Page 44 of A Chance to Dance with the Duke
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 yousurehe 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.
