Chapter Two
Meg let her fingers move over the keys of her pianoforte, pouring out her emotion into the music in a way she could not pour out her emotions in real life. She put her anger there, her desperation, her heartbreak as she played, losing herself in the keys, forgetting the pounding fact that her wedding date was now set and marrying Graham suddenly felt very real.
She smashed her fingers down all at once and let out a strangled groan.
“Meg?”
She started as she turned to watch Emma slip into the music room, shutting the door behind her. Meg’s cheeks burned as she looked away from her sister-in-law. “I missed a few notes.”
Emma stared at her, silent for what felt like forever, then she moved to sit in one of the chairs beside the fire. She motioned for Meg to join her, and with a sigh Meg did so.
“You always play beautifully,” Emma reassured her. “With more passion than most ladies I’ve watched play.”
Meg held back a bark of frustrated laughter. “When she is sober, my mother calls my playing unseemly. Unladylike.”
Emma’s mouth pinched slightly at the mention of the dowager. She was well aware of the issues the dowager had with drink. Not that very long ago, she had even helped Meg when her mother made a public scene. That had been the beginning of their friendship and eventually her relationship with James. The only thing Meg could thank her mother for.
“I think that having passion and being ladylike are not mutually exclusive,” Emma said. “What is life without a little passion?”
She blushed as she said the words, and Meg smiled. “You would not have said that three months ago.”
Emma laughed. “Perhaps not. Perhaps love gives us a different view on passion. I don’t know.”
Meg felt her smile slip away at the mention of love. She was truly happy Emma and James had found it, for her brother deserved nothing less than the devotion he’d found in the woman across from her. But seeing them so blissful only put her own situation in starker focus.
“What is troubling you?” Emma asked softly, her hand coming out to cover Meg’s.
Meg sucked in her breath as pain mobbed her. Pain she pushed away with greater and greater difficulty. “Troubling me? Nothing, of course.”
“I don’t believe that’s true.” Emma’s voice was very gentle. “You have not seemed happy since two nights ago, when the date for your marriage was announced.”
“Why would I not be happy?” Meg choked out. “I will at last be Duchess of Northridge, just as my brother always desired.”
Emma’s brow wrinkled. “James’s wish, yes. You always put it that way. But what about your wishes, Margaret? What are they?”
Meg pushed to her feet and walked away, for she had a great desire to simply scream out all that was in her heart. Right now the pressure of it was so great that she longed to spill it free where it could no longer torment her.
But when she looked at Emma, she saw more than a confidante and friend. More than a sympathetic ear.
“You are my brother’s wife,” she whispered. “Whatever I tell you will either go back to him or…or you’ll be forced to keep it from him. I don’t want to cause strife between you. I would never hurt my brother.”
Emma’s lips parted and she slowly rose, her hands outstretched. “This is very serious, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you tremble. Meg, your brother adores you. Let us go and talk to him about whatever it is that’s troubling you. I’m certain we can work it out. That it can be fixed.”
Before Meg could answer, the door behind them opened and the dowager entered the room. She jolted at finding the two of them standing so closely together.
“Was I interrupting?” her mother asked, and Meg was pleased that she did not sound drunk this afternoon. That was one less weight on her shoulders.
“No, we were finished,” Meg said. “We were just talking about my playing.”
Her mother glanced at the pianoforte. “Ah yes, I have not heard you play in an age, Meg.”
Meg flinched, for she had played for the group not three nights before. That her mother did not recall that performance put her limitations in stark focus.
She smiled at Emma before she returned to the instrument. “Let me play for you now, Mother.”
She took her place, set her fingers on the keys and began to play her mother’s favorite song. Emma let out a soft sigh before she walked over to join the dowager beside Meg. As Meg played, she could feel her friend’s stare burning into her back.
For once in the longest time, her mother had actually saved her from herself. From whatever would be caused if she lost her head and admitted her heart. Now as she played, she remembered herself.
Because she had to.
