“Piracy, procurement—they sound so similar when you put it like that.”
“Besides, he couldn’t possibly be a pirate. He’s a titled gentleman.”
“An English title?”
She shook her head. “No, he has a Scottish title.”
“Don’t they all,” Meredith mumbled under her breath. This man was sounding less like an opportunity and more like an opportunist. “And just what is his
title
?”
“I believe he’s an Earl.”
“Now, let me see if I have this straight.” Meredith arched an eyebrow. “He’s an American pirate with a Scottish title and an English accent?”
Ophelia nodded her head as if it all made perfect sense.
Meredith folded her arms over her chest. “The man’s a mongrel, not a prospect.”
The girls arrived back at the house and stood outside the French doors off the drawing room. Ophelia hesitated before going back inside. “Mama loved him, but I . . . Well, I suppose if I had to marry somebody . . .”
“And did he return your
mother’s
sentiments?”
“How would I know something like that?” She stared back at her, a vacant expression on her pretty face. Academic brilliance aside, Ophelia was naïve when it came to romance.
Meredith considered the situation and didn’t care much for the fact that Ophelia Marshall had fallen prey to some wayward rogue’s attention. She didn’t know why, but for some reason she felt protective of this girl. Perhaps it was because she reminded her so much of herself before . . .
“Besides,” Ophelia continued. “What would a man like that ever see in a girl like me? Now, if I were someone like you . . . men must fawn all over you.”
“I assure you, that’s hardly the case.”
“Pish! I don’t believe you. If only my brother could meet someone like you.”
Meredith’s knees practically buckled. Aunt Cynthia was always full of surprises and had undoubtedly known Ophelia had a brother. She should have guessed there was more to her great aunt’s grand plan. Cynthia was an excellent strategist and an avid gambler—she’d know better than to show all her cards at once.
“Oh, you have a brother?” She remarked nonchalantly, pushing the giddiness aside.
“
Older
brother. He comes to London every now and again. Since it’s my debut, mother insisted he stay with us through the spring so I can have an escort.”
“Would I recognize his name . . . or title?”
“He’s not come into his majority yet. Mr. Garrett Marshall—do you know him?”
“Vaguely.” She indeed knew of him, but their circles rarely intersected. He was a bit tamer than the rakes she usually associated with.
“He’s not settled down yet, much to Mama’s dismay.”
A respectable,
available
man from a good family who’d one day inherit the title of Viscount? If she were a man, she’d walk straight into a gambling hell and put everything she had on black. This was indeed her lucky day. “Enough about him, Ophelia—this is about you. You’re a beautiful young lady and deserve far more credit than you give yourself. Now, have you corresponded with the Earl since your first meeting?”
Ophelia shook her head. “It’s only been a few weeks. But, he did tell me that he was expanding his company to include the transport of passengers and was going to be working from his London office until everything is in place.”
Not good.
“Well, until you meet your mongrel-pirate again, you and I shall be inseparable. I promise within a matter of weeks, you’ll feel as if you’ve lived here your entire life.”
“You could come with me to the opera this week,” Ophelia suggested. “We have a box and I’d love it if you’d be my guest. My brother will be there and perhaps even the Earl. He did mention having a particular fondness for music.” She exhaled, as if blowing away all her worries. “Why are you doing all this for me?”
Meredith felt a pang of guilt when Ophelia’s eyes met hers. It was only supposed to be a friendship of convenience, but she felt a deeper connection than she thought she would. Still, she needed to remember that this perfect debutante, without so much as a blemish on her name, would be her own redemption. And if she played her cards right, perhaps there’d be a marriage proposal in it as well.
“Because that’s what friends are for,” Meredith replied.
Chapter 8
Lord and Lady Marshall’s carriage was scheduled to arrive promptly at nine o’ clock to take Meredith to King’s Theatre. She took one final glance in the vanity mirror, smoothing a wisp of flyaway hair. Tonight she’d worked doubly hard to look her best. She was wearing one of her more demure gowns—a Pomona green silk with modest long sleeves, but with a deep enough bodice to keep it interesting. She’d chosen to leave a trail of hair falling down her back in a cascade of loose curls that had taken her maid all day to set. And her usual primrose-colored ribbon was tied around her left wrist.
