Chapter 14

14

M eg paced the hallway outside her father's study, the knot in her belly twisting and turning with each phrase she managed to catch.

"...only dancing," came from Carver. His tone wasn't loud, but she heard it.

"I've looked the other way too many times." Her father's voice was loud indeed. Nearly a shout. And Meg knew better than anyone that there was no reasoning with him when he was in this mood.

Carver's answering response was too low for her to overhear, so Meg used the time to inwardly rant and rail at her own stupidity.

She'd known from the start that this plan was foolish. Her parents wished for nothing more than to marry her off to a man with wealth and a title.

They hadn't dreamt their disappointment of a daughter could catch the eye of a fellow like Carver, and to make them think it…

To allow anyone to believe it…

She'd known it would end like this.

And yet you went along with it anyway.

Guilt nipped at her heels, and her limp grew more pronounced with each new lap in the hallway.

"Do stop pacing, dear," her mother said as she rounded the corner to find her there. "And you know better than to eavesdrop. It's unseemly."

"I'm not eavesdropping," she said quickly.

Perhaps too quickly, if her mother's look of disbelief was anything to go by.

"Are we eavesdropping?" Her brother chose that moment to join them. "What are they saying?"

"Your father's no doubt insisting that the duke do the right thing," their mother said, with so little hesitation, it cut through Meg's scattered thoughts.

She turned to her mother. "Did you know…that Father was going to try and convince Carver to marry me, I mean?"

Her mother's smile was smug. "One cannot let an opportunity like this one pass, now can one?"

Her brother whistled. "A duke for a brother. This is a boon."

Meg's gaze turned from her brother, who'd sounded frighteningly like their father, to her mother, who looked as content as a cat after it cornered a mouse.

"But…" Meg had to swallow hard before she could finish. "He doesn't wish to marry me."

Her mother's smile never faltered. "Then he should have taken more care with his actions, dear."

The guilt she'd been trying to outrun caught up with her, engulfing her in a wave of emotion. It had been a miracle her father hadn't tried to force Carver's hand earlier.

Say, when they'd caused a minor scandal in the fountain, and he'd held her so intimately…

He should have steered clear of her after that. He should have thanked his lucky stars he hadn't been forced to marry her and moved on.

But he'd been kind. So unbearably kind. And all so he could help her look less pitiful to the other gentlemen of good society.

That was his motive, right? He'd told her so.

Like a flash of lightning she remembered the way he'd said he was jealous. But…

No. He'd been teasing. He must have been. This whole dratted scheme was his idea from the start. And the whole goal was to help her catch the eye of another man.

Tears stung the back of her eyes, and her throat grew so tight, she could hardly breathe.

A rustle of movement inside the study had her brother taking off with a bolt. Even her mother abandoned her there, hurrying around the corner so she wouldn't be caught hovering outside the door.

But of course, Meg couldn't move so quickly. And so when the door opened, she was there to see it with her own eyes.

Carver's pained expression. The heavy weight that seemed to have settled over him.

He looked a decade older than he had when they'd been dancing.

Dancing!

That had been her idea, and she'd never forgive herself for it. Her fingers twisted together, as her brow furrowed.

Their gazes met and held, and…she couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Or, rather, she had too many thoughts battling at once.

I'm sorry.

You don't have to marry me.

Please don't resent me forever.

But he gave a short bow, with a low murmured farewell. He promised to return soon to discuss the details of their wedding.

Their wedding.

The two words echoed in her skull as she watched him walk away, toward the front door. Her father paused in the doorway, seemingly surprised to find her there. He moved past her with a look she rarely saw in her father's expression.

Pride.

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Well done, Meg. You've landed yourself a duke." He kept walking, leaving her there alone in the quiet hallway.

It was so quiet, she heard him mutter to himself as he turned the corner. "Who would've thought it?"

Days passed with no sight of Carver.

She'd been out with her mother the other day when he came to call. Her mother had suddenly wished to have Meg at her side as she visited her friends. It quickly became clear that now that news was spreading about Meg's "coup," as her mother kept calling it, Meg was something to brag about.

So she'd spent the last three afternoons being scrutinized by matrons and returning false smiles from jealous debutantes.

The other day she'd excused herself to the washroom in the midst of tea. When she returned she had the great misfortune of overhearing a young debutante whispering about her to one of her friends.

"Did you see Carver at the Monroe's dinner party the other night? He looked positively miserable."

"Well, of course he did," the other said. "The poor lad has gone and shackled himself to that awkward little creature."

"It's a smart alliance, though, everyone says so."

