Page 17 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“Have you been a hermit? What do you do when in Town? Does the current Lord Drake escort you anywhere?”
She wanted to wipe away the creases between his brow as he frowned at her. “We do not speak. He’s a vile little man just like his father. I only come to London to stay at the Widows’ headquarters. Each member must take a turn in residence.”
“What do their husbands say about that?” he asked, his smile curious.
“None of them are married. If we take another husband, we end our membership.” Would she be willing to give up the security of the League for marriage? It was something to consider. “What do you hope for now that your family is no longer under the hatches?”
“I want to do something worthwhile. Make a difference somehow. When I’m dead and buried, I want people to remember me for the good I’ve done. Say what a bene cove I was, helping others.”
“You want to be a philanthropist?” She liked that idea. “Any specific ideas?”
“Yes, I met a physician who has founded a hospital for unmarried women who are with child. There are places that take such women, though usually women from good families who have been cast out.” His eyes took on an excited gleam. “The Hospital of Hope will take in unwed mothers, but unlike other hospitals of its kind, the women shall keep their child. There will be a school connected to the hospital where children can be educated. I would like to help him financially.”
“Grand ambitions,” Meg said. “It sounds like a wonderful legacy.”
“And now, Kitten, what about you now? Your wants and hopes,” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
He made such a handsome musketeer. The baggy trousers could not hide his muscular thighs. He’d shed his jacket and sashes, now in an old-fashioned type of waistcoat and linen shirt with ridiculous lace cuffs. But how his broad shoulders stretched the fine material, flames from the hearth reflecting the gray bits of his blue eyes. She wanted to touch the raven lock falling across his forehead.
“Now, I’m wiser. I hope,” she added. “My parents no longer have a say over my actions, and I shall do what makes me happy for now on.”
In a blink, he was on his knees before her, covering her hands with his. “May I make you happy?”
She drew in a breath. Could she consider relinquishing control over her own life? Meg chewed her bottom lip, then smiled. “Shall we continue our friendship and see where it takes us?”
Simon grinned. “We can as long as I may still kiss you.”
He did, and her heart raced, its echoes striking low in her core. Yes, he could kiss her as often as he liked. And maybe…
Meg sat up in bed with a gasp, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. As the previous evening came back to her, she lay back into the pillows with a smile. They had talked long into the night. It was as if they hadn’t lost several years since they’d last known one another. He insisted she stay, in a separate bedchamber, and they would discuss future plans in the morning.
Simon had remained a complete gentleman. For once, she wasn’t worried about scandal. The servants had no idea who she was, and she planned on returning to Drake House soon. She rose with a shiver, wearing only her shift, laughing at the pirate costume lying across a chair. There was a cheerful fire in the hearth. Meg must have been exhausted for she’d never stirred when the maid entered to start the fire now crackling cheerily.
Her dreams had been full of Simon—in their youth, as masked strangers, as a musketeer, as… her lover. Now the tremor rolling through her body had nothing to do with the cold. Looking back, Meg knew she had been in love with Simon Hayward before she married. Was she still?
Yes.
But they were still living within the same societal rules. Whether they would have a chance this time was not certain, but Meg realized she was willing to try.
A knock on the door brought a maid with breakfast. The pretty dark-haired girl curtsied while balancing the tray of tea and food. “My lord said you would be hungry this morning,” she said, setting it on the dressing table. “May I help you with anything?”
Meg shook her head. “It smells delicious. Is Lord Hayward downstairs?”
“No, ma’am.” The maid moved toward the door. “He had to go out early this morning and said he would be back this afternoon. You’re to wait for him.”
“Thank you,” Meg said and wondered about Simon’s absence.
Under the silver cover were eggs and toast, butter and marmalade. She poured tea with a splash of cream and a touch of sugar. There was an edition of The Globe from the previous day and The Morning Post on the tray. She leaned back in the chair and sipped her tea, scanning the Post.
There were advertisements for future books on sale, fobs, and snuff boxes. She turned the page and read of the latest session of Parliament, another stalled argument over an organized police force. She barely glanced over the timetables for incoming and outgoing ships.
Ah, there it was. What was happening in Town. She read of another fire, who may be seeing whom, and the details of a soiree at a duke’s house. Meg was about to put the newspaper down and eat the eggs before they were cold when she spotted a paragraph that made her choke on her tea.
Thursday night, a splendid masquerade ball and supper, under the patronage of her Grace the Duchess of Westing, was well attended by all the Fashionables in the vicinity. In fact, Lady Grestan was seen speaking with the Lord and Lady Tarlton, recently received again in the marquess’s circle. Lady G and Lady T were heard discussing the betrothal of Lady G’s daughter and Lady T’s son. Two separate events or will the banns soon be read joining the families?
Meg couldn’t breathe. This could not be happening. Hadn’t Simon said he wanted to be with her always? She drew in air, calming herself.
She counted to fifty.
