Chapter 2
Find a way or make one.
The next twelve hours were rather fraught from Nat’s point of view.
Having secured Betty as Miss Bancroft’s maid, he introduced the two young women, who seemed cautiously pleased with one another, and got them settled for the night in a nearby respectable hotel.
He then hurried over to a rather splendid mantua maker with whom he was on very good terms, having spent fortunes in her shop by fitting out whatever light o’ love was currently in his life.
Knowing she was the soul of discretion, he briefly outlined a story of disaster to a respectable young lady and asked her to supply everything that lady might need for the next few weeks, including the necessary luggage in which to put it all.
Madame Moreau gave him a direct look before explaining that to do so would involve reworking every garment in her shop, with her entire staff working all night, and would cost him another small fortune.
Nat, far too eager to put his plan into action and thwart his family whilst saving a damsel in distress, told her not to waste time talking to him and get on with it.
By the time he got to bed, he was too agitated by the events of the day to sleep and lay for a long while staring into the darkness and picturing those cool grey eyes until his own finally closed.
The next morning, Meg stared into the tiny hand mirror she had propped up upon the bedside table as she brushed out her long blonde hair.
You have lost your mind, she told her reflection silently.
This will end in disaster, you know it will end in disaster, and yet you are doing it anyway. What kind of fool are you, exactly?
And yet, being destitute had one saving grace. She really had nothing left to lose.
Except your reputation, chimed in a little voice in the back of her mind.
All the time she stayed out of the way of the Corbyn family, her reputation was intact.
Yet what good did that do her if she could not feed herself or put a roof over her head?
Her only recourse would be the workhouse, an idea that terrified her so much she’d not been able to face it at all last night.
In the clear light of day, there was no escaping her reality though.
Recoiling at the idea, Meg stiffened her spine. Mr Ashford was clearly a reckless man intent on enjoying his life by frittering it away on mindless pleasure, but he was also kind and honourable in his way, and she had decided to go along with his mad scheme. So she may as well make the best of it.
“Here, miss, I can do that for you. I’m a dab hand with hair, though it’s a shame there're no tongs. Takes a curl lovely, I expect, eh?” Betty said, her nimble fingers twisting Meg’s hair into a loose chignon with no visible effort.
“We used to have quite a fine lady in one of the rooms Ma lets out, and she taught me a bit about being a lady’s maid, in case I ever got the chance, but I’m that busy helping Ma with cleaning and looking after the little ‘uns I never got the opportunity. You could have knocked me down with a feather when Mr Ashford asked for me. He’s such a nice gent, ain’t he? Not all are, I know,” she added sagely.
Meg glanced at her in amusement, rather liking the merry and talkative girl.
“You know him well?” she asked, unable to resist.
“Me?” Betty snorted. “No indeed! Only to say good day and the like, but he’s always polite, opens the door for me like I’m a lady and speaks to me like I’m as good as anyone else. There’s plenty who look straight through you or bark at you like you’re something they stepped in.”
Meg nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.
A governess might be a step up from a servant, or even a girl whose mother owned the rooms she was cleaning, but the step down was shorter than one liked to consider.
She knew what it was to be dismissed as if she was of no consequence, and to be treated daily as if she were worthless.
It wore away insidiously at one’s pride and confidence.
“There,” Betty said with evident satisfaction. “Well, I ain’t forgotten how, that’s a blessing. Mind, it’s easy when you’re such a beauty.”
“I am not beautiful,” Meg said with a laugh, though she had to admit to being rather impressed with the girl’s skill as she inspected the results in her looking glass.
“Says you,” Betty replied with a cheeky grin. “Reckon your fiancé would have another answer, eh?”
Meg blushed and looked away, realising that she must endure a deal of this good-natured ribbing over the weeks to come, for poor Betty knew nothing of the deception, thank the lord.
A sudden knock at the door had her heart leaping and her nerves jangling, for she knew she must face Mr Ashford once more. How would he appear to her now? Would she see at once he was a bounder and a cad, and that she was the biggest fool who ever lived?
“Speak of the devil,” Betty said with a giggle as she ran to open it, which did nothing to soothe Meg’s uncertainty.
Getting awkwardly to her feet, Meg turned to the door and felt her breath catch as she saw Mr Ashford standing there.
