“Oh indeed. Sounds like a jolly good time.”
“Name the place and the time,” Hart replied with a calculated smile.
Alarm bells sounded in Meg’s head. Was this really happening? Was Hart truly challenging Sir Winford to a race? He sounded positively competitive. Wasn’t he always? Especially when it came to horses? Surely, it had nothing to do withher.
Sir Winford looked taken aback. “Hampstead Heath, Thursday afternoon?”
“Perfect.” Hart took another long draught of wine.
“I should love to come and watch the race. It sounds like terrific fun,” Lady Eugenia purred. Meg had never cared for cats. Except for Lucy.
Meg clutched at the velvet seat of her chair. She didn’t think it sounded like terrific fun at all. It sounded much more like a disaster in the making.
Sir Winford turned to her with a hopeful look in his blue eyes. “Miss Timmons, won’t you come and watch, too? For my sake? I’m certain to win if I have you in my corner.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain about that, Winford.” Hart tossed back half of his wineglass and narrowed his eyes on the knight.
“Hart, do you truly think another race is a good idea?” came Sarah’s voice from a few seats down the table.
Hart’s smile was tinged with roguishness. “My sister hates for me to race.” This he directed toward Lady Eugenia, whom Meg wanted to kick.
“Only because you’ve nearly killed yourself half a dozen times,” Sarah replied sweetly.
Hart rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I’m much better at racing as a result.”
“Nonsense.” Lucy clapped her hands. “I think a good race is just what is needed to break up the doldrums of the Season. Let’s all go watch and make a party of it on Thursday afternoon.”
Excited murmurs filled the room as Meg lifted hergaze to Hart’s and tried to… tried to what? Smile? Give him a reassuring nod? What if he broke his neck this time and died racing a man she’d brought into his social circle? She’d never forgive herself. However, if the fool wanted to break his neck while trying to impress Lady Eugenia, that was his affair. Meg had no intention of watching it play out.
“I cannot make it Thursday afternoon,” she said. “I must oversee packing. I’m moving to the Continent in a fortnight.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hart’s spoon clattered to his bowl. A dollop of soup splashed across his pristine white shirt. “Blast,” he called out before grabbing his napkin to wipe it away.
“Nonsense,” Lucy said again, this time directed toward Meg, completely ignoring Hart’s troubles with his soupy shirt. “I’ll send some servants to help you pack. You’ll be ready in a twinkle. Meanwhile, you’ll come with us to Hampstead Heath. Besides, there’s always the possibility that you might becomeengagedbefore you have a chance to leave.” Lucy grinned from ear to ear.
A footman had rushed forward to help Hart clean his shirt. “No, leave it.” Hart said, waving away the man.
“Some silver polish will get out the stain,” Lucy said. “My mother’s housekeeper taught me that. You’ll be quite amazed. Henry,” she added to one of the footmen, “will you please fetch the polish from the silver closet?”
“I’ll do it!” Meg called out. She had her napkin off her lap and stood before anyone had a chance to notice.“I need a bit of fresh air and I know where the silver closet is.” Running out of the room seemed by far the best choice at the moment. It would spare her from having to explain her statement about moving to Sir Winford, who looked poised on the brink of asking a great many questions. More important, it would spare her from having to explain Lucy’s loaded statement about a marriage proposal to… anyone.
“Nonsense,” Lucy said for the third time. “Henry here can easily—”
“No, no. You see, I’m already on my way. I’ll be right back.” Meg was already hurrying toward the door. No doubt all of Lucy’s fine friends would think she’d lost her mind, but she couldn’t sit there in the stately room across from Hart and Lady Eugenia and talk about either her leaving or the race. For some reason it felt… excruciating.
Meg planned to find the silver polish and send back a maid with both the polish and her regrets. She was done with Lucy’s plotting tonight. Why, oh why, had the duchess invited Lady Eugenia? To sit across from the gorgeous blonde, knowing she was exactly who Hart was looking for in a wife, dowry and all. Definitely too much. Meg had got in over her head. She would send a note to Sir Winford tomorrow saying she had left tonight with a megrim and asking him to call upon her at his first opportunity. She wouldnotbe attending the race at Hampstead Heath.
Meg picked up her salmony skirts and swam down the cool corridor toward the silver closet. The small room was at the back of the house across from the servants’ stairwell to the kitchens. She’d noted it on a tourof the house Lucy had once given her. It was to be Meg’s sanctuary tonight.
Moments later, she arrived in front of the closet. She tried the door handle. Confound it. Of course it was locked. She hadn’t thought aboutthatpossibility before she’d rashly rushed from the dining room. She needed the key.
Conveniently, Mr. Hughes, the butler, materialized moments later. “Miss Timmons,” he said, bowing. “Her Grace indicated you might be in need of this.” He presented the key to the closet upon a silver salver. A small smile popped to Meg’s lips. Everything in a duke’s household was grand, apparently, and the servants thought of everything.
“Thank you very much.” Meg pulled the heavy key from the salver and turned toward the door. “Do you know exactly where the silver polish is located?” she asked the butler. But the man was gone, as if he’d vanished through the walls.
Meg slid the heavy key into the lock and twisted. It was stuck. Lucy had mentioned that the door was problematic, hadn’t she? Meg jiggled it once, twice, and then kicked it with her slipper. It opened. Thank heavens. She’d hate to have to slink back to the dining room and admit she hadn’t even been able to open the door.
