Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(44)

But entering the parlor with Meg, feeling her presence and her support as his mother turned another glare his way, this felt like something deeper than mere family.

This was the possibility of true partnership, of never being alone even if they were apart, because their souls were united as much as their bodies and their lives. And that was thrilling and terrifying all at once, for he knew he didn’t deserve such a bond.

He broke away from Meg gently and moved to the sideboard where Emma was already holding out a cup of tea for him. He forced a smile to his mother and said, “I am happy you have arrived in time for the wedding, Mother. I thought you might join us sooner—was my letter delayed?”

The duchess arched a brow, the cruel line of her lips tilting in a nasty half-smile. “It was not. I just saw no need to rush over to celebrate this humiliation you’ve brought on us. And as for what you thought, I have thought a great deal about you, my boy. Would you like me to recite all the thoughts I’ve had?”

He flinched not only at the harsh cruelty of her words, but at the way every other person in the room shifted with discomfort at witnessing her set down. Everyone, that was, except for Meg. She rushed forward, smiling as if nothing had happened, even as her eyes snapped with defensive anger on his behalf.

“Your Grace, why don’t you sit? You’ve had a busy day. I’ll bring your tea,” she said. “Two sugars and milk, yes?”

The duchess appeared surprised that Meg knew that and nodded. “Yes, just so. Thank you.”

His mother moved away from Simon to a place before the fire and settled in for a conversation with the dowager as Meg and Emma prepared the rest of the tea. Simon walked away from them, crossing the large room to stand aside at the window and observe.

It took James less than thirty seconds to break away from the ladies and join him. Simon refused to look at his friend, but continued to watch Meg handle his cranky mother with grace and kindness. From time to time, she glanced up at him, meeting his eyes with a purpose, with a message that she was his ally.

And she was more than that, in truth. She was his best friend. She had been for what seemed like forever, far more than even James or Graham had ever been.

“You all right?” James asked at last.

Simon still didn’t look at him. “Oh yes. My mother has despised me for years, as you well know. Now she just has a larger group of people who agree with her assessment of my poor character. It will make her happy to have so many who see me as a failure as a man and a friend.”

James stepped in front of him, forcing Simon to look at him at last. James’s jaw was set hard, his eyes lit with emotion. “I don’t despise you,” he said softly.

Simon caught his breath. Since the scandal that had started all this, he and James had not spoken of what he’d done. He’d been avoiding the topic, truth be told, for he didn’t want to hear James say he hated him. He didn’t want to lose one of the people he loved most, especially since he’d already lost Graham and who knew how many others in their circle.

But now James held steady in his regard, making his position as clear as the window that overlooked the garden behind them.

“No?” Simon asked.

James slowly shook his head as a response.

Simon wanted to hold onto that answer with both hands. He wanted to take it and feel that he deserved it. But then he thought of Graham’s crumpled expression before he left, of the way he had broken himself not just from Simon and Meg, but from James and the others.

“After I destroyed your friendship with Graham, ruined your sister and damaged your family name, you still don’t despise me?”

“No,” James said firmly.

“Well, you should,” Simon whispered.

“You despise yourself enough for both of us,” James retorted.

Simon was ready to respond, but before he could, his mother rose to her feet. “I would like to retire.”

He sighed and stepped forward. “May I show you to your chamber, Mother?”

She looked him up and down, then shook her head. “No, thank you. I prefer to have Grimble do it. Good afternoon.”

Simon clenched his teeth as she left, hating how the rest of the room, his friends and his future bride, all stared at him, pitying him when he deserved censure, not understanding. He let out his breath in a burst and said, “Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, he left the room, running from what he felt, what he wanted and what he knew he should not have.





Meg stood on a wooden box in the middle of her chamber, holding perfectly still as the seamstress made a few last adjustments on her gown. In less than twenty-four hours, she would don it to become Simon’s wife.

This was an event she had often pictured, especially after her betrothal to Graham. In fact, sometimes the fantasy of her wedding gown was the only thing about that marriage that she had actually looked forward to. And today her mind wasn’t on it at all, despite how beautiful the dress was, with its pale pink silks, creamy lace overlay and the hand-stitched pearls that danced along the skirt.

“May I ask you a question?” Emma asked as the seamstress excused herself to fetch some additional fabric from her carriage on the drive.

Meg nodded. “Of course.”

“When the Duchess of Crestwood arrived today, I expected her to be…”