Page 28 of A Gentleman’s Offer

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Yesterday, Meg would have sworn, as she lay on her sister’s bed contemplating the canopy above her and wondering what in heaven’s name she was going to do, that she could hardly feel worse; today, the problem that had loomed so large had in a sense been solved for her, and yet she was much, much more distressed. She realised that she was weeping, had been weeping for a while, and wiped away her tears with an unsteady hand.

She couldn’t possibly marry Sir Dominic, that much was crystal clear. Whether under her own name or her sister’s, she could not invest her happiness and all her hopes for the future in a man who kept such grave secrets from her and was so irrevocably committed elsewhere. Not even for Maria’s sake could she do such a thing. She was quite prepared to accept that he had a past – he was a man of almost thirty, of course he did – but what she had seen today had not been past but present, and indeed future. Those innocent, trusting boys needed a father, and would till they were grown, and she needed a husband who would share his whole life with her, not some small part of it, some meagre corner. It wasn’t a matter of infidelity – he hadn’t been unfaithful to her, as he’d only known her a few days, and plainly this woman had been a presence in his life for many years. It was a matter of commitment and of honesty. What other secrets might he be concealing? Above all, it was a matter of trust.

And there was more. If she was an acceptable bride because she was of noble birth and had blonde hair and blue eyes, and Annie was not because her mother was an African, and yet she was good enough to share his bed and bear his children, that didn’t reflect terribly well on Sir Dominic either. She had thought better of him. She was, she acknowledged, profoundly disappointed. Hurt. She’d though the electric physical attraction they shared was something special, perhaps – now she admitted to herself, now that it was too late – a sign that something deeper could develop between them. But she must face the fact that he had shown himself to be promiscuous, and not to be trusted. He hadn’t lied to her, he hadn’t explicitly said, I am free to marry you, free of all ties and able to commit myself to you utterly. Free to love you. But she’d thought that was what he was promising. It was what she would offer, if ever she married anyone. Herself, all of herself, without reservations or nasty little secrets. Or big secrets, for that matter. This was a big secret.

Damn him, with his insinuating charm and his captivating smile and his air of being someone she could depend upon for honesty, when plainly she couldn’t. She supposed, sniffing, that she’d had a lucky escape. Her heart was bruised but not broken. She wouldn’t allow it to be. It had only been a few days. Damn him.

She would tell him, in dignified words with no unbecoming show of emotion, that she had reflected upon the matter and had come to the conclusion that the idea they should marry was not feasible. Not even to help her sister could she do it. She’d tell him that she could not entertain those sentiments for him that a woman should feel towards her husband. That his was not a character that could ever inspire such sentiments in her, and he could take that however he liked. If he didn’t have a guilty conscience, he should – think of those little boys looking up at him so trustingly, and their mother, so relaxed and happy in his company, and Meg herself, who’d been beginning to think that… But no point going down that road. Not now.

Meg was looking forward to telling her sister of her decision even less than the necessary encounter with Sir Dominic. She was under no obligation to reveal her true feelings to him; she could tell him as much or as little as she cared to, and by all the rules of honourable behaviour he could press her no further. With Maria, the case would be different. She’d tell her how wounded she was, and perhaps find comfort in doing so, but the upshot of it all would be that she could not help her. Maria’s ingenious plan for both their futures would be in ruins. Their restored sisterly relationship was still so new and so fragile that it might easily be damaged by the revelation; she hoped her sister would not think her selfish. But now that she knew the truth, she felt she had no choice. Perhaps she was selfish, then, to put herself first.

The thought that Maria might think that she was concerned only with her own future happiness to the exclusion of everyone else, even her twin, hurt her, and if she couldn’t do anything about Sir Dominic, could she perhaps do something about that? It occurred to her now that there might be some other way that they could puzzle out between them that would allow Maria to live the life that she wanted. Could they perhaps swap identities somehow in any case, so that Maria could be with Lady Primrose as Meg, and Meg remain in her father’s house as Maria? She could easily do so much for her sister, if it wasn’t a matter of marriage – and just now, she felt sure that it would be a long, long time before she’d contemplate trusting another man enough to marry him. The engagement could be called off – there would be gossip, but the world did not need to know a reason, and she would be the one facing down the stares and the whispers, not Maria, which she was quite prepared to do. This fresh idea, of course, had the drawback that it would not enable Maria to lay hands on her fortune – but might that detail be overcome? Her mother had taught her to break down a knotty problem into its component parts so that they appeared less overwhelming: she would do that. She felt as though some faint glimmering of an idea was lurking deep in her brain, and could only hope that it would emerge into the light in time to be of some use.

She’d speak to Sir Dominic first, though. It was all very well for him to say that he wouldn’t pressure her or renew his suit while matters remained so confused and uncertain, but all the while the day of his wedding grew closer and closer. It was time, she thought, to put a stop to that nonsense. She was not going to stand in a church and commit herself irrevocably to someone on whom she could not place her reliance. Thank God she had realised in time exactly what he was.