A Lady's Guide to Rakes (25 page)

“That’s just it. It wasn’t an accident, not really. I did it…
on purpose!”

Meredith drew back slowly and studied Hannah’s face. “You ran him down on purpose? My God, Hannah, why?”

“I did not mean to hurt him. I just wanted to…
startle
him a bit. I just knew he was going to lose you to Lord Lansing—what with all his meaningless delays. I kept asking him when he would offer for you, and he always had some excuse. ‘Once the silk shipment comes in.’ ‘When Mother is well enough to leave the house. It was
always
something.”

Meredith shook her head. “I still don’t understand why you ran him down.”

“I wanted him to realize that he didn’t have an infinite number of days on this earth. I wanted him to cease with his delays and offer for you—before it was too late. Telling him so did nothing. I knew I had to show him. So when he went into Fortnum and Mason, I waited in the phaeton just down Piccadilly. When I saw him come out of the establishment, I cracked the whip and started the phaeton toward him.” Hannah sniffed back her tears. “I only meant to startle him, but it was as if he were blind and deaf, for he walked straight out in front of Prunnie, our horse.”

“Hannah, you have to tell him.”

“No, I won’t! You see, even though my plan got all mucked up along the way—it worked.”

“How?” Meredith wasn’t quite sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

“Since he awoke, he has talked of nothing else except marrying
you
.”

Silently Meredith rose and, taking a cloth from the basket on the table, removed the teakettle from the fire, setting it down on the trivet. “I don’t know what to say. This is all… so unbelievable.” She looked across the table at Hannah.

“When he offers, just say ‘yes’ and we’ll be sisters.” Hannah came to her feet. Hannah’s eyes were now brilliant with desperate hope.

Meredith sat very still for several moments; then she smiled at Hannah.

“So you will accept him?” She cupped her hand over her mouth for a moment. “I can’t believe it.”

“Gels?” came Aunt Letitia’s voice from the top of the servant staircase. “Are you down there?”

Hannah’s gaze fixed on Meredith’s face.

“Do not worry.” Meredith held her voice to a low whisper. “I asked them to come… in case you and your brother needed assistance.”

Hannah nodded, then called back to the sisters. “We are, my lady. We are coming with the tea.”

“Very good, child. Sister and I will wait for you and Meredith in the sitting room with dear Mr. Chillton,” added Viola.

Hannah hurried to snatch a plain white service and the tea caddy from the pantry. “Oh, you cannot know how happy you’ve made me.” She grinned then. “We shall celebrate by using an entire pot of
fresh
tea leaves… Just don’t mention it to Arthur.”

Meredith returned a weak smile and wondered, in the back of her mind, if Hannah was somehow related to her two absolutely mad—but well-intentioned—aunts.

———

“It is what I’ve dreamed about for over two long years now.” Meredith leaned forward and peered out the window in the carriage door, her thoughts one tangled mass of contradictions.

“So you will accept this offer of marriage
from Mr. Chillton
… and join him in India?” Aunt Letitia seemed highly doubtful.

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?” Meredith replied without falter. Never mind that at least one solid reason banged painfully around inside her head—she was in love with Alexander.

Aunt Viola, who sat directly across from her, leaned forward and touched the tip of her finger to Meredith’s knee. “Dear, your wounds from the Euston ball have not yet had a chance to heal. Perhaps you are rushing into this.”

“Hardly. I set my cap for the gentleman long ago. And you know as well as I that Mr. Chillton is a good and responsible man. Very dependable.”

Meredith caught the chary look Aunt Letitia shot her sister.

“He is. Mr. Chillton would never—” Meredith abruptly stilled her tongue.

“Leave you at the altar?” Aunt Letitia finished for her. “Leave you standing alone and humiliated at a ball?”

Grimacing, Aunt Viola tapped her sister’s leg with her reticule. “That is quite enough, Letitia.”

And it was quite enough. Too much. Tears started gathering in Meredith’s eyes and she tipped her head back just enough for the liquid to well within her lashes, instead of coursing down her cheeks.

