“It is modish to be pale.”
“Then I shall not be modish.”
“Miss Foxcroft.” The woman let out a small sigh. “You quite misjudge me. I am not unkind nor severe, only candid. And it is that forthrightness which has polished many a young lady in my years at the female seminary.
Lord Cunningham approached me and requested I guest here at Penrose Abbey to assist you in every way that I can. If this is not agreeable to you, I shall not waste either of our time.” She waited only a second before marching to the door—
“Wait.” Meg ground down her pride with her molars. “Lord Cunningham is to be my husband. If he wishes I learn from you, I shall.”
“Very well. You may call me Lady Walpoole, and we may begin with our lessons in the library.” She motioned Meg through the door. “After your bath, of course.”
She had waited all day for Lady Walpoole to dismiss her. Then two more hours for Lord Cunningham’s carriage to roll back through the wrought-iron gates.
Now she stood outside his study door.
The crack allowed her a glimpse of his face as he stripped off his burgundy tailcoat, poured himself a glass of brandy, and creaked back into his chair. Sweat glistened off his white skin. His expression was everything she knew, everything familiar, everything she should love.
Shewouldlove.
A weak throb of disappointment eddied through her. She resisted such an impulse. Lord Cunningham was kind. He had rescued her when so many would have thrown her away. For the first time, she could do something for him—something that would make him forget, if only for a moment, that his daughter lay dying in the upstairs bedchamber.
Tom would not understand.
That didn’t matter.
Not in the least.
“Dr. Bagot?” Lord Cunningham must have heard her, for he twisted in his seat.
“No.” She guided the door open with a cautious hand. “It is me. Am I disturbing you?”
“You?” He drained the brandy in his glass. “The weather disturbs me. These correspondences disturb me. I even disturb myself.” His eyelids half fell. “But never you.”
“I wished to speak with you concerning Lady Walpoole.”
“She is not so very disagreeable already, pray?”
“She …” Meg arched her back straighter as the woman’s reprimands surfaced. “She is dedicated, and I am certain I shall gain worlds of knowledge from such a teacher.”
“You are perfect as you are. It is only for your sake I have arranged for the lessons at all. I wish my wife to be just as confident, just as superior, as any other lady of theton.”
Meg smiled, discomfort spinning through her as he walked around the desk. He caught her hands. Fondled them. Then scraped them against his damp cheeks—while the only thing she could think about was last night. The cliff.
Tom.
No, not Tom.
“My lord, there is one thing I must ask.” She removed her hands to pat some imaginary stray curl back in place. “You have brought Lady Walpoole here to reconcile me with my future.”
“In essence, yes.”
She braced herself for his disapproval. “I wish to reconcile with my past.”
CHAPTER 14
Weakness drilled Meg’s knees as the manservant lifted her down from the carriage. No, this could not be. Her mind deceived her. This was too ridiculous, too preposterous, to be true.
“Mr. McGwen shall return me.” She spoke the words without looking at either of the two footmen who had been sent to escort her.
