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Meredith had trouble sleeping that night.

Her thoughts were consumed with the events of the evening and their possible consequences.

As she listened to the clock strike each hour, she tried to assure herself all would be well.

Yet as the morning sun invaded her bedchamber, she was not feeling as certain.

It was not only the kiss she had shared with the marquess and the possible consequences she might face because of her actions that disturbed her thoughts. It was knowing she would have to face them entirely on her own.

Though she prided herself on being a forthright, independent woman, Meredith was honest enough to admit that every so often she felt lonely for the comfort, company, and strength of a male confidant, a male champion.

Though in her head she knew the existence of a man who would accept her and all her eccentricities was more a product of her wishful imagination than a reality, her heart could not help but long for his discovery.

Yet on this morning after, Meredith had no intention of succumbing to the blue devils. With her usual forthright determination, she resigned herself to throwing off her melancholy mood as effectively as she threw back her bed covers.

She spent her morning in the usual manner, purposely adhering to her comfortable routine: breakfast in quiet solitude in the cozy informal dining room, a brief consultation with Cook over the day’s menu, a meeting with the butler to discuss a nagging problem with a member of the household staff.

Then it was off to her father’s study, where Meredith read through the monthly financial statements she received from her solicitor.

After completing her daily correspondence, which included a rather lengthy letter to her childhood friend Faith Linden, now the Viscountess Dewhurst, Meredith decided to indulge in one of her dearest passions. Reading.

Relaxed at last, she was so engrossed in her book of poetry she did not at first hear the butler enter the library.

“I do beg your pardon, Lady Meredith,” the butler said in an apologetic tone. “There has been a delivery of flowers for you. Would you like them brought in here, or shall I have them sent to the kitchens so Mrs. Hopkins can arrange them in vases?”

“Vases?” Meredith’s brow quirked. “Is it a particularly large bunch of flowers?”

“Several of them are quite large. The rest are of a more modest, appropriate size,” the butler replied dryly.

“Precisely how many bouquets have arrived?”

“Ten.”

“What!” Meredith stood so quickly her book fell to the carpet. She ignored it and instead accepted a pile of engraved cards the butler silently offered her.

Heart racing, Meredith quickly shuffled through the heavy vellum notes. The Earl of Botsworth, Lord Chillingham, Mr. Julian Wingate! Men she had not seen for an age. She did not even know they were all in town.

With a more considering eye, Meredith looked through the cards a second time. There were a number of mature bachelors, several married gentlemen, and quite a few old admirers. She frowned slightly, realizing she had not been plagued by so much male attention since her first Season.

Yet one name was noticeably absent—the Marquess of Dardington. Meredith surprised herself mightily by even noticing.

“The flowers, Lady Meredith?”

Meredith looked at the butler blankly for several seconds. Then his question penetrated her jumbled thoughts. “Please ask Mrs. Hopkins to arrange them for me,” she answered calmly. “Then place them throughout the house, in any room except my bedchamber.”

“Very good, my lady.” The butler bowed respectfully, but did not take his leave.

“Was there something else?”

“ ’Tis early in the day. If additional flowers arrive—”

“Have Mrs. Hopkins sort it out,” Meredith interrupted. She drew in a deep breath and modulated the tone of her voice. “Just make certain I receive the cards accompanying each bouquet.”

This time the servant did not hesitate. He left the room the moment she ceased speaking. Meredith sighed. Perkins was a competent butler. He had been with the family for almost twenty years. The very last thing she wanted to do was upset him.

She wondered what subtle thing she could do to smooth his ruffled feathers. Though the feelings of one’s servants were hardly a weighty problem, Meredith indulged in sorting through options to overcome it. For it kept her mind focused on other, less personal matters.

But she had little time for contemplative thinking.

Throughout the morning she was interrupted by either the butler or a footman informing her of a delivery of flowers.An even dozen bouquets, with accompanying cards, had arrived by luncheon, fifteen by early afternoon.

Meredith smiled wanly each time a servant entered the drawing room, determined not to take her agitated mood out on the messenger.

“A caller, Lady Meredith,” the butler announced in a stiff tone that let her know he had not yet forgiven her for her earlier actions.

