Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (26 page)

Three months later

Meg’s heart flipped when the bell rang, just as it had every single time in the months since Rodrigo departed for France. She held her breath, praying that this would be the one—the letter, the messenger, even the prince himself. Looking across the drawing room of the duke’s London house, Meg saw that Serena did the same.

The butler entered the room to announce their visitors, and both ladies let out a sigh. Serena caught her eye and they shared a disheartened smile, but it lasted only for an instant before Serena raised her brows, pressed her lips together, and nodded slightly. Meg recognized the gesture as one of encouragement. Over the months, the women had become quite adept in communicating with the slightest facial expressions. An essential requirement as the two of them had been virtually surrounded with the populous of London Society at nearly every waking moment.

Meg and Serena had forged a bond over the months that only heartache and anxiety can create. Serena had held her, and they’d wept when Meg returned the morning after the masque without Rodrigo. As the Season had progressed, the two women had come to depend upon each other when the crowds and questions and worry had become too demanding.

Meg had confided in Serena the secret encounters with Rodrigo, which she soon learned were not as secret as she’d believed. Serena confessed that she was delighted to finally be released from her promise to keep her brother’s identity hidden. The women had laughed together, cried together, shared hopes and fears and dreams, and become as devoted to one another as sisters. Meg hoped that she gave as much comfort to her friend as she received.

They rose as their visitors entered. Meg noticed that Serena stood slowly. Her face was a bit pale. She would have to inquire about her friend’s health once the callers had gone.

Lady Vernon bustled into the room followed by her dearest comrade. Meg reminded herself that she would need to remember to refer to the newlywed woman as Lady Patricia. The former Lady Featherstone’s cheeks were flushed, and she radiated a glow that transformed the strict woman into a beaming bride.

Lady Lucinda and Lady Helen entered the room behind their mother.

“How lovely to see you all,” Serena said, motioning for the women to be seated.

Meg returned to her position on the sofa near the window, not only because it had become habit to watch for any report of Rodrigo, but she hoped for a breeze. She had thought South Carolina to be stifling in the summer, but London was infinitely worse. It was more than simply heat; it was the smells that entered whenever a window was opened. A city of this size could not hide its odor with strategically placed hothouse flowers as most people tended to assume. The fragrance only added a tinge of sweetness to the smell of smoke, horses, and endless crowds of sweating people. What Meg wouldn’t give for a fresh country wind.

“And may I offer you tea?” Serena asked.

“Yes, dear.” Lady Vernon fanned herself profusely. “That would be lovely.”

Serena motioned to a servant, who bustled from the room. Meg did not miss the quirk of Serena’s mouth at the idea of warm tea on such a stifling day. The two of them had often wondered about the British and their mania for the hot, watery drink.

The servant returned a moment later with a steaming teapot and finger cakes.

Serena’s arm trembled the smallest bit as she began to pour the tea, and Meg moved across the room to assist her in distributing the cups and offering the guests sweets.

Once they had been served, Meg returned to her seat, resolving to keep an eye on Serena.

Lady Vernon set down her fan and took a sip of tea. “Meg, dear. You looked so beautiful last night at the Chanceworth’s ball. I must say that champagne gown was definitely the perfect color. And so many gentlemen sought your company.”

“Thank you, my lady. It was a lovely evening to be sure. And Helen, how did you enjoy waltzing with Lord Dewhurst?”

Helen smiled shyly. “Very well. He is such a gentlemanly man.”

“And likely very soon to be engaged to Miss Olivia Dewitt,” Lucinda said, setting her teacup into her saucer, obviously displeased the conversation wasn’t centered upon her. “Regina Foster’s gown last year at the Chanceworth’s ball was precisely the same color of champagne, and she turned quite a few heads. Meg, you are much braver than I to wear a color that was so decidedly the rage
last
season.” She smoothed her skirts with her hand. “I was very pleased at the reception I received in my pale yellow gown. I predict it will become the height of fashion extremely soon.”

“And speaking of Miss Foster,” Lady Patricia said, “just this morning, our dearest Anthony proposed marriage to that fortunate young lady. Theirs will be a great match.”

