Page 63 of The Trouble With Dukes
Something about Megan Windham was different, though Sir Fletcher could not decide if he liked the difference. She’d been standing in the center of the room, flirting with a duke. An elderly, newly married duke, but still …
Megan typically stayed to the perimeter of a room—probably less chance of falling on her face that way—and she wasn’t in the habit of smiling and beaming great good humor at all and sundry. Perhaps her poor eyesight meant she’d been at the men’s punch bowl rather than the ladies’.
Sir Fletcher had certainly availed himself of the libation, and a decent offering it was too.
The music was also fine, and the program ended with Lady Deene’s brother, Lord Valentine, dazzling the assemblage with his skills at the keyboard. His lordship was prodigiously talented, which fact he impressed upon all and sundry at tedious length.
“Where could our brothers have got off to?” Lady Rhona mused as the gathering began to break up. “They both enjoy music, and I was sure—”
“Some guests were listening from the library across the corridor,” Rosecroft said. “More comfortable chairs, you know. Lady Deene’s invitations are seldom refused, and the result can be a crowd.”
“Exactly,” Keswick said. “Comfortable chairs, access to the buffet. What fellow wouldn’t be tempted? Murdoch won’t mind if we escort you ladies home, I’m sure.”
“Capital notion,” Sir Fletcher said, affixing himself to Megan’s side. “I was about to make the same suggestion.”
Megan Windham—the most pleasant, boring, soft-spoken, biddable spinster in captivity—muttered something under her breath that sounded distinctly unladylike.
“I beg your pardon?” Sir Fletcher murmured, bending close. One could take liberties in public, provided one appeared solicitous while doing so.
“A megrim,” Megan said. “I’m certain a megrim is trying to get hold of me. Perhaps the fresh air will help.”
The fresh air would help, as would the darkened streets, and a bit of privacy.
Sir Fletcher had been lax in his doting and adoring for the past week or so. Fortunately, a musicale was free food and drink, and not the sort of venue where he’d be harassed about his debts. The time had arrived to remind Megan Windham of a few salient facts.
Once on the street, Sir Fletcher refused to budge from Megan’s side, while Rosecroft escorted Lady Edana, and Keswick took up a place at Lady Rhona’s side.
“Why won’t they leave us any privacy?” Sir Fletcher asked quietly. “You should have them better trained than this, when we’re all but courting.”
No matter how slowly or quickly Sir Fletcher walked, one of Megan’s relations remained ahead of them and one behind.
“They are conscientious in their duties,” Megan replied. “Why would I want privacy with you, Sir Fletcher? Affording you a few moments of privacy resulted in some of my most dreadful memories.”
For Megan to be that honest, her head must truly be paining her, poor darling. “Fear not, dearest. In time, you’ll learn to enjoy my attentions,” Sir Fletcher said, though he kept his voice down. “When are your parents returning from Wales?”
For Anwen Windham had neglected to send Sir Fletcher the address she’d promised him.
“Whenever they please,” Megan retorted, tugging her arm loose.
Sir Fletcher caught her hand and curled it around his forearm, then laid his own over her fingers in a firm grip.
“I’m all for the occasional show of spirit in a horse or a woman,” Sir Fletcher said, “but sulks and pouts do not become you. We need to set a date.”
“Tonight will do nicely,” Megan said, sounding as if she spoke through clenched teeth. “Tonight you commence leaving me in peace, acting as a true gentleman ought. Do not for an instant think to charm Lady Edana or Lady Rhona into some linen closet or saddle room. Their brothers will kill you for going near them henceforth. You’ll leave my sisters alone too, or I’ll come after you myself.”
Over the rattle and racket of passing carriages, the conversations of other pedestrians leaving the musicale, and the calls of the linkboys, nobody else would have heard Megan’s outburst.
Sir Fletcher wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly either.
“My dear, are you sickening for something? I’m the fellow who has sampled your charms, if you’ll recall. The gallant officer to whom you penned torrid pages in impressive quantity. I have proof that you’ve surrendered your innocence into my tender keeping, and with that proof, I can ruin you and your sisters.”
Also get his hands on a decent sum, thank God. What else was an earl’s younger son to do, but marry as well as he could?
Megan walked along in silence, while Sir Fletcher considered that perhaps a strain of weak nerves ran in the Windham family. The sooner he married Megan and got her out from under her papa’s roof the better.
Or perhaps Megan wasn’t the docile, bespectacled schoolgirl he’d singled out for his flirtations years ago. That could make married life interesting—or a damned lot of work.
“You’ve grown quiet,” he said. Megan had also grown tense. “You’re having a bad moment, probably that dratted megrim. I’ve been considering a special license—best five pounds a bachelor ever spent, according to some. Your papa would thank me for saving him the expense of a wedding, and marriage is said to settle a young woman’s nerves.”
