Man of My Dreams Page 2

  She didn’t finish, walking abruptly away. “Megan, wait,” Tiffany called out, but she didn’t. She was even running before she left the churchyard, because she could no longer hold back the tears. Mr. Pocock held out a handkerchief to her as she passed him, but she probably didn’t even see him. He stared after her, too, watching her hurry down the lane, away from the church.

  “I s’pose we’ll have to hie after her, since it’s over a mile to Sutton Manor,” Tyler remarked.

  “That’s not why we’re going after her,” Tiffany replied absently, her attention still on Megan as she stumbled, stopped, dug into her reticule for a handkerchief, then went on without using it. “She and I have walked that distance before.” But Tiffany finally glanced at him, and his expression had her hackles rising again. “Don’t you dare look smug over this, Tyler Whately. She didn’t deserve what that horrid woman did.”

  “Allow me to disagree—”

  “No, I will not. You’re going to notice a difference in her after today anyway, so I might as well tell you. The only reason she’s treated you abominably was so you wouldn’t like her. It was done for love of me, because she knows how much I—I want you, and she didn’t want to see me hurt if your interest went to her instead.”

  “But I can barely tolerate the girl,” he protested.

  “You didn’t feel that way when you first met her, did you?” Tiffany shot back.

  “Well, no, but—d’you mean to say it was all deliberate?”

  “Yes, and if you want to get angry about it, then get angry at me, because I could have stopped her before today, but I—I guess I was still a little worried about your finding out that she’s really a very warm, caring person—”

  “And spoiled, and willful—”

  “Only a little spoiled, but that’s to be expected with a father as kind and generous as the squire is. And I happen to be just as willful, Tyler.”

  “Yes, but in you I find it rather endearing.”

  “Thank you—I think. But can you understand Megan’s dilemma? She knows how men see her, Tyler. The attitude she took with you is the only defense she has to keep men from falling hopelessly in love with her.”

  “But I wouldn’t want a wife who looks like her, darling. Good God, no!” And he really did seem appalled at the notion. “That girl needs a man with a strong constitution, with little to no temper, and who doesn’t even know the meaning of jealousy. I couldn’t abide having every one of my acquaintances in love with my wife—one or two I might tolerate,” he added with a smile. “But all of them, why, it would drive me to despondency.”

  “You make it sound hopeless for her. What man wouldn’t get a little jealous where his wife is concerned?”

  “Well, actually, the man’s jealousy won’t matter all that much, I suppose, if he’s assured of her affections. But she’ll have to make a constant effort to keep him assured.”

  Tiffany wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that one-sided scenario. “What if she ends up getting jealous for one reason or another—will he have to do some assuring of his own?”

  “’Course not. He married her, didn’t he?”

  “Not yet he didn’t,” Tiffany grouched.

  Tyler blinked as she whipped the train of her skirt out of the way to march stiffly toward the carriage. He almost leaped to catch up with her.

  “I say, we didn’t just switch subjects there, did we?” he asked uneasily.

  “You tell me, Tyler. Did we?”

  “Certainly not,” he insisted. “Your friend’s case is unique, Tiffany, because she is unique—which is not to say I don’t find you unique as well, but you see what I mean. There is simply no comparison to ourselves.”

  “All right, Tyler, I forgive you.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  Chapter 2

  “You’re eating again?” Tiffany asked as she sailed into the dining room unannounced.

  The Penworthy butler, Krebs, appeared behind her merely to close the doors, a disgruntled look on his face. He never was quick enough to beat Tiffany to a door, a point he should have resigned himself to a long time ago, but he never had, despite the fact that protocol had been dispensed with where Tiffany was concerned soon after she and Megan had first met.

