Regina Scott, page 15
She pulled up short when she found Chase waiting for her just down the corridor. He was leaning against the paneled wall and even in the dim light she could see that he had paled. Her fears for Algernon instantly evaporated.
“My lord,” she cried, rushing to his side. “You should be sitting down.”
He managed a smile. “Nonsense. I must push myself if I’m to recover.” He lowered his voice. “I wanted to talk to you before you met with your stepmother. She wishes you to return to the inn immediately.”
Meredee’s heart plummeted. She wanted to dig her fingers into the folds of his navy coat, refuse to let go. For a moment, in this house, she’d felt truly needed, truly wanted. But this was not her home, and she had a duty to her family.
“Then I suppose I had better go gather my things,” she said, holding herself stiffly.
“We have been through a great deal, you and I,” he murmured, watching her. “It emboldens me to ask an impertinence. When you return to the inn, will it be as a servant to Mrs. Price?”
She should deny it. She had some pride. But he had allowed her to shoulder his weakness. Could she do any less?
“In essence, yes,” she admitted, then hurried on. “But you mustn’t think badly of her. It’s just her way.”
“And have I been any better?” He took her hand and intertwined their fingers. The brush of his skin against hers sent tremors through her, but she couldn’t pull away from the warmth.
“You were ill,” she murmured. “You needed me.”
“I begin to think I always will.”
Meredee’s breath caught. She could barely look at him, afraid to find she was wrong yet again. “You are too kind.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it. Tell me, Meredee, would you prefer to stay a while longer?”
Nothing would have pleased her more, but she couldn’t. Oh, she couldn’t. He was well enough that he no longer needed a nurse. She had no reason to linger.
“I cannot stay. Please don’t ask me. We both know it would be unseemly.”
“I could have a relapse.”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t say that.” Meeting his gaze, she saw his grin and blushed. “That’s quite enough, sir! The Lord may see fit to grant that petition, and what would we do then?”
“Continue as we have, with you reading me love poetry.”
“Oh! I’m certain I never …”
“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,’” he quoted. “’Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’”
“I most certainly never read you that!”
“Perhaps I dreamed it then. Or perhaps I should read it to you.”
She did not understand his mood. His mouth quirked as if he joked, yet the intensity of his blue gaze was serious, commanding. “I wish you wouldn’t tease me,” she murmured. “If you have something to say, say it outright.”
She nearly cried out when he released her hand. “May I call on you at the inn?”
“Yes, of course! Oh!” And run into Algernon? How was she to prevent that?
“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Is there some reason you’d prefer I stay away?”
Never! Against all odds, against all reason, he wanted to call on her, perhaps to court her. She might have a chance at a future with this wondrous man. How could she refuse him? Yet how could she chance him running across her stepbrother?
She squared her shoulders. “No reason, my lord, expect a minor impediment I am assured will resolve itself shortly. I should be delighted to receive you whenever you choose to call.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it. She closed her eyes, allowing herself merely to feel for a moment, to breathe against the sensations rushing through her.
“Tomorrow afternoon, I think,” he said, and she opened her eyes to find him smiling at her. “If I’m not well enough by then, you’ll simply have to return to nurse me.”
“Either way, then,” Meredee said, returning his smile, “I will see you tomorrow.”
“You have been terribly missed,” Mrs. Price lamented as their coach carried her and Meredee back to the inn. “I could not get the inn wife to understand how I like my eggs, and no one knows how to soothe my headaches as you do.”
Once she would have been pleased to know she had been so helpful. Now she merely wanted to sit and dream of what might be. She could imagine her self walking the sands with Chase, attending the assembly on his arm, sitting across the table from him at dinner speaking of science, of philosophy.
Oh, Father, I never knew how much I wanted these things. Is it wrong? I thought I understood the path You wanted for my life. Now I want more.
Her stepmother was happy to prattle on, barely pausing on occasion for Meredee to murmur agreement. Mrs. Price didn’t seem to notice any change in her stepdaughter. Meredee could only wonder why it wasn’t written on her face, shining from her eyes.
She was in love with Chase Dearborn, Earl of Allyndale.
And he might, oh he might, be in love with her! How could she sit still? She wanted to dance about the little sitting room, throw her hands up in the air, twirl in a circle of joy.
Mrs. Price, however, seemed determined that the world progress as it always had. She sat in her chair by the table and took up her lace pillow again. The book Meredee had been reading sat in the same place at the end of the table; the ribbon marked the same page.
The room suddenly felt small, cramped. She needed air.
“When do you expect Algernon to return?” Meredee asked, wandering to the window and gazing out at the rear yard of the inn. Beyond her, houses rose to the top of the hill, the creamy walls gleaming in the summer sun. Still the feeling of being trapped persisted.
“I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Mrs. Price replied with a shake of her head. “He’s been cavorting all over town while you’ve been gone, on occasion with his intended.”
Meredee turned with a frown. “With Lady Phoebe? I had no idea she’d left the house.”
