Page 99 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
As everyone knew, the touted purpose of such visits was to welcome the new bride to local society. Equally, it was an opportunity for those who visited to take stock of her and make judgments over how she might fit into their circles.
Twice, Meg read through the information Constance had thought fit to impart. It was extremely pertinent and useful intelligence, and Meg was grateful to have it. While many new brides were left to find their way unassisted, Constance had taken the time and thought to reach out and support Meg in taking up what had been, previously, Constance’s role.
Feeling heartened, relieved, and undeniably more confident over embarking on an aspect of her new life that she’d yet to spend much time contemplating, Meg laid the letter with the others, then sat and stared at the flames in the hearth while she considered her initial approach to local society. Should she wait for them to come to her? Or should she, perhaps, steal a march and take more definite control of the situation?
She knew which path she felt more inclined to follow, but despite the weeks she’d spent with Christopher and Ellen at Walkhurst Manor over the years, she didn’t know enough about the local area, of potential events much less the likely attendance of local gentry, to be able to craft any campaign.
Deciding that she did, indeed, favor taking control of how she engaged with local society and, therefore, needed more information, she rose and, with Ridley trotting behind, set off for the library. At that hour, Drago would almost certainly be there, dealing with his correspondence and estate business.
She tapped on the door, then opened it and looked in.
Seated at his desk, Drago glanced up and saw her. Straightening in his chair, he smiled in welcome and waved her in. “What is it?”
He watched as his ever-engaging wife closed the door after Ridley and, a slight frown on her face—one he now knew signified thinking and planning—came to sink into the armchair to the side of his desk, the one he’d placed there just for her.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began, meeting his eyes, “that from Sunday onward, we’re likely to see the local ladies, possibly with husbands in tow, rolling up to the front door to pay their respects.”
“To get a good look at you and take the temperature of our marriage?”
She reached down and scratched Ridley behind his ears. “Just so.”
He rapidly reviewed what he knew of the surrounding gentry. “While I’m acquainted with the local gentlemen, I have to admit that, to date, I’ve avoided their wives like the plague, so I fear I won’t be much help with them.”
She waved dismissively. “Never fear. Your mother has come to our rescue. She wrote with details of the ladies we can expect to call and what I should anticipate with each.”
He smiled. “Remind me to be suitably grateful when next I see Mama.”
She nodded in mock-seriousness. “Indeed, you should be.” Then her expression eased, and she studied him. “I was wondering…”
When he arched a brow, she continued, “While I’m not at all keen for our week of peace to end, it will all too soon. What do you think of us making a preemptive foray into local circles?”
He blinked. “Instead of waiting here like sitting ducks?”
“Precisely.”
He swiveled to fully face her. “What do you have in mind?”
They discussed the possibilities. While he might not know the local ladies, he knew every local event held within twenty miles. After they’d defined what they wanted to achieve—an appearance at some local event at which other members of the surrounding gentry would be present—he suggested, “We could attend the market in Sissinghurst. It’s held on Saturday and is the largest local market. I would expect to see most of the local gentlemen, usually with their wives, there.”
She smiled, eager and approving. “That sounds perfect!”
He loved the way her expressions reflected her emotions. That made his life much easier; he rarely couldn’t immediately identify what she was feeling. What she was thinking wasn’t always so easy to guess, but her feelings were usually clear.
She continued, “That’s exactly the right sort of event. Informal, and our appearance there this Saturday will be seen as you showing me around the local entertainments.”
“As a fond husband should.” He smiled indulgently, aware of sinking just a little more deeply, a little more comfortably into married life. Not in a million years would he have imagined such a life would suit him so well, but there was no denying the sense of having finally found his right path nor the reassurance evoked by knowing he would have Meg’s hand in his as they went forward in life.
She, too, had relaxed into this new state of being. She glanced at his desk, then caught his eye and arched a brow. “Is there anything noteworthy going on in town?”
He glanced at the letter he’d been perusing when she’d arrived. “I haven’t heard of anything in general, but”—he looked back at her—“I received a note from Chillingworth seeking confirmation that, now I’m finally a married man, I’m serious about becoming more active in Parliament.”
Her brows rose. “This is following on from our exchange at the wedding breakfast?”
Drago nodded. “I told you that various members of that group had approached me, and in the main, our ideas and opinions run largely parallel.”
She tipped her head. “So what does Chillingworth actually mean?”
He grinned; trust her to focus on the crux of the issue.