  Surprising Krebs by always using a different entrance to the house when she arrived was a game to Tiffany, one she still enjoyed. If Krebs was lucky enough to see her arrive—and even in that she frequently circled the manor to come around directly to the stable behind it so he wouldn’t—he might dash for the kitchen entrance, but she’d choose the French doors off the drawing room. If he waited in the drawing room, he’d soon hear her teasing call, “Anyone home?” as she came from the back of the house to head right up the stairs. Once, when he knew she was expected, he’d left all three doors wide open and waited in the downstairs hall, where Tiffany would have to pass no matter which door she used. She’d come in through the dining room window that day. Krebs didn’t speak to her for two weeks after that defeat.

  Megan had hoped the Robertses’ butler would accommodate her in the same game. But he was a sweet old dear who just smiled at her and wished her a good day when she would appear suddenly in his domain, which took the fun out of it.

  She covered a yawn now with her napkin before tossing it onto the table. “This is my first meal of the day, actually, though I’ve had enough of it.”

  “Well, do finish your tea,” Tiffany said as she sat down next to her. “I could use another cup myself, so I’ll share it with you.” And then nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t been surprised by Megan’s remark, she added, “Your first meal, you say? Do you know what time it is?”

  Megan shrugged, adding tea to her cup and passing it to Tiffany, who proceeded to add nearly an equal amount of sugar to it. There was no question of sharing after that, since Megan took her tea without sugar, but then they both knew that. There wasn’t much of anything that they didn’t know about each other after eleven years of friendship. But Krebs was able to anticipate some things, and had gone to the kitchen to have Cora deliver another cup.

  Cora was the cook’s daughter, a pretty girl who had trouble containing her voluptuous curves in the formfitting current fashions, so consequently she was always out of breath because of a too tight corset. Her maid’s uniform was simplicity itself, even if it still sported the bustle and long train that had been the standard ever since the crinoline had gone out of style so many years ago. It was the bane of some ladies that their servants wore the same styles as they did, though of a much cheaper quality. Even charwomen went to work with their skirts trailing, but they had ingenious little ties that got the trains out of the way until they finished their jobs, releasing the trains again when they left work.

  Megan waited until Cora had bobbed her curtsy and left the room before she confessed, “I overslept.”

  That was a confession, since Megan never overslept and they both knew it. “What is that, the second time in your life? I can understand the first time, after we waited half the night for Lord Beacon’s ghost to appear in that ruined manor house he’s supposed to haunt. What a disappointment—” She broke off before she got carried away reminiscing, and asked sympathetically, “A bad night?”

  “An understatement,” Megan admitted.

  “Damn, I knew I should have stayed over last night. But I thought you were good and mad enough that you wouldn’t start brooding again.”

  Megan grinned. “You think anger is conducive to a good night’s sleep?”

  “Well, better than brooding.”

  “I’m in a position to disagree, Tiffany, believe me,” Megan replied.

  “Oh, well, then,” Tiffany said matter-of-factly. “I guess it got worse after I left?”

  “A trifle.”

  Megan’s tears had dried up by the time Tiffany had hopped out of the carriage yesterday to walk beside her along the country lane, leaving Tyler to follow discreetly at a distance so they could speak privately. Tiffany hadn’t r
ealized yet that Megan had already put her self-pity aside and was stewing with a healthy fury. To cheer her, Tiffany had suggested she go back and sock Lady O in the nose. Megan had actually considered it, then dismissed the idea as not a good enough retaliation. Since Tiffany hadn’t been serious to begin with, she agreed that the countess wasn’t worth the scandal that would follow that particular brand of revenge.

  But she was pleased that Megan wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, and was good and furious over what had happened instead. It was much more healthy. Only Megan was mostly angry at herself for all the time and energy she’d wasted on what had been a hopeless endeavor from the start. She felt like an utter fool. Tiffany felt like one, too, for not having seen it coming sooner. But old hatchet-face hadn’t had to be so bloody spiteful in delivering the blow. That was uncalled-for.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you!” Tiffany exclaimed now. “‘Go home,’ you said. ‘I’m just fine,’ you said. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t been snubbed before,’ you said.”

