“Does it truly make a difference?” Meg searched Lucy’s face. She’d heard Lucy could be difficult to work with in such circumstances, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting to be quizzed so thoroughly.
Lucy shook her head back and forth slowly. “Oh my dear. It makes all the difference in the world. We love others for many reasons, but if you love Hart merely because he is handsome, rich, and dashing—and believe me, he is all three of those things, I agree—you will not have the type of solid foundation thattruelove is based upon. I am a romantic at heart but I only wish to help people who are in love for therightreasons. You must understand.”
Meg took yet another deep breath. She searched her memory, all the way back to when she was sixteen. She bit her lip and met Lucy’s piecing gaze. “Very well. I actually do know why I love him. I’ve always known. But if I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone.” The idea of sharing this story with Lucy felt awkward… uncomfortable even.
The duchess shook her head emphatically, and one of her black curls popped loose from her chignon and bounced along her forehead. “I would never laugh at love.” She said the words so solemnly, Meg believed her.
“Very well.” Meg folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the coffered ceiling, contemplating where to begin.“When I was sixteen, Hart accompanied Sarah on a visit to my father’s house one day. They were on their way elsewhere and I’m certain Hart must have been bored senseless by being forced to stop and pay a call on his sister’s little friend. But he sat in the drawing room and acted polite while I did my best to impress him with my tea-serving skills and my vocabulary.”
Lucy smothered a grin. “You continue to be adorable. What happened?”
“I was the veriest silly thing,” Meg admitted, her face heating at the memory. “Red spots on my face, blushing too much, giggling far too often, that sort of thing.”
“And Hart was kind to you?” Lucy prompted, sympathy clearly written across her fine features.
Meg swallowed hard. It was not a memory she liked to dwell on. She’d long ago stuffed it inside her journal and otherwise attempted to forget it. “My mother discovered that Sarah and Hart were in the drawing room with me. Father was supposed to be there with us, but he was still in bed after a night of gambling.”
“Egad.” Lucy knew all about Father’s gambling. Everyone did, but they never admitted it in polite company.
“That’s not unusual for Father,” Meg replied, shame making her voice thin.
“Go on, dear,” Lucy said kindly, reaching down and patting her hand.
“Mother stormed into the drawing room and ordered Sarah and Hart to leave. I was so embarrassed I wanted to expire. It was soon after our parents’ falling-out, you see, but until that day I hadn’t realized they werethatangry with one another.”
“The rumor is that your father owes Sarah’s father a gambling debt,” Lucy said quietly. “Is that true?”
Meg swallowed and nodded. “I’ve heard the same thing but only through gossip. My parents never told me the details. I only knew I wanted to die from shame that day. Mother said she wouldn’t have the Earl of Highfield’s rich, entitled little brats in her home.”
“No!” Lucy gasped.
“I’m afraid it’s true.” Even after all these years, the memory brought an avalanche of shame. She busied herself with another sip of tea, hoping the cup might hide her cheeks, which were doubtlessly red. “I have every reason to suspect that Mother had been drinking as well that particular afternoon.”
“What happened next?” Lucy asked, searching Meg’s face.
“Hart and Sarah stood to leave, of course. It was clear they both felt awfully sorry for me.”
“And Hart did something?” Lucy asked, taking a seat next to Meg and patting her hand again.
“It wasn’t until they were nearly out the drawing room door that Mother turned to me and said, ‘Don’t think they actually enjoy your company, Margaret. They’re only here to lord over you and show you how much finer their clothing is. How much more costly their fancy carriage is. You are not good enough for the likes of them and you never will be.’”
“No!” Lucy’s face was red with anger now. Her nostrils flared and her pupils dilated.
“Yes,” Meg breathed. As long as she lived she’d never forget what happened next. “Hart turned back, and, completely ignoring my mother, he looked me in the eye and said, ‘Don’t listen to her, Meg. She’s an unhappy person. You’ll always be good enough for us.’ Mother scoffed at that and Hart turned to her and said, ‘Madame, say what you will about my sister and me, we can take it from your venomous lips, but if I ever again hear you say anything as awful to your daughter as I have just witnessed, I will make you wish you hadn’t.’”
“He didn’t,” Lucy breathed, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Yes, he did.” Meg had loved him for it ever since. He’d never paid much attention to her before or since, but in that moment he’d been her hero. The only person in the world who had ever stood up for her. Her mother constantly berated her, blamed her for not finding a husband, not being pretty enough or smart enough.
But something had changed in Meg in that moment that Hart had stood up for her. She’d actually believed it. Believed that she was good enough and that she was worth something. When Hart stood up for her, she’d realized. She was good enough. She was worth something. Sarah, of course, had apologized and squeezed Meg’s hand and left quickly with tears in her eyes, but Hart’s words rang in her memory forever.
“Very well,” Lucy said, dabbing at her suspiciously wet eyes with a handkerchief she’d produced from her pocket. “I can see you’ve got reason to love him. I love him a little, too, for doing that.”
Meg swallowed again and shook her head to clear the unshed tears from her eyes. “What is the second question?” she asked, ready to change the subject.
“Second question?” Lucy echoed, her eyes clouded with confusion.
“You said you had two questions to ask me about Hart.”
