All Smiles Read online

  “Husband,” Meg told her.

  “Husband. What would a husband do with me? What man could want me? I am without charm or allure. If there were wisdom in the world I would be allowed to return to my books. I am a scholar. I don’t mean I am clever, only that I like to learn, to study, to discuss the affairs of my father’s country, and of the world. I am not the kind of person men fall in love with. I know this and I don’t care.”

  And this was the malleable girl, the girl excited about her debut, with whom Meg was supposed to work in the weeks to come? Well, apparently that was not to be so. Apparently by the time they returned this evening she would have told the Count how his sister felt and he would, doubtless, dismiss Meg. How could this all be otherwise?

  “You are a nice person,” the Princess said. “You will find someone else who needs a companion.”

  “I doubt it,” Meg responded, gathering Halibut into her arms and suffering a thorough washing of her face and neck. The cat was almost too heavy to carry. “I got this position quite by chance. I expect you’d like me to tell the Count you refuse to make your debut.”

  Princess Désirée’s fine eyes opened even wider. “And you will tell ’im about my cat and ’e will be taken away.”

  Smiling over Halibut’s head and kissing the soft fur between his ears, Meg said, “No. No, I will not be mentioning a huge gray cat I could not possibly have seen. After all, who would believe such a wild claim? But I advise you to try to keep him from sight. Bringing him here today was dangerous. I will help you get him back but he should not travel in the coach again or one day he will be discovered. I had best ask to meet with the Count now.”

  “Stay with me,” the Princess said. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Meg tried not to dwell on returning to London to tell Sibyl their wonderful plans had slipped away.

  “Please?” Princess Désirée said. “Let me show you the ’ouse—house, and perhaps some of the gardens. My brother said I should.”

  What had made the girl afraid—and she was afraid—of Count Etranger? “I’d like that,” Meg said. In fact she didn’t feel at all like walking about the house and possibly encountering the Count and his companion.

  Princess Désirée opened the top of a window seat and Halibut jumped inside.

  “He could die in there,” Meg said.

  “No, he could not. See?”

  Drawing close, Meg did see how small pegs kept the lid from closing completely.

  “And there is a comfortable blanket inside. He has hidden there before and I do believe he likes it. Come.”

  A rapid tour of the Princess’s wing revealed a series of beautiful rooms. Eventually they encountered Mrs. Floris, who was directing several maids in preparing what were evidently two rooms intended for Meg’s use on some future occasion. Mrs. Floris smiled pleasantly enough at Meg, curtseyed to the Princess, but seemed disinclined to enter into conversation.

  The Princess drew Meg quickly away and once they were out of earshot of Mrs. Floris she said, “Please do not say anything to stop them preparing rooms for you.”

  Meg smiled, but didn’t answer. She was puzzled by Princess Désirée’s behavior.

  Riverside Place was lovely. Very old and with a deep patina on everything from paneling to silver. Through a window at the end of the third floor gallery, Meg saw two figures on horseback. A man and a woman. She knew at once that the man was Count Etranger.

  Princess Désirée stood beside her. “He loves to ride. I doubt Ila cares overly for horses, but she will do anything Jean-Marc wishes to do.”

  Jean-Marc. Meg considered the name and the man. They suited each other. “They have known each other a long time?” she asked, knowing she was impertinent.

  “Not so very long. And not so very well, I think. They do not have things in common—but she has good qualities.”

  Meg sensed that the subject should not be pursued.

  The tour was rapid and superficial. All Meg saw of the grounds was a small, enclosed garden. A high wall surrounded the very private bower with its rose beds among stone flags, and carved stone benches were placed to give views of those beds. The shrubs were budding and blooming, and promising a brilliant show before long.

  “I should go to ’Al—Halibut,” Princess Désirée said. “He will be hungry.”

  “You have food for him?”

  “There will be food.”

  That oblique statement didn’t invite further discussion, either. Meg hesitated and said, “We should talk, at least a little, before we go back inside.”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t enjoy the anxiety in the Princess’s eyes. “Either I must tell the Count you do not wish to have me, or you will have to allow me to perform the duties he has given me. Your decision is your own to make.”