There was only ever one opportunity to meet someone for the first time and she refused to squander it with a lackluster appearance. Tonight wasn’t just another frivolous night spent at the opera—it was a strategic move on the proverbial chessboard that had become her life. She’d been too careless before, lost too many of her pieces, and now she’d do whatever she could to take a king and save herself. She was three and twenty, there wasn’t much time left.
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the carriage. She grabbed her reticule off the vanity top, uncovering the note she’d received earlier.
It was from her mother, another plea for more money and a disparaging comment about giving birth to such an ungrateful daughter. Guilt was her weapon of choice, and she wielded it with vicious precision.
Up until recently, the money she sent had been enough to placate her. But since her last birthday, the letters had increased both in frequency and insult. Her mother knew that upon her next birthday, she’d lose her membership and was all too aware of just what that entailed. No ribbon meant her matrimonial prospects diminished significantly.
Meredith skimmed the letter again. She needed twice the usual amount—something about the roof. At this point, she was quite certain they’d put more money into the home than it was ever worth in the first place.
Meredith hid the letter under a hand-held mirror, then walked to the door, more determined than she’d ever been.
Once in the carriage, she found herself sitting directly in front of Ophelia’s brother.
If Miss Ophelia Marshall was one of the loveliest women she’d ever seen, her brother, Mr. Garrett Marshall, had to be one of the most handsome men. Whereas the Marshall women were petite, he was tall with an athletic physique. The family’s wealth was further evidenced by his impeccably tailored jacket and pants, which served to accentuate his exceptional form.
Fine clothes from Bond Street didn’t make a bit of difference on a man like that. He could have worn a burlap sack and still looked just as good.
The journey from her home in Mayfair to the opera dragged on for over an hour. Not that she minded. Waiting gave her more time to become better acquainted with the Marshall family, without Lord Marshall, who’d been kept at the club longer than expected. Besides, she was thoroughly enjoying the view from her shared bench with Ophelia.
“Ophelia tells me you’ve been to London before, Mr. Marshall,” Meredith remarked.
“I’ve spent a few Seasons here,” he replied in an equally casual tone.
“Not nearly enough,” interjected his mother.
He smirked and shrugged with boyish charm. “What would be the point of coming to shop at the market if I wasn’t yet ready to make a purchase?’
Lady Marshall slapped his arm playfully with her fan. “You’re incorrigible.”
Ophelia giggled behind her gloved hand. “Still, I’m surprised you’ve never met Miss Castle before.”
His eyes darkened and his expression changed into something more devilish. “We have mutual acquaintances. Even though I’ve never had the direct privilege of meeting Miss Castle . . .” His gaze burned into hers. “. . . I’ve heard
much
about her.”
Meredith matched his stare with one of her own. “And I hope you believe none of it.” Her tone was playful, but she meant every word she said. Truth or lies—there was a good chance that neither one had portrayed her in the best sort of light.
“What a pity, then.” he said just loud enough for her to hear.
Ophelia and her mother were so involved with whatever it was that had caught their attention outside their window, that neither one took notice when Mr. Marshall leaned toward her.
“Do you enjoy a good ride, Miss Castle?” he asked in a hushed tone, a wicked smile on his face.
“Pardon?” Meredith practically fell off her bench. She was far from a prude, but such blatant innuendo was a bit much, even for her. “I don’t think this is appropriate—”
“Horses,” he interrupted. “Do you like to ride horses? Myself? I thoroughly enjoy a good mount.”
Her gaze narrowed and he sat back grinning like a fool. He was obviously pleased to no end that he’d managed to catch her off guard. She wouldn’t let it happen again. She always held the upper hand, and she’d be damned before she let some fop like Mr. Marshall take it from her.
Ophelia turned back and rejoined their conversation. “Is my brother boasting about his stables again? Garrett’s an avid horseman and an enthusiastic braggart.” She smiled in that teasing way younger sisters often did when ribbing their older brothers.
