Page 60 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Once Stirs was settled in her favorite armchair by the fireplace, Meg presented her with the wrapped cake. “A very small token for your help in making me the lady I am today.”
Stirs demurred, but happily accepted, unwrapped, and admired the large slice of cake with its royal icing. Once she reached the end of her exclamations, she set the slice aside for later and asked if Meg would take tea.
Meg declined and mentioned that Drago had gone to a coffeehouse to fill in time.
Reassured, Stirs settled and demanded to be told the entire story of how Meg had snared her handsome duke.
Their fictional tale tripped easily from her tongue; the notion of taking Stirs into her confidence didn’t even make it as far as a conscious question. The little woman would be shocked and confused and would insist on telling Meg’s parents, with whom she maintained a correspondence.
Besides, by Meg and Drago’s joint decision, fiction was now fact.
Stirs was an incurable romantic and waxed lyrical about how she imagined Meg and Drago’s relationship would evolve. “You must make sure it’s a proper partnership, my dear.” Stirs blinked somewhat myopically toward the door. “Especially as he seems rather…well-set-up, if you take my meaning.”
Meg assured her that Drago was, indeed, a very handsome and charming man and told her of their recent attendance at the Cambridge House soirée.
“Oh, that’s quite excellent!” Stirs beamed. “Taking an interest in running the country will keep him occupied. It’s essential, I’ve always thought, for gentlemen to have some real occupation to give them purpose.”
Stirs then asked for a description of their engagement ball, and Meg dutifully supplied it, omitting only the half hour or so that she and Drago had spent alone. On impulse, knowing that Stirs was an acute observer of people and often a font of sound common sense, especially in the romantic sphere, Meg asked, “Stirs, what would you say are the signs that a lady is in love with a gentleman?”
Her erstwhile governess’s eyes flew wide. “Why, that’s simple, my dear. If the lady cares more for the gentleman than for herself, then she can be assured that love is what she feels for him.” Stirs’s eyes twinkled at Meg. “Nothing else will really achieve that, you know.”
“I see.” Having broached that subject, Meg could see no reason not to address the other side of the coin. “And is there any way that a lady can tell whether a gentleman is truly in love with her?”
“That, I admit, requires a degree of observation,” Stirs replied. “A gentleman’s protestations must always be treated with some degree of caution, but reading their minds really isn’t all that hard. One simply needs to pay close attention to their reactions in certain situations. It might be a situation in which the lady could conceivably be in some danger—even something simple such as being led astray by some other gentleman, that sort of thing. Pay attention to how he reacts, and you’ll have your answer.”
“I see.” Drago had already rescued her once, admittedly from the consequences of her own actions rather than defending her against another. But in Bond Street, he had very effectively protected her from the thug with the knife. Slowly, Meg started to smile.
“Yes, well! However matters develop between you and your excessively handsome duke, I must say I am truly heartened at the news that you will become a duchess. It’s just the right challenge for you, and trust me, my dear, when I say that having a challenge that captures your interest and motivates you will be essential for your future happiness.”
Meg had felt that the challenge of being Drago’s duchess would suit her; it was reassuring to have Stirs’s opinion mirror her own.
A knock on the door heralded Drago. Meg waved Stirs to remain in her chair, but when Meg ushered Drago in, the small woman was, of course, on her feet, ready to welcome her august visitor.
A smile curving her lips, Meg waited until Drago had charmed Stirs into sitting again, then Meg resumed her seat while Drago pulled up a straight-backed chair.
She sat back and observed and was amazed by how easily Drago teased Stirs into losing her understandable awe of him and relaxing enough to laugh at a joke he ventured. He mentioned Ridley, but after a glance at Meg, avoided even alluding to her brush with imminent death. Stirs was delighted at the story of the golden-pelted puppy and enthralled by his antics, at least those Drago described. Meg wasn’t sure all the tales were true, but they served to put a wide smile on Stirs’s face and a sparkle in her eye.
By the time Meg and Drago rose and made their farewells, Stirs was beaming and happy, and Meg was pleased with the outcome of their morning.
They left the building, and she took Drago’s arm, and he turned her toward the square. “I left Milton walking the horses. He’ll meet us at the corner.”
She nodded and, still smiling, strolled beside him along the pavement. It was a quiet street with only the occasional carriage rattling along the cobbles.
They were halfway to the square when two large men dressed in frieze stepped out of an alley just ahead and halted on the pavement, facing Meg and Drago.
The man on the right was shorter, squat and solid, while the other was bald and as tall as Drago but half again his weight. Both were heavily muscled and carried long, wicked-looking knives.
Meg halted.
Before she could draw breath to scream, Drago swept her behind him and stepped in front of her. She heard a sibilant hiss and, wide-eyed, saw him draw a long blade from his cane.
Swordstick,her brain informed her.
In the time it took the thought to form, Drago had lunged, skewering the stocky man through the arm so that he howled and dropped his knife.
The taller man gave vent to an angry bellow, raised his knife high, and brought it down in a stabbing blow, but already disengaged from his first victim, Drago deflected the knife with the swordstick’s sheath and slashed at the man’s chest.
Mouth agape, the man stared down at his front, where blood was already staining his none-too-clean shirt.
