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“There has not been a ray of sunlight the entire day, Lord Fairhurst,” the duchess replied sternly. “The thick clouds are effectively obstructing all attempts at the sun breaking through.”

“Are they?” Jasper tilted his chin toward the sky. “I had not noticed the clouds. Probably because you bring the sunshine wherever you go, Your Grace.”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed noticeably. The two women flanking her drew closer to her side, in a protective solitary gesture.

“Flattery, young man? To a woman of my advanced years?”

“Truthful observations, Your Grace.”

The duchess raised her eyebrow. “You have your mother’s charm, sir.” A smile grudgingly appeared at the corner of the older woman’s mouth. “And your father’s good looks.”

“Please, Your Grace, you’ll put me to the blush.”

The duchess laughed. After a moment’s hesitation, her two companions joined her. “You are a naughty boy, Lord Fairhurst,” the duchess declared, her eyes sparkling. She tipped her head in a girlish manner, but her expression sobered noticeably when her eyes lit upon Meredith.

“Mischievousness in handsome young lords is to be expected,” the duchess continued in a lecturing tone. “But it is neither accepted nor tolerated in unmarried ladies. Is that not correct?”

The duchess’s two elderly companions nodded their heads in enthusiastic agreement and glanced pointedly at Meredith. She could practically hear the clucking of their disapproving tongues, nearly read the censure in the sharpness of their gaze.

“A sad, though true comment on our society,” Meredith said. “Women have long been denied the freedoms men enjoy, even when we are older and wiser.”

“Hmmph.” A mulish expression crossed the duchess’ face, but to Meredith’s relief the older woman did not leave. “At least you have the good sense to allow your brother to bring you to the park. He is a far more appropriate escort than the company you have been keeping.”

“I quite agree, Your Grace,” Meredith replied.

“ ’Tis good to know that you have recovered some of your senses,” the duchess huffed.

“Whatever could you have been thinking, dear girl, to be so wildly indiscreet?” the woman standing beside the duchess asked. “I was all aflutter when I heard.”

“I can assure you whatever you heard is a vast exaggeration of the truth.” Meredith lowered her head and made a muttering sound, hoping she appeared sufficiently contrite.

The duchess sighed heavily. “I daresay this new sensation you’ve created will quickly become an old one. Why, I heard this very morning that Lord Robertson’s daughter was enamored with her dancing instructor. Not only is he completely unsuitable for the girl, he’s a Frenchman to boot!”

Meredith slowly began to release the breath she held so tightly in her lungs.

All would be well. She would endure the admonishment of the duchess and her circle with a contrite expression, leaving them with the impression she was remorseful and planting the seed that she was also not entirely guilty.

Satisfied with the results, Meredith waited anxiously for the appropriate moment to depart. She knew this moment was critical. A slight misstep at this stage would quickly undue the strides she had made.

The sudden squeak of a carriage coming to a halt invaded her concentration.

All eyes turned. To Meredith’s astonishment, she saw the vehicle stop in the center of the road.

It was an open curricle, harnessed to a magnificent pair of pure white horses.

The lively animals stomped their feet impatiently on the ground, huffing in displeasure at being forced to stand still.

Slowly, carefully the carriage pulled beside their own, effectively jamming all the traffic behind it. The driver subdued his spirited horses, then turned toward her.

The Marquess of Dardington stared at Meredith with clear blue eyes, a bemused expression on his handsome features.

“Good afternoon, Lady Meredith. I called on you earlier today, but you had already left for the park. Since I was unable to escort you here, I do hope you would consent to allowing me to drive you home.”

The scrutiny Meredith had felt so keenly when first entering the park increased tenfold. Hordes of interested spectators seemed to press forward, attuned to her every word, observant of her slightest expression.

She deliberately avoided the marquess’s eyes as she tried to formulate an appropriate response. If she gave a direct cut, that might give rise to greater speculation about the relationship between them. Yet she could hardly greet him as a friend, or even a warm acquaintance.

“My sister prefers the company of her family,” Jasper said. “It is, after all, the proper and correct behavior for a lady of her stature.”

She glanced beneath her lashes, trying to gage Trevor’s reaction to her brother’s comments. He seemed to be fighting back a smile. Meredith frowned slightly, hoping he would let the matter pass.

“Lady Meredith’s behavior is always above reproach,” the marquess countered. “Yet she has the intelligence, wit, and character to ignore the rigid dictates of a stuffy, hypocritical society when it suits her needs. This strength has always been one of her greatest assets.”

Meredith was speechless. Stunned, actually.

All of her hard work was ruined in a single moment.

In any other circumstance, she might have been flattered by the complement, for he uttered it with such conviction.

But this was hardly the appropriate instance, especially when she had been so close to convincing the duchess she was a contrite, remorseful woman.

Meredith had done everything in her power to downplay the association between her and the marquess, and in a few sentences he had ruined it all.

But it seemed Trevor was not content to leave well enough alone.

For he next drew his carriage even closer to hers.

Before she had a chance to reason a reply, he reached over and grabbed her hand.

He bowed his head, and Meredith watched with tingling anticipation as his lips brushed across her glove.

It was an intimate, familiar gesture that brought forth a gasp of astonishment from the duchess and her companions.

Recovering her composure, Meredith tilted her head at a challenging angle.

This time she met his gaze directly. “I hardly think a man of your reputation is a fair judge of the character of others.” She folded her hands deliberately in her lap, yet she could still feel the burning imprint of his lips.

“You must excuse us, my lord. I find I tire of the open air. Good afternoon, Your Grace. Ladies.”

Their unenthusiastic replies were drowned out by the crunching wheels of the vehicle as it maneuvered down the path.

Trevor watched with an admiring glare as the carriage turned the corner and disappeared from view. He gradually became aware of the swell of nearby conversations, as those who had been listening to the exchange gleefully shared their impressions with each other.

“She sure is a beauty. I’d wager a gold sovereign that blond hair of hers reaches below her waist. Must be a glorious sight to see her shaking it free, to watch it tumble down to her bottom.”

Trevor twisted his neck and looked over at the man with exasperation. “I’ll remind you only once that you are speaking of a lady. One who is far too good for the likes of you, Mallory.”

“I meant no offense. I would never dream of poaching on your territory.” Lord Mallory pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressed it to his brow. He was a stout fellow, prone to drink and occasional mean-spirited barbs, yet he usually lacked the backbone to do any fighting.

“We all know you are bound to get tired of her eventually, Dardington. You always do. That will leave the road clear for the rest of us to make a play for the lady’s affections and favor.”

Trevor had never considered himself to be an overly violent man. Yet the urge to smash his fist into Mallory’s nose and watch a spurt of blood stain that white handkerchief was nearly overpowering.

Yet he did not act upon his emotions. He held them in tight rein. Yet he was so close to Mallory, he knew the other man must feel the waves of anger emanating from his body.

“Lady Meredith is the daughter of an earl,” Trevor said. “She is a creature of delicate beauty, upstanding character, and refined sentiment. You, sir, are not fit to wipe her shoes.”

The last comments were hardly necessary. The expression on his face must have clearly conveyed his meaning, for Mallory got rather red in the face, began sputtering like a lackwit, and at the first opportunity took off like a shot.