“No, it is not,” Aunt Letitia snapped back. “We’ve all danced around this for hours, but I cannot bite back the truth any longer.” She turned a solemn gaze upon Meredith. “You have not even tried to explain your book to Lord Lansing. I know you were hurting, gel, and needed to leave the Euston ball right away, but before you bet your future on… on a man you do not love, you owe it to yourself to speak with Lord Lansing!”

“I do not.” Meredith’s voice quavered despite her best efforts to bolster it with conviction. “You heard the earl. Alexander was given an ultimatum: set me on a shelf, or have his livelihood cut off.” She narrowed her eyes. “And he made the choice that any rake would.
He chose money.”

“How do you know that for sure, dear?” Aunt Viola asked.

“W-why, we were all there. Surely you heard the earl. He said it all quite plainly. ‘There will be no wedding— ever.’ “

Her aunt nodded slowly. “Yes, yes. I heard the
earl.
.. but I did not hear
Lord Lansing
speak those words.”

“Perhaps not, but his silence… his unwillingness to even face me, said it all.”

The carriage fell into utter silence as Meredith swallowed the deep sob forming in her throat.

“An offer has been made and I shall accept. I cannot and will not be dissuaded. I will marry Mr. Chillton. I will.”

Meredith’s heart seemed to fold in upon itself. She turned slightly and stared out the window helplessly as a torrent of tears cascaded down her cheeks and dripped from her jaw to her lap.

A rake is impeccably groomed, bathed, smoothly shaved and lightly touched with an alluring French scent, all to draw a woman into his grasp.

Alexander returned to London late the next evening, eager to call upon Meredith the next morn and set the whole situation to rights.

Bathed, shorn and set-out with a neckcloth expertly tied in the Irish style, he allowed One to assist him into his dark blue cutaway. He knew wearing it for luck was naught but folly, but it was the very same coat he wore when Meredith tumbled from the sky and into his life.

“Well, do I cut a fine form?” Alexander raised a brow at his valet.

“Sir, ye are more finely cut than a crown jewel,” One droned in that bored tone of his, which for some reason always made Alexander wonder if his valet was just telling him what he wanted to hear. And yet, he
did
look quite dashing today. The cheval mirror had confirmed it, if he had had any doubt; so at least this afternoon, he was confident that One was being truthful.

“Me lord.” Two entered the room with a sour expression on his wrinkled face and a newspaper upon his silver salver. “I’ve been followin’ the Society reports in the
Times
, as ye requested, and I believe there is a snippet ye will wish to read.” He extended the tray toward Alexander.

Glancing first at the newspaper page on the tray, ironed free of any folds the way he liked it, Alexander shrugged. “No doubt just an
on-dit
report of the Euston ball.” He took his hat from One. “I believe I shall pass on reading it, Two. I do thank you, however.”

The valet opened the front door and Alexander started through it and toward his waiting carriage.

“Sir. I daresay, I may be oversteppin’, but ye must read this before ye call upon Miss Merriweather.” Two seemed most insistent.

Alexander turned on the heels of his freshly polished Hessians and, feeling exasperated by the delay, pinned his butler with the sternest of gazes. “What is it, Two? You’ve read it. Save me a moment, won’t you? Tell me what the damn newspaper says.”

“ ‘Tis a rumor of Miss Merriweather’s betrothal— leaked to an
on-dit
columnist, ‘twould seem, by the Featherton ladies of yer acquaintance.”

Alexander chuckled. “Well, perhaps the notice is a tad premature, but no matter. I shall make my offer today and have the papers drawn up tonight. All will be right.”

Inwardly he gave himself a smug little smile and patted his upper arm, where the Celtic band, which matched his Scottish grandfather’s own and indeed the men of his clan, ringed his bleep in bored-in ink.

Today, Alexander was thankful that the Viking-Scots blood ran thick in his veins.

It was true that the old Highlander embarrassed the hell out of his father—who was ashamed of his Scottish roots and who held impossibly high standards for propriety—but Alexander loved his grandfather, for a more self-assured man he’d never met… and never would.

The old man never bowed to anyone’s dictates. Never cared what anyone thought of the life he chose. And neither would Alexander. He would marry the woman he loved, no matter the cost. His heart would have it no other way.

