Page 4 of A Gentleman’s Offer

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Sir Dominic De Lacy stared at Meg with an expression of incomprehension that would have seemed foolish on a face less handsome. He was, it pained her to admit, excessively, even ridiculously, good looking. Maria had inexplicably not thought to tell her so in any of her letters, though it wasn’t the sort of thing that Meg herself would have neglected to mention when discussing her own future husband. His features were strong, masculine and regular – his nose straight, his cheekbones sharply cut, his chin strong and his eyes a pleasing shade of grey. His mouth was particularly finely sculpted, and his artfully dishevelled hair a warm honey brown. He was tall, too – Meg was accustomed to towering over men, but this gentleman was well over six foot and had several inches’ advantage over her. His immaculate black evening suit fitted him to perfection, and if the breadth of his shoulders owed anything to padding, she could see no sign of it. She knew, as did anyone who paid attention to such matters, or had done her research, that he was a notable whip, a consummate horseman and a superb amateur boxer. A leader of fashion, too, and one of the wealthiest and most eligible men in the haut ton. And her sister, his betrothed, the woman he had chosen above all others to be his bride, instead of being gratified to be so singled out, had run away from him, vanishing utterly into the teeming streets of London.

‘What did you do to her?’ she said fiercely, determined to catch him off guard while he was still dealing with the severe shock she’d given him. He might be the epitome of male elegance, the image of every hero of every novel she’d ever read, Mr Darcy or Lord Orville made flesh, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a secret monster of depravity too. She would not be so foolish as to judge him by appearances. Had he forced his attentions on poor Maria, or otherwise offended her tender sensibilities by unforgivably boorish behaviour? She, Meg, needed to stop gazing at him like a mooncalf and find out.

He shook his head, as if to clear it. ‘I?’

‘Yes, you! Who else?’

‘I have not the least notion what you’re talking about,’ he said firmly.

She scoffed in disbelief. ‘My sister has run away – at least I must assume she has – because she is horrified by the prospect of marrying you. Why else would she go so suddenly, and without telling anyone? All I know is, she’s gone. And I demand you tell me why!’

It seemed to Meg that anger was kindling deep in those grey eyes, anger to match her own. ‘If what you say is true, I’d quite like to know myself. I assure you, I have done nothing to her. Though we are betrothed, I scarcely know her. I must admit that I was aware she was experiencing some discomfort since our engagement became a subject for public speculation, but she never spoke to me of it, and I had thought her merely embarrassed by the scrutiny we have inevitably been undergoing. I see now that I was quite disastrously wrong. I suppose you’re twins?’

‘Of course we are, as must be perfectly obvious to anyone of the meanest intelligence! Is that all you can think to say?’

‘Madam, I think I’m reacting rather well, considering I’ve just been deceived into publicly celebrating my engagement in front of half the stuffiest old dragons of the ton with a woman at my side I’ve never met before in my life. Did your father not think to make some excuse – a sudden indisposition would have served perfectly and occasioned little comment – and call the damn thing off, rather than prevail upon you, as I must assume he did, to engage in such a ridiculous and dangerous imposture?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t know,’ said Meg a little more calmly. Perhaps she had been wrong in thinking that Sir Dominic must be to blame. It seemed there was some mystery here.

He appeared to be speechless for a moment. ‘Lord Nightingale doesn’t…?’ he managed at last. ‘How in the name of heaven is that possible?’

‘Maria ran away four nights ago, we believe. As soon as she realised my sister was missing, my aunt Greystone sent an urgent letter by the overnight mail, asking if Maria had come to us – to my mama’s house – and summoning me to take her place if she had not. But we knew nothing at all of the matter, and had not laid eyes on her or heard from her, and so I was obliged to do as Aunt begged me. I arrived last night on the stagecoach. You must have seen how distraught the poor creature is, which I am sure is quite understandable. But my father knows nothing at all of the matter.’