His hair shone in the weak morning light, glints of gold and bronze turning it from merely brown to something quite out of the ordinary.
The laughing blue eyes still glimmered, ready to crinkle at the edges with amusement, but impossibly they seemed a darker blue than ever.
He really was too dreadfully handsome for her peace of mind.
If only he had been dull and prosy, or ugly or old, perhaps then this would not seem like such a monumentally foolhardy thing to do.
But to put her future in the hands of a man who looked like he might equally be the hero of the piece or a wickedly handsome villain was too much to bear.
“Good morning, Miss Bancroft. I trust you passed a good night?”
“I did, I thank you, sir,” she replied politely, k gaze for the present by returning the few meagre items she owned back into her well-worn carpetbag.
“Betty, have you eaten yet?” he asked the girl, who shook her head.
“Not yet, sir. I brought Miss Bancroft’s breakfast up like you said and helped her get ready. I just finished her hair,” she added with obvious pride.
“And a fine job you made of it,” Mr Ashford said with approval, eyeing Meg’s coiffure with approval. “Run along then but make haste. We must leave in twenty minutes, or we shall risk missing the diligence.”
Betty bobbed a curtsey and hurried out. Meg stiffened, alarmed at the impropriety of being alone with Mr Ashford in a hotel bedroom.
“Don’t look so woebegone, I’ll stay on the threshold,” he assured her with a smile. “Now, about your baggage—”
“I have it here,” Meg said, gesturing to her carpetbag. “You were able to procure the extra tickets, then?”
“Yes, I was, and I don’t mean that baggage,” he said impatiently. “I mean the wardrobe you will need during the coming weeks.”
“I beg your pardon? We said nothing about a wardrobe, and there’s no time to think of that now, so I beg—”
“Beg all you like, it’s all sorted. I’ve barely slept, but I intended to perform a miracle, and, by God, I think I have. No mean feat it was either, but you’ll look splendid, that much I’m sure of,” he replied, looking appallingly smug and very much like he expected congratulations.
Meg gazed at him in consternation. “Do you mean to say… are you telling me you have bought me an… an entire wardrobe?”
“I do and I have,” he agreed, leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb.
“Well, you can jolly well take it all back!” Meg said, incensed.
Mr Ashford blinked at her before pushing himself upright. “The devil I will.”
“Then we shall call the whole thing off. Truly, I must have been mad last night, it is the only explanation,” Meg said, putting her head in her hands.
“No. Last night you were finally rational,” Ashford said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.
“Mr Ashford!” Meg said in alarm.
“Oh, never mind, I’m not going to seduce you.
I only want to talk some sense into you.
How on earth do you think you will convince my relatives I’ve not just hired you to play the part if you turn up looking…
well, not to put too fine a point of it, like that,” he said, gesturing to her outfit with distaste.
“It is a perfectly respectable gown,” Meg replied indignantly, hot with embarrassment as she tried to hide the worn cuffs and tuck the bit of her skirts where a cinder had burned a hole out of the way.
It was hypocritical, she knew, for she had made the same point herself last night about her shabby appearance, but she had never considered that he might go out and shop for her!
“It makes you look like a governess.”
“I am a governess!”
“Not any longer,” he told her firmly. “Now you are my fiancée. You must remember that we first met years ago when your father was still alive. How surprised I was to discover you still at the old cottage when I came to call, and to discover you in such desperate circumstances. Desperate, but respectable,” he added, glaring at her.
“Being a governess is respectable,” she replied, folding her arms.
“Not if you are marrying Nathaniel Ashford,” he said with dignity. “My family can only endure so many shocks, and that is the straw that would break the camel, Miss Bancroft. It might kill my grandmother.”
“Oh, Lord,” Meg said in despair. “Whatever am I to do? Can you not see how dreadful this all looks? You are buying my clothes, paying for me in every way. I may as well be a kept woman!”
“Steady on,” Mr Ashford said, looking a little alarmed. “I mean, you are a lovely creature, very tempting indeed, but I’m not in the market for a—”
“I was not offering!” she shrieked, surging to her feet, heat burning her cheeks.
“I knew that,” he replied crossly, looking so indignant and put out she felt very certain he had known nothing of the sort. “I only meant that… well, I should never ask you.”