“I told you I’d think about,” Derek lied. He’d stop by on occasion, long enough to check on the status of things, but he fully intended on maintaining his status as the majority owner of King’s Ransom Transport. It was his duty to travel and meet with new clients. Hopefully, he could take a wife and that would be enough to get Brayan off his back. “Miss Marshall is perfectly acceptable.”
“For who?” His cousin cast him a sideways glance, and he was completely justified in his doubt. Miss Marshall
was
lovely, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. Still, Derek believed that mutual respect would be a strong enough foundation on which to build a marriage. If he craved more, he’d simply seek out such
comfort
elsewhere.
Women were always more than willing to provide him companionship
.
“Do ye think Miss Castle will be jealous?” Brayan asked as the carriage came to a halt.
Derek smiled. God, he hoped so.
Chapter 11
It was dawn.
Meredith didn’t bother to shield her eyes from the sun pouring in through the windows—she was already awake. She’d been awake for hours, unable to get comfortable, blaming her night’s restlessness on a lumpy mattress.
Truth be told, she hadn’t slept well since her evening at the opera.
Giving up, she rolled out of bed, flinching when her bare feet touched the cold floor. She walked around to the end of the bed and kneeled. It had been two years since she’d accessed her secret hiding spot, momentarily questioning its location. She carefully tested one of the floor boards, a brief sense of relief washing over her when she felt it give. The space was exactly how she’d left it—occupied only by a battered old box, filled with letters and a green cut-glass ring.
She picked up the box and blew across the top of it, a cloud of dust evaporated into the air. She slowly opened the lid, as if she expected a surprise after all these years. Inside were the well-read pieces of foolscap, a past she’d worked so hard to forget.
She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not here . . . not
anywhere
.
He belonged in Middlebury
.
She unfolded one of the letters, the familiar scribble making her smile.
The sound of her door opening startled her and she hastily hid the letter behind her back.
“You’re here?” Cynthia asked, poking her head around the door.
Meredith nodded, positioning herself in front of the hole in her floor. “Where else would I be?”
Her aunt stepped into the room, still wearing her evening gown from the night before. “I just didn’t expect to see you. Usually, you’re just getting in at this hour.”
“Like you are now?”
A sly smile crept up her face. “It was a splendid party. Mr. Darby was there. You remember Mr. Darby don’t you? That handsome widow I was telling you about?”
She clutched the letter tighter. “Yes, of course I do. Did you get to dance like you were hoping to?”
“Twice! Things are progressing along quite well. Of course, he lives on the coast, so we still don’t get to see each other as often as I would like.”
“Why doesn’t he relocate?”
Cynthia shook her head. “I could never ask it. His home is there.”
“So, you’d be willing to move to the coast if married?”
Cynthia smiled. “I’ve never really felt as if I could leave London. There’s always been the Ribbons tying me here . . .”
“But we’re doing quite well for ourselves now.”
She nodded. “Yes, you are. But I couldn’t very well leave
you
here. Maybe when you’re . . . settled.
Meredith sighed. She hated the idea that her aunt was forced to put her romantic endeavors on hold while she waited for Meredith to get her act together. “But you had a good time, overall?”
Cynthia clapped her hands together. “Oh, you really should have come out tonight!”
Meredith shrugged. “I just didn’t feel quite up to it. I’m still a bit under the weather after my little episode the other night. Besides, I needed all the rest I could get since I’m supposed to be shopping with Alex today. You know how draining that can be.”
Her aunt nodded approval. “Are you bringing Miss Marshall?”
“Of course.”
“Delightful. And will Mr. Marshall be in attendance?”
Meredith laughed. “Perusing hats on Bond Street? I should hope not.”
“I saw the flowers he sent yesterday. Things are going well, then?”
Garrett Marshall had sent an arrangement of hotbox flowers, along with a note inquiring after her health the day after the opera. It was a perfectly thoughtful gesture . . . one that she’d briefly entertained as being the work of Derek. It was a ridiculous thought; he’d made his opinion known, and for the life of her she couldn’t blame him.
