Chapter 13 #3
Meg looked at him in surprise but smiled warmly, for he seemed friendly and interested. “Very well indeed, sir. Though one could not fail to be pleased by such a splendid setting, and Nathaniel’s family has made me feel so very welcome. I am not half so nervous as I might have feared.”
He nodded approvingly at her. “You are looking forward to the dancing, I imagine?”
“I am, very much. Though I have not had quite as much practice as I would have liked, but I shall do my utmost not to tread on any toes!” she added with a laugh.
“Well, I am willing to risk it, if you would do me the honour?”
Meg was surprised by the request but complied happily, opening the little dance card. “Would you be agreeable to the quadrille?”
“Most agreeable,” he said, smiling at her.
“Then I shall look forward to it,” Meg said, handing him the card to pencil in his name.
“Likewise, Miss Bancroft. I shall see you later,” he said, handing back the dance card before giving another bow and taking his leave of them.
Meg looked back at the dowager, who appeared satisfied but said nothing until she spied another victim. “Ah, I see some of my young friends. Miss Honeywell, Miss Marwick, come here, if you please, and don’t let that silly chit run away. Have courage, Miss Halfpenny, we won’t eat you.”
Meg smiled at the newcomers, greeting Miss Isabelle Honeywell warmly and recognising the terrified looking Miss Halfpenny as the young woman with the dog in front of whom she and Nat had dissolved into hysterics.
She might have felt embarrassed at the memory if she’d thought the young woman remembered, but she was clearly in too much distress to think of anything but escape.
She was gazing at Hawkney with a look of sheer horror, which, rather to Meg’s surprise, was echoed upon the duke’s face.
“You!” he said, apparently so shocked he was betrayed into saying something he never should have done or would have done under any other circumstance.
“Hawk!” Nat hissed, glaring at him.
But at his outraged tone, the girl—who had looked as though she might disappear in a puff of smoke before their eyes she was so mortified—put up her chin. “Indeed,” she replied stiffly, holding his gaze.
The dowager was watching this exchange with obvious fascination. “You know Miss Halfpenny, Hawkney?”
“No,” he replied, his tone implying that he had no desire to remedy the situation either. “I do not. She is merely responsible for nearly breaking my neck.”
“Do you mean to say this is the creature you came home ranting about, the one who leapt out in front of your horse?” his grandmother demanded, looking astonished.
“The very same.”
“I did nothing of the sort, as you well know, sir,” Miss Halfpenny replied furiously, before turning to the dowager.
“I had merely bent down to pick up my dog, who was fatigued by the climb. It’s no fault of mine that this…
this ill-mannered creature has not enough skill to control his mount, who almost killed me and my dog, and then had the temerity to shout at me for his own poor judgement. ”
There was a silence so absolute Meg felt it ringing in her ears.
“That’s your grace,” the duke bit out, the words delivered crisply, whilst his indignation swelled around them.
Miss Halfpenny’s complexion underwent a series of colourful shades, segueing from scarlet to alabaster until finally settling upon a sickly green.
“Excuse me,” she managed, and then fled.
“Well, well, Miss Halfpenny has a backbone after all,” the dowager said, with a delighted smile.
“A backbone?” Hawkney repeated, incensed. “Did you not hear her? She’s a bold chit with no manners and a complete disregard for her betters.”
“Lord, Hawk, never mind her, hear yourself. When did you get so stuffy?” Nat complained, shaking his head.
His cousin glared at him. “Did you listen to what she just said to me?”
“I did, and it sounded perfectly reasonable,” Nat replied with a shrug. Meg pinched his arm, knowing he was being deliberately provoking. “I’ve never known you to bully shy young women either, Hawk. What got into you?”
“That creature is not shy!” Hawkney protested.
“I can’t believe it,” Miss Honeywell said, in obvious confusion. “Clara never says a word… to anyone.”
“It seems my grandson brings out her better nature,” the dowager said, her eyes glinting mischievously.
“As everyone seems intent on mocking me and taking her part, I shall leave you to your merrymaking,” his grace said stiffly, and stalked off.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Honeywell said in agitation. “You know, I don’t think Clara had the slightest idea of who he is. Did she, Miss Marwick?”
