Going Rogue (Ribbons and Rogues Book 1) Read online

  Her mother had promised she’d quickly adapt to life in London. Yet four months later, she felt just as lonely and helpless as if she’d been sent to a foreign land, not merely a two-day ride from Middlebury.

  “Beethoven again?” Lady Cynthia Browning walked into the music room, the scent of rosewater announcing her arrival.

  After Meredith played the final note, she looked up. “I happen to like Beethoven.”

  Sitting on a settee, Cynthia draped her arms over the back. “I noticed. I just thought for once you could play something a bit more cheerful. Perhaps some Mozart? He was sort of a happy fellow, wasn’t he?”

  Meredith folded her hands in her lap. “Maybe next time. I don’t feel up to playing anymore today. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just retire to my rooms now.”

  Cynthia arched an elegantly shaped brow. “So early? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  She stood from her bench, shuffling her sheet music into a neat pile. “I’m not hungry.”

  Cynthia patted the empty space on the seat next to her. “Don’t go so soon. Come sit.”

  Meredith started making her way toward the door. “I don’t think so. I . . . have a headache.”

  “Then I’ll call for some wine.”

  Bewildered by her aunt’s remedy, Meredith stopped mid-step. “What good would that do?”

  Cynthia shrugged. “It always takes care of my little aches and pains. Whenever I’m under the weather, I feel much better after a few glasses.”

  Meredith grimaced. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. It’s not as bad as all that.”

  “Well then, since your headache doesn’t appear to be too debilitating, you can sit with me for a bit.” She patted the seat again, and this time Meredith felt obligated to join her.

  “How long have you been in London now?” Her aunt gestured toward the footman for refreshments.

  “Four months, two weeks, three days, and I’m not quite certain about the hours,” she mumbled.

  Cynthia nodded. “Yes, well, give or take those few hours, I believe I’ve given you more than enough time to shake this homesickness of yours.”

  “I’m not homesick,” she lied, squaring her shoulders.

  “So what is it then? There must be a reason for all this brooding. You mope about as if you’ve been imprisoned. This is a townhouse, not the Tower. You should be having the time of your life, but instead, you’re starving yourself, hiding away in your rooms, pounding out depressing music, and holding your breath for the daily correspondence.”

  Meredith said nothing in response. What could she say? Luckier than most girls in her position, she couldn’t help the way she felt. Here she was given a wardrobe full of sumptuous gowns, one for every day of the week, had servants who catered to her every whim, and tutors for every subject—including her very own pianoforte instructor.

  It was more than she could have ever dreamed, but not at all what she wanted.

  As if her aunt had a premonition, a footman arrived with the day’s correspondence on a tray. Meredith felt the familiar tingle in her stomach, anticipation coursing through her veins.

  She indeed waited for the correspondence each day. Her mother wrote sporadically and when she did, it was usually to ask after money. But those weren’t the notes that inspired her bated breath and rapid pulse.

  She was waiting for his letters.

  Every week, like clockwork, another would come. He never wrote about anything in particular, just random thoughts about the goings on in the village. He’d remark on the weather, crops, and the health of his family. Not once had he mentioned their encounter on the stairs, or the kiss they’d shared.

  But each time she opened one of his letters, she relived that moment. As her fingers traced the curves of his writing, she imagined herself touching the lines of his face.

  Cynthia looked disapprovingly at the tray. “Another note from Middlebury?” She handed it to Meredith, only to snatch it out of her reach at the last moment. “She must be a very devoted friend to write so faithfully.”

  “He.” Meredith corrected.

  Her aunt smiled, setting the letter down on a nearby table. “He?”

  It was a simple word, but the way her aunt said it made the unassuming pronoun sound downright salacious. “Yes, my friend, Derek.”

  Cynthia’s eyes lit up and Meredith cursed herself for providing more fuel for the fire. “Could he be the reason for your melancholy? Instead of homesickness, would a more apt description be lovesickness?”

  She vehemently shook her head. “Of course not. I’ve known Derek Weston since I was a small girl. We were neighbors and his family was good to me, that’s all.”

  Cynthia nodded, the cogs of her mind obviously still at work. A few moments later, she broke the tense silence. “Letters from home are like nursery room blankets. They’re warm and comforting, but we can’t take them with us forever.” She took Meredith’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Sometimes, it’s best to leave the remnants of our past behind.”

  That was Derek—warmth and comfort. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind entirely.

  She didn’t return her aunt’s affection, nor did she reject her hand. “It might do me some good to go home and visit my mother for a bit.”