‘He hasn’t noticed? Not your aunt’s distress, and not this… this outrageous substitution?’

‘Well, he pays no attention to my aunt, or to females generally. Or people, really. All he cares for is his studies. And as for me, we haven’t set eyes on each other for five years or so. My mother would tell you that he’s forgotten he ever had another daughter. Although she is prejudiced against him because of the dreadful way he has treated her, I do think on this occasion she may be right.’

‘Your hair…’ He gestured at it somewhat helplessly with one elegant hand.

‘If he’s noticed it – which he very likely hasn’t – he probably thinks I simply had it cut. You thought so, did you not?’

‘I did. But I’m not your father, and I don’t share a home with you. I assure you, I am barely acquainted with your sister, and we have never been alone together for more than the very brief interview in which I proffered my suit and she accepted it. But I find it almost beyond belief that one daughter – even if you are identical – could be substituted for another and a parent not notice it.’

Meg said, hysterical laughter suddenly welling up in a great bubble inside her and making her voice unsteady, ‘My mother has always said… he isn’t very observant!’

Sir Dominic let out a crack of sudden mirth that transformed his features and made him appealing rather than merely conventionally handsome. ‘I would say that is something of an understatement!’

The shared moment of humour seemed to lessen the tension somehow. ‘Are we truly still identical?’ Meg asked him with unconscious wistfulness. ‘My aunt said we are, but she was so desperate for me to take Maria’s place tonight that I wasn’t sure if she was being honest, or just hoped that it might be so.’

‘My dear girl, don’t you know?’

‘How could I? I haven’t seen my sister since we were thirteen.’

‘I think you must explain. I feel as though I’ve entered a madhouse.’

‘There’s no time for all that! You need to help me find Maria,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ve thought a great deal about it, and now that I must accept that you’re not directly responsible for her flight, or at least if you are you don’t know that you are, I don’t see who else I can ask.’

‘It may be so. Of course I’m not refusing categorically to help you. But we can hardly leave the house together – we’ll have to go back to the guests soon, in any case, or there will be a great bustle about our absence. It really would be madness to start combing the streets of London at this hour. Apart from the scandal it would surely cause, where on earth would we begin such a task? I need more facts. You must see that this is true.’ He spoke gently, and Meg became aware of an odd lump in her throat. But she could perceive the sense in what he said, and sank into a sofa, unconsciously pleating and twisting the folds of Maria’s fine blue and white engagement gown as she did so, anxiety and a sense of utter helplessness overwhelming her once more.

He sat down beside her, reaching out and gently disengaging her fingers from their convulsive grip on the delicate fabric. His hand was warm where hers was cold, and he held her chilly digits in a reassuring grasp. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Make me understand your situation. You must realise we only have a few moments.’

She said dully, ‘Very well. My parents should never have married, you understand. It was an arranged match, his second – he is much older – and they turned out to be entirely ill suited, despite their separate intellectual achievements, or perhaps even because of them. Lord Nightingale has no time for clever women. For living women at all, in fact, or for normal human feelings. My mother said she first realised their incompatibility fully when he insisted, upon our birth, on naming us Maria Major and Maria Minor – as the Ancient Romans did, you know. He thought…’ Her voice cracked again, though this time with incipient tears rather than laughter. ‘He thought it would be easier. Since we were twins, and identical. He couldn’t understand how she could possibly have any rational objection.’

He was regarding her with a sort of fascinated horror. ‘I had heard he was eccentric, but good God… Please tell me that isn’t your name, you unfortunate girl. That sort of thing should surely be illegal.’

‘No, she did manage to persuade him, but not that he was wrong – he can’t ever be wrong, you must understand – merely that he should also commemorate his sister. Maria was his mother, you see, and Margaret his younger sister, and they both died prematurely. My mother said she thought it highly sensible of them, and that his older sister, my aunt Greystone, had often appeared to regret not following the same path. But possibly she exaggerates. She is a writer, you know, as I aspire to be, and is not always to be trusted to tell the literal truth, but rather favours what may make a good story.’