  Princess Désirée shifted from foot to foot, frowning and biting her lower lip.

  “I will accept your wishes without comment,” Meg said.

  “You would like to stay?”

  This was most unusual and most difficult. “Yes, but—”

  “You need the position?”

  “That is not something that should influence your decision.”

  “But you do need it?”

  The interrogation was neither intended to be impolite, nor did it sound motivated by idle curiosity. “Yes, I need it. My arrangement with the Count is that I will guide you in matters of deportment, social graces, fashion, elocution, and that I will answer any questions you may have. My sister, Sibyl—oh, Your Highness, Sibyl is the sweetest of people—Sibyl is a fine musician and would assist you with your pianoforte and your voice. This would mean the best of employment for both of us at a time when we are in some difficulty. We have trusts but we are told the payments are now reduced because it was assumed we would marry by now and since we haven’t, the money must be made to last longer. We have no parents, you see, and no home of our own. We live at Number Seven Mayfair Square. As lodgers. The house is owned by Lady Hester Bingham and she is very kind to us, but we are afraid we may not be able to support ourselves for too much longer and we will not accept the charity we know Her Ladyship would offer. There, now you know more than I would wish anyone to know about us.” And Meg’s face burned with chagrin.

  “I see. Clearly you are a cultured person. Through no fault of your own you have suffered reversals. But you do not give up. Admirable.”

  “Thank you. I will find other positions for Sibyl and myself. I’ll get a message to the Count. Please do not concern yourself for us.”

  “I wasn’t,” the Princess said. “I won’t. But Jean-Marc will be very angry with me if I cause you to go away. Even though our father sent him to England for the purpose of launching me, he does not wish to spend time on a half sister he scarcely knows. He has other matters that interest him a great deal more.

  “You don’t have to leave. I will be kind to you—appropriately kind. In return you will give Jean-Marc the impression that I am making great progress and following instructions well. We should return now.”

  Meg watched the girl open the door from the walled garden to the house.

  “Come along, Miss Smiles. You have to do my hair.”

  Meg finally remembered to close her mouth. “Yes, we should attend to that.” She followed, thinking how selfish her charge appeared again, selfish and self-serving and imperious, when only a short while earlier she had been quite different. But necessity would help Meg make herself invaluable.

  Once back in the boudoir, Princess Désirée retrieved Halibut, who promptly draped himself over her shoulder, clearly happy to bounce along there.

  “Let us be quick,” the Princess said. “We will go to my bedchamber. It will take no time to do something to my hair that will look different enough to satisfy Jean-Marc.”

  Meg said nothing. She traipsed in the wake of Princess Désirée and Halibut to a radiant bedchamber aglow with yellows and golds. The Princess produced a dish of fresh white fish from beneath the be
d and served it to Halibut atop an exquisite gilded table. “There,” she said. “Now do what you have to do, please.”

  Some time later, when Meg’s charge sat frowning fiercely before the mirror on her dressing table, there was a knock at the door. A very young maid entered, dipped and said, “His Lordship says you’re to go to dinner, Your Highness. Both of you.” She left in a flurry of starched white apron.

  “Dinner?” Meg said. “We can’t have dinner here. We must return to Mayfair Square at once, or we shall be traveling in the dark.

  “Do not be a silly,” Princess Désirée said, her thin arms crossed while she glowered at her reflection. “Why would we leave Riverside tonight? It is not possible to get back to Town in safety now.”

  Horrified, Meg stared into the mirror, into annoyed gray eyes. “You are mistaken. Of course we are going back. Why, my sister would be beside herself if I did not return as she expects. Oh, my, I must go back.”

  “You will not be able to. Not unless you like very long, very dangerous walks. And why should your sister worry? Verbeux told you to send a message and you did so, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There, then. Let us not concern ourselves with that further. Kindly dismantle this ridiculousness on my head and plait my hair again.”

