Wasn’t it?
It was a relief when Rodgers interrupted this mental torture with his morning tea. After that, he found his mother and told her the reason Meg never came down for dinner was because she required a command. Or at least, an invitation.
Blast it all. It had never occurred to him that she felt she didn’t belong. It broke his heart that she felt she didn’t belong.
She did. She belonged.
He hunted for her all day to tell her so, and to apologize for whatever he’d said or done that had made her cry that second time, but he couldn’t find her. She had always “just left” whatever room he checked.
By dinnertime, he was getting irritated.
To be honest, he was irritated with himself.
He’d spent the day thinking about Meg, and how hard it must be for her to be caught between two worlds. And how much he would like to change all that for her. How he could change all that for her.
Mostly, he thought about how much he regretted inviting Mattingly to the party.
He hadn’t really considered things when he added Mattingly to his list. He’d been too busy trying to please his mother with actual viable prospects.
He hadn’t thought about what that might mean.
Of course Mattingly would be taken with her. She was beautiful, talented, funny, and smart. How could Mattingly not want to woo her? They would dance and chat and—good God—laugh together.
And Jonathan would have to stand there and watch with a smile on his face.
What a miserable proposition.
By the time dinner came around, he was in a high dudgeon. Which was saying something. Usually it was only old ladies who got into high dudgeon.
That was probably why he frowned at Meg when she entered the sitting room in her companion’s weeds with her hair up in a spinsterly bun. It didn’t help that there was a mutinous expression on her pretty face.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he snapped.
“Like what?” she snapped back.
He waved his hand at her outfit. “Like that?”
“These are my clothes.” She tipped her chin and sniffed at him with a primness that only irritated him more.
“She looks fine,” Mother said. “Come have some ratafia, Meg.”
“She doesn’t look fine. She looks like…a companion.”
Meg sent him a look, one he couldn’t quite translate. “I am a companion.”
He pulled himself straighter and said haughtily, “We dress for dinner.”
Her smile was frigid. “I am dressed.”
“More dressed than she was last night,” Susana said sotto voce.
They both glared at her.
“Whatever do you mean?” Mother asked. Thankfully, everyone ignored her.
Jonathan simply plowed on. “You could at least wear something pretty.” It was a perfectly logical request.
There was no reason for Meg to burst into tears.
Again.
He turned to his sister and bellowed, “What is she crying about?”
Susana sniffed. “Why are you asking me?”
“You’re a woman. You understand each other. Don’t you?”
Mother, who was sitting on the divan and taking all this in as though it were a play enacted for her private pleasure, suggested, “Why don’t you ask her?”
Jonathan glanced at Christian for some male support, but he merely shrugged.
So he turned to her. And he sighed. “Meg. Why are you crying?”
She glared at him, though the tears, and then said in an emotionless voice, “I don’t have anything pretty.”
That was all it took. His dudgeon deflated like a failed soufflé.
Of course she didn’t have anything pretty. Cyril, the bastard, had confiscated all her gowns and jewels and sold them after George died. His mother had told him as much and he’d tut-tutted and made some offhand comment about what a bastard Cyril was and then promptly forgot about it.
Well, hell. How could he fix this?
He had no idea, so he just did what he wanted to do.
He took her in his arms—again—and held her as she cried.
This was becoming a disturbing trend.
Although, if he were honest, he didn’t hate it.
“Don’t cry, Meg,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get you something pretty.”
She snorted wetly into his chest. “I don’t want anything pretty.” Which was clearly untrue, except that being contrary was apparently deeply imbedded in her nature.
“Oh dear,” Mother said with such horror, they both turned to look at her, though Jonathan kept his arms firmly around Meg.
“What?” Susana asked.
“I just realized that the party is in two days and Meg hasn’t a thing to wear.”
“I’ll take her to London tomorrow.” He didn’t know where the words came from. They just fell from his lips.
Suddenly, it seemed like an excellent idea.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said with a snort.
Susana shook her head. “You’ll never get a seamstress now.”
Mother shook her head as well. “Never.”
“Why not?” That seemed terribly ridiculous.
Susana stood and came to Meg’s side. “It’s high season, that’s why. But never mind. I have a solution.” His sister took Meg’s arm, dried her tears, and tugged her toward the door.
“Whatever are you doing?” Jonathan asked. “It’s time for dinner.”
“No time for dinner,” Susana crowed. “Meg, you and I are about the same size and I brought far more dresses than I will ever wear. You and I are going to pilfer my wardrobe! Have cook send two trays to my room at once!”
Jonathan watched them go—happy that Susana’s suggestion had seemed to delight Meg, and slightly annoyed that, once again, she wouldn’t be at family dinner, since this was the last one before the insanity began.
But his feelings hardly mattered, didn’t they?
He was only the duke.
CHAPTER 4
SUSANA’S WARDROBE was a treasure trove. Meg did her best to swallow the acrid fact that she’d once had one just like it and was now reduced to begging for scraps. She focused instead on the fact that she was lucky to have such a generous friend. And the opportunity to wear beautiful dresses as well. That was wonderful.
“Oh, this one!” Susana sighed, pulling out a beautiful sky blue frock with sequins stitched into the bodice. “It barely fits me now, since I’m increasing again, but it’s one of my favorites. I’m glad I brought it because it is perfect for your coloring.”
It was. And, in a flurry of crinoline, Meg eagerly tried it on. It was perfect. The blue brought out her eyes and made her shine. Or maybe that was simply her delight as she spun around and watched the skirt bell in the glass. It was a little tight in the bodice, but Susana insisted, with a wink, it was just right for someone on the hunt for a husband. There was another, a dark forest green, which would be perfect for the Christmas Eve supper and ball, and a lovely pink day dress.
“I love you in these jewel tones,” Susana said and Meg laughed.
“My last party frock was white.”
Susana grinned. “We’re hardly debutantes now.”
Yes. Hardly.
When they were finished, Meg returned to her dark weeds and sighed. “That was fun,” she told her friend, who grinned.
“Wasn’t it?”
“I’m so appreciative. You’ve been so generous.”
To her surprise, Susana stared at her, tears welling. Which caused Meg to tear up as well. “Meg, darling,” she said, opening her arms for a hug. “You deserve it. You’ve always been so generous with me. Even when we were children. Do you remember that time when you let me have the last cake at tea, after Jonathan and George swept in and tried to scarf them all up?”
Meg had to chuckle. “No. I don’t.”
Susana’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I do. And the time you gave me your doll, because I liked it. And— Oh, I could go on. You’re like a sister to me. A dear, dear sister. And I, for one, hate to see you moldering in Devon with Mama.”