Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

The Next Morning, The Duchess of Maxwell's Breakfast Room

" A nd not only did she dance with Lord Pembroke, one of the most eligible bachelors of the Season, but she told Lady Mary if she dared to utter a word against her, she'd start an equally damaging rumor about her ," Meredith said, finishing the story she was telling Clare Handleton over scones. "Oh, how I wished you'd been there. Not only would you have loved to see Gemma in action, but I daresay you would have helped to thwart that awful Lady Mary," Meredith finished with a nod.

A catlike smile popped to Clare's bow-shaped lips. "Yes, one cannot underestimate the value of a well-timed slide of the foot to trip a particularly unpleasant chit," she finished with a saucy wink.

Meredith laughed. "Indeed."

"Quite brave of Gemma, but I do hope you shared my story with her. A reputation is nothing to take for granted," Clare continued as she picked through some grapes on her plate. "Take it from Scandalton . Not that I give a toss about any of it these days."

Meredith reached over and squeezed her friend's hand. It was one of the many things she loved about Clare. She was fabulous and fearless, the bravest woman Meredith knew. Clare should have been at the Cranberrys' ball. She should be married and the mother of several adorable children by now. But Clare had been involved in a huge scandal the year she and Meredith had debuted. It was the reason she'd been given that awful nickname by the more horrid members of the ton . The scandal—and the nickname—had even made it to the papers.

And now Clare was a twenty-seven-year-old self-proclaimed spinster, who no longer attended any Society events. Instead, Clare was stuck with her elderly mother, who, even after all these years, sniped at her only child constantly for ruining her chances. Meredith could barely stand to think of it. Her friend's fate had been so utterly unfair. The man who'd ruined her had not faced any consequences whatsoever.

Clare and her mother were in town for a short visit. They never stayed for the entire Season. They simply did some shopping, endured gossip from those who saw them on the streets, and returned to their little enclave in the country. But Meredith looked forward to Clare's visits. Meredith used them as an opportunity to try to persuade Clare to make an appearance in Society, which her friend always graciously declined. Of course, Meredith understood Clare's reticence. Society was a cruel, cold place for a woman who had dared break its rules.

At least Meredith was able to see her good friend upon occasion. Meredith loved her and the two had remained steadfast friends all these years. Meredith had been Clare's only remaining friend after her name had been tarnished. Clare was blond, with intelligent dark-brown eyes and a mischievous smile. Despite what she'd been through, Clare was still quick to laugh, and her positive demeanor was one of the many things Meredith loved about her. That and her quick wit.

Clare had left her mother at home this morning, thank heavens, and had only brought her maid along as a chaperone. The maid was down in the kitchens visiting with the other servants while the ladies talked. Which suited Meredith's purposes just fine. There was something she wanted to tell her closest friend. The something she'd been thinking about for several weeks now. The something she dared not write in a letter.

Clare's hearty laugh filled the room. "I'm so pleased to hear that Gemma didn't let that awful girl ruin her evening. What else did I miss at this Season's opening ball?" Clare asked as she took a sip from the teacup Meredith had just handed her.

Meredith waggled her eyebrows at her friend. She'd been waiting for this particular question all morning. "You'll never believe it, but Griffin has agreed to finally choose a bride this Season. Or I suppose I should say he's already chosen her."

"Pardon?" Clare's brows shot up. "Griffin? Chose a bride? You must be jesting."

Meredith took a sip from her teacup. "I reminded him that he promised his mother that he would marry the year he turns thirty."

"And here I was assuming that was merely something one tells one's mother when one is not yet thirty," Clare replied, grinning.

"Yes, well, it seems he was quite serious. And you could have knocked me over with a feather, but he told me he's already decided who he intends to ask to marry him."

" Who ?" Clare nearly shouted as she leaned forward, obviously on tenterhooks to hear more. She popped a grape into her mouth.

"That's just it. He refuses to tell me who she is. He is, however, allowing me to guess. Though I've already used my first guess and I was wrong."

Clare's brows drew together. "Guess? Whatever do you mean?"

Another sip of tea. "He's given me seven chances to guess the identity of the lady of his choosing."

Clare laughed. "Only seven? That doesn't seem terribly wise of him. He has to know that if you fail to guess correctly, you'll never stop nagging him about it."

Meredith laughed. "That is true, but I should hope by the time I use up all my guesses, he'll be properly courting this woman, and her identity shall become obvious."

"That is curious." Clare pursed her lips and tapped them with her fingertip. "Who do you think she is?"

"I've no idea, but I know she's not Amelia Barnstaple because I guessed her name at the Cranberrys' ball. Which means I have six guesses left."

Clare scowled and shook her head. "I cannot picture Griffin with Amelia Barnstaple. Far too simple for him."

"Perhaps," Meredith allowed.

"How long has this been going on? Why hasn't Griffin already told you about her?" Clare wanted to know.

Meredith began nodding. "Precisely what I thought when he first mentioned it. Honestly. How could he keep such news from me?"

Clare continued to tap her fingertip against her bottom lip. "Who is she?"

Meredith cocked her head to the side and considered the mystery lady's identity for the thousandth time. "I honestly don't know. In fact, I had no idea he fancied anyone. Who do you see him with? "

A sly smile curved Clare's lips as she picked up her teacup. "Honestly?"

Meredith blinked at her friend, studying her face. "Of course."

Clare lifted one shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. "I've always pictured him with you , Mere."

Meredith nearly dropped her teacup into her lap. She fumbled with placing it on the tabletop in front of her. "Me?"

Clare sipped her tea. "You two are together all the time. Thick as thieves."

