Megan was sure he had changed his mind simply to be at hand to deny her any hope of enjoying herself. He need not have troubled, for enjoyment was the very last thing she would experience!
Evangeline frowned at him. 'Oh, do make up your mind, sir. Am I to take it now that you are definitely going to join us?'
'Yes, so it's an uneven seven after all, I fear.'
'It cannot be helped. Now, then, Greville, I have a favor to ask of you.'
'A favor?'
Evangeline nodded. 'I find myself with so much to do today that I really do not have the time to fit everything in. What with overseeing the Christmas decorations, sorting out the costumes for the play, and summoning my dressmaker to bring the new jester's costume I ordered before leaving for Bath, there really isn't time to go to Mrs. Fiske's in St. James's Street as well. Mrs. Fiske herself is only in attendance between twelve and five, and Miss Mortimer is expected there at twelve, so would you be an angel and take her for me? After your ride, of course.'
'If something you've ordered requires collection, surely a footman can do it?' Greville suggested, thinking it odd to send Megan.
'It isn't anything for me, sir. Mrs. Fiske is to provide Miss Mortimer with suitable new togs, including, I trust, a gown that will do for tomorrow night.'
Greville stared. His aunt had finally taken leave of her senses! An evening gown for a companion? Oh, feline Miss Mortimer had indeed fallen on her feet!
'Well, Greville?' Evangeline eyed him.
'If you wish me to take Miss Mortimer, I will do so.'
Megan's heart sank, for she had been silently praying he had something else to do, but Evangeline beamed with satisfaction. 'Excellent. Now, if Miss Mortimer finds the things to her liking, you are to instruct Mrs. Fiske to have them delivered here without delay. The bill is to be sent to me, naturally.'
'Naturally.'
'By the way, I have invited Sir Jocelyn and Chloe to join us tonight to discuss
'Yes, Aunt E.'
'Miss Mortimer, I shall not require you until this afternoon, when I wish you to read through Feste with me.'
'Yes, Lady Evangeline.'
Rollo murmured from the window seat. ' 'Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.' '
Evangeline hesitated, then went on speaking to Megan. 'In the meantime you may do as you please, just be sure to make arrangements with Greville before he goes off on his ride.'
'Yes, Lady Evangeline.'
'Oh, dear, it's beginning to get very hot in here. I think I will stroll in the garden a while.' Evangeline got up hastily, for her face was beginning to go a familiar red. Greville opened the door for her, but as he began to close it again he almost trapped Rollo, who was following her.
The ghost was most indignant. 'Ye gods and small fishes! Thou art plaguey impatient, sirrah! Canst thou not allow a person time to pass through in peace?'
But Greville's ear was unhearing.
Chapter 11
Having reluctantly agreed with Greville that she would be ready in the entrance hall at a quarter to twelve precisely, Megan decided to use the intervening free time to walk the half mile or so to St. Nicholas's. Wearing her maroon cloak, mustard gown, and little hat, she set out directly after breakfast, before Greville and Rupert had left for their ride on the Downs. Her hands were thrust deep into a warm fur muff that Evangeline had kindly insisted she take, and she was glad of her little ankle boots, for there was quite a bite in the sea air.
Her route took her away from the Steine, across another fairly open area and the remnants of the very end of Great East Street into Church Street, which led past an army barracks, then steeply up toward the church on the hill. The sun had melted the frost and a light breeze had picked up, and during a lull in the demolition she heard the German band again. It was playing 'The Holly and the Ivy.'
There were side streets and courtyards along Church Street, as well as a number of houses and other buildings, but they became fewer the farther up the hill she walked until by the time she reached the churchyard wall, she seemed almost in open country. From here the view was wonderful. Brighton was spread out below, and she could clearly see Radcliffe House and the Marine Pavilion. The sea glittered bright green-blue, with many sails dotted out toward the horizon, and it was so clear that in the western distance, some sixty miles away, she could make out the Isle of Wight. It was a lovely day, and could not have been further removed from the storm of less than a week ago, when parts of southern England had suffered damage and flood.
The main gate into the churchyard from the town lay on the other side, and led directly to the south-facing porch, but from Church Street there was a small gap in the wall. Beside the gap there waited a gleaming scarlet curricle, the two chestnut horses in the care of a small boy who had been paid for his services. Megan did not give the vehicle a second glance as she entered the churchyard. A path led around the surprisingly quaint old church to the porch. Over the centuries medieval St. Nicholas's had acquired several additions of differing heights, and the uneven roof had dormer windows and even a tall chimney. The golden weathercock atop the church tower shone brightly against the vivid blue of the sky, and seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing across the hillside.
She walked slowly, glancing at the many gravestones, almost expecting to see the name Rollo Witherspoon upon one of them, but there was nothing. Then, as she turned the corner to approach the porch, a young lady and gentleman emerged arm in arm and came toward her.
The lady was vivacious and beautiful, in a matching cornflower-blue pelisse and gown braided with gold. She had short blonde hair, and the golden tassels of her white fur shako-styled hat bounced as she walked. There was an elegant shawl over her shoulders, with one end trailing along the ground behind her, as was the latest mode, and she was laughing at something the gentleman said. But it was the gentleman himself who so arrested Megan's horrified attention that she came to a standstill-for it was her abhorred cousin, Oliver March.
She may only have been sixteen when last she saw him, but she remembered him very clearly. He was tall and narrow-shouldered, with wiry ginger hair, a thin face and long pointed nose, and, unusually, his pale complexion was free of freckles. While not handsome, his looks were certainly attractive to many woman, and by the smile of the lady on his arm, she numbered among them.
His attire was elegant. There were large brass buttons on his donkey-colored coat, his fawn breeches were faultlessly tailored, and his boots were the work of a very exclusive boot maker in London's St. James's. He carried a brown beaver top hat under his right arm, and a diamond pin flashed in the very center of his neck cloth. Everything about him smacked of the sort of wealth and privilege that had no need to throw a destitute kinswoman out of her modest home, especially when he only intended to leave Berengers standing forlorn and empty anyway. All that mattered in Oliver March's world was Oliver March-and possibly the beauty he had on his arm. Presumably it must be Chloe Holcroft, for she was the young woman who had looked out of the window across the Steine the evening before.
Megan was so transfixed that she could not move. Thus, he could not help but see her. For a moment he looked at her with a perplexed 'Don't I know you?' quizzicality on his face. His steps slowed as he pondered whether or not it might be disadvantageous to acknowledge such a modestly clad person, and Chloe looked up at him in surprise. 'Is something wrong, Oliver?' she asked. 'Are you acquainted with this lady?'
'Er, I have a feeling I may be,' he admitted, and doffed his top hat to Megan. 'Pray forgive my poor memory, madam, but have we met before?'
Relief flooded through Megan. He didn't recognize her! Long may it stay that way. 'Not that I can recall, sir,'
