Free Quiet Meg by Sherry Lynn Ferguson Page A

deliberate
reprimand. When he had walked back toward the stables,
across the front courtyard, Meg had rushed to the hall,
intending to call to him. But she had stood silent.

    He had continued past the open door-and her. He who
had always proved the gentleman had discarded his usual
attentions; his boots and breeches were spotted with soil,
his shirt clung damply to his chest, a simple broad-brimmed
hat shaded his face. As she waited and watched him walk
by, she might have thought he did not even see her. He had
not looked toward the doorway. But at the last moment he
had acknowledged her, by touching the brim of his hat. The
pride in the gesture had been unmistakable. He had not,
at the last, found it within his power to be quite as rude to
her as she had been to him. He had passed on without her
response.
    Charles Cabot, gardener, had continued on as though he
were master of Selbourne.
    She might easily have summoned him, but guilt had restrained her, and now she had her silence as well to regret.
She had, in effect, cut him. He had left the next morning for
the southeast and Kent, and had not returned to Selbourne
before their own departure for town.
    Lucy burst into the room only to halt abruptly in the unexpected dimness.

    “Why Meg, what are you doing here in the dark? We’re
leaving shortly. Are you ready? I wanted to ask you about
my hair.”
    Meg rose from her seat and walked toward the hall.
    I am ready, Lucy pet, just gathering my courage.”
    “Your-oh, Meg, I hadn’t thought! I suppose you
think-you think Sutcliffe might be there?”
    Meg shook her head. She had been tossing all Sutcliffe’s
gifts and flowers away.
    “I shouldn’t think he would. It was never his preferred
venue. I imagine it even less so now. No, I was just remembering all those people. It is quite a crush. But you, my darling sister, shall stand out like a beacon. You look lovely,
Lucy.”
    “My hair-do you think it will do?” Lucy spun around before Meg, her fresh white gown, trimmed in blue ribbon,
floating about her, her blond curls caught up in an intricate
arrangement of tiny white silk flower buds.
    “You know it will. Peters has an expert’s eye and hand
with such arrangements.”
    “We will be late, Meg, if you don’t come down with me
now. Are you quite ready? Don’t forget your dance card.”
    Meg would happily have forgotten it. She did not look
forward to the ogling gazes and hot press of hands she
would associate forever with Almack’s. But for her sister’s
sake she would make efforts to enjoy it.
    “The dress suits you very well,” Lucy remarked as Meg
moved into the hall. “I am glad I insisted you have it done up
with this gorgeous emerald trim and sash. Just don’tplease do not stand next to me all the evening.”
“
    “And why is that, you minx?”

    “Because you are so very beautiful, Meg, that I should
never have a chance”
    Meg kissed Lucy on the cheek.
    “No one will spend two seconds looking at an old spinster like your sister-and I’ll wager you will be on the
dance floor all the evening in any event. If you were any
more popular than you are, Lucy, doorways and drawing
rooms all over town would have to be widened to accommodate your followers.”
    Lucy laughed.
    “I am having such fun! I pray that it will never end. I
think Aunt Pru shall have to have me for years and years
and years”
    Which would rather defeat the purpose, Meg thought as
they descended the stairs. Just because she herself had
been so notoriously unsuccessful was no reason for Lucy
to believe such solitude preferable to a happy match.
    “Father would want you home,” she said instead.
    “And why should father want that?” Sir Eustace asked
from the drawing room door. “Ah! Well you do both scrub
up nicely, though if I am not mistaken, Lucy, you have a
smudge of cocoa on your chin” As Lucy raised her fingers
to remove the nonexistent smudge, Sir Eustace winked at
Meg.