Page 39 of Appointment in Bath

Ivo’s brows lifted. “He doesn’t know yet?”

She shook her head. “He was abed when I returned last n-night, and he sleeps late in the m-morning now he’s suffering from his gout. He t-takes laudanum, you see.”

“He must wake up eventually.”

“Inevitably. I expect the servants will have t-told him by the time I return from m-my ride. He’ll be as cross as a wild b-boar.”

Ivo’s countenance was at once grave with concern. “He won’t hurt you?”

Meg’s eyes widened. “Oh no, n-never. You wouldn’t suggest such a thing if you knew him.”

“I know of him. I know he doesn’t take kindly to young ladies who oppose him.”

“I d-don’t oppose him.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, b-but…that’s our own secret. Even if m-my father learns of the dinner, he’ll never know of our meetings here.”

“Our continued meetings.” Ivo’s tone brooked no argument.

Meg had no wish to argue. “Yes, exactly.”

He hesitated, his eyes betraying a momentary flare of doubt before he once again surged ahead. “I realize the risk is unequal. Your father isn’t likely to be as forgiving of our friendship as my parents will be. But we’re not doing anything wrong. No more than any other couple who walk or ride together. As country pursuits go, we’re well within the bounds of propriety.”

What he said was true to an extent. Unmarried couples often walked and rode together. They even drove together, providing it was in an open carriage. That didn’t mean it didn’t cause remark. On the contrary, too much time spent in a particular gentleman’s company—even if that time was expended in a wholly respectable fashion—could lead people to draw only one conclusion. It must be a romance. A love affair. A relationship that would lead either to marriage or straight down the road to ruination.

Meg recognized the fact even as she dismissed it. Society’s opinions mattered little when weighed against the demands of her heart.

“It’s all right,” she said. “My father c-can’t stop us being friends.”

Uncertainties on that score still lingered at the back of her mind. But her conversation with Ivo had largely laid them to rest. She believed he meant the things he’d said to her. That she was kind. That she was strong. That she was stunning.

Stunning!

Meg held the compliments close to her heart. She would never forget them, not so long as she lived. Not even if Ivo Beresford disappeared from her life tomorrow.

Though she fervently hoped he wouldn’t.

A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Shall we walk by the water?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She took it without hesitation. “Yes, please. So long as it’s n-not raining.”

His fingers instantly engulfed hers. He was strong and sure beside her, not leading her, but walking with her, matching her step for step as they descended to the river. She knew beyond doubt that he wouldn’t let her fall. That she could depend on him to hold the course.

“It isn’t going to rain anymore,” he said. “Snow is coming. Can’t you taste it in the air?”

“You can taste snow?”

“Taste it, smell it, feel it. I have a sense about the weather. The snow especially. When I was a lad, I used to love mucking about in it with my brothers. We had sled races and snowball fights, and we built the most appalling snowmen. We’re a rambunctious lot, my family. The opposite of yours, I expect.”

As they walked together, holding hands, the disparate pieces of Meg’s soul seemed to shift and organize into a new configuration. One that didn’t provoke anxiousness or the fidgety desire to bring order to chaos, but instead offered the promise of safety and assurance.

Perhaps this was how Britannia might feel, were she a living entity. To stride through life with a golden lion as one’s companion. There was a delicious security in having someone formidable at your side.

“I love the snow,” she said. “But we n-never did those things at the hall.”

Ivo flashed her a dark glance. “Your father didn’t allow them?”