She stabbed down with the pin, dragging it hard across the back of Lord Pier’s wrist. He snatched his hand back with a loud curse. Meg widened her eyes as innocently as she knew how. “My Lord, I apologize. I left a pin in the sleeve of this dress accidentally and quite forgot.”
“A dress pin? I had no idea you had such a delicate constitution, Piers,” someone laughed.
He scowled but she knew he wouldn’t want to make a fuss. Even though a needle could not have drawn quite so much blood, he’d still look the fool. She pressed a clean napkin to the wound and raised her eyebrows pointedly at the maid until the girl caught on and fled. “Let me bandage that for you, my lord.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Just a scratch.”
Meg curtsied when he waved her away.
“Niece,” her uncle snapped from the next table. “Have a care.”
“Of course, Uncle,” she said. “It’s only that I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours.”
And in that time, she had done the job of a scullery maid, a lady’s maid, and a housekeeper. Not to mention assorted little errands for her uncle that he could have done himself only it pleased him to see her scurrying back and forth in front of his guests. She decided she wasn’t above burning the entire ballroom down if it meant she could get some rest. Her uncle must have sensed it because he narrowed his eyes, before forcing a loud guffaw. “Getting old, my girl. Off you go.”
Meg left before he could change his mind. She did not have to feign the shuffle to her steps. She could have slept standing up, propped against the wall. The lady’s maid was still in the hall. Her name was Beth and she blurted out her life’s story in under a minute. Meg tried to pay attention, but her eyes were burning, and Beth was getting blurry.
“It’s that grateful I am, Miss,” Beth finally wound down. “My Da warned me to look out for fancy blokes but I can’t very well punch them like I’d punch them in the village, now can I?”
“I suppose not,” Meg said. “When you find yourself in London next, go and speak with Lady Langdon. Tell her I sent you and she will find you a safer position.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss.” Beth bobbed a curtsy.
Meg made her way down the hall and out into the cold night. Cold morning. The darkness was already fading to gray in the east. There was frost in the garden and the brisk air helped revive her. She might not have to curl up and sleep in the hydrangea bushes after all.
The gatehouse cottage was nearly as cold as the garden. The fire had gone out and she hadn’t had a chance to sneak out to tend to it. She added more kindling and twists of dried hay until it eventually crackled back to life, dancing over the painted walls. She ate a pear from the basket on the table and a hunk of cheese she had stolen from the kitchen when Cook was busy fussing over lavender water jellies requested by one of the guests.
She flipped through her sketchbook for a moment, seeking the comfort of Dougal’s face. Just for a moment. In the morning, she would be composed again. She would go on with her life. Not just go on, but really inhabit it. Control it.
But for now, she just missed his smile. His steady and patient gaze. His everything.
She had sketched him by the sea with the wind in his hair and his trousers rolled up above his ankles. In the town, surrounded by ladies with strawberry ices. At dinner, looking vulnerable and determined. In his bedroom, his shirt tossed aside, ridges and contours of muscles dusted with hair.
They had made each other laugh. She could see building a life with this man, having him in her bed on cold nights and winking at her from across the table over breakfast. She genuinely liked him.
Loved him.
She could admit to herself, here in the cold darkness, if nowhere else.
She had convinced herself for so long that it just wasn’t possible for her. She tried to convince herself again that it was for the best. That he needed someone different.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her woolgathering. Wallace stood outside in his rumpled footman’s livery. “I didn’t see you leave the house,” he scolded. “You should have said.”
She smiled and stepped back to let him in. “You’re meant to be sleeping already. I put Simon next on the schedule.”
Wallace shrugged. “I can sleep here. But I didn’t want to startle you if you saw me outside.”
“I do lock my door every night.” Sometimes, she even shoved her chair under the handle.
“You know the last nights of these parties are the worst.”
He wasn’t wrong. It was safer now that she wasn’t in the house proper, but at the same time she was further from help should she need it. And she had just angered a very drunk and sullen Lord Piers. Choosing pride over logic seemed silly under the circumstances.
“It’s too cold to sleep outside,” she said. She eyed the bench in the small, crooked foyer, barely big enough for him to stretch out. “Although that can’t be much more comfortable.”
“Sight more comfortable than my room,” he assured her. “I share with Anthony and he snores like a bull.” He sat down stubbornly. “I don’t like the feel of the house, Miss. We’ve set someone outside the maids’ quarters too.”
“You’re very kind, Wallace.” She ought to have thought of that. “Do they really go into the attics?”