Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (11 page)

“You might say, I would assume, that poetry is one of the most central parts of your life. And from the few days that I have been at Thornshire, I have gathered that books, specifically novels, are quite important to you as well, and yet the earl does not approve of young ladies indulging in either of these things. And what would the man think if he knew of the periodicals you read?”

Meg did not say anything. She stared at a spot upon the library floor, hating that he could see through her so completely.

The colonel leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I believe you mentioned that your father is a merchant in Charleston.”

Meg nodded again, feeling as though her head might break off her neck if she continued to do nothing but bob it up and down all morning.

“I imagine the trade embargo must be difficult for the import/export business. A man left with few resources might resort to sending his daughter to London to find a rich husband—”

“Please excuse me, sir.” Meg had had enough. She didn’t know what the colonel’s intentions were, but he seemed determined to either humiliate her or expose her as a swindler. She stood. Her face burned, and her fists shook as she pressed them against her legs. She turned to go, but the colonel’s words stopped her.

“Miss Burton, I recognize that we do not always have the luxury to live our lives the way we wish.” His voice remained low, but Meg could still feel every word pierce into her heart. “I can see from your reaction how unhappy this arrangement makes you. If there is one thing I understand, it is the importance of doing one’s duty, no matter how painful.”

Meg turned back toward him, swallowing against the constriction in her throat. “Then you can see why I have no choice, sir.”

The colonel’s gaze did not waver as he regarded her. “In the spirit of giving advice, Miss Burton, might I offer you some?”

Meg did not trust herself to speak. She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together, waiting for the colonel to tell her something she was certain she did not want to hear. She would have put her hands on her hips if such a thing was not so unladylike.

“As I have spent my life as an observer of people, I have discovered that no matter the association—master, servant, allies in a battle, family members, friends—the same holds true. The correct relationship will make a person bloom. He becomes more himself, his talents deepen, his personality grows, and he thrives. But the wrong relationship will produce the opposite. The things that were once so vital no longer matter. His talents disappear, his individuality fades, and he wilts.” Jim placed his foot back on the floor and leaned forward. “I do not know you well, miss, but I would not want to see a person so passionate about life and learning cease to exist because she was seeking to impress the wrong person.”

Meg’s eyes filled, and she refused to blink and allow the tears to spill over. “Would you recommend that I condemn my family to a life of poverty, sir? Simply so that I could continue reading romance novels?”

The colonel exhaled through his nose in a huff. “Poverty? In America? I do not believe there is such thing. Not when a man is willing to work hard. There are endless opportunities. Perhaps your family will go west or purchase some land and grow cotton.” The colonel shrugged, and his face contorted in an expression Meg thought might be a smile. He settled back into his chair. “I’m certain you have other interests besides books. You have an astute understanding of war tactics. And unless I am mistaken, I believe I saw you riding the other day. You are a skilled horsewoman.”

Relief washed over Meg. The colonel had not set out to ruin or embarrass her. Quite the opposite, he acted as if he cared about her situation. She felt a connection with this man, who, through only a few interactions with her, seemed to understand. And though he did not speak compassionately, she felt the honesty in his words. There had not been many at Thornshire who cared about Meg’s opinions.

She perched again on the edge of the chair, a relieved smile on her face. “Thank you, sir. I do love to ride.”

“And you seemed very happy in your companion.”

Meg’s smile grew as she thought about Carlo. The memory of the ride and the way he had surprised her the night before grew inside her chest like a warm bubble. “Yes, my friend, Carlo. He is wonderful. He tends Prince Rodrigo’s horses.”

Jim’s eye squinted, and his head tipped slightly to the side.

Meg stopped as she saw the colonel’s expression. Her throat went dry as she realized that she may have given away a confidence. Carlo had taken her riding in secret. Would he be punished for accompanying a lady alone? And on the prince’s horse.

