Chapter Eleven

Although Meredith had been dancing all evening and had purposely made herself smile, a longing she hadn't quite been able to name sat in the pit of her stomach. Jack had disappeared after their brief dance and while she had wanted to follow him, she knew that all the effort of this evening had been done for her and she wouldn't be so disrespectful as to leave.

After the eighth straight dance since her waltz with Jack, Meredith needed a rest. Mercifully, Mr. Alistair Blake had escorted her to a line of chairs against the far wall of the ballroom and offered to get her a lemonade while she rested.

"Thank you," she said as she sat, not two empty chairs away from Dawn Trowbridge.

As soon as Mr. Blake left, Dawn slid over the chairs, coming up to Meredith's side. The young lady was wearing a pale violet gown, with aubergine-colored rosettes embroidered along the neckline and hem of her skirts. Her curly red locks had been pulled and plaited back, piled on top of her head in an effort to control her wild mane. Dawn's eyes followed the direction of the young lord as he made his way through the crowd to the refreshments table.

"My, he is handsome, isn't he?" Dawn said thoughtfully, before turning back to Meredith. "And I think he's quite enjoying your company. You've danced twice tonight."

Meredith smiled, unsure. It seemed Dawn was rather too interested in things, but she could hardly be faulted for her enthusiasm. She was still new to society and while Meredith was technically new to it as well, she didn't have the same unworldly approach to life as her young companion.

"Yes, but I shan't do so a third time."

Dawn's brown scrunched together.

"Oh? But don't you like him?" she asked, watching the beverage table. "He seems very attentive."

"He is. But there are other gentlemen who've asked and it would be rude to them if I only danced with Mr. Blake."

"Not if you fancy him. If you fancy him, you should dance with him several times, so other gentlemen will know that you're spoken for."

Meredith gave her a pained smile.

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone knows that," Dawn said, matter-of-factually. "How else can we ladies expect to get a husband?"

Husbands. Marriages. Meredith swore silently. It was the only thing young ladies were taught to hope for, to work towards and it seemed rather unfair in that moment as Meredith sat there, staring into the young face of an enthusiastic young lady. Thinking back to what Jack had said, that everyone has something that they're passionate about, Meredith wondered what Dawn's was.

"Dawn, if I may, what besides husband hunting do you find interesting?"

"Interesting? You mean, something like sewing or painting?"

"Not quite," Meredith said gently. "Is there anything that commands your entire attention when a topic is brought up? Something you can't help but think about when it's mentioned?"

Dawn gave her a peculiar look, before a gentle blush came to stain the bridge of her nose. She glanced down.

"Oh, well, I suppose there is, but um … Mama told me it wasn't appropriate."

Meredith's brows went up.

"Oh, now you must tell me."

Dawn moved her head back and forth, observing to make sure that others weren't close by and she and Meredith were alone. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and brought her hand up to curve around her mouth.

"Entomology," she whispered into Meredith's ear.

Meredith frowned, unfamiliar with the term.

"Entomology? Is that some science? A branch of geology?"

"No," Dawn said, leaning back as she continued. "It's the study of insects."

Meredith's face froze as she stared at her.

"Bugs?"

"Insects," Dawn corrected her, smiling. "I've asked Mama several times if I may join the Royal Entomology Society in London. They allow women, you know, but she insists it is a question I should ask my husband. When I get a husband." She sighed and gazed about the room. "So, I am in search of a husband."

Meredith frowned.

"But I don't see why you would need to ask your husband permission."

"Well, ladies aren't supposed to enjoy such silly studies, as my mama says. She thinks I should push it out of my head. But when I kept asking, she said it was something I should ask my husband—"

"Dawn, dear, did it ever occur to you that you might find a husband who shares your interest instead of marrying someone who doesn't know your genuine likes and dislikes."

Dawn's face scrunched up as if she were seeing the sun for the first time.

"You mean, marry someone who likes the same things as me?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating," she said quietly to herself, and Meredith couldn't help but smile at her reply. It seemed to be Dawn's favorite word. "And do you think there are gentlemen who would appreciate my interests in insects?"

Meredith swallowed and nodded.

"I'm sure there are at least a dozen gentlemen who are interested in the topic. After all, how could there be a society of entomologists without at least a dozen people?"

Evidently, that thought had not ever crossed Dawn's mind. She smiled widely.

"Well, there's an idea." She peered at Meredith. "Why, that's very clever. See? I knew befriending you was a good idea, even if it's not recommended of newly presented ladies to associate with old maids." Dawn's smile dropped suddenly. "Oh, dear! I didn't mean it like that."