“What? Oh. Oh, no. Indeed, she did not,” Miss Marwick said hurriedly, tearing her fascinated gaze from the dowager’s rubies to rejoin the conversation.
“I’m quite certain she didn’t,” the dowager said with a chuckle. “And it does Hawkney good to be taken down a peg or two now and then.”
“We’d best find her,” Miss Honeywell said to her companion, already looking around the ballroom. “She’s probably hiding behind a potted palm by now.”
“Being sick in one more like,” Miss Marwick muttered, but the two ladies curtseyed and left them.
Meg noticed Aubrey gazing after the two women with a concerned frown marring his brow.
“What up, Aubrey?” Nat asked, having noticed his expression too.
“I don’t know. It’s the strangest thing, but did you see that brooch Miss Marwick was wearing? I’d swear it was just like one my Aunt Pauline had.”
“Well, jewellers often sell the same design if it’s popular,” Meg said, wondering why he looked so troubled.
Aubrey nodded, but his expression did not change. “Excuse me,” he said, and hurried off in the direction the young women had taken. At that moment, the band struck up for the first dance.
“A waltz!” Nat exclaimed, his eyes shining with delight. “Come, my dear. You are all mine for this one.”
“So I am.” Meg laughed, and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.
The dance did not break up until close to four in the morning, by which time even the hardiest of revellers were dead on their feet.
The dowager had endured until two a.m., when she had announced she had seen everyone she wished to see and everyone else could go to the devil, for she wanted her bed.
Meg made her weary way up the stairs, hardly able to keep her eyes open and leaning heavily on Nat.
“Have you had a good evening, love?” he asked her, sliding his arm a little more snugly about her waist.
“I cannot describe it,” Meg replied, feeling rather dazed, which was not entirely because of the amount of champagne she’d drunk.
“It was so much better than anything I could have dreamed of. So beautiful, and everyone was so very kind, and the dancing… oh, the dancing,” she said as they got to the top of the stairs, drifting out of Nat’s embrace and dancing herself along the corridor, twirling and twirling until she felt quite— “Oh,” she said, swaying as Nat caught her and pulled her close.
“I think you’ve had rather a lot of champagne,” he said, smiling down at her.
Meg blinked, trying to focus. “Your eyes are laughing again,” she said, gazing into the depths of dark blue with a happy sigh.
“Eyes don’t do that,” Nat assured her.
“Yours do,” Meg mumbled and leant her head on his shoulder.
“Meg?”
“Mm-hmm?” she said sleepily.
“It’s tomorrow, which means it’s the twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. Then tomorrow is Christmas Day, and the day after…”
“Boxing Day,” she replied, snuggling closer to him as Nat’s hold tightened around her.
“And what happens on Boxing Day?”
Meg gave a little snort and shook her head. “Can’t say,” she whispered, pulling out of his embrace and pressing her finger to her lips. “Shhhhh. Secret!”
Nat reached for her as she swayed again. “All right, love. You keep your secret, but might I kiss you good—”
Meg flung herself at him, pressing her lips to his and melting as the soft warmth of his mouth had the familiar effect of turning her bones to honey, though in truth they did not seem to have far to go.
She sighed, feeling she could not quite get close enough no matter how she tried, but then her knees gave way and Nat caught hold of her.
“Up you come,” he said, laughing softly as he reached out and knocked on the bedroom door.
A few moments later, a drowsy-looking Betty appeared, her expression turning to one of wry amusement as she looked at Meg.
“Betty!” Meg exclaimed, deciding in that moment that she loved everybody. “Betty, I had such a wonderful time. Did you have a wonderful time, Nat? I had a wonderful time!”
“I had a wonderful time too,” he agreed. “And I cannot wait to spend Christmas with you. But I think you might want a lie in tomorrow. Get some rest now. Good night, love.”
“Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!” she exclaimed, and performed what she believed to be a most elegant bow, but Betty grabbed her as she lost her balance and pitched over sideways.
“You need your bed, miss, and no mistake,” she said firmly, closing the door as she said over her shoulder, “Good night, Mr Ashford.”