The sweetest of dreams did indeed come Megan's way that night, dreams of lying in Greville's arms, his lips to hers; his body to hers… There was no propriety in what she dreamt, no inhibitions or rules, nothing to hold back the tide of desire that overwhelmed them both. In her sleep they shared the passion that convention expected only the married to enjoy, and when she awoke the next morning she knew that her feelings for Sir Greville Seton had passed all boundaries. She loved him, and there was no going back. But was there to be any going forward? Did he really still feel the same this morning as he did last night? She would only know that when she faced him at breakfast-if she had the courage to go downstairs.
She got out of bed, and opened the curtains and shutters to gaze out on a white world. The overnight clouds had completely vanished, the sun was shining, and because it was Sunday the remains of Great East Street were devoid of workmen. Today was December 21, the midwinter solstice, but with so much light and snow it did not seem possible that it could be the shortest day of the year. The sounds of Christmas drifted from the front of the house, children's laughter as they played in the snow on the Steine, street calls announcing hand-gilded candles and seasonal wreaths, and the inevitable carol playing of the German band outside the Pavilion. It was a perfect day for Evangeline's excursion in the royal sleigh. Mrs. Fosdyke's bunion had been truly vindicated.
The door opened and closed, and ghostly footsteps came to stand next to her. "Yuletide is at hand, mistress."
"And I am only in my nightdress!" Megan replied hastily, and dashed to put on her wrap. "Please knock if you wish to come in, for I might have been completely undressed," she said as she returned to the window.
"Forgive me, lady, for I did not think."
"You certainly didn't."
"How went the ball?" he asked.
"Oh, well enough."
"Is that all thou hast to say? Shame on thee, mistress, for I saw thee at the foot of the stairs with Sir Greville," he chided.
She lowered her eyes awkwardly. "Did you?"
"Aye, and I heard what was said."
"Oh."
The specter was silent for a moment. "And that is still all thou hast to say? Forgive this old shade, mistress, but would not a joyous smile be more appropriate this morning?"
"I am afraid to hope too much, Master Witherspoon." She explained why Greville had kissed her in front of the entire ball.
"And thy fear is that he will have reconsidered?"
"Yes."
"Thou shouldst not anticipate such a calamity, sweet lady, for if I am any judge, his heart throbs for thee even as thine throbs for him."
She managed a smile. "I hope you're right, Master Witherspoon."
There was another short silence, and then he spoke again. "I have a boon to beg of thee, mistress."
"A boon? What sort of boon?" Megan inquired.
"I wish thee to coax the Lady Evangeline to visit St. Nicholas's. I fear she hath become a little lax over such things and that she usually attends another church entirely, but pray ask her all the same, mistress."
Megan was puzzled. "Why?"
"For the good of her soul, sweet lady, for the good of her soul."
Somehow Megan did not think Evangeline's soul had much to do with it. Rollo's interest in the church could only have to do with Belle Bevington, she decided, and then remembered that he had said he could only go where Evangeline went. "It's you who needs to go to the church, isn't it, sir?"
Silence. She smiled. "An eloquent response. I will do what I can for you, but I am only Lady Evangeline's employee, and cannot make her go anywhere. And morning service will be the very last thing on her mind this morning. She will be all royal sleigh, I promise you."
"Ah, yes, the royal sleigh," the specter replied with a sigh. "I vow yon cursed contraption has become a grail to her! Nothing would suffice but Master Fosdyke be dispatched to the Marine Pavilion as soon as the sun was up." He sighed again. "Well, I have bided my time this one hundred and forty years, mistress, so I suppose a few more days will not prove my undoing. But if her ladyship could be persuaded to go to yon church before Christmas Day itself is over, I would be most obliged."
She detected a certain note in his voice. "You really mean that, don't you? It has to be done before the end of Christmas Day."
He hesitated, as if wanting to answer, but then decided against it. "I durst not to say anything more, mistress, for I have transgressed by asking this much." His steps crossed to the door, which opened and closed again, and Megan was alone once more. One hundred and forty years? She counted back mentally. That would be 1666, she thought, and recalled that all she knew of that year was that in September the great fire of London had occurred.
She remained by the window, her thoughts returning to Greville, but then she saw Evangeline picking her way through the snow toward the summerhouse. She wore a warm rose-colored cloak, and when she turned to glance back for a moment, Megan saw that she had on a royal blue gown beneath. On reaching the summerhouse, she brushed the snow from the bench then sat down and tossed back her hood. Her face looked thoughtful and withdrawn-oddly so, Megan thought, unable to help lingering by the window. Was something wrong? As she watched, Evangeline reached up to undo the gold chain around her neck, then opened the locket to gaze at what lay within. She raised it tenderly to her lips, at which point Megan drew back quickly from the window; such moments were not to be intruded upon.
Chapter 28
Evangeline's quiet mood of the summerhouse had quite lifted when she took her seat at the breakfast table, although Megan noticed that she wasn't wearing the locket. Her royal blue morning gown suited her, and the choice of such a regal color seemed singularly appropriate on a day when she would sally forth in a royal conveyance. Fosdyke had returned from the Marine Pavilion to say that the sleigh would be at her disposal from noon onward, and she was so excited that she couldn't talk about anything else. At least, this was the impression she gave, but Megan suspected she was using constant babble to gloss over any awkwardness resulting from the momentous cotillion.
Rupert's head was in the clouds this morning. Chloe had given him a good night kiss at the end of the ball, Oliver March had been trounced with a vengeance, and all was well in Lord Rupert Radcliffe's world. Greville and Megan could not have been farther from his thoughts, and the advent of the royal sleigh meant not a single jot, unless it meant that he and Chloe could enjoy a romantic and intimate drive in it. He gazed out of the window toward her house, and hummed to himself as he spooned salt into his coffee instead of over his deviled kidneys, forgot to butter his toast, remembered, spread it with strawberry jam instead, and then placed the jam spoon in the mustard pot. His eyes were dreamily happy, and his aunt's chatter went completely over his lovesick head. Greville came late to breakfast because he had been out somewhere, and he greeted everyone in a genial tone. Megan felt his eyes upon her as he took his place at the table, but she could not bring herself to look into them. She was aware of the door standing open to the hall, and the kissing bough turning slowly upon its rope. Oh, the mischief that could be wrought by mistletoe, aided and abetted by treacherous desires that had lurked in the shadows of acknowledgment, only to step into the full light of open revelation when defenses were down… At last she met his gaze. He smiled, and her foolish heart almost turned over with joy. He didn't feel differently this morning!