Many nights, for many suppers, Simon had been placed beside or across from Meg. He had played the role of her good friend for so long that everyone expected them to chat and smile and rib each other good-naturedly. Even in gatherings outside their inner circle they were sometimes placed together. It came so very naturally.
Except for tonight. Tonight was different. Meg sat beside him, but she was not engaging in conversation with him. She wasn’t smiling or laughing or teasing with him. She was staring at her plate, at her uneaten food, and seemed to be doing her level best to just get through this supper so she could leave his side.
That truth stung, especially after their intense encounter on the terrace two nights before. He’d thought it meant something. Now he wasn’t certain.
“You are avoiding me, Lady Margaret.”
She glanced up and met his stare, but her dark eyes darted away just as swiftly. “How can I avoid you when you loom up everywhere you go? Even now your elbow is in my space,” she said.
He would have smiled at her statement, for this was a conversation they often had. Of course normally her words were said playfully. It was a game. Tonight her voice was dull and her body language closed and turned away from him so it brought him no pleasure.
He moved the offending elbow slowly. “Are you looking forward to the games tonight?” he asked.
She jerked her face back toward him, her eyes lighting up with something akin to…anger. Meg was angry with him? Why? He had done nothing to her that he could recall.
“Shall we retire to the parlor for cards?” Emma said, rising with a smile for James. “The gentleman will take their port after.”
The crowd rose, pairing off as one did at these things. Simon glanced down to see Graham taking the Dowager Duchess of Abernathe’s arm, which left him free to escort Meg. He stood as she did, holding out his elbow.
“Walk with me?” he asked.
Once again there was a flicker of dark emotion across her face and she shrugged. “I suppose.”
She didn’t take his arm, though, as she had a dozen times, a hundred times. Instead she stepped out, trailing behind the others and leaving him to hustle to catch up with her. When he fell into step, he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked.
She barked out a humorless laugh. “Never. Never once, Simon.”
He wrinkled his brow at her sharp tone. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want it. “Meg,” he said, catching her arm and turning her toward him. “What is it?”
She blinked up at him, and once again there were tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She shook her head. “You are so blissfully unaware, Simon. I wish I could be like you.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, his tone sharpening as his defenses came up. Her voice was so strained, her expression so hard and accusatory, but she would not explain herself, only make veiled accusations.
She carefully pulled her arm from his grasp and took a long step back. “It means nothing, Simon,” she said with a sigh. “You have done nothing wrong. I am out of sorts. I apologize. Now I must catch up with the others. Just…just good night.”
He watched her as she turned away and hurried up the hallway. He bent his head, uncertain if he should follow and continue this conversation or let her go. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him at present.
“Going to stand there all day or do you want to sneak into the parlor and have a bit of a drink with me?”
He turned to find Robert Smithton, Duke of Roseford, grinning at him. Once more Simon looked down the hall where Meg had gone, then he shrugged.
“It might be more fun than watching the games,” he said.
“Might? You underestimate me, Crestwood,” Robert said as he slung an arm around Simon’s shoulder and all but dragged him to one of the adjoining rooms.
Simon shut the door as Roseford went to the sideboard and bent to shift the bottles beneath around. When he found what he sought, he let out a triumphant cry and lifted the bottle.
“Abernathe’s best scotch,” he said. “The one he hides away for special occasions.” With a wicked grin, Robert poured them both a large portion and then set the bottle aside.
“And what special occasion are we toasting?” Simon asked, trying to drag his thoughts from his encounter with Meg and failing.
“The fact that when Abernathe comes in here and sees the bottle nearly empty, he’ll curse our names?” Roseford teased. Then he lifted his glass with a shrug. “Or we could toast Northfield’s upcoming marriage to Margaret, if you prefer to be more traditional.”
Simon didn’t lift his glass but took a long slug of the scotch wordlessly. Roseford arched a brow as he did so and then took his own sip. “You’re pouting, Crestwood.”
