My Brown-Eyed Earl Page 18
Meg nodded. She had never paused to consider her personal philosophy regarding the best way to raise children, but if she had, she might have arrived at the same conclusion. She had to admit Mrs. Hopwood was a likable sort. Even the smattering of freckles across her nose lent her a merry look.
But that didn’t excuse Will from springing the news on her like this. He should have consulted her on something so important—especially since it involved the twins.
“Mrs. Hopwood comes highly recommended. In her previous position, she cared for six siblings under the age of twelve.”
“Six?” Meg tried to imagine being responsible for half a dozen children and began to feel faint just thinking about it.
As though she’d read Meg’s mind, Mrs. Hopwood leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “The trick is training the older children to look after the wee ones. Most of the time I was left with nothing to do but my needlework.” She laughed and planted her hands on her round hips. “Lord Castleton tells me you’re attending the dinner party this evening. You should go and make yourself ready. Do not worry—I have the girls in hand.”
“I don’t know…”
“Yes, Miss Lacey, go.” Will placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the door. “In honor of Mrs. Hopwood’s first day here, I’ve asked Cook to send up a treat for her and the girls.”
“That’s … nice.” But Meg couldn’t help feeling like she was being pushed aside. She hadn’t even said goodnight to Valerie and Diana.
They didn’t seem overly concerned, however. At the earl’s mention of a treat they’d begun cleaning even faster. No, they didn’t give her a second thought.
Meg hesitated at the doorway. “I suppose I’ll see the twins in the morning, then.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Hopwood said. “But you mustn’t wake early. I’ll see to their breakfast, and then perhaps we’ll take a brisk walk before they begin their lessons.”
It seemed Meg’s duties had suddenly reduced by half. Any normal governess would have been ecstatic. But she thrived on being busy. It kept her from having to think about Uncle Alistair’s mounting debt, her sisters’ precarious plight, and her own bleak future.
Will gave her a knee-melting smile and a pointed look. “I look forward to seeing you downstairs shortly, Miss Lacey. We’re gathering in the drawing room for drinks at eight.”
Good heavens. She had less than a half hour to dress and mentally prepare herself to face Lady Castleton. Meg nodded and hurried to her bedchamber, glad she’d had the foresight to lay out Charlotte’s dress that morning.
She stripped off her dress, washed her face, and brushed her hair till it was a mass of shining curls. If Julie were there, she’d know just how to tame them into a proper hairstyle, but Meg would have to settle for a top knot with some loose tendrils, adorned with a white silk ribbon that matched the sash on Charlotte’s gown. It took a few attempts to wrap the ribbon and secure it, but Meg had to admit she was pleased with the overall result.
A light dusting of face powder concealed the smudges beneath her eyes, and a bit of blush added a healthy glow to her cheeks. At first glance, no one would guess that she was a harried, sleep-deprived governess.
She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to dress—more than enough time. She slipped the blue gown over her head, taking extra care not to muss her hair. The muslin skimmed over her skin like a kiss, soft and whisper light, instantly lifting her spirits. She did not feel like a princess, precisely, but rather like a sprite. Magical, spirited, and free.
For once, she approached the mirror with anticipation, eager to see the entire effect. As she laced the gown and tied the sash, she tried to see herself through Lady Rebecca’s critical eyes. The dress’s soft blue color was feminine without being garish. The low neckline was eye-catching without being vulgar. The lines of the gown were elegant without being ostentatious. Even the uncharitable debutante would be unable to find fault with Meg’s appearance this evening.
Better yet, she knew Will would love everything about this gown. The way it clung to her curves and swished about her legs when she walked. The sleeves that constantly threatened to fall off her shoulders and the lace trim that seductively framed the swells of her breasts. She couldn’t wait for him to see her in it … and perhaps, much later tonight, he could take it off her.
She checked the clock again and took a deep, fortifying breath. Almost time.
