“When?” Meg breathed, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She could accept this news. It was for the best, after all. But she couldn’t keep from feeling as if her chest were in a vise.
“Soon,” Sarah replied.
“How soon?” Lucy prompted, already pacing back and forth and tapping her cheek.
“I don’t know. I assume he’ll want to speak to her father first,” Sarah replied.
“You must discover exactly when he intends to do this,” Lucy said.
“Very well, I’ll find him and see if I can get more details.” Sarah turned, lifted her skirts, and hurried off.
“We can manage this,” Lucy said to Meg.
Meg slid down onto a robin’s-egg blue silk upholstered chair that sat next to the wall. “No, Lucy, it’s over.”
“No, no.” Lucy continued to pace. “It’s not over. It’s not over until he’s legally married to someone else.”
Meg hung her head. “He’s going to ask her. She’ll say yes, and they’ll be legally married. It’s all right. I’ve already decided it’s for the best. I’m leaving for Spain soon and Hart should be married to someone of his station here in London.”
Lucy stopped in front of Meg’s chair. She leaned down, looped her arm through Meg’s, and half lifted her from her seat. They paced together, their arms still linked. “Listen to me. You cannot be discouraged. It’s not over until it’s well and truly over. However, I do admit that this calls for immediate action.”
Meg blinked at her. “Immediate action?”
“Yes. I simply cannot take another engagement and last-minute calling-off of a wedding. It nearly turned me gray when Christian and Sarah did it. Something tells me Sarah’s brother is even more stubborn than she is.”
“No, Lucy, no. It’s over.” Meg gave Lucy a stern stare.
“Hear me out, please.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “I have one final idea. If it doesn’t work, then, and only then, will I admit defeat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Duchess of Claringdon’s dinner parties were famously odd. On any given night one might find oneself with an eccentric group of people around the long cherry dining table in one of the finest town houses in Mayfair. Tonight’s guest list was particularly odd, however, because it included… a child.
Hart had been introduced to one Lady Delilah Montebank, the fourteen-year-old cousin of Lady Daphne Cavendish, one of the duchess’s closest friends. Lady Daphne and her husband, Rafe, the Viscount Spy, were seated at the table, along with Mr. and Mrs. Garrett Upton, Lady Cassandra and Lord Julian Swift, the duke and duchess, of course, and Meg, Sarah, Berkeley, and… Lady Delilah.
Lucy had declared the young woman one of the most witty and outlandish souls she’d ever met and told everyone that despite the fact that the girl had yet to make her debut, she was entitled to eat, wasn’t she, and whycouldn’t she partake with them and keep them all company? All the other guests seemed to be in complete agreement and so Hart found himself sitting two chairs down from the precocious girl, half listening to her chatter, and wondering if Meg hated him for putting Sir Winford out of commission on the eve of her departure to the Continent.
Hart had intended to go to the Medfords’ ball tonight and ask Lady Eugenia for her hand. But Sarah had insisted—rather vehemently—that he had already promised to come to the duchess’s dinner party tonight. Hart hadn’t recalled accepting any such invitation, but Sarah had been so adamant that he doubted his recollection. Then he discovered that Meg would be at the duchess’s dinner party andthatmade up his mind. He hoped to have a moment alone with Meg sometime this evening. He wanted to ask if she’d been in contact with Sir Winford and if her father still intended for them to leave town soon. Surely if the man knew his daughter was about to receive an offer from an eligible gentleman, he would see the sense in delaying the family’s departure. However, Meg’s father had never been a particularly sensible man.
At any rate, Hart had decided to delay his own marriage proposal for one more night to meet his previous obligation to attend the duchess’s dinner party. He was seated next to Meg, thankfully, and even more thankfully the duchess broached the subject he himself had been planning to.
“Meg, dear.” Lucy waved her wineglass in the air as the footmen served the first course. “It’s such a shame Sir Winford couldn’t make it tonight. Have you had any word from him?”
Hart tried to concentrate on his cucumber soup, but he couldn’t help but perk up at that question.
“His leg is broken, poor man.” Meg took a dainty bite from her bowl.
“No!” Cassandra Swift said.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Meg replied. Was it his imagination or was she not looking at him? She was angry with him for ruining her chances with Winford, wasn’t she?
“Pity,” he murmured.
Sarah cleared her throat. “If you two hadn’t been racing like a couple of foolish lads—”
“Don’t blame your brother,” Jane Upton interjected. “He wasn’t the one who came unseated. Nor did he cause Winford to fall. The man was entirely unfit for that horse.”
Hart liked Mrs. Upton, liked her a great deal.
