Pursuing Miss Hall by Karen Thornell

Chapter Thirteen

“Mama, you wished to see me?” Meg hoped it wasn’t in regards to her lack of enthusiasm toward Lord Hatfield in the past days. She had no excuse for it except that whenever he was about, she could not help but compare him to Nathan and find him lacking. It was frustrating at first, but now that she’d determined to forgive him for his ridiculous jest in the gardens, it was mostly just unfortunate.

“Oh, Margaret, yes. Come in. Sit down.” Meg came all the way into her mother’s bedchamber and stood in the center of the room. Mama’s maid was just completing her hair, and as soon as she’d finished, Mama dismissed her, then turned to Meg.

“I wished to speak with you, darling, about the party. More specifically, the guests.” Mama gestured to the couch at the end of her bed, and Meg sat before Mama lowered herself beside her. “There are only three days left before our guests depart, and I felt it important to speak with you regarding your betrothal.”

Meg’s eyes widened, but she nodded. Mama patted her knee distractedly.

“It is clear that Lord Hatfield is enamored with you. I believe with a small amount of encouragement on your side, he will declare himself forthwith. But, darling, you do not seem interested in allowing such encouragement.”

This was likely the only time Meg would have to explain her fears over a loveless marriage, but she found it difficult to form the words. “It is not that I am not interested, Mama. It is only that I admit to feeling . . . well, a lack of feeling for Lord Hatfield. I . . . I am unsure of—”

“Ah, I see.”

Meg looked up hopefully.

“You are unsure how to encourage a man. Of course, I should have realized.”

Meg frowned. No, that was not it at all.

“It is not terribly difficult, my dear. You need only seek him out over our last days. Send him a few looks from under your lashes, like so, and he will be smitten. He is already halfway there, I am sure. What with your beauty and dowry, it will not be so difficult a thing as you must think.”

Mama did not understand. If she only knew that Meg did not love Lord Hatfield, did not wish to marry him, she would certainly not push such a thing on her.

“Mama, I am afraid I was not clear. I do not feel anything toward the viscount. There is no affection between us. I do not . . . I do not love him, Mama.”

Her mother waved a hand dismissively, and it felt as though she were batting away a stray hair, not the last vestiges of hope Meg had. “Psh. You do not need love in marriage, Margaret darling. I did not love your father when we married. I hardly knew him. And look how we ended up.”

That wasn’t particularly comforting. Her parents got on well enough, but there was a distinct absence of fondness between them—nothing like she had seen between Nathan’s parents. And she was coming to learn that she would far prefer what his parents had over what her own possessed.

“Yes, but if there can be love, would that not be preferable?”

Mama studied her, clearly bewildered. “Perhaps, dear, but he is a viscount. Do you not realize what this would do for your standing? And that is to say nothing for our family’s standing as well. Your brother would have a sponsor for the best clubs, an introduction into the best circles. He could marry at a far better advantage with a man like Lord Hatfield on our side. Darling.” She took Meg’s hands in her own and stared into her eyes with all the maternal love in the world. “You must know I only want what is best for you. I truly believe marriage to the viscount is just that. It is the best option I believe you will ever have. Better even than if we had attempted to capture him during the Season. Here you have had his undivided attention. We cannot squander that. You must secure a proposal.”

Only Meg’s years of training kept her expression pleasant. Did love truly matter so little? Was it that way for everyone? Excepting Nathan apparently, but Nathan had hardly been any help. He’d addled her brain more than anything.

Even still, she could not help wishing he was nearby so she could talk with him. He would first make her laugh over something trivial, then he would come up with a plan or another option for Meg, then he would fold her into a hug, and her stomach would erupt in butterflies as it always seemed to lately.

Meg forced her thoughts to end there. She could not be thinking of Nathan that way. Not any longer. Mama intended her to marry the viscount, and marry the viscount she would.

“Yes, Mama,” Meg finally responded. “Of course. If you will excuse me, I must . . .” She could think of nothing she needed to do, but she fled the room regardless. Her manners were sorely lacking lately, and she would need to rectify that before becoming a viscountess.

A viscountess.

Why did that not provide any amount of consolation? Yes, she would be marrying without love, but just look at all she would be receiving! Should that not have been enough?

Meg reached the foot of the stairs and hurried around a corner, tucking herself into a small alcove where she would assuredly be left alone. Her arms snaked around her waist, and she leaned against the cool wall. No, being a viscountess was no consolation at all, not when it came attached to a life with a man she did not love away from everyone she cared about.

A knock at the front door startled her out of her thoughts. She stilled, certain that she was hidden from sight but uncertain if any small movement would give her away. The sound of the door opening reached her ears, then the sound of her butler’s voice.

“Mr. Blake, what a surprise it is to see you at the front door. Is everything all right?”

Nathan? Nathan was here? And at the front door?

“Yes, Semphill, I am well enough. Is Sir Robert in?”

“Sir Robert? Certainly, he is. Shall I announce you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Footsteps passed the alcove, then retreated down the corridor to the study, and Meg found the courage to peek out of her hiding spot. The corridor was empty. Why did Nathan come to see Papa instead of her? And why had he come through the front door? Would it be bad form to listen at the study door?

Yes, of course it would be. Meg put a hand to her temple. What was wrong with her?

For half an hour, she waited to hear of someone sent to call for her. Certainly Nathan would wish to speak with her. He had not spoken to her in days. He must miss the contact as she did, but no maids or footmen were summoned to the study. No one at all entered or exited until at last the door opened and a single set of footsteps passed Meg’s alcove again.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Blake.” Semphill’s voice sounded from the door. “Will we be seeing your family this evening?”

“Yes, we shall return for dinner.” A pause, then the door opened. “Thank you, Semphill.”

The door closed, and Meg waited a full minute before leaving her hiding spot this time. The corridor was again deserted. Nathan had not wished to see her. Meg’s heart sank at that fact. It seemed to be the closing of her last door to escape. She had only three days left before her mother intended her to be engaged. Nathan had not spoken to her, despite coming to her home, for the past four days. It seemed the decision was being made for her. That evening, she would attempt to secure Lord Hatfield’s affections.

A sour taste and a numbness in her chest accompanied her resolve. But there was nothing else for it. Nathan, no matter how good a friend—and no matter the strange warmth she felt at his touch—could not save her from this fate. And Mama was sure it was her best option. Papa had said nothing contrary, and William would be aided. Apparently, it was time Meg came to her senses.

She spun on her heel and retreated up the stairs. Now was as good a time as any to dress for dinner.