No matter what happened that evening, she knew she’d succeeded on at least one count. No one could accuse her of being a wallflower.
She stepped into her prettiest pair of slippers, grabbed a shawl, and summoned her courage before heading to the drawing room. Once in the corridor, however, she paused, listening to the sounds coming from the nursery—giggles and humming. The girls were not in bed, obviously, but all seemed to be well. Smiling to herself, she turned to go.
And the nursery door swung open.
Valerie rushed out. “Miss Lacey!” she squealed. “I wanted to say goodn—Oh, you look beautiful.”
Meg’s heart squeezed. “Thank you, Val. Are you feeling better?”
“Oh yes. Is that a new gown? You look like … like a queen.”
“Miss Lacey?” called Diana from inside the nursery. “I want to see!” She burst through the doorway, pushed past Valerie, and tripped on the carpet runner. The teacup in her hands went sailing.
Straight toward Meg.
The cup hit her squarely in the chest. Thick, gooey brown liquid splattered everywhere and dripped down her dress. Chocolate.
No. No, no, no. “Diana!” she cried. “How could you? You’ve ruined…” She breathed through her nose, holding back tears. “… everything!”
Dear God. She spun on her heels, strode to her room, and slammed the door behind her. This could not be happening. Not tonight, when she was about to attend the most important dinner party of her life.
Perhaps there was a way to clean the gown. She rushed to the washstand, grabbed a wet cloth, and frantically rubbed at the sticky dark blob.
And only succeeding in smearing it all over her bodice.
She swallowed, willing herself not to cry. All was not lost. She’d take off the dress and soak it properly to remove the chocolate. The fabric was thin and shouldn’t take long to dry. Some women dampened their gowns on purpose, didn’t they? She would miss drinks before dinner, but it couldn’t be helped.
A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Lacey? It’s Mrs. Hopwood. I’d like to help. Is there anything I can do?”
Meg bit back the harsh words in her throat. You might start by not permitting the girls to prance around the house while carrying cups of sticky chocolate. “No, thank you. I just require some time to repair the damage.” She wrestled the dress off her body, but a sleeve caught on her hair, turning her neat top knot into a messy bird’s nest.
“The girls are very sorry,” the nanny called from the hallway. “So am I.”
“Yes, Miss Lacey,” piped Diana, on the other side of the door. “I’m sorry I spilled my chocolate on your pretty dress.”
Meg plunged the bodice of her gown into her washbasin and counted to three in her mind before she spoke. “I know it was an accident.”
“Then you forgive me?”
She dabbed at the spot, and when that proved useless, she scrubbed. Harder than she should have handled the delicate muslin. The water in the basin turned brown, but the stain barely faded. And that was when she knew.
Charlotte’s dress was ruined, quite beyond repair.
Heart pounding madly, Meg rushed to her armoire, yanked open the doors, and perused the half dozen unfashionable gowns she owned. Russet brown, greyish lilac, faded navy, and other, even less identifiable, shades. Blast, blast, blast. What had she hoped to find? It wasn’t as though she had a fairy godmother to conjure the gown of her dreams. She slammed the doors, crumpled to the floor, and erupted into tears.
“Miss Lacey?” Diana called again, banging her fist on the door.
“Please, please, please say you forgive me.”
Meg’s self-control snapped like a twig. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
Diana wailed in response, and Mrs. Hopwood tried to calm the girl as she ushered her away. Meg felt a twinge of guilt, but honestly, was a half hour to herself too much to ask?
She could plead a headache. It would be the easiest way to avoid humiliation. Possibly the only way.
But she couldn’t do that to Will. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, this night was important to him.
At that very moment, he was probably glancing at the clock, expecting her in the drawing room. And, like it or not, she was going to have to make her grand entrance wearing a dress that would make most kitchen maids turn up their noses.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
A quarter of an hour later, Meg was as ready as she could possibly be—which was to say not very ready at all.