Meg had walked away before she could hear any more about what everyone said. She had a feeling none of it would be complimentary toward her.

She'd managed to make it through each of these outings without shedding a single tear. But this morning she'd woken with an ache in her head that rivaled the one in her chest.

She'd finally cried off any more visits, and had instead invited her friends over for a much-needed respite.

What she got was a funeral.

Or, at least, there was a serious dirge-like quality to this gathering.

Felicity wore a fierce glower as she stared at the dregs of her tea. She seemed to be taking it as a personal affront that she couldn't find a way out of this situation for Meg.

Ann kept nudging more biscuits in Meg's direction as if perhaps heaping doses of sugar might cure her of her woes.

Jane had sighed several times as Meg recounted the tragic tale, and she offered no words of encouragement or hope. No doubt because she understood better than any of them what it meant to be engaged to a man who didn't wish to marry you.

To Meg, it felt like a fate worse than…

Well, maybe not death.

But a fate worse than spinsterhood, to be sure.

"Are you sure he doesn't want this?" Felicity said so suddenly, Meg nearly dropped her teacup.

"Of course I'm sure." It came out terser than she'd intended. But having to admit it again felt cruel. "You should have seen his face when he came out of the study. He looked like a man sentenced to a life in prison."

"But he s-seemed s-so…" Ann stopped and took a deep breath. "He seemed so happy to be in your company at the last gathering."

Felicity nodded. "Precisely. I saw the way he kept watching you and Mr. Everson."

"And the way he wanted to make you happy…" Ann added. "Surely he must like you."

Meg swallowed hard. She'd had those same thoughts. And she hadn't even told them about how he'd admitted to being jealous.

But as she took in her friends' hopeful expressions, she slammed a firm lid on her own hopes.

Seeing that fantastical, romantic optimism reflected back at her made her feel that much more foolish for even thinking it.

"He's kind," she said, for what felt like the fiftieth time. "He's considerate and thoughtful, and…sympathetic."

That word hurt. It felt far too similar to pitying.

Was it pity that had driven him to this ruse in the first place? Guilt had definitely been a factor, and that was bad enough.

She rubbed her temples, but the dull ache that had formed the moment her father had come upon them dancing only grew steadily worse with each passing day.

They hadn't been doing anything wrong. She'd try to tell her father as much, but he'd stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

Your young man has been nothing but inappropriate with regards to you from the first , he'd finally said. I was willing to overlook much for his sake ?—

For his sake. Those words still hurt even now.

But if that reckless lad thinks he can continue to make a fool of this family by stringing you along without a firm understanding …

The rest had fallen on deaf ears.

Meg had heard enough. Her father knew he didn't truly wish to marry her.

Everyone knew it.

Only her sweet, optimistic friends believed Carver had true feelings for her.

"Perhaps you could…talk to him." Jane's voice was so soft, Meg nearly missed it.

But all eyes swung to the pretty blonde, and her cheeks flushed scarlet at the attention. "Or not," she added quickly. Then, with a wince, she added, "Heaven knows I've never summoned the courage to say anything of significance to my fiancé."

Meg reached out to pat her hand in comfort, but Jane continued, her voice stronger than Meg had ever heard it.

"But you are not me, Meg." She turned her hand, clutching Meg's in a decidedly firm grip. "You have never been a coward. And you don't shirk from confrontation."

Meg's brows arched. "Don't I? It sounds as though you're describing Felicity, not me."

"No," Felicity interjected quickly. "Jane's right. We've always admired the way you hold your head up no matter what people say."

"Even when Carver humiliated you," Ann added. With a wry smile, she added, "You only hid for a very short while."

"I would have hid forever," Jane said quietly, her smile wry.

"You were a sight to be seen at that first ball," Felicity said, her smile filled with pride. "Standing up to Carver with your head held high."

"Even dripping wet from the fountain incident," Ann added. "You kept your pride and your strength."

Meg looked from one friend to the next, until it became clear that she was thoroughly outnumbered. "All right, I'll speak to him. But I do not know what you wish me to say."

"Speak from the heart," Jane said.

"Tell him he's a blasted nitwit for getting you into this pickle," Felicity said.

Ann was quiet. And Meg found herself waiting for her practical friend to chime in. "Just be honest, Meg. If you're truly to marry this man, isn't it best that you begin with no secrets?"

Meg nodded. But while the others went back to chatting, talking at length about the next ball in one week's time…

Meg tried to sort through the riot of emotions Ann's advice had stirred.

If she meant to be honest with Carver, then she'd have to be honest with herself first.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.