Heart racing, Meredith quickly shuffled through the heavy vellum notes. The Earl of Botsworth, Lord Chillingham, Mr. Julian Wingate! Men she had not seen for an age. She did not even know they were all in town.
With a more considering eye, Meredith looked through the cards a second time. There were a number of mature bachelors, several married gentlemen, and quite a few old admirers. She frowned slightly, realizing she had not been plagued by so much male attention since her first Season.
Yet one name was noticeably absent—the Marquess of Dardington. Meredith surprised herself mightily by even noticing.
“The flowers, Lady Meredith?”
Meredith looked at the butler blankly for several seconds. Then his question penetrated her jumbled thoughts. “Please ask Mrs. Hopkins to arrange them for me,” she answered calmly. “Then place them throughout the house, in any room except my bedchamber.”
