“I can still think it’s a pity the man was injured, can’t I?” Hart directed this question at his sister.
Sarah turned back toward Meg. “Did he say how long the doctor thinks he’ll be abed?”
Meg took another dainty bite of soup. She swallowed and dabbed at her petal-pink lips with her napkin before replying. “At least a fortnight.”
“More’s the pity,” Lucy said, taking another healthy swig of wine.
The dinner progressed with polite banter including discussion about the obligatory topics like the weather and politics. Lady Delilah gave a discourse on the proper care and feeding of a pet bird. Apparently, once she’d discovered there were pirates in her family—she outrageously insisted Cade Cavendish and his French wife, Danielle, were pirates—she’d decided a parrot must join the lot.
Hart could have sworn he heard Delilah telling Lucy she’d taught the bird naughty words and something about walking the plank. Hart shook his head. Lady Delilah was quite unique indeed. He couldn’t blame Lucy for inviting her to dine with them.
Hart still wanted to speak with Meg alone. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for any part he had in injuring her beau.Hedidn’t happen to care for Sir Winford, but that didn’t mean Meg wasn’t free to marry the man.
Just before Lucy declared the dinner at an end, she stood and made her way over to Meg. She leaned down and whispered in Meg’s ear. Hart couldn’t make out what she said, but Meg turned a shade paler and shook her head. Lucy said something more emphatic and Meg finally tossed down her napkin, stood, and excused herself. What was that about? Where was she going? He needed to speak with her.
After Meg left the room, Lucy clapped her hands. “Don’t let’s be formal tonight, everyone. I hate to miss my husband’s company. Let’s all go into the drawing room together and share drinks and laughter there.”
Everyone agreed. Delilah was sent upstairs and the entire party, minus Meg, adjourned to the drawing room.
Hart was in a discussion with Berkeley and Sarah about how he needed to pay them a visit in Northumbria the next time they went to Berkeley’s estate when Lucy strolled up to them.
“Highgate, may I speak with you for a moment?” the duchess asked, her voice slurred.
“Of course.” They moved off to the side so they wouldn’t be overheard.
Lucy had another glass of wine in her hand. “Won’tyou be a dear and go fetch Miss Timmons? She’s in the gardens.”
Hart furrowed his brow. “In the gardens? Alone? What’s she doing there?”
Lucy waved a hand in the air. “She’s troubled.”
Hart narrowed his eyes on the duchess. He had two thoughts. First, Lucy was a bit into her cups this evening. Second, regardless of why Meg might be in the gardens, he wanted to speak with her.
“Very well. I’ll go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Meg had been standing between two ten-foot hedges in the duchess’s garden for the last ten minutes. She was doing absolutely nothing but worrying. When Lucy had declared her “one final idea” yesterday, Meg had wanted to argue with her, to insist that Lucy stop. Instead, Meg had heard herself ask, “What do you have in mind?” She’d told herself she shouldn’t care, shouldn’t continue this madness, but another part of her still held out the faintest hope. She should go to Spain and leave Hart alone. She was an awful, awful person.
Which was only proven by the fact that she’d allowed Lucy to stage this dinner party and had listened to the duchess when she’d insisted Meg leave the dining table and go out to the gardens. A pit had formed in Meg’s stomach. Surely, Lucy didn’t intend to do something as outlandish as the last time and lock her and Hart in a room together to be found in a compromising position. She’d refused Lucy at first, but the duchess said, “Howin the world can I lock you in agarden? That makes no sense.”
That logic had ultimately been the reason Meg relented, but each moment that ticked by had her more and more nervous. She suspected Lucy intended to send Hart out here to speak to her. Lucy wanted Meg to tell him she loved him. The duchess had said as much this morning when they’d been discussing tonight’s party.
“Now is no time for timidity, Meg,” Lucy had insisted. “The man is about toproposeto another woman. If he has any feelings for you whatsoever, and I strongly suspect that he does, you have an obligation to tell him.”
“But what if he refuses me, Lucy? What if he chooses Lady Eugenia’s title and dowry over me?”
“Courage, my dear, courage. There is no way to know whom he will choose until you tell him the truth. And then you must face the future with courage.”
Sarah had been there, a sad little look on her face. She knew what it would cost Meg to tell Hart the truth.
“What do you think, Sarah?” Meg had asked. “Do you think I should do it? Do you think I should tell Hart how I feel?”
“I know it will be difficult, Meggie,” Sarah responded. “But at this point, I believe Lucy is right. It’s the only chance you have. If he doesn’t choose you, at least you’ll know you did everything you could. You’ll live the rest of your life knowing that.”
Meg nodded. She’d thought about it all day and finally determined that her friends were right. She must tell Hart how she felt. He deserved to know how desperately she loved him before he betrothed himself to another woman. If he chose to do so regardless, at least she’d know she’d given love her best attempt.
This afternoon, the idea had sounded both brave and correct, but now, standing in the gardens, clutching at her own arms, anxiety filled every pore. Her courage appeared to have fled, because all she could think about was the pit in her stomach and the thought that roiled through her mind over and over:What if he doesn’t choose me?
