Chapter Nine

Meredith was slow to wake the following morning, and was somewhat bewildered to see that the curtains of her bed had been drawn closed. She moved to get out of bed, only to realize that the sun was high in the sky outside of her window. She had slept in.

Meredith never slept in.

Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, Meredith scooched out of bed and rang for a maid. Wrapping herself in her dressing robe, she wondered why she hadn't risen earlier, as she usually did. Try as she might, she couldn't remember any of her dreams from the night before, but only felt a substantial exhaustion settle in her bones. Why was she so weary? Unable to think on that for long, soon the bedroom door opened and the young maid from the day before, came in.

"Begging your pardon, my lady. I'm Brynn and I'm to be taking care of you during your stay at Dragmoor. I came in earlier to rouse you, but when I found you were still sound asleep," she said in a thick, Lancashire accent, "I drew the curtains so the sun wouldn't bother you. I beg your pardon if I took liberties, my lady. I should have asked you last night if you preferred to wake with the rest of the house."

"It's all right," Meredith said. "I must have needed it."

Brynn smiled and curtsied before busying herself with helping Meredith get dressed for the day. She donned a simple walking dress that was snow colored with a small red flower pattern on it that made it appear almost pink if one stood far enough away.

Once Brynn had set her hair in a rather new style, with a part down the middle and loose curls coming over her ears, Meredith headed for the dining room in hopes of finding something to eat. When she arrived, she was startled to find a handful of men, all dust covered and sweaty in their hunting clothes. They collectively bowed to her.

"Pardon me," she said quickly, trying to leave when the duke called out to her.

"Good morning, Miss Taylor," Mountebank said, coming forward. "I'm afraid you missed the hunt this morning. We've just returned."

Meredith smiled as a few gentlemen chuckled.

"I've never been hunting a day in my life, your grace. But I hope yours was a successful attempt?"

"I'd say so," an older man, Lord Buchanan spoke up. He turned to the duke. "It's always a pleasure to hunt in your woods, your grace. They're always bountiful." Mountebank nodded his thanks as Lord Buchanan finished a red liquid drink. "If you'll excuse me, I'm sure Lady Buchanan will wish to be regaled with my abilities."

The other men laughed as the older lord left. The others chatted for a moment longer, before they too began to filter out of the room, one by one. Meredith nodded at each gentleman as they left until only she and Mountebank remained.

"I hope you'll excuse me, Miss Taylor, but I must attend to some business before the rest of the activities take place today. There will be a Pall Mall match on the northern lawn this afternoon and the musicians are set to arrive any minute."

"Of course, your grace."

The duke paused and Meredith had the distinct idea that he wished to say something. She gave him an encouraging smile. He sighed suddenly and took a step towards her.

"I must apologize again to you and the rest of the family for the duchess's absence," he said. "She's been feeling under the weather since her ride yesterday. I had hoped that she would be able to visit with you and your sister over breakfast, but it seems the doctor has suggested she stay in bed for the extent of your visit here."

"Oh, dear. I do hope she gets well. And there's no need to apologize, your grace. People become ill over many things."

"Yes, I suppose. I asked your sister for her assistance this morning with finishing preparations since the duchess is ill. I'm not very well versed in arranging balls and whatnot. I hope she didn't think it too much of an imposition."

"Oh, I'm sure Sarah loved to help. She quite enjoys planning for parties."

He gave her a strained smile and Meredith got the impression that he wasn't used to asking for help, especially regarding household tasks. He seemed to want to speak more on the matter, but he shook his head.

"Yes, well, perhaps we'll meet on the Pall Mall lawn later today."

"I may watch, your grace," she nodded, before adding, "but I certainly won't partake. I'm not very good at lawn sports."

Mountebank gave her a nod.

"Very well," he said, bowing. "Good day, Miss Taylor."

"Good day, your grace," Meredith curtsied as the duke left.

Thankful to finally be alone, Meredith faced the table. A butler was by her side in a matter of seconds, holding a plate as she pointed to several dishes, including some roasted turkey, fresh rosemary rolls and a tempting jelly that Meredith wished to try.

She ate quickly, happy to be alone as she did. Meredith wasn't sure why, but she always felt more comfortable eating alone. Peering around the room, she saw a large, faded rectangle on the wall, as if a painting had been removed recently. Noticing the other portraits, she wondered what sort of painting it had been and if the duke had commissioned a new one, possibly of he and his wife.

Meredith felt sorry for the duchess's illness and hoped she made a quick recovery. She believed the duke's anomalous behavior was because he was worried about his wife's health and it was unfortunate that she should have fallen ill during this time. Regardless, the duke was proving to be far more welcoming than she had ever expected a man of his position to be. They hadn't spoken much during Sarah and Simon's wedding and she had been rather unsure what type of man he was, having only heard about him secondhand from Sarah. She had overheard Simon mention once that Jack hadn't been particularly fond of Mountebank and Meredith found herself curious as to why.

