A Lady's Point of View by Jacqueline Diamond

said his lordship,
“Vanessa told me some things I found even more unusual.”
    “Yes?” Now she was for it, Meg
feared.
    “She said that you are not a
governess at all, but a lady of fashion, who has been presented at court.
Wherever can she have got such ideas?” It might have been amusement lurking at
the corners of his mouth, or merely a dry irony, but in either case how
pleasant it would be to tease him, to joke and flirt, Meg thought, to her own
surprise. She had never particularly enjoyed such pursuits in London, but then
she had never met a man as magnetic as Lord Bryn.
    In any event she must strive to
be honest. But by the time she gathered her wits to speak, the servants arrived
with venison in caper sauce, fillets of turbot, broiled mushrooms and ham
fritters. She drew in a deep breath until the two of them were left alone.
    “Vanessa got those ideas from
me,” she said, and awaited his reply with a tight squeezing sensation across
her chest.
    “From you?” The marquis poured
himself a second glass of wine, although Meg had scarcely begun her first. “How
intriguing. It might work, you know.”
    “Might work?’’ she repeated.
    “The child is incorrigible,” he
said. “She has no respect for man or beast. Except for grand ladies, since she
expects to be one.”
    “I would hardly call myself
grand.” Meg kept her speech short, so that she might better enjoy the meal. To
her surprise, she was ravenously hungry, and the food was excellent.
    “Nevertheless, your description
of Queen Charlotte appears to have made an impression,” he said. “You might
turn that wild creature into a young lady yet, Miss Linley.” He saluted her
with his glass before emptying it.
    Meg nearly choked on a bite of
the veal. He was taking all this as a game! “Suppose it were true, my lord?”
    “Beg pardon?”
    “Suppose I were in fact a lady on
my way from London to Derby, and on account of my weak eyesight I mistook your
carriage for my post chaise?” Now she’d said it.
    “Then what has become of the real
Miss Linley? Or Lindsay?” A glint in those dark eyes told her he was enjoying
the sport.
    “She, er, was falsely accused of
a theft, and even though she was proved innocent, she quite lost all her
courage and insisted upon turning back.” The tale sounded impossibly weak in
Meg’s own ears. “She really was a fluttery creature, not at all suited to the
upbringing of such sturdy children as your wards, you see.”
    “Indeed.” The marquis nodded in
mock gravity. “Now let me see. Ah, you haven’t yet explained why a young lady
of good breeding such as yourself would be travelling unaccompanied.”
    “I had brought my maid from
London to Manchester, but she left, with my blessing, to join her true love,
who is about to depart from Liverpool for Canada.” Oh, dear, thought
Meg, I wouldn’t even believe that one, were it told me by the prime
minister!
    “Not quite up to your invention
about the governess being accused of thievery, but excellent work for a
moment’s notice,” said the marquis. “I must tell you, Miss Linley, that I am
delighted to find myself employing a raconteuse .”
    “Suppose I’m telling the truth?”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him so straight out. How could she
bear to ruin the most pleasant evening she’d enjoyed in months?  
    “If this preposterous invention
were fact,” mused the marquis, “I should nevertheless beseech you to grace us
with your company, for the children are desperately in need of a governess. And
I—” His voice broke off, as if from some strong emotion. In that moment, for
all the weakness of her eyes, Meg believed she’d glimpsed a dark sliver of
despair and loneliness slipping out through his tightly controlled features.
    What had the war done to this man? Was she a fool to
think that he needed her, and that duty required her to stay? More than
duty, the caged needs of her own heart answered silently. If I am never
to have a