The colonel remained silent, but Meg could not, not when her friend might face some sort of discipline. In a country that transported a man for killing a bird, what would be the penalty for Carlo’s actions? “Please Colonel Stackhouse. Do not say anything to the duke or Her Grace. Carlo simply thought to do something nice for me, a favor. Please do not report him to the prince. I . . . it was my fault. He should not be punished.”

The longer the colonel remained silent, the bigger the lump in Meg’s throat grew. Her eyes burned with tears. Her heart was beating loudly. She considered what she must do to protect Carlo. She would plead with the duke if she had to. Could she convince Serena not to say anything to her brother if Colonel Stackhouse told her?

Jim’s expression did not change, but he murmured, “Carlo?”

She brushed her fingers across the tears leaking down her cheeks. “Colonel, I am begging you. Please do not tell anyone. He has been most kind to me, and I could never forgive myself if he were punished for it.”

Colonel Stackhouse blinked and looked up. He seemed to notice that Meg was near the point of sobbing and jolted in his seat. “Miss Burton, dash it all, do not weep. I understand the value of a good friend, and I will keep your confidence. Please, I beg you, do not start blubbering.”

Meg thought she might sink to the floor or throw her arms around the colonel, so great was her relief. She let out a sigh that was choked by a sob. “Thank you, Colonel,” she said, although he may not have understood her through her hitching breath.

“I’d not thought to cause so much distress, miss. I seem to have a knack for upsetting women.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let us talk about less troubling things. Perhaps you’d give me your opinion of the rumors that Napoleon thinks to invade Russia.”

Meg was nearly numb after the range of emotions the colonel had managed to elicit in such a short time. The swing in her mood gave her the distinct compulsion to giggle in relief. She scooted back in her chair, careful to maintain appropriate posture as she considered the colonel’s question. And made certain that she was calm enough to answer rationally. “In my opinion, sir, France is making much the same mistake of spreading her resources too thin, just as England has done.”

The colonel said nothing but motioned for her to continue. “Speak freely, miss. I seek to know your true thoughts on the subject.”

“Russia is the largest potential ally for both parties. Napoleon would be a fool not to attempt to get the czar on his side or at least prevent him from siding with enemies of the
Grande Armée
, but to invade Russia is a mistake. The campaigns on the peninsula are wearing down the emperor’s armies. Many cities have been under siege for more than a year, and the militias in the mountains undermine the morale. Should Napoleon muster a large enough force to march into Russia, he will leave his troops in Spain without reinforcements, Paris abandoned and ripe for a coup, and the Cossacks to contend with.”

The colonel’s mouth turned down, and he rubbed his fingers over his chin. “I wonder if you would ever consider working as an advisor. Your understanding of the conflict and its ramifications is remarkable.”

“Thank you, Colonel. But I’m afraid we are not on the same side.” She smiled. “I could be accused of fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Are we enemies then?”

“You and I are not, I hope, but I fear our countries will soon be hostile once again.”

“We shall see whether—”

Meg and the colonel turned toward the library door when they heard Lady Featherstone’s voice. They both stood.

“Colonel Stackhouse, I waited in the dining room for you all morning, only to find that you had eaten hours ago.” The countess entered the room carrying a jar and a face cloth. While still practical, Lady Featherstone’s expression seemed a bit softer today.

Meg curtseyed, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the colonel perform a rather stiff bow.

“Good morning, madam. Am I to presume you are here to torture me with more of that foul smelling concoction?” he said.

“It helps with the itching, and you know it is true. You are just too stubborn to admit it,” the countess said, waggling her finger as she walked closer to the fireplace. She turned her bright eyes toward Meg and nodded. “Good morning, Meg. I hope I have not interrupted anything.”

The colonel folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Burton and I were just speculating about the emperor’s next move. It is a very important discussion, and—”

Lady Featherstone pushed down on the colonel’s shoulder until he sat in the chair. “Nonsense. I am certain Miss Burton does not want to spend the entire morning talking about military strategy. Now sit still and let me look at this.” She began to pull on the colonel’s patch, as he attempted to hold it in place while arguing with her intentions.