  Megan chuckled. “Well, that’s true enough.”

  “I don’t know how you can laugh about it.”

  To this day it still made Tiffany furious that the other friends they’d had when they were younger had stopped coming ’round, one by one, when Megan started to turn into a beauty. Quite simply, the other girls felt plain and unattractive next to Megan, and they couldn’t abide that. But some of them had actually snubbed her later in public, and that was taking their pettiness too far. You’d think Megan’s looks were something she had developed to spite them.

  Megan wasn’t sure how she could laugh about it either, when having friends turn on you was a kind of hurt that never really went away completely; it just lay beneath the surface waiting for a similar instance to bring it all back. And what the Countess of Wedgwood had done yesterday certainly brought it all back.

  “Better to laugh than to cry again, don’t you think?” Megan said as she stared at the leftover sausage she was using to make circles in a dollop of jam on her plate.

  Tiffany started. “Good God, yes! Absolutely! Do you want to talk about it?”

  They both knew the subject had switched to those past hurts now, not the present one. “No—except, when I think of all the fun we’ve had over the years, I almost feel sorry for those girls that they weren’t around to share it.”

  “Now that you mention it, I guess I do, too. After all, they turned into such boring creatures after they deserted us. On second thought, I don’t feel at all sorry for them.”

  Megan peeked up with a grin. “Neither do I, but it sounded like a nice thing to say.”

  They both laughed, when it was honestly a dreary subject. Tiffany was quick to change it. “I suppose this late meal means you haven’t had your morning ride and are going to be in a rotten mood all day because of it.”

  Megan usually breakfasted bright and early with the squire, then spent half the morning riding her horse, Sir Ambrose, and the other half grooming it. No stableboy—though they only had one since they owned a mere four horses—was ever allowed near her pride and joy, other than to feed Sir Ambrose, and even that Megan liked to do. For anyone who knew about her tendency to haunt the stables, it wasn’t hard to guess that Megan absolutely loved horses.

  “Actually, I did have my ride.” Staring again at her sausage, Megan added, “Last night.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Around two in the morning.”

  “You didn’t!”

  Megan glanced up to explain earnestly, “I had to, Tiffany, I swear I did. I was near to going crazy.”

  “Did you take one of the footmen with you?”

  “I didn’t have the heart to wake them.”

  “Megan!”

  “Well, no one saw me,” Megan said, defensive now, realizing belatedly how scandalous it was for a young lady to go out in the middle of the night by herself. “I stayed to the road for Sir Ambrose’s sake, since it was so dark last night. And it worked. I went right to sleep when I got back.” Tiffany just stared, so Megan added, “That ride did more than just let me get to sleep. On the third trip to the village and back—”

  “Third?”

  “I ran the route five times—well, I only had the bloody road to stick to, and Sir Ambrose was as game as I for a full-out gallop.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes.

  “As I was saying.” Megan got back to the subject. “On the third run it came to me exactly what I could do to set Ophelia Thackeray on her ear in the grandest way possible, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Tiffany’s expression turned instantly wary. “You didn’t reconsider socking her, did you?”

  “No,” Megan said with a grin, then triumphantly added, “I’m going to build a mansion twice the size of hers and become the new reigning hostess of the area. That will show her.”

  “Uh, how do you propose to do that?”

  “Very simply. I’m going to marry a duke.”

  “Oh, well, that will do it. Which duke did you have in mind?

  “Wrothston, of course,” Megan announced. “He’s the only one we know.”

  Tiffany sat up, because putting a name to this duke took the whimsy out of Megan’s idea, enough to make Tiffany worry that she might actually be serious. “We don’t know him a’tall. If you’ll recall, he wasn’t at Sherring Cross when we took tea with his grandmother. The only reason we even got on his estate was that your father had some obscure acquaintance with the dowager duchess and took the chance of writing her for advice when he was looking for a horse to buy you for your twelfth birthday.”