Jack hadn't wanted anything to do with Mountebank, but Meredith was sure he must have felt vulnerable once it was revealed that Simon and the duke shared a father. Jack might have worried that his bond with Simon was threatened and Meredith felt sorry for him. While Jack was quite strong and rough around the edges, she knew a vein of gentleness coursed through him. Although for some reason, it only seemed obvious to her.

She wished he were here. It was silly perhaps, but when the presence of someone in the doorway caught her attention, for a fleeting moment she believed she had magically summoned him, like a witch calling to her familiar. A man cleared his throat behind her and she whipped around, expecting to see Jack.

Except it wasn't him. Sir Roger Kent stood in the doorway, hands behind his back as he looked at Meredith with a question in his eyes.

"Sir Kent," she said, standing up. "Good day."

He came into the dining room with deliberate caution.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Oh no, of course not. I've just finished."

"Very good," he said coming towards her as a footman pushed in her empty chair. Another cleared her plate. "I was hoping that you would accompany me to the north field. The duke has set up a Pall Mall game and I thought you might care to watch?"

Meredith smiled and ignored the slight disappointment in her heart as she smiled at him. Jack Archer wasn't here and he wasn't coming. Besides, Meredith should try and befriend someone like Sir Kent. He was an honorable, brave man who had fought in a war. Surely, she could find something interesting to talk with him about.

She held out her hand and waited for him to take it, which he did.

"Thank you, Sir Kent," she said as they left the dining room.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in good, if not quiet company. Sir Kent hadn't partaken in the game either and so they sat at one of the dozen iron cast tables that had been lined up along the near side of the Pall Mall pitch, with the manse behind the spectators. Several yellow striped cloth tents had been raised to cover the seating area to protect those who didn't wish to partake from the autumn sun.

It was a lovely, breezy sort of day. Meredith waved at Sarah who smiled brightly and waved back from the center of the pitch. She and Simon were taking part in the game and having a spirited chat about a particular shot that Sarah had just made when Sir Kent hailed one of the footmen for refreshments.

Meredith sipped the sweet lemonade as she took in the surrounding scenery. The north lawn was set against a charming backdrop of rolling forests and as they were slightly north of Bristol, the leaves here had begun to change colors. Golds and oranges spotted the green maples, planted in between the great pines that surrounded the duke's property and she wondered how lovely it would be to take a stroll in those woods.

Sir Kent was proving to be a quiet companion. Meredith was trying to think of a smart comment when the corner of her eye caught the distant image of a cornflower blue dress exiting the manse, onto the back terrace.

Turning around completely, Meredith saw a young woman with silky, raven colored hair, as she walked down the stone steps of the back terrace. Lady Justine Hughton, Duchess of Mountebank had finally made an appearance.

The duke came off the pitch and Meredith noted the same tension he held in his shoulders when he had previously brought up his wife in conversation. The duke made an informal introduction to everyone, while the duchess smiled graciously and took a seat beneath the center of the field where the largest tent had been set up.

The duchess was a beauty, even from a distance. She seemed at ease with the company she sat with and while Meredith returned her attention back to the game, she couldn't help but notice the stiffness that suddenly appeared in the duke's stance.

"I was wondering when the duchess would make her entrance," Sir Kent said quietly as he leaned towards Meredith. "I had heard she was feeling unwell."

"As did I."

"I was greatly relieved when the duke announced his wedding," Sir Kent began. "I had worried that he was going to give up all masculine pursuits for his studies, but then he met Lady Justine." Meredith gave Sir Kent a quizzical gaze. "Forgive me. I should explain. You see, I grew up not far from here. Hughton, I mean, Mountebank now I suppose, and I have been friends for many years."

"Oh, really?" she said, surprised. "That's wonderful."

"Well, we were never supposed to meet in society," Sir Kent explained. "My father was a tenant farmer. I was supposed to take over working the fields when I came of age, but the war seemed more exciting to a boy of sixteen."

"Oh, I see," she said, noting the class distinction. "The duke does not seem to stand on formal rules when it comes to society. He is a great friend of my brother-in-law, Mr. Simon Archer."

"Yes," he said, watching the field. "Your brother-in-law seems content as does the countess de Marchand."

Sarah wasn't simply content but blissfully happy. Meredith peered across the field. Sarah and Simon were on the pitch, smiling, and it looked as if they were making quiet comments to one another. Meredith could almost make out a blush on her sister's cheeks.

"She's forfeited her title I'm afraid," Meredith said.

"Has she?"

"Yes."

"Does she not retain it as a courtesy title?"

"She could, I suppose, but she's quite happy to be Mrs. Archer."

