Page 53 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
There was no question in Drago’s or—he felt sure—Meg’s mind over what that cause was. Firstly, that of her husband, Palmerston, secondly that of his Whig government, and thirdly, the country, although the order in any given circumstances would doubtless vary.
Finally, Emily consigned them to their own devices and left to swoop down on some other couple she wished to encourage.
Drago seized the moment to pause by the side of the room and look out over the gathering.
Halting beside him, Meg blew out a breath. “I feel as if my brain is about to explode! So many facts crammed into it in such a short time.” She met Drago’s eyes, but there was a smile in hers and a satisfied glow in her expression.
“It’s certainly been an education. Some I knew, most I didn’t.” He studied what he could read in her face, then glanced at the still-dense crowd. “Certainly, I had no idea that this”—he gestured to the people before them, the groups all earnestly discussing important aspects of government—“was waiting for us.”
Well, for him, at least.
She nodded. “It’s been eye-opening.”
He had to ask. “Off-putting?”
She met his gaze and transparently considered the point, then smiled, shook her head, and glanced back at the crowd. “Actually, I find it…fascinating. Enthralling and even exhilarating. I now understand Drake and Louisa’s and Therese and Alverton’s frequent distraction, not to say absorption, with political circles. It’s a never-quite-spelt-out responsibility of nobility. Some might choose not to contribute, but the responsibility remains nonetheless.”
“Indeed,” Drago murmured. “Most of those here were born to the purple at some level, whether peers themselves—like me—or from secondary branches of noble families, like you. Historically and to this time, we collectively are those most accustomed to wielding power. And as Emily said, we are the ones being actively groomed to manage the reins into the future.”
She met his eyes, her expression serious. “It’s a challenge, isn’t it? One that comes with the title and position, but the chance to make a difference...” She tipped her head. “That’s attractive, alluring. Or at least I find it so.” She studied his expression. “You?”
He held her gaze and softly smiled. “I wouldn’t have imagined so, but yes.” He nodded. “I do.” His gaze went to the crowd. “As my mother would tell you, I’ve always been most surely motivated by a challenge, and this is certainly one that has the power to engage me.”
“Right, then.” She retook his arm and faced the shifting throng in the salon. “In this—in entering this arena and making it ours—we’re agreed. That being so, I suggest we make the most of this opportunity.” She flicked him a challenging glance. “One is new to a circle only once, so let’s not waste our chance to presume and make mistakes.”
He laughed and willingly went with her, once more into the fray.
* * *
Their engagement ball—organizedby their mothers—was only two nights away. Consequently, when, in the middle of the afternoon following the Cambridge House event, Drago called at Meg’s home to be informed that she was visiting her modiste in Bruton Street, he accepted the news with equanimity, hailed a hackney, and instructed the driver to take him to the fashionable precinct.
He had the jarvey drop him off at the corner of Bond and Bruton Streets. After sliding his hands into his greatcoat pockets, he ambled down the pavement lined with the discreet windows of modistes and milliners catering to the haut ton.
He wasn’t a stranger to the area and, having asked Meg’s parents’ butler for the name of the modiste she favored, he strolled confidently toward that establishment. He was two shops away when the door opened, setting a bell tinkling, and Meg stepped out, closely followed by a maid of similar age.
“Meg!”
At his hail, she turned, and the smile that lit her face had him smiling besottedly in reply.
As he neared, she arched her brows and gave him her hand. “What are you doing here?”
He raised her hand to his lips and, holding her gaze, dropped an entirely chaste kiss on her knuckles. Then he tucked her hand into his arm and turned her to stroll Mayfair-ward. “I came looking for you.” He quickly cast about for a reason and remembered his prepared excuse. “I wondered if you had any further insights to share on our adventures last night. I called at Half Moon Street, and the butler told me you were here.” He caught her gaze and raised his brows. “Your gown for the engagement ball?”
She smiled and nodded. “A final fitting.”
After glancing back and confirming that her maid was dutifully following two paces behind, Meg faced forward and chuckled. Tipping her head toward his shoulder, she confided, “You have no idea how much excitement arranging every facet of our engagement ball has given my mother and yours. These days, every time I come home, it seems that there’s some new idea they’ve decided on.”
“Just as long as they’ve organized the musicians and instructed them to play plenty of waltzes.”
“I’ve been assured that’s the case, although I should also mention that our propensity to spend as much time as possible on the dance floor has been noted and not with unlimited approval.”
“Ah, well.” He was walking protectively by the curb as they passed a row of shops. “Just as long—” Movement beside Meg caught his eye. His heart seized. “Watch out!”
He shoved her back toward her maid, causing the burly man, who had turned from a window with a knife glinting in his hand, to pull up, cheated of his prey.
Drago shot a fist at the man’s face, but the villain was already moving away, and the blow only grazed his head as he turned and fled along the street.
Drago teetered, literally torn between racing after the man and ensuring Meg remained safe. He couldn’t do both.