“Not that easy to chaperone a young girl, is it?” Mrs. Price said, levering her needle at Meredee. “You can be sure she was careful to slip away unnoticed. Clever girl, I’ll give her that.”
Clever, but certainly not thinking clearly. Did she truly believe someone wouldn’t mention her behavior to Chase? Or was the girl trying to force a confrontation between her brother and Algernon?
“And Algernon?” Meredee asked, crossing to the table. “Is he happy with these arrangements?”
“As happy as may be,” Mrs. Price replied, threading the needle once more through her pattern and drawing the thread tight. “I do believe he intends to offer for Lady Phoebe as soon as her brother is well enough to receive him.”
Relief, like a draught of cool water, washed over Meredee. No more skulking around! No more half-truths. “Oh, that would be wonderful!”
“I suppose.” Mrs. Price heaved a sigh and started another row. “Though what is to become of us I’m sure I don’t know.”
Meredee perched on the chair with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I very much doubt Algernon’s wife will want two other women hanging about. Depend on it—she will insist that we find alternative lodging. Your father left him the town house, you know.”
Of course, she knew that. She’d simply never considered the ramifications of Algernon marrying. Her home, gone? Her room, belonging to someone else? What of her father’s library, the books and books of literature, science, history and philosophy? Was she never to read them again?
She must have looked as stricken as she felt, for Mrs. Price stuck her needle in the lace pillow and reached out to pat her hand. “There, now—never fear. We will always have each other.”
That prospect did not seem so very encouraging at the moment. But her stepmother was right—Lady Phoebe of all people would not stand to have anyone else but her run her household.
“But what if I marry?” Meredee asked, gaze rising.
Mrs. Price removed her hand and trilled a laugh. “You, marry? Once perhaps, but you are firmly on the shelf now, my dear.”
The words would have hurt a great deal more a few days ago. Now she wanted to shout—You’re wrong! He loves me! But Chase hadn’t said those words, had made her no promises, so she didn’t dare confess her hopes.
“Though I suppose I may find a suitable match myself,” her stepmother continued, oblivious to Meredee’s roiling emotions. “Colonel Williams has been most attentive.” She patted her gray curls.
Meredee couldn’t stay in this room another minute without bursting out in some inappropriate comment. She rose and shook out her skirts. “I believe the tide will be at its lowest in a quarter hour this afternoon. If you’ll excuse me, I should see if I can find Father’s shell.”
“What?” Mrs. Price hopped to her feet, tumbling her pillow to the floor. “No! You’ve only just returned to me, and I will not have you running off again, particularly for so feeble a reason.”
“Do you intend to make me a prisoner, then?” Meredee asked, struggling with her temper. “It seems you have already determined to make me a slave.”
“A slave! Well, I never!” She sank back onto the seat, face crumbling, lips quivering. “Go, then,” she said with a wave of her hand, gaze on the tabletop. “Go chase your shells. I’m sure they mean much more to you than I do.”
Meredee was tempted. Fears and hopes crowded her in equal measure. After dealing with Lady Phoebe, she was fairly sure that at least part of her stepmother’s lamenting was posturing meant to manipulate her. Yet one look at the tears trickling down her stepmother’s soft face, and she knew it wasn’t all posturing. She knelt on the floor and took her hands.
“Dearest, you know I care for you. When Father brought you home, I was the happiest of girls because I was to have a mother again.”
Mrs. Price sighed. “I was never old enough to be your mother, but those were good times. How lovely you looked at your come-out. Your father and I were so proud.” She sucked back a sob. “But then it was all ruined! Why did he leave us with no security? Why do all my husbands disappoint me so?”
Was that why her stepmother clung so tightly to the pursestrings, why she clung so tightly to Meredee? She was afraid of being destitute, being alone. Meredee knew those same feelings. She’d lived through them with her mother’s death, her captain’s death and her father’s. Each time, she was certain she’d never recover from the blow. Each time, she’d risen, stronger.
You got me through those times, Lord. Forgive me for not seeing it until now.
“You are not alone,” she said, squeezing her stepmother’s hands. “And Algernon would never let you starve.”
“Not intentionally,” her stepmother agreed. “But he is not the most dependable of sons. I never know when he’ll take some maggot in his brain. Just look at that hideous red coat he insists upon. He looks like he should be riding to hounds or marching in the infantry!”
“He simply has his own sense of fashion,” Meredee protested.
“And is it any better than a child’s?”
She could not answer that question. She wanted to believe that her stepbrother had grown up and was ready to shoulder his responsibilities, to his mother, to his wife, to her.
“He cannot remain a child,” Meredee said, “if he plans to marry and raise a family.”
“A family that does not include us. We’ll be left to fend for ourselves.” She pulled her hands away and cupped Meredee’s face, fingers gentle against her skin. “Do you see why I dote on you? Two husbands buried, a son I dare not lean on? You are the only reliable person around me, Meredee. I do not know how to get on without you! So please, no more talk of slaves. If anyone in this family is trapped in a life she did not choose, I fear it’s me.”