She’d decided that her navy dress was the least of all evils, and had coaxed her hair into her usual, simple style. She still felt as though she were on the brink of tears, but most of the red splotches on her face had faded to light pink.
Her belly twisted in knots, she headed for the drawing room. She didn’t know what she’d say to Charlotte or how she’d ever repay her for the gown she’d ruined.
But she knew precisely how to deal with Lady Castleton, Lady Rebecca, and the rest of the guests, whoever they might be. She had exactly one weapon in her arsenal, and it was pride. She’d hold her head high—and refuse to let them see her fear or pain.
In her considerable years as a wallflower, this tactic had served her well. She’d perfected the art of acting as though she didn’t give a fig what people thought of her. So much so that she’d almost convinced herself she didn’t care. Almost.
She paused outside the drawing room doors and took a deep breath. The muted, civil tones of adult conversation made her long for the lively, uninhibited ruckus of the nursery. But for the next three hours, she could manage to play the part of a proper young lady—for Will’s sake.
She went in and immediately spotted his dark head and broad shoulders among the smattering of guests who’d formed a loose circle around the room’s main seating area.
The warm smile he gave her as she approached melted some of her anxiety. “Miss Lacey, I’m delighted you’re here.” He took her hand and led her into the circle. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Torrington.” More loudly, he said, “Lord Torrington, this is Miss Margaret Lacey—a friend of Charlotte’s and my new governess.”
“A pleasure, Miss Lacey.” Shorter and stockier than Will, Lord Torrington had an athlete’s physique and a poet’s eyes. She could easily see why her friend was smitten.
“Charlotte has told me much about you, my lord. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” She offered him her hand, which he bowed over gallantly, as though he didn’t notice her lack of gloves. Her one and only pair had fallen victim to the chocolate.
“I’ve heard much about you and the twins as well,” he said, kindly. “My daughter, Abigail, is fond of them.”
“Meg!” Charlotte hurried toward her, leaned in for a hug, and whispered in her ear. “Did you receive the gown?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. I’ll explain later.”
“You look lovely, as always,” her friend assured her.
God bless Charlotte. “Well, you look even lovelier than usual.” Her friend’s violet satin gown shimmered in the candlelight—a perfect complement to her dark tresses.
As Will talked with Lord Torrington, Meg began the inevitable greetings around the circle, bracing herself for a chillier reception from the other guests. Will’s mother, the countess, acknowledged her with a tight smile. Dressed in gold silk and dripping with jewels, she looked as though she might have been attending a ball. Or a meeting with the queen. “Miss Lacey,” she sang. “I see you’ve managed to escape the nursery this evening.”
Meg curtsied. “They do let me out from time to time. While I adore the girls, I must confess it’s nice to have the chance to converse with adults.”
“Without having to shout above the screams of a child in the midst of a tantrum,” Lady Rebecca chimed in as she glided over. A vision in white with a light blue shawl and satin sash, she would have been the very picture of innocence, if her gown’s neckline had left something—anything at all, really—to the imagination. Meg had to resist the urge to tug it up for her.
“Diana is usually very sweet and charming. I wish you could have met her under different circumstances. You would have seen that she and her sister are delightful girls.”
“I’m gratified to hear that, as I’ve no doubt I shall see them again,” Lady Rebecca purred.
Meg knitted her brows. “Oh?”
Lady Castleton’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “I suspect Lady Rebecca will be spending a good deal of time here in the upcoming weeks and months.”
The younger woman fanned herself with impressive vigor and cast a conspiratorial glance at Will’s mother. “I do hope so. Papa would be so pleased, as would I.”
Meg’s blood boiled, and she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from saying something she’d regret. She couldn’t fault Rebecca for setting her cap at Will, but to hear her declare it—in front of his mother no less—while her breasts spilled out of her dress … It was too much.