“Begging yer pardon, me lord.” Two shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But… ‘tisn’t a column about yer troth—’tis regarding a Mr. Chillton’s, of Russell Square.”

“The hell you say!” Alexander charged back into the house and snatched the newspaper from the tray. Emotions he could not even name flooded his senses as he blindly scanned the page.

Two poked a helpful finger to the lower left corner. “Just here, me lord.”

And there it was:

Alexander stood for some seconds, as stunned as if he’d been punched in the face, then crushed the newspaper in his fist. Chillton had wasted no time. Nor had the Featherton ladies in announcing the wedding to all of London.

He looked at Two. “Our arrangements have been made?”

“Aye, but I can cancel now if ye wish—”

Alexander looked down at the crumpled paper in his hand. “No. Do not change a thing.” Turning, Alexander dashed out the door to his carriage, with the balled paper still in his hand.

Meredith was
not
going to marry Chillton—wasn’t going to wed anyone but
him.
He would see to it.

———

“No, no, go ahead without me. I cannot manage today— my gout, you know. It is going to rain, anyway. Go on now.” With a wary glance to the gray sky, Aunt Letitia flicked her fingers at Meredith and Viola, shooing them through the front door and toward the carriage waiting for them on the square.

“Very well, but you may not challenge our choices,” Aunt Viola called back to her sister. “You will have given up your authority to veto any gown we choose to have made.” The footman let down the steps and she took his hand and began to board.

Meredith blew out a breath through her pressed lips. She did not want or need a new gown for her wedding. Thanks to Annie, her industrious lady’s maid, she already liad an exquisite ball govrn she’d never even bad the opportunity to wear.

Aunt Viola wouldn’t hear of it, however, and had planned an afternoon with her and her sister’s favorite modiste in all of London. Here was a stylist who seemed to specialize in lavender frocks, judging from the selection of gowns she regularly fashioned for Meredith’s aunts.

Aunt Viola was just ducking her head into the town carriage when her sister’s voice boomed from the front door.

“Shut the carriage door—
now!
“

The perplexed footman did not hesitate.

“Viola, lock it!” came her next order.

Still standing in the walkway, Meredith wrenched her head around in time to hear the metallic click of the carriage cab’s inner lock.

Aunt Viola peered quizzically through the window at her sister, who appeared to be jabbing her index finger at something in the distance.

Meredith followed her aunt’s line of sight.
Oh… my… word.
A carriage, led by a team of six stunning equines, had just entered Hanover Square from Brook Street.

“Alexander,” she gasped.

She looked frantically at the Featherton carriage and flung herself at the locked door. “Let me in!”

Her aunt Viola had scooted across the leather bench and obviously now understood why her sister had wanted her to lock Meredith out. She turned and smiled, shaking her head.

Whirling around, Meredith raced for the house. She had no sooner reached the porch when the front door slammed in her face with such energy that the knocker was sent beating double time against its rest.

“Drat!” A string of other words, stronger words, unfurled in her mind. This was just so like her conniving aunts! Why, they likely sent for Alexander and had this planned all along.

The second carriage drew to a stop just before number 17. The door opened and Alexander descended. “Meredith,” he said. “We must talk.”

Good gravy, she wished he didn’t look so incredibly handsome. It would make it so much easier to remember how deeply he had hurt her if he didn’t make her swoon so.

“I have nothing to say,” she snarled.

“I think we both have quite a lot to say… and to explain.” Alexander started toward her.

Yes, yes, they did. But not now. The pain was still too raw within her breast. “Just go away.” She spun around, unable to face him, and instead stared off into the distance.

She felt his hand on her arm, and her body turning. “Alex, you—you should know I am b-betrothed to Mr. Chillton,” ‘ she stammered, hoping he would leave her be now.

“I know, which is why I must speak with you now. You left the ball before I had my say.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes. “You have quite a lot of gall, sir. I stood alone in the ballroom waiting for you, because you promised me you would be there. Still, you never appeared. Instead, you sent your father to deliver your blow!”