Who Will Take This Man?

room, perhaps.” In her mind’s eye she envisioned the placement of the flowers, and the complimentary, effusive announcement in The Times the following day, praising her skills, reestablishing her reputation. “We’ve only to convince Lady Sarah that this is the best course. Do you think you can uncurse yourself by then?”

“That is certainly my intention.”

A tiny flicker of hope coughed to life in Meredith’s breast. Yes, perhaps this could possibly be salvaged. Of course, the situation was a debacle. However, it was not a complete and total debacle. She clung to that thought like a lifeline, lest she crumble into a heap. Damn it all, this was so unfair! She’d worked so hard. Had sacrificed so much to finally earn the respect she’d so desperately wanted. She couldn’t lose it… not again. Yet the thought of having to go through it all again… the lying and cheating and stealing. She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. No. It couldn’t come to that. He’d cure his curse and all would be well. It had to be.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lord Greybourne called, “Come in.”

Lord Hedington marched into the room, looking as if he were a volcano on the verge of erupting.

“You advised the guests?” Lord Greybourne asked.

“Yes. I told them Sarah had fallen ill, but gossip about one or the other of you crying off is already rampant. No doubt this damnable story will make the front page of The Times. ”

Meredith cleared her throat. “Lord Greybourne and I were just discussing how best to salvage this situation, your grace. He is hopeful of finding the missing piece of the stone, and thereby being able to reverse the curse. Based on that, I shall reschedule the wedding to take place on the twenty-second. I’ll send the announcement to The Times immediately to squelch any gossip.”

Lord Hedington’s gaze bounced between them, then his head jerked in a nod. “Very well. But I expect to be assured that no harm will come to my daughter. If I am not confident of her safety, there will be no wedding, scandal be damned. And now I plan to return home and retrieve this note Sarah claims to have left me.” Turning on his heel, he quit the room.

Meredith looked at Lord Greybourne. “I offer you my assistance, my lord, in searching for the stone.”

“Thank you. I don’t suppose by any chance you are a farmer, Miss Chilton-Grizedale?”

Good Lord, the man was daft. “A farmer? Certainly not. Why do you ask?”

“Because I fear this will very much be like looking for a needle amongst the haystacks.”

Narrowed eyes assessed the collection of Egyptian artifacts resting on red velvet behind the glass display case in the British Museum. How fitting that the artifacts should lie upon such a color-the shade of blood. Blood that had already been shed. And blood that would soon be shed.

Your blood, Greybourne. You shall suffer for the pain you’ve caused. Soon.

Very soon.

Three

Meredith walked slowly up the walkway leading to her modest house on Hadlow Street. While the area was far from the most fashionable in London, it was still respectable, and she loved her house with the fierce pride of someone who had worked hard for something she wanted. And more than anything Meredith had wanted a home. A real home. A respectable home.

Oh, she well knew she’d never be a member of Society, but her association with the ton, even though it was on the fringes, afforded her a measure of the respectability she’d craved her entire life.

Yet now her footsteps slowed to a snail’s pace. She dreaded opening the front door and having to tell the three people she loved most in the world that she’d failed. That the life, the facade she’d so carefully constructed stood in danger of collapsing like a house of cards. Was it possible that Albert, Charlotte, and Hope already knew? Gossip traveled so quickly-

The oak door swung open to reveal Albert Goddard’s expectant smile. Charlotte Carlyle stood behind him, her normally solemn gray eyes wide with anticipation. Charlotte’s daughter Hope peeked around her mother’s dark green skirt, and the instant she saw Meredith, the child raced toward her.

“Aunt Merrie!” Hope hugged her chubby little four-year-old arms around Meredith’s legs, and Meredith leaned down to press a kiss to the child’s shiny golden curls. “I missted you, Aunt Merrie,” Hope proclaimed, looking up, her gray eyes exact replicas of Charlotte’s, shining with pleasure.

“And I missed you as well, poppet.” The area surrounding Meredith’s heart went hollow. More than her future had been compromised today. With her current situation, what would become of Hope and Charlotte? Of Albert?

Arranging her features into what she hoped would pass for unconcern, she looked toward the doorway. The instant her gaze met Albert’s she knew she’d failed in her attempt for nonchalance. His smile froze, then slowly faded, his entire expression turning to one of narrow-eyed wariness.

Damnation, he knew her too well, and after eleven years, she supposed that was to be expected. Still, his eyes were far too knowing for a mere twenty-year-old. But of course, Albert had seen and survived more than most twenty-year-olds. Her gaze shifted to Charlotte, her cook’s apron still tied around her trim waist, her eyes reflecting the same cautious wariness as Albert’s. Charlotte knew her as well as Albert, although Charlotte had only joined Meredith’s “family” five years ago, shortly before giving birth to Hope. As there was no hiding the truth from either of them, she decided not to prolong the misery.

With Hope’s small hand nestled in hers, Meredith walked up the cobbled pathway. When she stepped into the small parquet-floored foyer, she untied her bonnet and handed it to Albert.

“We need to talk,” she said without preamble to Albert and Charlotte.

Still holding Hope’s hand, Meredith led the way down the corridor to the drawing room. Hope immediately dashed to her child-sized chair and table in the corner and began drawing in her sketch pad. Meredith clasped her hands in front of her and faced her two dearest friends.

“I’m afraid I have some rather disturbing news.” She described the morning’s events at the church, concluding with, “As much as I’d like to be optimistic, I’m afraid I must be practical. This debacle, though no fault of my own, is going to have disastrous repercussions on my reputation as a matchmaker. Indeed, it is only a matter of time, perhaps hours, before requests to cancel my services start arriving. While I remain hopeful that Lord Greybourne will find the missing piece of the stone and end the curse, I’d be foolish not to make plans in the event that he is unsuccessful. Even if this proves to be merely a postponement, rather than a permanent canceling of the nuptials, with all the gossip already flying about, it could take months to repair the damage. If he fails…” She pressed her fingers to her temples in an attempt to keep the few remaining remnants of her rapidly disappearing sanity from escaping. “Good Lord, in that case, I am well and truly ruined. My livelihood is destroyed…” And she well knew how limited the choices were for women to earn a living. I won’t go back… I’ll never go back.

Albert narrowed his eyes. “If ye ask me, this curse is mighty suspicious-like. Maybe this Greybourne bloke is makin‘ it all up so he don’t have to get married.”

Meredith slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Yer just too trustin‘, that’s all,” Albert said.

“I’m not saying I believe in this curse. In truth, I’m not quite sure exactly how I feel about it. As incredible as it seems, I somehow find I cannot discount it. And there is no doubt in my mind that Lord Greybourne believes in it absolutely.”

“Well, that just proves that the bloke’s half daft.” Albert pointed his index finger at her. “I think ye should stay away from him, Miss Merrie. I don’t trust him one bit. And in the meanwhile, don’t ye worry none about funds. I’ll take on some nighttime labor, maybe down at the docks. Or we can resettle somewhere else, somewhere where the gossip ain’t been heard. Maybe somewhere near the sea like we always talked about. We’ll get by, just like always.”