"Your sister's place in society has dipped since marrying Mr. Archer," Sir Kent said quietly. Instantly, Meredith felt defensive and the expression on her face must have expressed her feelings, for in the next instance, Sir Kent shook his head. "You misunderstand. I find it commendable that she would leave a titled position to marry someone beneath her social ranking."

Meredith let out a long breath, having been prepared to defend her sister.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Yes, well, Sarah wouldn't see it that way. Mr. Archer is her equal in all the ways that count."

"She is a fine woman," Sir Kent said with admiration. "It must be a family trait." While Meredith wasn't usually susceptible to flattery, she smiled. "I hope I'm not being too forward."

"No, Sir Kent, you are not," she said quietly. "Thank you for such a lovely compliment."

Sir Kent smiled and was about to say something else when Lady Justine Hughton suddenly appeared before them. They had been so engrossed with their conversation that neither had noticed the lady's approach. Meredith and Sir Kent stood to curtsy and bow respectively, as the duchess waited to speak.

"Miss Taylor," the duchess said, addressing Meredith first. "How nice it is to see you again."

"It was our pleasure to receive your invitation, your grace," Meredith said.

"My husband's invitation," she clarified. Though she wasn't exactly smiling, she wasn't frowning either. In truth, the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent. "He's been most insistent on having an event to invite all his dearest friends to, you see."

Her eyes wandered to Sir Kent and Meredith. While her tone was sweet, her inflection gave Meredith pause.

"It is an honor, your grace," Sir Kent said evenly.

"Yes, I imagine it is."

Without waiting for departing pleasantries, the woman nodded ever so slightly, moving on to the next set of people seated only a few yards from Meredith and Sir Kent.

When she was gone, Sir Kent leaned over.

"I'm afraid that slight was directed at me," he said softly. "I don't think the duchess is too pleased with having someone of my station in attendance."

"Your station?" she repeated. "But you're a national hero."

That caused a self-deprecating smile to appear on Sir Kent's face.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm just a soldier," he said, "but I fear the duchess doesn't appreciate where I come from."

"I don't think it's you, Sir Kent," Meredith said. "It could be my family. My sister's step down in society is seen by many as a fault."

"Then we are in good company with one another."

He nodded at her before returning his attention to the pitch, while Meredith tried to convince herself that Sir Kent was a perfectly fine man who seemed unaffected by the frivolities of the peerage. He had complimented her as well as her family and she tried to convince herself that he was handsome, but she couldn't help but compare him to Jack.

It was a foolish thing to do. Jack wasn't the type of man she should even have ideas about and yet she was constantly thinking about him. What his thoughts on something would be, why his face seemed so much more pleasing to her than any other, what wicked thing he would say beneath his breath if he were standing close to her in a room full of people.

Good heavens. She needed to do a better job of ignoring her feelings.

As the game ended and the afternoon sun hung low in the sky, Meredith stood, determined not to let herself think of Jack. Sir Kent escorted her back to the house with the rest of the guests, and Meredith made sure to not think about him as they climbed the wide, stone stairs that led to the terrace. She also didn't think about him as Sir Kent bowed and she retreated to her room to prepare for that evening's ball. And she absolutely didn't think of him when she called for a bath, deciding not to rest before the evening. Why, he wasn't even in her thoughts as she was dressed with expert care by two very helpful maids on loan from the duke.

It was very easy not to think about Jack when she thought of him like that.

Sarah had insisted on buying Meredith a dozen new gowns when it was decided that she would begin attending balls again, but the fabric they had picked out would take too long to receive them. Instead, they decided to alter several new gowns that Sarah ordered from France two months earlier, that had been trimmed to fit her shorter stature.

Meredith hadn't ever thought of herself a jewel toned sort of woman, but she had to admit that the light mulberry colored gown made of Spitalfields silk with fashionable wide skirt to accentuate the narrow waist was an exquisite gown. The neckline however, was deeper than the one she had worn in Bristol and she almost felt indecent. Sarah's gowns had always been made tightly and Meredith was more well-endowed than her sister.

"Good heavens," she murmured as she glanced at herself in the mirror. "Is there a bit of lace I can use to cover up with?"

"Trim has gone out of fashion, my lady," Brynn said as she bent to fluff out her skirts and petticoats. "If I may, my lady, you are quite a vision in this gown. It fits you splendidly."

"It's not too tight?" Meredith asked, unsure as her hands moved over her abdomen.

"No, my lady. It's how the other ladies are all wearing their gowns and they've just arrived from London."

Bolstered, but not convinced, Meredith sat to allow the other maid, Frederica, fix her hair into a stylish coiffure. Loose curls framed her face as a dozen or so pearl pins held the rest in place and she had borrowed a pearl choker from Sarah. The clasp was held together by a dark amethyst and when she was finally finished with her attire, Meredith felt as confident as a knight beneath a suit of armor.