Meredith went still and frowned at the butler.

She gingerly lifted the gold embossed name card resting ominously in the center of the silver salver.

Her fingertip flicked the turned down edge of the card, signifying that the caller was in fact here and had not sent a servant in their stead to deliver a message.

Lady Olivia Dermott. Meredith nearly choked when she read the name. “Has she been here long?”

“She just arrived.”

“Tell her I will see her shortly,” Meredith instructed. “Then wait a full ten minutes before showing her in.”

Meredith picked up the book of poetry she had begun reading earlier and tried to once again immerse herself in the words. She was not successful.

“How good to see you,” Lady Olivia proclaimed, approaching Meredith with a blatantly false, sugary smile pasted upon her face.

“I know it is early for afternoon callers, but I confess I was hoping to catch you alone. Now we shall have a chance for a little private tête-à-tête. There is so much to talk, about!”

Meredith nearly laughed incredulously. Lady Dermott had always been one of her most vocal critics. With three daughters to marry off, the older woman had viewed her as a rival and an irritant. In fact, two of the three men who had eventually married her daughters had first proposed to Meredith.

And, if Meredith remembered correctly, Lady Olivia’s third son-in-law was one of the many gentlemen who had sent her a bouquet of flowers this very morning.

Indeed, Lady Olivia was the very last person Meredith would ever consider sharing a confidence with or revealing anything of a personal nature.

“I suppose I must consider it flattering to be an object of such interest to you. One would think you had more important and significant issues to occupy your thoughts.” There was no mistaking the mockery in Meredith’s voice, but Lady Olivia was not a woman known for her wit or wisdom, and the barb fell short of the mark.

“I am not the only one with an eye on you, Lady Meredith.” Lady Olivia cast a sly glance about the room. “I gather from the many bouquets of fresh flowers decorating the hall and the drawing room that you have attracted a gaggle of male admirers. Or are they perhaps all from one special gentleman?”

“One admirer? He would have to be either very rich or very overbearing,” Meredith mused.

Lady Olivia tittered. “’Tis said the Marquess of Dardington can be most forceful—if necessary.”

A wave of frustrated anger washed over Meredith. She suspected the news would spread quickly, but had valiantly hoped there might be some other juicy scandal that would at least share the spotlight. Instead it seemed as if all the attention would be centered squarely at her.

Meredith knew charm could be a formidable weapon. She had seen other women, most notably Lavinia, use it to their advantage many times before. Yet Meredith knew herself well enough to realize she had neither the stomach nor fortitude to try and charm Lady Olivia.

“For the life of me I cannot understand why you would care, but if you really must know, I received no flowers from the marquess today. Nor yesterday,” Meredith quickly added, before the question could be asked.

That statement stopped Lady Olivia cold. Her eyebrows lifted at least half an inch as she viewed a lush bouquet of roses in full bloom. “These are all from other gentlemen?”

“Yes.”

“It would seem a person in your position would be more mindful of the risks they were taking.”

“Risks?” Meredith leveled a somber look at the older woman. “Whatever are you implying?”

A snide little smile spread over Lady Olivia’s face.

“Even a woman of your advanced years must be concerned with her reputation. ’Tis bad enough you arranged an assignation with the Marquess of Dardington in Lady Dermond’s garden last evening.

It would not be in your best interest to now encourage the attentions of so many different men.

It gives rise to all sorts of unsavory speculation. ”

“Speculation?”

“As to your character,” Lady Olivia replied promptly. “And your morals.”

Meredith’s ears burned at the condemnation.

What was even more distressing was knowing she had no plausible defense of her actions to offer.

She had lured the marquess into the garden last evening.

The fact that Lady Olivia was apparently unaware of the reason Meredith had wanted to be alone with the marquess offered up only a tiny bit of solace.

Swallowing hard, Meredith felt her palms begin to dampen.

Stop it! Now was not the time to become panicky.

She must face this head on and emerge the victor, or else her disgrace would forever taint the family’s good name.

Though she cared not overmuch for herself, Meredith did not want her parents or younger brothers to suffer for her foolishness.