She’d treated him abominably, no matter how many times she’d tried to justify it to herself. But she’d needed to be entirely focused on her success in London and couldn’t chance the complication of a relationship with him. It had been for the best that she sever all ties, knowing neither one of them could
ever
be content with friendship alone.
“Quite well,” she answered back.
Cynthia turned to make her way back out of the room, but stopped suddenly and whirled around to face her once more. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask about Lord Sutherland.”
“The Earl?” Meredith’s grip tightened around the letter she hid behind her back.
“Oh, good! So you
are
familiar with him. He was all anyone could talk about last night and I heard he’d also attended
The Barber of Seville
. Did you meet him, then?”
“We’ve been introduced,” she said dryly.
“I hear he’s one to watch. Gorgeous, rich as sin—and he’s rumored to have quite the sense of adventure. What a catch!”
Meredith bit her tongue, afraid of what she’d say.
“I’m off to bed now,” Cynthia sung. “Really, though, you should go lie down and get a bit more rest. You look awful.” With that, her aunt shut the door behind her.
Meredith removed the crumpled ball of foolscap from behind her back. How had he managed to cultivate
that
reputation in such a short amount of time? It was beyond ridiculous how much fuss was being made over
Derek Weston
.
She threw the wadded-up letter across the room.
She refused to acknowledge Lord Sutherland as anything more than a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing . . . or more accurately, a sheep dressed in wolf’s clothing. Whatever had happened to him was of little consequence to her.
Unless he succeeded in courting Ophelia.
She needed Ophelia to remain as pure and clean as a fresh winter’s snow, and she would not let a former-farmer-turned-pirate seduce her little apprentice. He may have impressed London society, but
she
remained anything but.
Meredith and Ophelia stepped out of the carriage in front of the
modiste’s
shop and found Alex already waiting with her maid.
“Meredith!” Alex called, pausing after spotting Ophelia. “Miss Marshall,” she greeted with considerably less enthusiasm.
Ophelia didn’t appear to notice and approached the statuesque blonde. “Lady Alexandra, thank you so much for inviting me.”
Alex glared at Meredith, arching an elegantly sculpted eyebrow. “Of course.”
“And you must call me Ophelia.”
“Ophelia,” she repeated through gritted teeth.
The ladies entered the shop, Alex expertly weaving her way to Meredith’s side. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing her,” she hissed.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Meredith lied. Alex was often distrusting of newcomers . . . especially pretty ones.
“You knew I’d mind, which is exactly why you didn’t tell me you were bringing her.”
Meredith balked at the accusation. “Would I ever be so devious?”
“There’s no question,” Alex returned without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
“She needs the exposure.”
“I don’t believe for a second you’d be so selfless in your endeavors.
You
need the exposure
with her
.”
“Let’s not quibble about the particulars—what’s done is done. And I expect you to behave.”
“I’m always on my best behavior.”
Meredith took a deep breath. “That’s what worries me. Do me a favor and try to do a bit better than that.”
The designer’s assistants appeared, whisking them away to a private room at the back of the store where a trolley of cakes and champagne awaited.
“I’ve come here a half-dozen times with my mother, yet I’ve never been in this room before.” Ophelia looked around at the panels of puce fabric that clung to the walls, reaching out to touch the velvet upholstery of one of the coordinating settees at the center of the room. “It’s just so . . . puce,” she observed, as if examining a new species of insect.
“Don’t you just love the décor!” Alex exclaimed, helping herself to a glass of champagne, while passing another to Meredith.
Meredith snickered, gladly accepting the refreshment. “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, it does look a bit like someone cast up their accounts.”
Ophelia smiled. “I didn’t even know this shop had a private showing room.”
“That’s the idea,” Alex returned in an icy tone.
Ophelia must have felt the chill and quickly removed herself, citing having left something in the coach.
“What is this all about?” Alex asked once they were alone.