  I must get home, Meg thought. Her message had mentioned an outing only, not an overnight stay.

  “I will take the ’air down myself.”

  “You will not, Your Highness. Touch it and I shall reveal Halibut’s presence.” Her sly threat shocked her. “No, I won’t. Of course I won’t. He is a love and I understand why he is your friend. Please don’t touch your hair. It probably feels uncomfortable, but it becomes you. Wait exactly where you are. Don’t move.”

  The sooner she saw the Count and informed him of her dilemma, the better.

  She went to the wardrobe and opened it, afraid she’d find nothing useful inside. Indeed, most of what hung there was as dowdy as the gray. Meg didn’t give up. She scrutinized each item until she found a gown made of silk striped in two shades of brown. She pulled it out, then spied a box with no lid that contained a tangle of fripperies.

  “Please allow me to help you out of your dress,” Meg said. “I think this one will do very well for dinner.”

  “What I have on will do for dinner.”

  “Kindly do as you are told.”

  She thought a hint of a smile passed over the Princess’s lips. She stood and turned her back to allow Meg to undo the tapes on her dress. Even her undergarments were too large. “Step out, if you please.”

  The Princess did so, and she allowed Meg to dress her in the silk gown. Stiff satin scrolls edged the bottom of the skirt, and long, tight sleeves puffed at the shoulder. Fortunately this was not so oversize as the gray, and a square neckline edged with tea lace fitted her small but nicely made body quite well.

  “Hmm,” Meg said, pleased. “Sit down again. I have a box of treasures here. Is it all right if I look at them?”

  The Princess shrugged, but Meg noted how she studied herself and did not look quite so disinterested.

  “The gown suits you,” Meg said. “A little somber for such a young lady, I should think, but you are a subtle person, not at all the flamboyant kind. Here. This is just the thing.”

  Meg had brushed the girl’s hair until it shone and drawn it up into a soft, plaited coronet that showed off a long, slender neck and small ears. A pearl-studded tortoiseshell comb Meg found looked Spanish. She settled it into the coronet of hair at the very crown of Princess Désirée’s head and pulled a few wisps of hair free around the hairline.

  “You are pretty,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly. We must go down to dinner or Jean-Marc will send another servant, and then he’ll be angry with me. I’ll wear the ridiculous gown and leave my hair up because I want him to be pleased with your efforts.”

  They left the bedchamber. She no longer cared about the Count’s pleasure—or not overmuch. She would throw herself on his mercy and ask to be sent back to Town. If he was pleased with what little she’d accomplished he would be more inclined to help her.

  “Oh, boredom. Here is the dining room already,” the Princess said when they reached the ground floor.

  Footmen flanked closed double doors, but slid rapidly to open them when they saw the Princess and Meg. They walked in, apparently without being either seen or heard by the couple seated at the far end of a table long enough, and with enough chairs, to seat at least twenty people on each side.

  The Princess crossed her arms and tapped a foot.

  Meg wished she were elsewhere. Anywhere, elsewhere.

  The Count’s friend was seated on his lap with her arms around his neck. The lady’s violet-blue gown displayed more pale skin and rounded flesh than Meg had ever seen in public. A great quantity of shiny chestnut hair was arranged in loops that swept back from a center part and caught up beneath white rosebuds at the crown. Ringlets cascaded past each temple.

  Meg looked at the servants who stood by, ready to serve dinner. They stared straight ahead, as if they were unaware of two people embracing at the table.

  “Lady Upworth,” Princess Désirée muttered, “is a widow who wants Jean-Marc to marry her. If he does, Papa will be furious.”

  Meg heard what the Princess said, but could not draw her attention from the kiss that went on and on, or the Count’s hand, which the lady held to her all but naked bosom.

  “Jean-Marc,” the Princess said, her voice raised. “We are come to dinner.”

  The Count’s friend tore her lips from his and turned to see who spoke. She kept her companion’s hand where it was. She began to laugh, and finally covered her mouth while she brought her mirth under control.