Meg raised her brow minutely in Serena’s direction, eliciting a small twist of the lips from her friend. Lord Featherstone engaged to Regina Foster? Meg hoped the woman had a fondness for sparse facial hair and didn’t mind her husband’s indiscretions.

“Did you see that Mr. Newton stood up with me two times last night? And he paid a visit already this morning,” Lucinda said. “He is quite partial to me. It will certainly come as a blow to many gentlemen when he offers for my hand.”

Meg thought if she never sat through another conversation about ball gowns or marriage proposals, it would be too soon. She’d never had such boring discussions before coming to London, and it seemed as if such things were the only interest of ladies in Town. At least the gentlemen spoke of horse racing, the war on the peninsula, and other more exciting matters.

The thought of horses made her smile. The duke had brought Patito from Thornshire and insisted that Meg exercise him in Hyde Park every day. She’d learned quickly enough to avoid the fashionable hour, as there were so many coaches and horses and persons on foot that Patito could scarcely move in the throng. She’d seen more than a few heads turn when they saw Patito, and she could have sworn the stallion enjoyed the attention. He certainly seemed to be prancing a time or two, and Meg had thought it amusing, wishing she could laugh about Patito’s antics with Rodrigo.

She wondered for a moment who would care for Patito when she returned to Charleston, but she put the thought from her mind. She would not go home anytime soon. America’s declaration of war against England made it nearly impossible for her to return right now, and the idea of leaving made her feel as though she were giving up on Rodrigo, and she would not do that.

“Have you had any news from your brother?” Lady Vernon asked Serena, and Meg’s head jerked toward the duchess.

“Nothing so far,” Serena said, and Meg wondered if the others had heard the tremble in her voice.

“Well, perhaps he will change his mind and join us in London,” Lady Vernon said, reopening her fan and waving it before her with a vengeance.

“He certainly disappeared from the masque early in the night. I believe he danced with only one lady,” Lucinda said, leveling her gaze at Meg. “I wonder what could have frightened him away?”

“Perhaps the fear that he’d have to dance with another,” Meg said.

Helen snickered but was shushed by a glare from her sister.

“I’m afraid Rodrigo had other business to attend to that night,” Serena said quietly. Meg gritted her teeth, furious that Lucinda would hurt Serena’s feelings, albeit unknowingly.

The colonel had thought it best that Rodrigo’s mission be kept a secret. “News travels fast in London, and secrets travel faster,” he’d said. As far as the rest of the party knew, Rodrigo had declined the offer to accompany them to London, choosing to remain at Thornshire instead. None had asked why the prince had not kept his horse, but Meg was certain the duke or Serena would think of the perfect answer to any questions, should they arise.

Meg had scoured the periodicals and the
Times
every morning, hoping there might be some mention of the Spanish royal family, but there was nothing. She supposed in such a case, no news was good news. One could not exactly post a letter from an enemy country in the middle of a secret rescue mission, but she wished they’d heard something. Anything.

“Do you not agree, Meg?” Serena’s voice pulled her from her contemplations.

“I am sorry; I must be wool gathering,” Meg said. “What were you saying?”

Serena smiled. “Lady Patricia was just telling us that she and the colonel are to leave for India when the Season ends.”

“How thrilling,” said Meg.

“Yes, the colonel has received a commission and a new assignment,” Lady Patricia said. “And I confess I am rather eager to see new places.”

Lady Vernon crossed her arms, continuing to fan herself awkwardly. She looked displeased with the idea of separation. Meg felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew how it felt to be left behind.

“Helen, will you go to India too?” Meg asked.

“I do not know.” Helen said, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Mother and the colonel have not decided whether I should accompany them or if it would be better for me to remain in England.”

Lucinda threw up her hands, grimacing. “It would certainly not do you any good to journey to such a barbarous place. What chance will you have of finding a decent husband in India?”

“I—” Helen began.

“You would do much better to stay in England and allow me to help you secure a gentleman of means, such as my Mr. Newton.”