Meredith reclined back on her settee. “What do you mean?”
“All of this.” She waved her hand through the air. “Including that little performance the other night. Not the one on stage, but the one in your box where you played the damsel in distress. And just between you and me—your acting’s really gone downhill. I didn’t find your fainting episode to be the least bit believable.” Alex crossed her arms over her chest.
“I honestly don’t know what happened. I was feeling lightheaded, and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor.”
She knew exactly what had happened, but couldn’t very well tell Alex, or any of the Ribbons
,
for that matter. “Perhaps I hadn’t had enough to eat that day?” she fibbed.
Alex pursed her lips together. “I’m sure that wasn’t the case. You look like you’ve been eating just fine to me.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “You thought I did it for attention?”
“I assumed as much. After all, Mr. Marshall responded quite promptly. I just figured that was your plan all along. Isn’t he the reason you’re toting around your newest accessory?”
“It was most definitely not planned.” She rubbed the still tender knot at the back of her head. “Actually, he was an unexpected benefit. I introduced Ophelia for an entirely different reason altogether.”
“And what would that be?”
Meredith shrugged. “Does it really matter? Ophelia’s beautiful, she’s from a good family, and she’s quite possibly the sweetest girl either one of us have ever met.”
“Exactly. She’s not at all like
us
. She’s pretty enough, but she’s obviously the type of girl who’d prefer to sit in a drawing room and embroider rather than engage in any of the sorts of entertainment
we’re
used to.”
“That’s exactly my point. We need someone from the watercolors and embroidery set. Surely you’ve read some of what’s been written about me?”
“Yes, but—”
Meredith turned, setting her feet flat on the floor. “The only reason those gossip mongers aren’t writing about
you
is because your family is rich enough to buy their silence. I’m forced to accept whatever lies they put out there for the world to read. I’m not getting any younger, Alex. I need to get married and I can’t expect to land the type of husband I need with a lackluster reputation. Miss Ophelia Marshall can help. And perhaps I can help her as well.” She just knew with the right influence, Ophelia would thrive in her new surroundings.
Alex shook her head. “The Ribbons
are inclusive to few and exclusive to most. She’s just
too
different.”
“Exactly. She’s different, and I think different is just what we need.” Ophelia was the most genuine person she’d come across in years. She could give the group the one thing they’d been lacking—authenticity.
Alex sighed. “It takes two nominations and you’ll never get someone else to second your own. But even if you were to somehow pull it off, what makes you think she’ll be able to go through the steps of actually
earning
her ribbon?”
“She’s a brilliant girl, I’m sure she can figure out something.”
Alex leaned back, splaying her arms across the back of the furniture. “Do you remember that unfortunate incident at the art museum with the goat and all those trifles?”
Meredith smiled at the memory. She’d ruined one of her favorite gowns, but the look on the curator’s face had made it all worth it. The Ribbons believed in corruption as a privilege. It was a technique that had done wonders to elevate her own status. The more ridiculous the task, the more prestige it warranted amongst their select few.
“You don’t want to be remembered as the leader who compromised our popularity by allowing
just anyone
in, do you?” Alex warned.
“What if I’m the leader who’s remembered for elevating the Ribbons to an entirely new level of accomplishment?” Meredith challenged. Still, Alex had a point. Introducing someone like Ophelia Marshall had a certain amount of risk associated with it—namely public ridicule and mockery. But she knew how much being a member would improve Ophelia’s sense of self-worth. She needed confidence to make her own decisions, and the Ribbons could make that possible.
“They won’t let my maid follow me back here,” Ophelia announced as she reentered the room.
Alex smiled. “Madame Lapone only allows her direct clients to enter this chamber—everyone else is left waiting in the common areas. It’s a perk of being a
Ribbon
.”
“A ribbon?” Ophelia asked.
Alex shook her head. “Not a ribbon, a
Ribbon
.”
Ophelia plopped down on the settee at the center of the room. “Well, that certainly clears things up.”