  The Count appeared puzzled, but he smiled.

  “Come here, little Princess,” the lady said. “Come where Ila can see you more clearly.”

  “You, too,” the Princess murmured to Meg. “I need you with me.”

  They moved down one side of the table, Meg hanging back a little.

  Gorgeous Lady Upworth settled herself comfortably against the Count’s chest and laced her fingers together. “Oh, dear,” she said, when Princess Désirée stood before her. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. I should never have allowed you to deal with any part of your sister’s preparations without my help, Jean-Marc. You look ludicrous, you poor darling. No matter, I shall supervise everything from now on.”

  7

  “Sibyl? Is that you?”

  A man’s voice, calling to her in the thickening twilight, jolted Sibyl. She had waited until she was certain she could escape the house without being seen, and come to the gardens at the center of Mayfair Square. There she had chosen a bench with a view of both Number 7 and Number 17.

  “Sibyl?” the man said again, closer this time. “It is you. Answer me at once.”

  He came toward the gardens from the flagway outside Number 7, a solidly built fellow of average height.

  She shut her eyes tightly and willed him away. How could she suffer through two great misfortunes in so short a time? Her second cousin William Godly-Smythe’s figure could not be mistaken. Nor could his big, round voice, in which he took such pride.

  He entered a gate and came directly to her. “Sibyl Smiles, what can you be thinking of to be out here, alone, at such an hour? What can Meg be thinking of to allow you to be here alone—at any time? You are a gentle girl with no experience of the world. Have I not told you, on a number of occasions, that London is no place for tender souls such as yourself—or Meg, of course?”

  “Good evening, William,” she said. He had made a habit of issuing orders to his second cousins ever since he’d moved into the house he’d been glad to inherit on their father’s death. “What are you doing in London?”

  “Kindly refrain from questioning me when I am already questioning you. This is what comes of girls being allowed to live alone. Girls of refined upbringing such as yourself. Alone in London, min
d you. I will not permit this to continue. We shall wait until morning. Then I will escort you home to Puckly Hinton.”

  At any other time she would inform him of how little authority he had over her and Meg. He had none. But at the moment she was anxious only to dispatch him elsewhere. He must not learn of Meggie’s amazing failure to return, not learn of her absence at all, in fact, or he would become more of a pest.

  “Come along, come along,” he said, bending and taking hold of her arm. “We will speak with Meg at once.”

  “She’s ill.” Might she be forgiven for lying?

  “Ill? She’s always been as strong as a horse. What’s made her ill?” William was too strong for Sibyl to resist his urging hand beneath her arm. She was forced to stand. “Oh, of course. How could I be so forgetful when this is exactly why I’m here? The terrible event near the Burlington Arcade. I was stricken to hear of it, of how close she came to being killed. That’s why I left important matters to rush here and lend my support. Meg is suffering from the effects of her brush with death. Yes, I was right in coming to insist my wishes are followed.”

  Pompous ass. Oh, my, my, she was beyond all. Worry had turned her into a common person who thought inappropriate things. “Meg has a cold and a cough. She is sleeping and must remain asleep. The doctor said she needs lots of sleep to help her get better. There are no ill effects from what happened. It was purely an accident.”

  “Who suggested it wasn’t?” he asked sharply. “Is there something being kept from me?”

  “Not at all. It was merely that you seemed to be suggesting…How do you know about Meg’s accident?”

  “You are well aware how I know.” William bowed over her, peered at her face. “There is more here than meets the eye, I’ll be bound. Reverend Baggs said Meg didn’t appear to recognize him but I told him he must be mistaken. Now I realize I should have believed him.”

  She could not imagine what he was talking about. “Reverend Baggs? From Puckly Hinton? When did Meg fail to recognize him?”

  “At the scene of the accident, of course. Poor Reverend Baggs was in London on church matters. Imagine his amazement at seeing Meg like that. He rushed to greet her and shook her hand. He said she didn’t know him. How could that be when she has known him since he came to the village?”