stopped a few yards ahead of them and was looking intently at them, first in astonishment and then in open delight. A smile lit his face as he swept off his shako and made them a bow.
Crispin Dew! 'Meg!' he exclaimed. 'And Nessie. And /little Kate/? Is it possible?' Margaret curled her gloved fingers very tightly into her palms at her sides and concentrated hard upon not fainting, while her sisters exclaimed at the sight of him. He swung down from the saddle and came striding toward them, parting the crowd, one of his hands holding the bridle of his horse.
Oh, /why/ had she not been warned of this? Why had no one /told/ her? 'Crispin!' Vanessa cried, and she stepped forward to hug him. She had once been married to Hedley Dew, his brother, until Hedley died of consumption.
Katherine inclined her head and curtsied. 'Crispin,' she said, her voice cool and polite.
His eyes came to rest again on Margaret, and he held out both hands for hers. 'Meg,' he said, his smile softening. 'Oh, Meg, how have you contrived to grow even more beautiful over the years? How many years has it been anyway?' She kept her hands at her sides. 'Twelve,' she said, and then wished she had not shown such an exact awareness of how long it had been since that afternoon when they had said good-bye. When she had promised to wait and he had promised to come back. When the very air had throbbed with their passion and grief. When she had thought her heart would surely break.
He was even more handsome now. His reddish hair had darkened a shade or two, and his fair complexion had weathered. He looked broader and more rugged. There was a white scar just above his right eyebrow that slanted across his forehead to disappear into his hairline. It made him look curiously attractive. 'Can it possibly be that long?' he asked, returning his arms to his sides.
He looked back at his fellow officers, who had also stopped though they were being jostled by the crowds. 'These three lovely ladies were neighbors and dear friends when I was growing up,' Crispin called to them. 'I will walk with them for a while if they will permit it. You fellows go on without me.' /These three lovely ladies/. What foolishly flattering words.
They were given no choice since he did not actually ask their permission. Vanessa looked slightly uncomfortable now, and Katherine looked almost morose. They knew, of course, about the secret betrothal and Crispin's betrayal of it, though Margaret had never talked of it.
Margaret's mind was in turmoil as Crispin turned to walk and make polite conversation with them. He had heard of Nessie's second marriage, of course, and told her he was delighted by it. She had been a wonderful wife to Hedley and deserved to be happy again, he said. His mother had told him about Kate's marriage to Lord Montford. He was delighted by that too and hoped to meet the gentleman soon.
But it was impossible to walk for long in a group of four. Soon Vanessa and Katherine were detained by a mutual acquaintance, and Margaret found herself walking alone at his side.
She was finding it difficult to breathe – and she was alarmed and annoyed by her own discomposure. This was /Crispin Dew/, who had married a Spanish lady and fathered a daughter after promising to return to /her/.
Crispin, whom she had loved with her whole heart – and trusted with her love and her future. 'Well, Meg,' he said, his eyes warm with admiration, 'you are greatly to be commended. You remained faithful to your promise to your father. You stayed with your sisters and Stephen until they grew up, and did a very good job of raising them all. But you never did marry, did you?' As if marriage were no longer possible for her.
She did not answer him. She pretended to be distracted by the crowd. 'I am /glad/ you did not marry,' he said, lowering his voice. 'Why would you not come to Rundle Park when I joined my voice to Mama's to invite you there?' Ah. So he /had/ known what Lady Dew had written to her. He /had/ endorsed it. She thought the less of him – if there were less to think. 'I had other commitments,' she said. 'And they were too important,' he said, 'to postpone in order to visit an old friend who longed to see you again? But no matter. I have come to town and have met you here instead. I expect to be here for a month or two. I will give you my company whenever I have the time while I am here, Meg. It will be a pleasure. You are still amazingly lovely.' Would it /not/ be a pleasure if her looks had faded? /I will give you my company whenever I have the time…/ What exactly did he mean by that? He was not asking for her company. He was not even offering her his. He was /granting/ it to her as if it were some precious gift. As if she might be all alone and lonely without it.
As if she were past the age when she might expect any but her family members or an old friend to take any notice of her. As if she ought to be grateful that he would find time for her in his busy life. /… whenever I have the time/.
As if he were prepared to fit her in whenever he had nothing better to do.
She was suddenly angry.
She hated him with a passion.
All the pent-up fury of years pulsed through her. /You are still amazingly lovely/.
How … oh, how /condescending/! 'That is remarkably kind of you, Crispin,' she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice, 'but it will be quite unnecessary.' 'Oh, it will be no trouble,' he assured her. 'I would never have it said that I would not show all the gallantry that is in my power to a lady who was once such a dear friend of mine. And still is, I hope. And always will be?' /… a dear friend…/ He looked down at her, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.
She was unaccustomed to feeling raw fury. She had no idea how to deal with it, how to remain prudent until she could bring it under control.
So she spoke very unwisely. 'You misunderstand, Crispin,' she said. 'It is quite unnecessary to extend a hand of charity my way. My fiancГ© might not like it.' She heard the words come from her mouth as if someone else was speaking them. And suddenly she wished that someone else /was/. Whatever had she been goaded into saying so prematurely? /'Your fiancГ©/?' he asked her, all astonishment. 'You are /betrothed/, Margaret?' 'Yes,' she said with fierce satisfaction, 'though no announcement has yet been made.' 'But who is the fortunate gentleman?' he asked her. 'Would he be someone I know?' 'Almost certainly not,' she said, evading his first question.
He had stopped walking. 'When will I meet him?' he asked her. 'I do not know,' she said. 'At Lady Tindell's ball tonight?' he asked. 'Perhaps,' she said, feeling horribly trapped. 'I was not at all sure I would attend that particular ball,' he said. 'But now nothing could stop me. I shall come and meet this gentleman, Margaret, and see if he is worthy of you. If he is not, I shall challenge him to pistols at dawn and then throw you across my saddle bow and ride off into the sunset with you – or perhaps into the darkness of midnight.' He grinned at her, and she was smitten by a sense of familiarity. It was the sort of thing he would have said to her when they were very young – and she would have responded in kind until they were both helpless with laughter.
She bit her lip.
If the Marquess of Allingham was at the ball tonight – and she had counted upon his being there – would Crispin demand an introduction and say something about their engagement?
She would positively die of embarrassment.
She did not know for certain, of course, that the marquess would be at the ball. Indeed, she was not even quite certain he was in town, though he surely would be since he took seriously his role as a member of the House of Lords, and Parliament was in session. Perhaps she should stay away from the ball herself. But she had been so looking forward to going and seeing the marquess again.
Besides, why should she stay at home and postpone seeing him just because Crispin was going to be there – and because anger had goaded her into telling a lie, or a very premature truth, anyway? 'You must say nothing about my betrothal, Crispin,' she said. 'I ought not to have mentioned it. Even my sisters do not know of it yet.' 'Then I am privileged indeed.' He took her right hand in his and turned it in order to set his lips briefly against the pulse at her wrist. 'My lips are sealed. Ah, Meg, it is so very good to see you again. It has been far too long. And I have come too late as well, alas.' 'Twelve years too late,' she said, and swallowed awkwardly. She could feel the imprint of his lips like a brand across her wrist.
It /was/ too late. She could feel only a pained hostility toward him.
Surely he could have shown some embarrassment, some shame, some sign that he remembered how dishonorably he had treated her. He had not even /written/ to her. She had found out about his marriage quite by chance.
Vanessa and Katherine had finished their conversation and caught up with them at last. Vanessa asked Crispin about his daughter, who was still living at Rundle Park with her grandparents. 'They are coming to town,'