"It's quite all right," Meredith said, positive that there wasn't a malicious bone in Dawn's body. A touch nearsighted with her speech, to be sure, but certainly not malevolent. "I am technically on the shelf."

"Oh, but you're not! Not really. I mean, you're certainly older than me, but you've many masculine attentions. Sir Kent, for example, seems quite devoted to you and he's a man."

"Yes, Sir Kent is a man," Meredith said awkwardly, unsure how to stop Dawn's attempts at rectifying her statements.

Just then the sea of people who stood not too far away from them parted and the duchess, dressed in all her glory appeared before them. The raven-haired beauty wore a buttery colored satin gown that seemed to glow, radiating in the candelabras and chandeliers. Her neck, ears and wrist were adorned a parure of sapphires that enhanced her cool, blue eyes and Meredith wondered if they had been a wedding present from the duke.

Both she and Dawn stood up as the duchess approached and curtsied.

"A word, if I may, Miss Taylor?" the duchess asked, her tone rather flat.

She didn't address Dawn.

"Oh, yes of course," Meredith said, before speaking to Dawn. "Will you tell Mr. Blake I will be back momentarily?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, nodding as she stared at the duchess. "Yes, of course."

It seemed that everyone in the room watched Meredith as she and the duchess took a tour around the room. She tried to think of something to say, but the words refused to form. Meredith wasn't sure the point, especially since they seemed to be stopping every few feet to exchange pleasantries with others. Soon, no one was keeping their eyes on them and when a lively song began to play, the duchess steered them out of the ballroom.

"Ah, your grace," Meredith began as she followed her down the cavernous hallway. "Where are we going?"

"The duke asked for me to fetch you," she said, her tone icy. "As if I were one of his hunting dogs."

"Oh, I'm sure his grace didn't mean to—"

"Do you presume to know him better than his wife?"

"No—"

"Well, then, I guess you don't know what he meant, do you?" she spoke. "Why he's so concerned with your reputation is beyond me."

"My reputation?"

"Oh, yes. It seems some old hag has exposed your secret. Why it should be our problem is beyond me. I've told him several times, just because he and that Archer man share a father doesn't mean that any of you are his family. Not when we have our own child on the way to worry about."

Meredith felt surprise and shame slam into her at the same time as the duchess's words barely registered. She was with child? Her secret had been exposed? Good heavens, what could she say?

Nothing, it seemed, as she followed the duchess down the eastern gallery, then down a long hallway. They walked the length of the corridor in silence.

"Here," the duchess said, coming to an abrupt stop before one of the last doors. "The duke's private study."

"I'm so very sorry to have disrupted your party," Meredith began, having decided she should apologize. "I can't imagine what you must think of me."

"I don't think about you at all," she said as she folded her arms across her chest. "And I pray this is the last time we see one another, Miss Taylor. Or whatever your name is."

Twirling on her heel, the duchess disappeared before Meredith could react. What a mess she had made. It seemed her brief and miserable marriage would not soon let her go, regardless how many years passed.

Taking a shallow breath, she grabbed the brass doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open.

The private office was long, almost narrow compared to other rooms in Dragmoor. The ground was covered in colorful floral rugs of red, blue, yellow, green, and pink. Dark, oak bookshelves lined the walls and Argand oil wall lamps were placed between each row of books. Every few feet sat leather chairs, or velvet chaises, with large, square end tables. It was a room of comfort, a room for people to get lost in stories during the cold winter months.

At the far end of the room stood a massive, intricately carved desk and gathered around it were Sarah, Simon, Mountebank and Jack. Feeling suddenly as if she were walking towards the gallows, Meredith swallowed and walked towards them.

Simon and the duke had carefully blank faces, while Sarah appeared sorry and Jack looked, well, murderous.

Oh, dear.

"Hello," Meredith said, her voice a touch lighter than she had intended.

Sarah came forward and reached for her hands.

"Hello, dear," Sarah said, her tone tinged with pity. "I'm so sorry to have dragged you away from the ball."

"It's no matter," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I've heard there was some issue?"

Sarah glanced back at Simon, who was watching the duke. Meredith couldn't help but focus her attention on Jack, however. His mouth was set in a hard line and his brow was furrowed. The scar on his cheek seemed highlighted in his furious expression and Meredith felt her stomach flutter. Did he know? And if he did, was he upset that she was sullied? Of all the things that could come from this, that would be the worst of it. If Jack thought less of her.