  Cynthia shook her head. “Your mother is quite fortunate to have such a dedicated daughter. I know you must miss her very much, and I’m certain she misses you. But I’m not sure if that would be the best course of action.” She smiled. “I think what you need is to make new friends—here in London.”

  Meredith snorted. “I’m not sure I’m up to meeting anyone yet.”

  The tea arrived and her aunt proceeded to serve. “I’d love for you to meet a group of girls I know. They could benefit from befriending someone like you.”

  “A group, you say?”

  “Small group. Very exclusive. But someone with your beauty and intelligence, why, you’d fit right in.”

  Meredith reached for the sugar. “I just think a trip to Middlebury would go far to lift my spirits.”

  Cynthia sighed. “Your mother wrote to me, still complaining of stomach pains and needing some assistance to pay for her medicines. There’s a hospital in Bath that specializes in conditions such as hers. It’s very exclusive and equally expensive. I suggested that if she’s willing, I could easily arrange for her to stay there, indefinitely, until she feels better. The waters there are renowned for their healing properties. Of course, she could always leave after you’ve had your visit.”

  Her mother was always ill with one thing or another, but they’d lacked the funds to send her to a proper physician. Here was the chance for her to finally get better. And any place in Bath, especially an exclusive hospital catering to the needs of the wealthy, would undoubtedly be an improvement over their dilapidated country cottage.

  “Life in the country is hard, Meredith. Your mother is counting on you to help ease her struggle. Your particular assets are far more valuable than any harvest or livestock could ever be. Securing a good match could change all your lives for the better.”

  “What assets? I have no dowry.”

  A sly smile crept up Cynthia’s face. “A dowry isn’t the only asset a woman can possess. Won’t you have some cake?”

  Meredith licked her lips, tempted by the perfectly round and intricately decorated pink cake.

  “I know it won’t happen overnight.” Cynthia continued. “But I think it’s time you give London a proper chance.”

  The promise of a better life for her mother made it difficult to reject the logic. Meredith gazed at the unopened letter on the table, the untouched piece of cake sitting next to it.

  A choice needed to be made.

  She reached for the cake, choosing to take a bite out of
the future her aunt so earnestly offered.

  Chapter 3

  London, 1812, One year later . . .

  As he approached the Grosvenor Square residence, Derek Weston absently touched the pocket of his great coat—as if the stack of letters Meredith had sent him could provide some kind of protection against his self-doubt. His mind skipped back to their long conversations, the single kiss they’d shared, and the sting of regret for encouraging her to go. But that regret was about to be remedied—for most of his life, he’d waited for this very moment.

  The time to propose to Meredith Castle had finally arrived.

  When she’d first told him she’d been offered the chance to leave Middlebury to stay with her wealthy great-aunt in London, he’d been happy for her. Exceptionally bright, such an environment would only serve to foster her natural gift for music, as well as provide her with an opportunity for an advantageous marriage. Not that he’d wanted her to marry anyone else, but her family had very little and her best chance for success was using her God-given beauty and charms to land a wealthy husband. As much as he loved her, he’d refused to saddle her with a parting declaration of love. Instead, he’d wished her the very best and promised to write every week.

  He’d let Meredith go because that was what was best for her.

  Because that’s what you do when you love someone.

  Still caked in grime from the previous days’ travels, he stared at the foreboding door in front of him—the only thing standing between him and the love of his life.

  Before he had a chance to knock, the butler answered. “Deliveries are made around back.” The tall, elder man started to close the door, but Derek stopped it with his foot.

  “I’m not making a delivery. I’m here to see Miss Castle.”

  The butler cleared his throat before proceeding. “If you’d be so kind as to leave your card, I’ll see that Miss Castle gets it.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Derek forced his way into the foyer. “I don’t have any cards. But I’m sure if you’d announce me, Miss Castle will—”

  “I’m sorry, but Miss Castle is entertaining,” the butler interrupted.

  Just then, Derek heard the lilting song of her laughter. Unable to stop himself, he followed the sound, heading down a hallway, opening every closed door.

  Finally, he came upon a woman reading in one of the rooms. Before he could speak, she looked up from her book. “May I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Miss Castle.”

  Two footmen arrived, flanking him, ready to escort him outside.

  “Please . . .” the woman held up her hand. “Leave me with Mr. Weston for a few moments.”

  The men looked warily at each other, but complied. Once they were alone again, the woman gestured at an empty chair across from her. “Have a seat, Mr. Weston. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Derek walked deeper inside. “It appears that I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here. You seem to know exactly who I am though I’m quite certain we’ve never met.”