Meredee wrapped her arms around her then and held her while she cried out her concerns. The knowledge that her stepmother’s harsh words and unkind actions were driven by fear made them easier to forgive. Yet surely forgiveness was not enough. Her stepmother needed assurances that she’d be cared for, that, whatever happened, she was loved.
Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.
“You are not alone,” Meredee repeated. “We will determine the future together.”
Her stepmother sniffed. “Even if you marry?”
Meredee’s arms tightened. She could not speak for Chase, yet she was certain that, if he loved her, he’d find some way to settle her stepmother. Lord knew he had enough experience dealing with the temperamental Phoebe.
“Even if I marry,” she promised. “And I will speak to Algernon. He holds all our futures in his hands—yours, mine and Lady Phoebe’s. He must be made to live up to his responsibilities.”
“And if he won’t?” her stepmother asked, raising her head.
“If he won’t listen to me,” Meredee said, determination building, “I may know the very person he will not dare to cross.”
Chapter Seventeen
Chase went to sleep early that night. He had expected to be exhausted after his first day up, but, in truth, it was not weariness that drove him to bed. Trevor had come to escort Phoebe to the Assembly Rooms for the evening, and Chase could feel the house around him, quiet, empty.
Lonely.
He had never thought of himself as a lonely man. He kept busy attending to his estate, his duties in Parliament and Phoebe’s needs. He generally found time to ride, to read, to attend the occasional opera. But until this illness, he’d never realized how pleasant it was to have someone else who could share those duties and pastimes, provide opinions or simply listen to him as he developed his own.
He’d never realized how much he needed someone like Meredee.
No, not someone like her, he corrected himself as he lay on the bed, gaze on the underside of the box bed’s canopy. What he needed was Meredee. She was intelligent, she was caring. She consistently, relentlessly put others before herself. It was a trait he knew the Lord intended for all His followers, yet she seemed to embody it more than anyone he’d ever met.
Moreover, she made life interesting and far less vexing. She was calm, she was capable, yet always beneath her exterior was the hint of amusement. Her peachy lips would quirk whenever Phoebe said something absurd, whenever Chase became too entrenched in his opinions. He had never really listed the attributes he sought in a bride, but he wasn’t surprised to find that, when he considered the matter now, Meredee held every one.
The question then was what he intended to do about it.
He was still ill, despite daily doses of the so-called miraculous spa waters. Perhaps he’d always be ill. He’d been afraid to trust anyone with the secret, but Meredee had dealt with the situation with laudable aplomb.
Phoebe was still Phoebe, with all her demands and chaotic moods. Yet she seemed better with Meredee, more focused, more easily encouraged to better behavior. And, even when Phoebe was behaving at her worst, Meredee had a way of keeping the situation from becoming explosive.
So, could he do it? Could he marry now, despite his family issues and his health?
Only to Meredee.
He closed his eyes. He’d ask her tomorrow when he visited. He liked to think he wasn’t a vain man, but the look in her eyes when she gazed at him, her breathlessness when their hands touched, told him she admired him. And he certainly offered her more than her stepmother ever could.
He would propose, Meredee would agree and they would make plans for their future. And if she fell into his arms for a few moments in between, well, that was only to be expected. The thought allowed him to drift off to sleep with a smile.
Algernon did not go to bed nearly as early. Though Meredee waited up for him, he came in after she’d fallen asleep in the chair. Though she woke early with a crick in her neck, he had already gone out.
“I begin to think he’s avoiding us,” Meredee complained to her stepmother over breakfast in the sitting room after she’d had the maid help her into her white muslin gown with the embroidered yellow overcoat.
“He cannot do so for long,” Mrs. Price assured her, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I’m sure in the next day or so, we shall bring him to ground.”
Meredee set down her own cup. “We must find him today. Lord Allyndale said he would visit this afternoon. With no warning, Algernon could well be here when he arrives.”
Mrs. Price paled. “And they could duel! Oh, my poor boy!”
“We will scour the town,” Meredee promised. “Scarborough is not so large that Algernon can escape us.”
Indeed, they heard word of Algernon the moment they set foot in the spa house a short while later.
“Mr. Whitaker is a very interesting gentleman,” Mrs. Barriston interjected when Meredee asked another woman about her stepbrother. The dark-haired wife of the governor of the spa narrowed her eyes as if she had sighted her quarry. “He and Lady Phoebe Dearborn make a very attractive couple. Shall we be hearing more soon?”
“La, who can say?” Mrs. Price returned with a panicked glance to Meredee.
“You might caution him that he is not alone in appreciating Lady Phoebe’s charms,” Mrs. Barriston advised. “Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam has been most attentive of late, and only this morning a Mr. Victor Delacorte from London asked after her.”
Meredee felt as if the air had thinned. “Victor Delacorte? You’re certain?”
Mrs. Barriston raised her dark brows as if astonished that anyone would question her knowledge. “Of course I’m certain, Miss Price. A fine-looking man with exceptional manners, unlike some I could name.”
Meredee ignored the barb. “Have you told anyone else—the earl? Sir Trevor?”
The governor’s wife pointed her long nose at Meredee, eyes lighting. “No. Should I?”