Just then there was a knock at her door. Without waiting, Sarah came in, a vision in a deep, emerald green evening gown, with a lighter green leaf motif pattern embroidered onto the silk fabric.

"Oh, Meredith… You're beautiful!" she said, coming into the room as she held her hands up. "Let me take a full look at you."

"It's too tight," Meredith said, her arms held out wide by her sister.

"Heavens, no, it's divine," she disagreed. "You're an absolute vision."

"I'm sure it's too revealing," she countered as she gazed down. "I hope I don't offend anyone."

"Good gracious, who would be offended at your beauty?"

"Well, the duchess didn't seem too keen on me when we spoke at the Pall Mall match."

Sarah's fussing stopped almost instantly and her eyes squinted at the mention of the duchess.

"What did she say?"

"Only that our invitation was from the duke."

"It was."

"But she corrected me. I thanked her for her invitation."

"Ah," Sarah said knowingly. "I see."

"The duke apologized this morning for her absence. He said she was ill, but she appeared to be quite healthy this afternoon."

"Indeed, she did. And Mountebank sought my help this morning to arrange the musicians and flowers for tonight. I spent all morning doing so, believing the duchess was sick." Sarah paused. "Something is not right."

"Do you think she does not like us?"

"She was more than gracious when we met before, but I have not seen her since her wedding." Sarah paused. "I wonder if the duchess has become conceited in her marriage." Meredith could not say and so remained quiet. Sarah shook her head. "But I shan't worry about that right now. We have far more important things to busy ourselves with at the moment. Are you ready to go down?"

"Yes."

They left the room and were both escorted by Simon, who was kind enough with a compliment to Meredith, though his entire focus seemed reserved for his wife. Meredith was nervous as they made their way down the grand staircase. She knew she should be concerned with the matter at hand, but a part of her wouldn't let the strange behavior of the duke and duchess leave her mind. What was going on?

As they reached the middle portion of the stairs, there seemed to be hundreds of people, not merely dozens as Sarah had suggested, moving below them. From guests who were staying at Dragmoor, to arrivals of country neighbors, the entire manor seemed filled from wall to wall with guests. It felt unseasonably warm as they descended into the sea of ladies and gentlemen.

Every available inch of the house had been covered in a multitude of colorful autumn blooms. Red, orange, purple, and white flowers were in vases, on tables, and in the hairstyles of nearly half the ladies in attendance. It smelled divine, and as they moved down the hallway and into the ballroom, Meredith couldn't help but be enchanted.

While she had lived with her sister at Hardwick House, they had never held a ball and before that it had been years since she attended one of the country socials that she had gone to as a younger woman. She had certainly never been to a duke's home and it seemed that Mountebank had gone to great lengths to make his ballroom shine.

Tall white pillars capped with gold filigree outlined the room, creating conclaves on one side, as well as doorways that led out onto a long, stone patio that overlooked the gardens. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling like thousands of diamonds had been strung together.

Meredith was impressed and was trying very hard not to let her mouth open in awe when Sir Kent approached.

"Miss Taylor," he said, bowing to her. "Are you going to partake in the activities tonight?"

"Yes, Sir Kent."

"Then may I have this dance?"

The orchestra began to pluck and zing their instruments awake as the dance floor opened for Mountebank, who was escorting the Countess of Gracile for the opening song.

"Of course," Meredith said, taking his arm as they lined up and the music began.

The opening number was a lovely waltz that had caused Meredith to remember the last time she had been at a dance. It had been the night before she fled to Gretna Green with Clyde. She had been so eager then, so unreserved with her feelings as she had openly stared at him all night and danced with him four times. When he had pulled her out into the garden and kissed her behind a cherub statue, she had been so sure of herself.

Now, as she spun around the room in Sir Kent's arms, Meredith felt completely different. She was not in love at all and so practical that she wondered if her old self would even recognize the woman she had grown into. Would her younger self like who she was now? Meredith doubted it. Still, this was safe. Dancing with a gentleman who seemed to enjoy her company, but didn't wax on poetically about her or inspire any illicit feelings was safe.

But even as she thought it, something deep within her seemed to tick. It was the oddest sensation, this gut feeling, but Meredith suddenly felt as if she was being watched. She glanced back and forth as she and Sir Kent twirled around the room.

Through the floral scent she could have sworn she detected a hint of carbolic soap.

"Are you searching for someone?" Sir Kent asked, noticing her sudden curiousness.

"No," she said honestly as the music began to end. "I just thought…"

Her eyes had drifted through the crowd when she saw him. He stood between a group of guests who were staring at him, almost shocked as they whispered behind their hands. Surely, he would have heard them, but he didn't seem to care.

Jack Archer only had eyes for Meredith.