Page 44 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Meg smiled. “I have cousins-in-law who are deeply involved in the affairs of the Foundling House. I might find it easier to make a start there.”
“Oh, that’s one of the mostworthycharities,” Miss Fitzgibbon assured her, which pronouncement was confirmed by many nodding heads.
Meg was rather relieved when the talk swung to whom Miss Fitzgibbon currently had hopes for, and the other young ladies’ attention shifted to the pretty blonde who had yet to settle on any gentleman as the one for her.
But I haven’t, either. Not really.
Despite acknowledging that, Meg surrendered to the impulse to imagine how and with which charity she might become involved were she to marry well enough. In terms of her search for some purpose in life, such a prospect held definite appeal.
It wasn’t something she’d considered before, given it wasn’t a path open to her unless, as Miss Cartwright had noted, she was to marry a gentleman with both title and money.
As the Duchess of Wylde…
Several moments later, she blinked, refocused, and saw Drago on his way across the lawn to join her.
Of George and Harry, there was no sign.
She checked the tiny watch pinned to her lapel, then rose and, after excusing herself to her friends, walked to meet her supposed betrothed halfway.
He halted and arched a brow at her. “Can we leave?” His tone was almost plaintive.
She laughed and wound her arm in his. “Yes, we can. According to the clock, we’ve given Lady Derby her due and can consider ourselves free to find her, tender our thanks, and be on our way.”
“Thank God!”
* * *
The next afternoon saw Meg,surrounded by a crowd of ladies, in her grandmother’s drawing room in Dover Street. Some of those present were relatives, others connections; only a select few were neither, as a larger gathering would have overflowed the room. The extended Cynster family—grandes dames, older matrons, younger matrons, and the few young ladies not yet wed—were present, at least all those currently in London. As the Season had only just commenced, some, such as the Devon contingent, Lucifer and Phyllida’s tribe, had yet to arrive.
As the guest of honor, teacup in hand, Meg dutifully moved from group to group, appeasing the curious without revealing more than was wise and accepting congratulations on both her and Drago’s behalf.
The older ladies occupied the sofas and armchairs, while the younger generation, cups of tea in hand, remained standing. All were avidly chatting, and a conversational hum blanketed the room. As most were members of the wider Cynster clan, sharing family news predominated, yet several older family members and also Louisa and Therese commented on the challenge Meg had chosen to undertake.
With her cup, Therese gestured to the assembled ladies. “I—well, all of us, really—are thrilled on the one hand, but also relieved that you’ve elected to accept Drago’s proposal. Quite aside from the fact that he is clearly going to need the help of a lady of your talents, and it’s reassuring that he has, apparently, recognized that, the position of his duchess is precisely the right role for you.”
Louisa nodded in definite fashion. “I completely agree. Filling the position of the Duchess of Wylde is exactly the right challenge for you. The challenge you obviously need in life and, indeed, deserve.”
Given it was widely accepted that Louisa had inherited her grandmother the Dowager Duchess’s renowned perspicacity, that pronouncement wasn’t one Meg could easily dismiss.
Parting from her more-established cousins, she embarked on a turn around the room, seizing the moments to consider Therese and Louisa’s point.
She couldn’t deny that, over the past days, during all the events they’d attended, Drago had, indeed, relied heavily on her to smooth his path. He’d accepted her direction and suggestions without question. Indeed, he and she had worked surprisingly well together. So well, in fact, that she—and he, too—had slid comfortably into their mutually supportive roles, roles that, in truth, fitted them both very well.
The only problem was…
Through the crowd, she glimpsed Drago’s aunt Edith and his mother—who naturally had been invited—and also Lady Melwin. Meg’s mother had earlier murmured that the Melwin ladies had been invited at Edith’s suggestion as, for reasons Meg’s mother and grandmother didn’t entirely grasp, the Helmsfords wished to signal their approval and backing for a match between Alison and a certain young solicitor, a Mr. Joshua Bragg. Meg had been quick to lend her voice in support of the match as well.
Scanning the assembled ladies, she located Alison, chatting with two others, and made her way to her side.
Alison looked up and smiled in welcome.
Meg smiled back. She was acquainted with the other two ladies and slid easily into the ongoing conversation.
A few minutes later, the other ladies moved on, and Meg turned to Alison. “How is your engagement to Joshua progressing?”
Alison’s face clouded. “It isn’t.” She rushed to clarify, “Progressing, that is. Joshua and I are still determined to wed, but Hubert has decided to be difficult.”
Meg glanced around, then drew Alison aside, into one of the window alcoves. “Tell me. Perhaps we—Drago and I—can help.”