Meg shifted her position, deliberately turning her body toward Helen and excluding Lucinda from her line of sight. “What do
you
wish to do, Helen?”

Helen held Meg’s gaze, purposely avoiding her sister’s. “I’ve never journeyed farther than Brighton, and India sounds . . . well, I should like to give it a try.” She spoke in a quiet voice.

Lady Patricia nodded in her brisk manner. “Well, then it is settled, dear. And I will be very glad to have one of my children with me.”

Meg wondered if no one had bothered to ask Helen’s opinion on the matter before. She opened her mouth to expound on the glories of new experiences and seeking outside one’s comfort level but stopped short.

Serena had stood to return her teacup to the tray but faltered, setting the dishes down with a clatter and placing her hand on her forehead. She looked as if she might collapse, and Meg hurried to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and easing her back into her chair.

“Serena, you are so pale. Shall I send for a doctor?”

“I do not know. I am tired and dizzy. And my stomach is so ill.”

Lady Patricia knelt in front of Serena. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Only two or three days. It usually passes in a few hours,” Serena said.

Lady Patricia and Lady Vernon exchanged a look.

“What is it? Will she be all right?” Meg felt the beginnings of panic growing in her chest. She lifted Serena’s hand into her own, patting it and wishing she had an idea of how to help her. “Shall I fetch a doctor?”

“Yes, you should meet with a doctor, and I wonder if you should begin to ask around for a suitable midwife, dear,” Lady Patricia said gently.

Serena’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an “o.” She looked from Lady Patricia to Lady Vernon and then to Meg. “I had not considered, but . . . yes, I suppose I should send for a doctor.”

Lady Patricia rose. “I will mix an herbal blend to help with the nausea. And you must get plenty of rest.”

Lady Vernon clapped her hands. “A baby! I know my brother will want an heir, but a lovely niece to spoil and dress up . . .” She sighed.

“Please do not say anything to Charles,” Serena said. “Not until I meet with the doctor. I want to be certain.”

“Of course. You will want to tell the duke yourself. We will not betray your confidence.” Mrs. Stackhouse turned to her daughters, placing a finger over her lips. “Come, girls, we must allow Her Grace to rest.”

“Thank you,” Serena said, squeezing Meg’s hand.

Meg stood and curtsied as the ladies departed and then sat back on the sofa next to Serena.

Serena wiped tears from her cheeks. Meg put an arm around her, and Serena leaned against Meg’s shoulder.

Meg bit her lip, unsure of how to comfort her friend. She had heard that sometimes when a woman was in a family way, she wept for no reason. “Are you . . . is there anything I can do for you?” she asked. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Meg teased, hoping to elicit a laugh.

Serena shook her head. “I only wish
mi mamá
was here,” she whispered.

***

When Meg entered the dining room the next morning, she found the duke sitting at the table reading the
Times
.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said, unsure of how to proceed. Was it proper for her to eat breakfast alone with a man so decidedly above her station? Or should she wait for Serena?

“Miss Meg,” he said, folding the paper and standing. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“Of course.” Meg’s mind spun. In the time she’d known him, the duke had been pleasant, friendly even, but had never sought her out. Was he planning to terminate her stay with him? Had Daniel gotten into some mischief? Was there news of Rodrigo?

He indicated a chair. “Please, have a seat.” Once they were both seated and Meg had been served breakfast, the duke spoke again. “Serena told me last night about her, ah . . . condition.” A wide grin spread over his face, but it was replaced by a furrowed brow. “I fear she is unwell. Nothing too serious, the doctor assures us it will pass. But Serena wishes to return to the fresh air of Thornshire.” The sides of his mouth pulled down in a frown. “And this is where I should like to beg a favor of you. The committee I represent will require my presence in Parliament for a minimum of another month.” He rubbed his eyes. “Miss Meg, Serena adores you. She thinks of you as a sister and would dearly love you to accompany her home to the castle.”

The thought of returning to Thornshire warmed Meg, and she could not help but smile at the thought. “I would be most happy to, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, miss. I apologize for terminating your Season, but I do appreciate your willingness to attend my wife.”