The debutante couldn’t know the nature of Meg and Will’s relationship—Meg barely knew it herself. But she did know that the mere suggestion of a match between Rebecca and Will made Meg want to do one of two things, both of which were entirely unacceptable.
First, she dearly would have liked to take Rebecca’s glass of claret and pour it directly into her cleavage. Barring that, she wanted to drag Will to the center of the room by his cravat and kiss him soundly in front of the entire party—so that there could be no doubt he was hers.
But was he?
When they were alone, it certainly seemed so. It was difficult to doubt his feelings for her when his mouth was pressed against her lips and his hands were caressing her body. But here, among his family and friends, it was harder to know where she stood.
Anyone who walked into the room would easily spot her as the outsider. And it was due to more than just her horrid dress.
“Papa,” Lady Rebecca said to a tall man with dark brows and an angular face, “allow me to present Lord Castleton’s governess, Miss Margaret Lacey. Miss Lacey, my father, the Marquess of Redmere.”
“Miss Lacey,” the marquess said in a gravelly voice, “it’s a pleasure.” His discerning gaze roved over her, but once he’d determined that she was no threat to his daughter’s marriage ambitions, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned easy. “How long have you been in Castleton’s employ?”
“Just a fortnight or so. But we have known each other since we were children.” Meg couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to reveal that bit of history; she supposed she didn’t want to be so summarily dismissed as a potential competitor for Will’s affections.
“You don’t say,” the marquess drawled, his interest clearly piqued. He was on the verge of continuing the conversation when the butler cleared his throat and announced that dinner was served.
“Wait,” Will said, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “We’re expecting one more guest, Gibson. Let’s give him another quarter of an hour. If he hasn’t arrived by then, we’ll proceed to the dining room.”
The butler scowled, making no secret what he thought of rescheduling dinner to accommodate a tardy guest. “Very good, my lord,” he said with a curt bow.
At least Meg hadn’t been the very last person to arrive. She turned her attention back to the marquess, who gestured to the sideboard. “May I pour you a drink, Miss Lacey?”
“That would be lovely.” While he applied himself to the task, she took a moment to congratulate herself on managing the introductions quite well. Perhaps the night would not be as wretched as she’d feared.
Oh no.
“Greetings, all. Please forgive my tardiness. I was unexpectedly dismayed.”
“Uncle Alistair?”
“Meg, my dear!” Wisps of white hair wafted above his ears as he toddled over happily and pulled her into a warm hug. “So good of Castleton to invite me to dinner, wasn’t it? Capital fellow.”
“Yes.” She forced a smile for Uncle Alistair’s sake. But truly, what could Will have been thinking? Was he trying to make her more of a laughingstock than she already was?
“Julie and Beth send their love. They made me change my jacket three times. How do I look?”
“Very dashing.” She kissed his cheek, and he blushed.
“Welcome, Lord Wiltmore.” Will shook his hand. “Thank you for joining us. I’d hoped to surprise Miss Lacey … and I think we succeeded.”
“You certainly did,” she said through her teeth.
Will clasped a hand on Uncle Alistair’s rounded shoulder. “I regret having to rush you into the dining room when you’ve only just arrived, but if we aren’t seated soon, I’m afraid Gibson’s head may explode.”
“Gibson?” Uncle Alistair asked, more than a little alarmed.
“Lord Castleton’s butler,” Meg explained. “He’s only jesting.”
“Oh, of course.”
The incredulous murmurs of the other guests and their pitying stares filled Meg with rage she only barely managed to suppress. Perhaps Uncle Alistair interpreted things a bit literally and occasionally confused his words. He was still one of the most intelligent, generous men she knew, and these shallow people had no right to judge him.
Will offered his mother his arm, and the rest of the group began to pair off as well. Lord Redmere escorted his daughter. As it happened, they were the next highest rank, which meant Lady Rebecca—and her impressive décolletage—would be sitting beside Will. The very thought set Meg’s teeth on edge.