“Where will we go, Father?” she asked in a shaking voice.
“I’ve heard Spain is quite nice,” Father replied.
“He’s heard Spain is quite cheap,” Mother mumbled, her hands still gripping the arms of the chair.
Meg swallowed. Spain? So far away. No. She could not go to Spain. She must think of some way to stay. Meg let go of her father’s hand and turned to face her mother. “What if the Duchess of Claringdon agrees to take me in for the remainder of the Season?”
“Have you gone mad?” Mother scoffed, rolling her eyes. “The duchess may have taken an interest in you for the time being, but I hardly think she has any desire to have you move into her fine mansion. You’re thinking far too highly of yourself, Margaret. Dressing you up and allowing you to borrow some baubles is one thing. Moving into her home is entirely different.”
Meg’s mind raced. There must be another way. “Fine. What if Sarah and Lord Berkeley agree to sponsor me for the rest of the Season?”
“Absolutely not! We won’t allow you to be a charity case for the likes of that Highgate girl.” Pure venom dripped from her mother’s voice.
Meg swallowed hard. Tears of frustration burned the backs of her eyes. She clenched her fists at her sides. Her mother was right. Meg hadn’t even asked Lucy if she would agree to such a thing before she’d offered it as a solution. Lucy couldn’t possibly want the subject of such an ugly scandal residing under her roof, and it had been beyond presumptuous of Meg to suggest it. There had been no hope her parents would allow her to stay with Sarah. She was being selfish, not thinking of her poor father.
“I advise you to accept it as I have.” Mother stood and walked stiffly toward the bedchamber door. “We’re leaving for the Continent in a fortnight, and you’re coming with us.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The third ball was the Morgans’, and this time Meg wore a gown of light peach satin with silver embroidered dots and another charming matching reticule, all courtesy of Lucy, of course. When the duchess arrived at Meg’s father’s town house to escort her to the ball, Meg’s mother was standing in the foyer next to Meg, waiting for her.
“Good evening, my lady,” the duchess said to Meg’s mother, while Meg watched worriedly from her spot near the door.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Her mother curtsied, and for a moment Meg believed that her mother might actually be civil and act normally for a change.
“I hope you don’t mind my carting Meg off to the Morgans’ ball. It’s certain to be a lovely evening,” Lucy said.
“By all means.” Mother’s tone was angry, and Meg sucked in her breath when she heard it. “Best of luckattempting to get this spinster daughter of ours married, even with all the fancy clothing you’ve dressed her in. You only have one more fortnight, by the by.” Mother gave Lucy a tight smile, turned, and left the room.
“Two weeks?” Lucy asked Meg, a frown wrinkling her brow.
“I’ll tell you later,” Meg replied, slipping on the gorgeous silver pelisse Lucy had brought for her.
“Seems your mother is fine with placing you in my care,” Lucy said as they made their way down the steps toward the duchess’s coach. “You never told me, did they have any objections?”
“Not many,” Meg replied. “I made the argument that I couldn’t possibly do any worse. Besides, Mother hasn’t offered to escort me to any events this Season. I suspect she feels guilty. She’s usually half in her cups by now.”
“Your mother is quite something,” Lucy said magnanimously as the groomsmen helped both ladies into the fine carriage.
“That’s one way to describe her,” Meg replied with a small laugh. She dreaded telling Lucy about her move to Spain. She’d already asked the duchess to do the impossible, help her catch the eye of the last man in the kingdom who could marry her. Now she would have to explain why they had only two short weeks to accomplish the task.
“How’s your father’s health, dear?” Lucy asked as their coach rumbled along the muddy cobbled streets toward the Morgans’ town house. “Dr. Thomas said he’d had a mild attack of the nerves.”
“Yes.” Meg’s skin heated. She didn’t want to admit the reason for her father’s attack, but she had to be honest if Lucy was going to continue to help her. “It was brought on by a great deal of worry.”
“Worry?” Lucy clucked her tongue. “I’ve always found worry to be a complete waste of time.”
Meg couldn’t muster a smile for her benefactress. She merely nodded weakly.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Lucy fumbled in her reticule for something.
Meg took a deep breath. She might as well get this over with. “Father’s had some trouble with creditors. He informed us last night that we’re moving to the Continent in a fortnight.”
Lucy didn’t so much as look up from the search of her reticule. “That’s unsporting of him.”
Meg furrowed her brow. “I don’t think you heard me. I said I’m leaving the country in a fortnight’s time.”
“I heard you, dear.” Lucy finished her search, plucking out a vial of perfume. “I brought this for you. It smells like passionflower. Lady Danielle Cavendish has convinced us all of the importance of a good French perfume. Delilah Montebank is especially enamored of the idea, even at the ripe old age of fourteen.”
