“Well then, no doubt Mr. Stewart will find out on his own, and you can talk to him at the soiree.” Angela’s tremulous smile said she was trying to make the best of it.
“If he comes at all now,” Meg said.If I ever see him again.
She saw by her friends’ somber gazes that they were concerned for her—and could tell by the closeness as they sat together that they had been deep in conversation while she was gone. Though she trusted Guy implicitly, she felt vulnerable and exposed as little by little her secrets were unraveling.
“So you know,” she said quietly.
He nodded, then leaned forward and took her hand. “My dear baroness,” he murmured. “You could have told me long ago. I could have been a help in this.”
“A help,” she repeated.
“You have taken a great deal onto your shoulders,” he said. “But you have friends willing to share the burden. Willing to love your child, and you, without judgment.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Meg nodded silently, lip wobbling. She leaned back, gazing out the window as the coach conveyed them back to Charlotte Square.
If Dougal knew, she wondered, would he feel the same way? He would be angry with her for keeping the secret, certainly, but she knew that he was very capable of love and compassion. And he had a right to know his son, to love his son.
Yet some things must remain protected secrets. A sudden instinct told her that Matheson could become a dangerous threat to Dougal if he learned the identity of Sean’s father.
Her continued silence, over the years, had ensured the safety of her child and his father. What now, if the truth was all out?
She watched the glittering rain as it turned to a pelting downpour.
Chapter Eighteen
“Now this,” saidthe seamstress as she knelt on the floor, arranging the overskirt of Meg’s gown, “is what Monsieur Worth loves best about this beautiful gown—the tulle overskirt.” She inserted another straight pin and fluffed out the silken netting so that its soft veiling formed transparent clouds around the wide skirt.
“Oh, it’s magical!” Angela walked around Meg in a circle.
Meg paused to study her reflection in the long, tilted mirror. The shimmering gown gracefully enveloped her in a confection of pale aqua silk, its low-cut bodice sweeping gracefully under her bare shoulders. The snug waist nipped her to an illusion of impossible slimness, and the wide skirt and long train poured fluidly over a lightweight crinoline that swayed in an airy, flexible bell. Creamy silk netting caught up in small arches, and the nearly translucent tulle overskirt fell in floating waves. Tiny silver stars embroidered in metallic thread were sprinkled over the netting, bodice, and puffed elbow sleeves. It was a gown fit for a fairy princess, Meg thought, pleased, twirling.
Her hair, dressed by a maid, was pulled back gently to spill down in rippling golden waves caught in a generous silver snood pinned with a few small pearls. Around her neck she wore only the gold-and-aquamarine pendant that Dougal had given her, threaded on a black silk cord. On her left wrist, over her whiteglove, she wore her golden locket as a bracelet, threaded on a black silk ribbon.
“Exquisite,” Miss Worth said. “Such grace and simplicity. The gown is divine, the jewelry is understated, and your hair is simply arranged. Truly perfect.”
“Thank you, it’s lovely.” Meg crossed the room to pick up her fan of carved ivory and cream silk, slipping its cord over her wrist. She turned to see Angela and Miss Worth smiling.
“Heavenly,” Angela said. “You float like a cloud when you move. It is a most splendid effect.”
“Monsieur Worth meditated over the design of this gown,” Miss Worth said. “He was inspired by the color of your eyes, and wanted to create a gown that would suit your beauty and reflect your gentle nature.”
“He could not have designed anything more perfect for Lady Strathlin,” Angela said.
“Mrs. Shaw, with your coloring and figure, you would look quite beautiful in a gown similar to this one,” Miss Worth said. “The gown you chose to wear tonight is elegant, though. I love the black watered silk with the pearl trim, highlighting your ivory complexion and pale blonde hair. Though I can tell you that Monsieur Worth would love to create something marvelous for a Nordic beauty like yourself, should you ever want that.”
“Oh, I could not afford it, truly,” Angela said. “And I have worn second mourning for years.”
“You cannot mean to wear it always. You are too young and beautiful.”
Meg nodded, catching Angela’s eye in the mirror. “Whenever you like, Angela,” she said, “we will ask Monsieur Worth to design for you. I would consider it a privilege to give that to you.”
“My dear, thank you, but I could not—”
“You have a birthday coming and would accept a gift from a friend, aye? Monsieur Worth could design something for you in mourning colors, if you’d rather stay with those.”
“He might advise some subtle color after a long mourning,” Miss Worth said gently.
Angela sighed. Then she smiled, her blue eyes brightening. “Someday I will surprise you and come out of mourning. I do find it dreary to have so little color in my life. Perhaps it does not always honor those who are gone, though we think it might.”
