Free Quiet Meg by Sherry Lynn Ferguson Page B

“It’s gone now, poppet. Must’ve been a trick of my
eyes. You look a treat. The young men won’t know what
they are about”
    “But Papa, I think I do want them to know what they are
about!”
    “‘Twas just a figure of speech, child.”
    Louisa and Ferrell came to the door of the drawing room
to admire Lucy’s dress. Bertie was just starting down the stairs with Aunt Pru, a process that required some patience,
as she had grown rather plump and insisted on leaning on
Bertie’s arm much more heavily than on the banister.

    Meg was watching the two of them fondly when her father drew her attention.
    “Margaret, I would wish you to remember something tonight.” He nodded toward the large portrait in the hall.
Painted eight years earlier, it showed Louisa, Meg, and
Lucy with their mother. Meg had always loved the portrait
of her mother, but after her death, Sir Eustace had wanted
the reminder away from Selboume. Aunt Pru had claimed
her sister’s image for her town home. “You are still a young
woman, only twenty. And to me you will always be
younger.” Again he looked to the portrait. “Do not be too
eager to dismiss a youth you have hardly experienced. If
you are not happy, my child, what has everything been for?”
    She moved to place her hand on his shoulder, where he
clasped it. He had noticed her mood; she had not explained
to him her remorse over her treatment of Cabot. But tonight was a night for festivity. If nothing else, her father’s
comment reminded her to make more of an effort.
    “I am happy, father. I am simply-nervous. I want everything to go well for Lucy.”
    “You know Joe Coachman will have three riders with the
carriage. Nothing will occur.”
    “I know that. I am easy in my mind about that, father.
You needn’t fret “
    “I do not fret, my girl.”
    “Yes, I know,” she actually laughed. “You are usually
too busy with your preparations to fret “
    “Off with you, then,” he grumbled. “I wish to have some peace. Bertram, Ferrell-I expect a report regarding the
ladies’ conduct.”

    “Do not carry on so, Eustace,” Aunt Pru chided him as
they donned their wraps. She favored her late sister in spirit
if not in looks. “Anyone would think you were in truth itching to accompany us”
    “Of all the hare-brained notions,” he muttered as they
left the hall. “Such trouble for a glass of ratafia!”
    It was a tight fit for the six of them in the carriage and an
even tighter fit outside Almack’s, where all the early arrivals appeared to have converged at once. Meg smothered
her flutters as they passed through the initial greetings and
perusals with the patronesses, thanking the two most directly responsible for their attendance, thanking all of them
for their kindness and indulgence. Lucy’s manner, Meg
noted, was confident and engaging-she would pass with
warm approvals. Meg’s relief for her sister did not extend
to her own ordeal.
    “We have not seen you in London for some time, Miss
Lawrence” Sally Jersey’s gaze was boldly assessing. “Have
you been abroad?”
    “I have been in the country, milady.”
    “‘Tis a long time to rusticate, Miss Lawrence. Much has
changed here in town” She eyed Meg’s gown as though it
could not possibly be the latest fashion, which in fact it
was. “I do hope you enjoy yourself. I believe Lord Sutcliffe
attends tonight.”
    Meg stiffened. But she thanked her and moved on, thinking that some fixtures of town-waspish Lady Jersey, for
example-had not changed one whit.
    “She is odious,” Louisa whispered. “And as much of a gossip as ever. Do not mind her. She envies you rather too
obviously, Meg. Ferrell believes she will spill state secrets
and be banished to the Continent.” As Meg smiled they
made their way through the crush of people to the dancing
hall.

    Meg still remembered what was most attractive about
Almack’s: the cavernous, mirrored long hall, reflecting the
light of