  “And it was fate that she invited us to come choose one from the duke’s stables.”

  “Fate? They had hundreds of horses. She was delighted to get rid of one.”

  Megan leaned forward to whisper that word ladies weren’t supposed to know anything about. “They breed them at Sherring Cross, so of course she was glad to sell one.” Then she sat back to add, “We already have something in common—horses.”

  “We? As in you and the duke? Good God, Meg, you aren’t really serious about this, are you?”

  “Absolutely.” Megan grinned excitedly. “Just imagine, Tiff, a magnificent coach pulling up to the church, with the ducal arms of Wrothston emblazoned on it, while the countess with her still unmarried daughters is standing there agog. Then yours truly steps out of the coach, assisted by the most handsome man imaginable. I will, of course, be magnanimous and bid the countess a good day, and even introduce my husband, the duke. And I will kindly not notice that her mouth is hanging open in shock.”

  “And it would be, too.” Tiffany laughed, caught up in the pleasant fantasy for a moment. “Oh, that would be the perfect comeuppance.” Then she sighed dramatically. “If only it were possible.”

  “But it is,” Megan replied quietly. “And I mean to see it happen.”

  Tiffany was appalled to see Megan’s stubborn look appear. “Now, wait a minute. Let’s at least be realistic about this. If you want to marry for a title, we’ll find you a nice viscount. Maybe even an earl wouldn’t be impossible. Yes, an earl, which will make you Lady O’s equal—don’t shake your head at me, damn it!”

  “Tiffany, if I’m going to stoop to marrying for a title, it might as well be the big one.”

  “Then don’t stoop.”

  “I’ve already decided to stoop. And the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of being a duchess.”

  Tiffany groaned. “Why do I have to be the bad guy here? All right, listen to the facts, Megan. You may have an earl somewhere in your background—”

  “Four generations back, plus a baron or two.”

  “Whatever, you’re still just a simple country squire’s daughter. Dukes can marry royalty if they want. They do not marry squires’ daughters.”

  “Wrothston will, and why not?” Megan replied tenaciously. “He’s already rich beyond imagining. He’s already got all the consequence he can manage, so he
doesn’t need to marry a title himself. He can marry for love if he wants, and a duke can bloody well do whatever he wants. My background does happen to make me acceptable. Certainly he can do better than a squire’s daughter, but he’s not going to care a jot for that because he’s going to be in love with me, hopelessly in love, mind you. And you know why, don’t you? Because of this cursed face of mine. It’s given me nothing but grief till now, but now it’s going to make up for that and win me a duke.”

  There was a lot of bitterness and hurt in those words, which made Tiffany cautious in asking her next question. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What if you don’t love him?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “What if you can’t, Meg? What if he’s horrible and mean and not lovable at all?”

  “He wouldn’t dare be. He’s a duke.”

  Tiffany almost smiled at that ridiculous certainty. “But what if when you meet him you just know, deep down, that he won’t do a’tall, that he’d only make you miserable? Would you still want him?”

  After a long pause Megan said, “No.”

  Thank God for that, Tiffany said to herself with a sigh. She felt on firmer ground now and so plowed on. “He could be ugly, you know.”

  “Are you forgetting that parlormaid who whispered to us how handsome he was?”

  “She was trying to impress us.”

  “We were already overawed. We didn’t need to be impressed anymore that day.”

  “That’s another matter. You can’t really want to live in a place like that.”

  “Are you joking?” Megan gasped. “Sherring Cross is the most magnificent home imaginable.”

  “It’s not a home, it’s a bloody mausoleum spread out over a good six acres. The stable alone was bigger than this house, and this is no small house you have here.”

  “I know. It was all so grand,” Megan said dreamily.

  “Grand? People probably get lost in that house every day and die.”

  Their eyes met on that remark and they both suddenly burst into laughter.