“Thank you, Miss Swift.” Dougal, she felt certain, had imagined himself caught in that circle of ladies under the aspen tree until nightfall. Possibly until morning. “It seems you are always rescuing me,” he added to her in undertones.
“My godfather did send me to help you,” she replied.
“I am sending him all of the wine in the cellar.”
When he offered her his arm, one of the ladies sniffed. “She’s an ape-leader,” she muttered. “Ridiculous. The Prince would never allow it.”
Her mutter was exactly as loud as she wanted it to be. That is: loud. Clear as a bell.
Shocked giggles shivered between the other ladies. The grandmother did not look pleased. Nor did Dougal. He halted. Meg stumbled to a stop, surprised. “I beg your pardon?” He said silkily. Ducally, even.
The lady blinked, caught. She tried a smile, a small laugh. “Why nothing at all, Your Grace.”
“Miss Wilmington, is it?”
Her smile turned triumphant at the corners. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Dougal waved the footman over. “Please escort Miss Wilmington off the estate. She has completed her tour.” When she sputtered, Dougal continued. “She will not be returning.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Meg said softly as Miss Wilmington was escorted away.
“Bloody right, I did.”
The others whispered to each other. The grandmother looked impressed. She winked at Dougal. He flushed to his ears. Meg grinned. “I’ll be right back.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
She laughed. “I’ll be right back,” she promised.
She wandered towards the gentlemen, moving slowly, nothing to alert them to her interest. She was merely another lady in a white dress on the lawn. Admiring the hazel tree, the stone bench, and, oh dear, tripping over an exposed root. She stumbled, gasping.
The red-haired gentleman rushed forward to steady her. His friend smirked. She had no doubt they were accustomed to any manner of mock tripping, or dropped handkerchiefs, all for the pleasure of their attention. Meg had something else entirely in mind. But they didn’t need to know that. “Goodness,” she said. “I’m so clumsy today. Thank you so much.”
“Not at all,” the man preened.
“Are you here for to tour the gardens?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“The roses are so lovely, even at this time of year.”
“Almost as lovely as you are.”
The roses had shriveled up and turned brown last week under the first frost. She fluttered her eyelashes, feeling like an absolute goose. She heard Dougal clear his throat, stifling a laugh. She refused to even glance in his direction. Instead, she playfully swatted the gentleman’s chest, just under his cravat. “Such a flirt!”
He bowed, winking.
“My mother would not like me to tarry,” she lied, sounding disappointed. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.”
“A pleasure, my lady.”
She curtsied and turned away, moving with sure-footed ease over the roots and the grass. Dougal caught up to her near the house. “What are you up to?” he murmured as they crossed the stones and ducked inside.
“This!” Meg exclaimed with more than a little victory. She waved a printed map of the house, with notes scrawled in the corners. It was her turn to smirk.
“Now we’ll know what they know.”