"We're friends . Close friends ," Meredith said hastily, blurting out the words as if attempting to convince herself as much as Clare. The memory of Griffin standing so tall and handsome beside her last night floated through her mind. There couldn't be a woman alive who didn't find Griffin handsome, and he smelled divine too, but that was beside the point. He was Griffin. Her best friend.

"You must admit you make a good-looking pair." Clare twirled a hand in the air. "You laugh at the same jests. You enjoy the same pastimes. What else would make a happy marriage?"

Compatibility…in bed .

The thought made Meredith's mouth go dry. The image of Griffin in bed was… Wait. She shook her head. What was Clare saying? She? And Griffin? A ludicrous notion.

"I never intend to marry again. You know that," Meredith hurried to add. How many times had she repeated that same sentence to anyone who brought up the subject of her ever pairing off again?

Clare continued, fluttering her hand in the air. "I know. I know. But you asked who I pictured Griffin with, and I answered." Another shrug.

"And even if I wanted to…" Meredith let her voice drift off .

"I know, Mere." Clare's voice was filled with sympathy as she reached over and patted her hand. Clare knew her secret, that Meredith was unable to bear children. And she knew that was one of the reasons she would never marry again. She would not saddle a man with a wife who couldn't bear children. But it was also the reason for her other secret. The one she was dying to tell Clare. The one she'd been planning to reveal for weeks now. The one she intended to tell Clare just as soon as the conversation allowed.

Quickly changing the subject like the dear that she was, Clare went on to recite several amusing stories about her time in the country with her mother, but Meredith barely heard them. Something else had filled her mind. She? And Griffin? No. Definitely ludicrous. For heaven's sake, just the very thought was…well, it was…disconcerting at best.

"I cannot believe he fancies a lady and hasn't told me who," Meredith finally blurted.

"Are we talking about Griffin again?" Clare asked, blinking.

"Yes, sorry." Meredith bit her lip. "It's just distracting me to no end."

"I can see that," Clare replied, slowly lifting a brow. "Tell me. Does he love her?"

Meredith blinked again and frowned. "Love who?"

"This woman Southbury intends to ask to marry him. Does he love her?"

"I… why… I didn't ask him that." Meredith clapped her mouth shut. Oh, dear. That was a new thought. Why hadn't she asked him? He'd said he knew who he would propose to. Love had never been mentioned. But now that she thought on it, did Griffin love this woman? Her eyes narrowed. Who was she? And why did it suddenly matter so much that Meredith find out immediately ?

Clare sighed and stretched her arms above her head. "Oh, it's so nice to be out of mother's sight even for an hour or two."

"How is your mother?" Meredith asked, only to be polite. And Clare knew it.

Another sigh. "Oh, Mother is Mother." She rolled her eyes. "How is your brother?"

Meredith smiled. "Oh, you know Ash. Always fine. Never any problems. Always having fun."

Clare took another sip of tea. "At least someone's having fun. What about Ash? Is he planning to take a wife this year? He turns thirty as well, doesn't he?"

Meredith rolled her eyes. "I think it shall take more than a birthday to convince Ashford Drake to take a wife. You know he's publicly declared he has no intention of marrying. Ever."

"In front of the King, no less," Clare said, shaking her head and laughing. "Not exactly the proper way to remain in the good graces of the monarch."

Meredith shrugged. "Ash doesn't give a toss. He never has."

Clare's smile was bright. "We have that in common. I suppose that's why I've always liked him." Clare sighed and stood. "I suppose I must be going. Mama will have a conniption if I'm gone too long. You must write me as soon as you discover the identity of Southbury's mysterious lady. It's far too interesting of a tale, and it's far too boring in the country."

"Rest assured, you'll be the second to know after I find out. But you cannot go yet," Meredith declared. "There's something else I need to tell you. Something important. Something…private."

"Ooh, well then. Let Mama have a conniption. It'll be good for her," Clare said as she immediately fell back into her seat and leaned forward. "What is it?"

Meredith bit her lip. "I have plans this Season too. "

"What sort of plans?" Clare asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Meredith cleared her throat. She had not come to this decision lightly, but it would be real if she said it aloud. And Clare was the perfect person to tell first. Meredith closed her eyes briefly and blurted, "I intend to take a lover."

Clare's brows shot straight up, but then a sly smile covered her face. "Really?"

"Yes. And you're the one who gave me the idea. Last time we spoke."

"Really?" Clare's brows remained raised. "Remind me. What exactly did I say?"

"You said, ‘Marriage and sex are two different things. No one knows that better than I do. One is certainly not dependent on the other.'"

"Well, that's true," Clare replied with a snort-laugh.

"And I…I never felt as if Maxwell and I…well, it was not fulfilling."

"I don't doubt it," Clare continued, shaking her head.

Meredith winced. The truth was that Maxwell's lovemaking had consisted of slobber-filled kisses and unceremonious breast-grabbing. Then he'd rolled atop her and, well, she hadn't felt much. Just some ineffective thrusting before he rolled off of her and cursed her for some failing on her part that she didn't exactly understand. All she really did know was that none of it had been pleasant.

But she'd heard ladies talk about passion. She'd read books that acclaimed it. For more than one reason, she would never marry again, but she was eager to take a lover. What would it feel like to have a young, handsome virile man atop her? What would it feel like to actually want to go to bed with a man, be touched by him, touch him back? The thought sent a delicious shiver through her.

"It's high time you did this," Clare was saying as she picked up her teacup and held it out in front of her. "No doubt I shall hear no end of it from Mother when I return, but pour me another cup of tea, Your Grace, and do tell me more . I'm quite happy to help you plan everything."