"An elderly guest seemed to remember something from a long time ago," the duke said, coming forward as Meredith's attention was pulled away from Jack. "Something about a marriage to a Mr. Peterson?"

Meredith had often thought of Clyde, but to hear his name out loud, well, she felt the color drain from her face.

"Is that so?" she asked faintly as she sat down on a chair.

"She's an elderly woman, known to have bouts of hysteria," Sarah said quickly, kneeling before her. "She's been going on about King George's wolfhounds for the past day and half. Everyone knows she's senile."

"Well, not so senile, it would seem," Meredith said.

Her eyes flashed to Jack, but he had turned his back to her. He seemed to be fumbling with something, but then Meredith felt her throat become tight. She blinked several times.

"Oh, dear, do not worry," Sarah said, her hand tightening around Meredith's fingers, believing that she was becoming emotional because of her secret being revealed and not Jack's response. "No one believes a word she said."

"The duchess did," Meredith said. "She didn't hesitate to explain as much."

A weighted silence followed.

"Excuse me?" the duke asked after a moment, his voice hard.

Meredith instantly knew that she had made a mistake. The duke's expression seemed seriously offended. She tried to smile and shake her head, as if to brush it off, but the muscles of her face refused to work.

"What I mean to say is that I believe the duchess was just being honest and really, she has every right to be, in her own home—"

"If you all will excuse me," the duke said, ignoring Meredith's explanation.

He was across the room and out the door within moments.

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I've caused yet another issue."

"Nonsense," Simon said, coming forward. "Whatever problems are happening between Mountebank and his wife are not your fault."

"She's a conceited bit—" Jack began, stopping himself. He cleared his throat. "Ah, I mean, she's … well…" He shook his head. "No, that's accurate. She's a conceited bitch."

"Jack," Simon growled, but Sarah gazed gratefully at her brother-in-law while Meredith just stared at him.

"She is," he said, his dark gaze locked on Meredith. "And if she said anything to offend you, I hope she gets what's coming to her."

"Must you make enemies here?" Simon began to argue with Jack. "I don't like these society types any more than you do, but Mountebank is our brother—"

"He's your brother."

"Our brother," Simon insisted loudly. "And he's obviously gone through great personal pain with that wife of his to have us here."

Jack stood up off the desk he was leaning on. A twitch in his jaw caught Meredith's attention as his anger seemed to roll off of him. He was visibly upset and yet the hard-set angle of his jaw and the tension he held in his long body made her want to press herself into him. She wanted his arms around her, to feel comforted and protected by him, even if she suspected that he didn't want anything to do with her now.

Much to her mortification, she couldn't help but feel awash with desire for him, even now while in the company of others.

Good lord, what was wrong with her?

"Why should we be grateful to be here if we're not wanted here? It's asinine!"

"Listen here—"

"Simon, Simon," Sarah said, her hand coming up to her husband's chest. Instantly, Simon stopped speaking and looked at her. "I'd like to retire now. If we are to leave first thing in the morning, we should get some rest."

"Oh, goodness," Meredith began, guilt washing over her. "Are we leaving because of me?"

"It's best if we leave before everyone else," Sarah explained, her hand still on Simon's chest as if she were holding him back. "So that your presence is missed rather than oversaturating everyone's senses. Leave them wishing for more."

"Oh, goodness, what a mess I've put us all in," Meredith said, slouching. "How will I ever be able to go out in public again?"

No one answered, which was answer enough. Shaking her head, she brought her hand up to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear. She wanted desperately to be alone, away from prying eyes and stood on shaky legs. Meredith let her sister take her arm and guide her.

"Come dear," Sarah said. "It's been a strange night indeed."

Meredith nodded and crossed the room with Simon close behind her. As they left, though, she realized that Jack hadn't followed them.

They continued down the hallway and up a back staircase that led to the guest quarters. A vague shouting could be heard as they reached the landing. Sarah and Simon escorted Meredith to her room and she wondered if they were all suspecting that the duke and duchess were fighting.

Feeling as though it was all her fault, Meredith closed the door behind her after saying goodnight and quickly undressed. Had she had any sense, she would die of mortification right there, but her silly body wouldn't disappear. Instead, she climbed into bed and laid perfectly still until flashes of Clyde's face began to surface in her mind. Then Jack's heated glare bubbled up in her memories and she began to toss and turn in the dark.

She would have no peace tonight or any night here after if she didn't speak with him. She needed to find Jack immediately.