  The woman grinned. It was a lovely sort of smile that could melt any man into compliance. It was then he figured out her identity. “You must be Lady Browning.” He bowed to the best of his ability, rarely having done so before. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Meredith frequently wrote about the beautiful aunt who both intimidated and fascinated her, relaying stories of her frequent admirers and lavish parties.

  “Likewise,” she returned. “Would you care for some refreshments? You look as if you’ve had a particularly rough time of getting here.”

  Derek self-consciously adjusted the collar of his still-damp great coat, soaked from his travel atop the coach. “No, thank you. But I’m confused. May I ask—just how did you know I was coming?”

  “The letters. You’ve been corresponding regularly with my niece for quite a while. You two were obviously close and I’ve always known it would only be a matter of time before you’d want to see her again.”

  He’d written her every week without fail. And even though the frequency of the letters she’d written him had dwindled, he’d continued to write faithfully. He hadn’t anticipated how much he’d miss her, or how hard it would be to be apart from her. The letters were all he had.

  He should have questioned the cryptic implication of Lady Browning’s statement, but was distracted by the sound of a pianoforte coming from a nearby room. After years of listening to Meredith play, he instantly recognized the style as hers.

  She nodded toward the door. “Meredith is in the music room next door. I suppose she’s been expecting you as well.”

  It wasn’t the response he expected. Covered in filth, smelling little better than a sewer, the lady of the house had just given him an open invitation to visit her niece. Desperate to see her, he didn’t hesitate. He left, quickly finding the music room. Once at the doorway, he paused, overcome by the vision before him.

  This beautiful creature couldn’t possibly be his Meredith?

  She’d transformed from a pretty girl into an exceptionally lovely woman. Her once soft round face had thinned out, prominently displaying her fine cheekbones and wide-set eyes. Her blond hair, usually pulled back in a simple fashion with a ribbon, was piled elegantly upon her head.

  Then he noticed the rest of the room. To his disappointment, she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by a half-dozen ladies, all happily chatting and enjoying themselves as she played.

  And then, as if sensing his presence, she looked up. She suddenly stopped playing, her eyes growing wide with recognition.

  “Hello, Meredith,” he said first.

  She stood and his breath caught at the sight of her gown clinging to her lithe form.

  Spectacular.

  “Is that your new groomsman? Whatever is he doing in here?” A pretty blonde asked, feminine laughter erupting.

  Meredith faced her guests. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a most pressing matter to take care of.”

  “Will you be returning soon?” another called out.

  Meredith flashed a dazzling smile. “Un moment, s’il vous plait,” she replied effortlessly.

  She’d learned French, he thought proudly.

  She walked past him, catching him by the elbow and all but dragging him into the corridor.

  “Derek, what are you doing here?” she whispered once they were alone.

  Overcome by the magnitude of their reunion, he stood silent. He’d dreamt of this moment for so long that he could hardly believe it was really her standing in front of him. He fought the urge to greet her properly—to embrace her, to tell her just how much he’d missed her. “This is all just as you described it,” he remarked, uncertain of what else to say.

  “I tried my best to do it justice.”

  He smiled. She’d described her new residence in great detail, but nothing could have prepared him for this level of grandeur. “You sounded lovely in there. What were you playing?”

  “Mozart.”

  He thought for a moment. “Weren’t you always partial to that other fellow?”

  “You mean another composer? There’s so many—Handel? Bach? Beethoven?”

  “Beethoven! Yes, that’s the one. I remember how passionately you spoke of the intensity of his music. You loved playing his pieces.”

  “I grew tired of Beethoven.” She leaned against the wall. “I hope you didn’t travel all this way to discuss music?”

  The chill in her tone caught him completely off guard. This wasn’t the warm welcome he’d expected. “I assure you, I didn’t make the trip just to exchange polite conversation.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Then why did you come here? I assume you have a good reason.”

  The very best, he thought. Though he’d always felt something more than friendship toward Mered
ith, he’d chosen not to formally pursue her. The eldest son of a modest land-owner, he had very few prospects of his own. His father would ramble drunkenly about their rich relation in Scotland, but tall tales of fortune and titles did little to advance his own opportunities.

  But then a miracle had happened. His father had somehow managed to find enough money to purchase him a commission in the Royal Army. Now he’d be regarded as a gentleman, and that meant finally having something worthy to offer Meredith in exchange for her hand.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked, after a servant scurried by. “Somewhere a bit more private, perhaps?”