“Please excuse me,” Meg said, fighting back a laugh. “I must . . .” But neither of them seemed to be listening, so she did not bother coming up with an excuse to escape the library.

She picked up a few books from the window seat on her way out. As she walked down the hall toward her bedchamber, she thought of her strange conversation with the colonel. Her emotions had been completely unpredictable, swinging from one extreme to the other, and she tried to analyze what had set them off. It had been upsetting and humiliating to realize that the man had deduced her family’s financial situation and Meg’s part in its restoration, but that had been nothing compared to the utter despair she felt when she’d thought Carlo might be in trouble.

Meg had been ready to throw herself upon her knees and beg for mercy for a man she hardly knew. Her reaction had wholly astonished her, and she did not know what to make of it.

She remembered the colonel’s words, “I understand the value of a good friend.” The sentiment described Carlo perfectly. Her heart felt light as she thought about the events the night before and the gentleness of his expression when he had bid her good night.

An idea began to form in her mind, and she grinned as she decided how to implement it. She left the books in her bedchamber—nothing could convince her to return to the library with Colonel Stackhouse and Lady Featherstone arguing inside—and headed toward the dining room.

Her grin grew until a giggle burst forth, and she pressed her fingers against her mouth. The idea was forming into a plan that pushed her fears about the musicale and the need for a rich husband far enough away to forget about them altogether. First, she would need to speak with Serena and then with the cook.

Rodrigo allowed the reigns to go slack, and Patito immediately turned toward the duke’s stables. “
Que desea para un dulce?
Are you hoping for a treat?” he muttered, but his mind was not upon the horse. His thoughts had been a confused jumble since overhearing Meg’s conversation with Colonel Stackhouse the day before.

He’d gone over every word they’d both said, countless times, and had always arrived at the same conclusion: Meg was no different than all the other young ladies he had met in England. She was after a wealthy husband and would go to whatever ends necessary to secure one. She had said as much herself. Hearing this from Meg’s own mouth had stunned him. Rodrigo knew logically he should employ the same course of action he had come to rely on and avoid the lady completely. But the very idea of missing Meg’s company produced such an uncomfortable feeling that he shied away from it. He returned to the conversation he’d overheard, reviewing it again.

Rodrigo looked up and noticed that Patito had brought them to the stables. Out of habit, he raised his gaze to the library window, but Meg was not there. She had not been there at all the day before either. And he did not understand why this was so concerning to him. Was she still distressed? Had she taken ill? Or was she simply busy with the other ladies, preparing for a season and concocting schemes to ensnare a rich husband? An image came into his mind of Meg smiling and flirting with the gentlemen of the
ton
, and Rodrigo’s stomach turned inside out.

He hated that Meg was willing to sacrifice her own desires and marry a man for his fortune. It seemed such a waste. But even more, he hated the idea of her losing herself. Just as the colonel had said, it would be a pity to see a person so passionate about life and learning cease to exist. He felt a rush of anger when he thought of her parents putting aside Meg’s happiness for their own purposes, but something akin to pity replaced the emotion as he thought of how difficult it must be for them to put such pressure on their daughter. This feeling took him by surprise. It was not at all something he had ever considered as he’d regarded all of the young ladies of the
ton
with distaste. So why were things different with Meg? What made
her
so different? He remembered how she had laughed as the horse galloped across the meadow and then how she’d understood so compassionately when he’d spoken of Spain. Why was he allowing emotions to dictate his actions when it came to Meg Burton?

Rodrigo dismounted and led the horse into the stable. As he’d mulled these things over, one thing became certain. He would not reveal himself to Meg. Not before the ball. If he was to ascertain her true feelings for him, he needed to keep his secret as long as he could. And a selfish and vulnerable part of him wanted Meg’s approval, not as a man with a title, but as himself. Or, he supposed, as Carlo. He wondered how she would act if she knew the truth about him. Would she flirt and pretend to be the lady she thought he wanted? He would never have believed her capable of such deception until she had confessed the same to the colonel.