Simon swallowed and glared at his friend. “Pouting? I’m a grown man, we do not pout.”
“Ask any governess. I’m certain she would recognize the signs right away,” Roseford said.
Simon shook his head. “If you were alone with a governess, you wouldn’t be asking her about me.”
Robert laughed. “Not if she were comely, no. And damn it, man, you used to be right there with me! I could always depend on you to be at my side when conquest was on my mind. Hell, you remember that pretty opera singer in London?”
Simon clenched his jaw, for he did remember. Years ago, he and Robert had prowled for women together. They’d always found plenty of willing partners. They’d even shared a few of them, including the singer he now referred to. He supposed Robert meant for the memory to excite him.
It didn’t. He thought of those times and knew what they really were to him. A way to forget Meg. A way that had never, ever worked, for here he was, just as in love with her as ever. Just as hopeless in that love as ever. The future just as determined as ever.
Roseford tilted his head and speared Simon with a closer look. Now his expression went from teasing to concerned. Simon’s stomach turned. He’d already had a conversation about his heart with Idlewood—the last thing he wanted were words of comfort from Roseford of all people.
“You need to stop feeling this way,” Roseford said, his jaw set and his tone sharp.
Simon wrinkled his brow. “What way?”
Roseford leaned back, incredulous. “Look, it is what it is. There is no changing it. So just stop feeling this way.”
Simon’s lips parted. “Just how many of you idiots think you know something about me and my heart?”
Roseford shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a delicate subject, isn’t it, you coveting what you cannot have. I’m certain some have noticed and others clearly have not or you would have been called out years ago.”
Simon bent his head. “I deserve to be called out.”
“Not unless you’ve done something,” Robert said, slugging back another gulp of his drink. “Which I know you have too much honor to do.”
“You say to stop feeling like the heart has a lever one can turn on and off,” Simon said, pacing away. “It doesn’t.”
Roseford was quiet a long while, and then he shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been so foolish as to let my heart lead. My cock, yes. My heart…no.”
“So if I can’t take your advice about shutting off how I feel, then what do you suggest I do?”
Roseford pondered the question for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “I know—let’s go away.”
“Go away?” Simon repeated. “Go away where?”
“Ireland, perhaps. The lasses there are always welcoming,” Robert suggested. “Or…Napoleon’s been quiet since his marriage. We might be able to sneak down to Italy, lie in the sun. You need a fuck and I’m certain we could manage that.”
Simon chuckled even though he didn’t truly feel in good humor. “Fuck the pain away, huh? Because it’s worked so well before?”
“Maybe not, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” Roseford said. “Come on. It’s been an age since we went on the prowl together.”
Two days ago, Simon knew he would have refused this offer. The encounter with Meg on the terrace had given him a strange hope. But since she had been avoiding him ever since, and after that odd argument they’d had in the hallway, now he wasn’t so sure.
She didn’t seem to want him to intrude upon her arrangement, even if he could see she wasn’t happy with it. And the consequences for doing so would be so grave. Graham would despise him, likely James too. And certainly none of the others would appreciate that he would go against one of their group.
Loyalty was important. His was being tested. But if Meg didn’t want him…
“Very well,” he said softly.
Roseford’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right that I need a change of scenery.” He allowed himself a heavy sigh. “I do have one request, though.”
“And what is that?” Robert asked.
“I want to leave soon,” Simon said. “I want to leave soon, and I don’t want to come back until after Northridge’s wedding.”
Roseford wasn’t exactly the most empathetic of their group, but his face softened at the request. He nodded slowly. “Of course, Crestwood. If that is what you need, I’ll begin making arrangements right away. We could leave in a few days’ time and certainly we can find plenty to do that wouldn’t bring us home until long after the new year.”
Simon wanted to feel relief in this decision. After all, he was about to keep himself from doing something he might regret. And yet, as he clinked his glass against Robert’s, he didn’t feel good.
He felt like he was running away from his future. He felt like he was running away from his heart.