Chapter Five
No one had ever called her splendid before.
Oh, she was accustomed to a certain amount of flattery when someone discovered she was a viscount’s daughter, and, better, a goddaughter to the Duke of Pendleton. She had been lovely, well-mannered, pretty. But no one had ever meant it. And certainly not after catching her doing something peculiar.
Twice.
It would have been enough for any other gentleman to reasonably decline any association with her. Ladies who picked pockets were not generally welcomed among the family silver. But Dougal was only amused, and then impressed.
And now she was set to visit his estate. For several weeks. In the middle of nowhere. With nothing to distract her from whatever it was that shimmered between them.
Pendleton had always been sneaky. The only thing his age had done was make him sneakier still, because there was no earthly chance that she was being sent to catalogue broken pottery pieces and flints and marble busts in the home of a single duke looking for a wife merely for the historical worth of it. It strained credulity.
She couldn’t afford to let it turn her head. She had to stay realistic. But if she enjoyed the warm glow still blooming in her chest, who was there to know? It felt like a rose made of fire, just burning behind her ribcage. Alone in her chambers, she pressed her hands to her warm cheeks, still smiling. What a goose she was being.
And what a lovely thing to have a secret moment to allow herself to be a goose.
However short-lived it might be.
The knock at the door was loud but cursory, even though it was three o’clock in the morning. Tamsin sailed inside, trailing Priya, and surprisingly, Clara. “I told you she’d be awake.” Tamsin dropped onto the forest-green settee, her dressing gown wafting with lace. She pointed to the tea trays. “And I told you she’d have ordered treats for us.”
Meg had ordered both trays for herself, truth be told. Hot tea strong enough to stain the pretty china cups and baskets of pastries and cheeses. She’d already packed away the candied violets scattered as decorations. Tamsin plucked a raspberry tart off the nearest tray. It dripped with sweet sticky icing. “This is why you’re my favorite,” she declared, licking the sugar off her thumb.
“This morning, I was your favorite,” Priya pointed out drily. “When you needed to borrow my blue gloves.”
Clara sat primly. “I’ve never been your favorite.” There was a gleam of amusement in her eyes. Meg rarely saw it and each time made her wonder what Clara might really be like if she wasn’t so stiff and formal. There was sense of humor lurking under the neat-as-a-pin exterior. Not that Meg was one to judge. She used manners to shield herself every day. She settled back into her chair, resigned to the decimation of her sweets. “Clara, would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you.”
Tamsin rolled her eyes. “You don’t want anything to eat either, do you?”
“Actually, I’ll take a chocolate twist.”
Tamsin narrowed her eyes. “You know those are my favorite.”
“I do.”
Tamsin paused, then burst out laughing. “Well done. There’s hope for you yet.”
“I’m sure I’m relieved to hear it.”
Meg poured tea for the others. She added cream, a touch of honey, and took her time stirring it. A sip, a slow perusal of the pastries, another sip. “Meg!” Tamsin burst out.
“Seven minutes,” Meg laughed.
“That’s the longest she’s been patient for in ages,” Priya said over her cup. Her dark hair was braided over one shoulder and she wore a paisley shawl.
Tamsin sat back. “You are both terrible friends,” she informed them loftily. “Meg Swift,” she added desperately when Meg didn’t say anything else.
“All right,” she grinned. “Yes. Yes, I got it.” Meg held up the red velvet pouch more than a little triumphantly. The coins inside clinked with all the joy of a Christmas carol.
“Well done, you!” Tamsin crowed. “Oh, it serves him right, the ass.”
Meg dumped the coins out. Clara frowned. “What’s this?”
“Meg finally reclaimed the wager purse,” Tamsin said.
“Stole, you mean.”