Suddenly, Meredith was reminded of sharing a similar moment with the boy she’d once considered as close to her as any brother by blood could be. The thought was fleeting and she banished it from her mind, just as swiftly as it appeared.
“I’m afraid I don’t ride as much as I used to,” Meredith answered, the unexpected direction of her thoughts putting her a bit on edge.
“And why is that?” he asked.
Meredith looked down at her gloved hands and nervously pulled on a string hanging loosely from one of the fingers. She hated talking about her past, especially after all the work she’d put into the present. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I just took a liking to less complicated forms of amusement. It’s just as easy to take a curricle around the park as it is a horse.”
Ophelia nodded. “I agree entirely. I only ride for sport—leisure is something else entirely.”
Mr. Marshall smiled. “I can think of nothing more enjoyable than taking a ride around the Serpentine.”
“Then you have much to learn about what other kinds of entertainment is available,” Meredith countered.
“I’m sure I do.” His voice was thick with insinuation. “Perhaps one day you can introduce me to some new ways to enjoy myself.”
“We’re here,” Lady Marshall announced, peering out the window again.
Ophelia clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Is there anything better than the opera?”
Meredith could think of only one thing better than spending an evening at the opera with such beautiful music surrounding her . . .
Spending that evening sharing a box with the incredibly rich and esteemed Marshall family.
Nothing can spoil tonight
, she thought as the footman helped her down the step.
Meredith curled her arm through Ophelia’s and led her through the lobby, leaving her mother and brother trailing behind.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I was told
Il barbiere di Siviglia
is quite amusing, though if I recall, its debut was horrendous. I’m sure that’s why it’s taken so long for it to come to London. I wonder who’ll play Rosina?”
Meredith tapped the girl’s hand. “Word of advice?”
“Oh, yes please.”
“Less is more. Try and keep the conversation light.”
“Light? I’m not quite sure I follow.”
“You know an awful lot about . . . well, an awful lot. Perhaps you could try and limit your choice in discussion to subjects that everyone is well versed in—like the weather. Or fashion.”
Ophelia nodded as if she were trying to absorb the sage guidance. “Like politics?”
“Absolutely not.” Meredith could only imagine Ophelia providing the next person who said hello with an entire dissertation on whatever referendum was up for vote.
“Everyone’s here tonight to see the opera. Wouldn’t they all be interested in talking about Rossini’s work?”
Meredith recognized the composer’s name, but only because she’d once considered herself a musician. “There are many people here, but I’m afraid only a small portion of them are actually interested in seeing what happens on stage. Everyone else will be watching the audience.”
Ophelia looked as if someone had just kicked her puppy. Meredith felt a stab of guilt for deflating the poor girl’s vision of humanity, but knew it had to be done sooner or later.
“How do you know all this?”
“There are rules.”
“Rules? Are they written somewhere so that I may learn them, too? I feel as if I keep repeating the same mistakes over and over.”
Before she had the chance to answer, she spotted her friends across the lobby. “There are some people I need to stop and say hello to before we head toward the box, would you mind?”
“Splendid!”
Meredith bit her lip. “Just remember—”
“Weather and fashion,” Ophelia parroted.
At least she was a quick study.
Meredith led her toward the gaggle of girls who’d gathered in the center of the room, each one wearing a primrose ribbon on their left wrist.
They were the ones who started rumors, ended trends, and always looked good while doing it. They were also a ruthless bunch of women who didn’t take kindly to newcomers.
“Meredith, I didn’t know you were coming.” Lady Alexandra McBride was the first to speak. Her family hailed from Scotland, but had enough money that everyone just happened to overlook it. “I thought you’d deserted us.”
Meredith flashed the group a brilliant smile. “I couldn’t do that, now could I? And let you ladies have all the fun?
Never
.” They giggled and Meredith continued. “Allow me to be the first to introduce Miss Ophelia Marshall, from Hamptonshire.”
“Is your father Viscount Marshall, then?” Alex remarked offhandedly, as if the answer didn’t make all the difference in the world.