He seemed relieved, and not noticeably shocked by this revelation of authorial unreliability. ‘So you are Margaret, and she is Maria? That’s much more normal.’

‘Oh, no. She is Maria Margaret, and I am Margaret Maria. That way – he told Mama as she lay recovering in childbed, and this I am afraid I do believe – if one of us should soon die, or otherwise turn out to be unsatisfactory, he should still have commemorated both his mother and his sister. He was pleased, she said, because it is so efficient.’

‘Efficient.’

‘Yes. Do you begin to see what he is like?’

Sir Dominic sighed, perhaps in the realisation that he had entangled himself with a most peculiar family, with consequences for his own peace of mind that could not yet be guessed at. ‘I do, but I think,’ he said, ‘that we must go back now before we are missed. Can you not tell me everything else, quickly?’

‘She’s gone, and nobody has the least idea where. The rest is just details, don’t you think? We’re wasting time when we could be looking for her, sir!’

He was still holding her hand – she feared she might have been clinging to him – and he squeezed it comfortingly and went on, less reassuringly, ‘I know you’re worried about your sister, and concerned that she may be in some dire peril, and I share your concern. But you do understand that you cannot find her tonight. We know so little; it is not sensible to contemplate wandering about the streets calling her name. No, we must meet again tomorrow, and you will tell me all the rest, everything you can think of, without hurry. Would it be possible for you to ride with me early in the morning, do you think? Is there a groom you can trust to accompany you?’

‘There is,’ she replied, disappointed by his refusal to hare off immediately into the night with her, but reluctantly admitting that there was a great deal of cold good sense in what he said. But she’d also noticed that he hadn’t actually said that he would help her. Not explicitly. A true gentleman would never break a promise, it was claimed, which was no doubt why he hadn’t made her one. Yet. ‘The servants all know who I am – the older ones, at least – and Robert will be happy to accompany me and let me talk privately with you. They’re all most worried about Maria too.’

They left the room together and headed back into the salons, which had been made into one large space by the opening of a set of double doors. The party was still continuing, though some of the guests had already left and the room was decidedly thinner of company. Meg couldn’t deceive herself that their entry went unnoticed – she was hotly aware of curious looks shot in their direction, and a few knowing smirks. Lady De Lacy, who undoubtedly had observed her son’s absence along with that of his supposed fiancée, looked quite delighted. It was all too easy to divine what she, and the rest of those present, believed they had been about. A betrothed couple might be allowed just a little indulgence in such matters, she supposed, but in these most unusual circumstances the prurient attention could only be unwelcome.

On another occasion she might have recoiled with mortification at the commonplace minds of her father’s guests, but she had no time for that now. Her only concern must be to discover what had happened to her sister, and make sure she was safe and happy. Sir Dominic didn’t appear to be the monster of her wildest imaginings – if she was any judge at all, he’d been truthful when he’d told her that he’d had very little contact with Maria and no private speech with her – and so perhaps sharing her secret with him had been a wise decision. He seemed kind, at least. But she couldn’t yet say whether he was prepared to shoulder the burden of responsibility and help her. She was in desperate need of help, and so she must persuade him, and she would. It was too important a matter to let considerations of propriety or ladylike behaviour stand in her way. Not that they generally did, she was obliged to admit. If necessary, she would even cry, a feat she rarely attempted.

Meg Nightingale wasn’t of a nature easily discouraged or cast down, but the idea of scouring the crowded streets of London – a place she did not know her way about, home to well over a million people – for Maria, who could be absolutely anywhere and might not even be in the city any more, was undeniably daunting. It was to be hoped that Sir Dominic would be able to think of something, where she in her current panic could not. He was a man of the world and of some resource, plainly, even if he understandably didn’t know her sister at all well. Perhaps they’d devise some scheme together. She would know better tomorrow, and must be quite ruthless in making use of him, for her sister’s sake.