Silently reproaching herself, Meg clenched her fists.
What had she done?
The memory of Diana's body toppling down the stern rose unbidden in her mind.
Meg giggled, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Horrified that such an inappropriate response had erupted from her lips, the enormity of what she'd done struck her. She reached for the door handle, wondering what would happen when she was caught. Would they think she had murdered the girl? Christ, she wouldn't be able to talk or sleep her way out of that.
"Are you getting out?" asked the small boy who studied her balefully. Charles, the cousin Charles. Diana had been so eager to meet him.
Meg wanted to run, to forget that she'd ever thought of impersonating Diana. She removed her hand from the latch. She couldn't now. Her few belongings were stashed in Diana's trunks. She would have absolutely nothing. If she fled now, she'd be working flat on her back before nightfall.
She had no choice but to go forward, pretending she was the sickly Diana.
She shook her head.
Was the captain even now alerting Felicity to her masquerade? Meg had the terrible suspicion she was doing everything wrong. The major had looked at her quite strangely when she offered to solicit help from the dockworkers to move Diana's trunks.
"Are you scared?" asked the boy.
"Terrified," muttered Meg.
"My mother is very nice. She only yells at her mama and papa. Mr. Merriwether used to yell all the time, but he is dead now."
She was being reassured that the family life Diana would have was not so terrible. Meg was afraid she would be forced back into prostitution or worse before night fell. She put her fists to her head. No more, no more, no more. No more sleeping with strange men who cared nothing for her. I'm Diana. I'm Diana. I'm Diana, she chanted to herself.
"Diana?" Felicity opened the door. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Meg was sorry, sorrier than she could ever express. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
Felicity patted her hand and handed her a handkerchief. "There, there, if you aren't feeling well, it is understandable."
Which only served to make Meg feel worse. "I'll be fine momentarily. I'm sure I will." If she could just stop shaking. Stop the sure suspicion that it was just a matter of time before she was put to death for murder.
"We will get you home and see what can be done to make you feel better."
Meg reminded herself that Diana had been sick—sick unto death, actually. "I should like to take a rest before dinner, but in truth I am much better than I was before leaving France. The trip has been quite restful, and that helps. If I tax my strength too much, I shall end up in bed."
Felicity studied her as if surprised at her answer.
As she spoke the words, almost an exact quote of Diana's rather quixotic explanation of her illness, Meg wondered what strength-sapping things a girl in finishing school could have got up to. "The battlefields were horrific," she said vaguely. "There was no avoiding—" She broke off, uncertain of what to say next.
Felicity squeezed Meg's hands.
The gentleman, Major Sheridan, tossed a wry look in Felicity's direction. "That's why we must get her home. I'll hire a cart for her luggage."
Felicity swirled around and gave a hard look at the major.
He stepped back and held up his hands. "No recompense necessary. Take care of your niece."
Perhaps things were not going as badly as Meg thought.
Meg relaxed her fists. "I'm so very sorry to be such a nuisance."
Felicity—Aunt Felicity—gave a slow shake of her head and said to the gentleman, "Very well." She turned brown eyes that were full of concern on Meg. "You are not a nuisance."
His expression still wry, Tony handed Felicity into the carriage. She tapped on the panel between the closed coach and the coachman's box. The carriage lurched forward.
Meg swiveled to look out the window, wondering about the tall major with the unusual eyes.
"Is he..." Meg's voice trailed off. She
What had she done?
The memory of Diana's body toppling down the stern rose unbidden in her mind.
Meg giggled, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Horrified that such an inappropriate response had erupted from her lips, the enormity of what she'd done struck her. She reached for the door handle, wondering what would happen when she was caught. Would they think she had murdered the girl? Christ, she wouldn't be able to talk or sleep her way out of that.
"Are you getting out?" asked the small boy who studied her balefully. Charles, the cousin Charles. Diana had been so eager to meet him.
Meg wanted to run, to forget that she'd ever thought of impersonating Diana. She removed her hand from the latch. She couldn't now. Her few belongings were stashed in Diana's trunks. She would have absolutely nothing. If she fled now, she'd be working flat on her back before nightfall.
She had no choice but to go forward, pretending she was the sickly Diana.
She shook her head.
Was the captain even now alerting Felicity to her masquerade? Meg had the terrible suspicion she was doing everything wrong. The major had looked at her quite strangely when she offered to solicit help from the dockworkers to move Diana's trunks.
"Are you scared?" asked the boy.
"Terrified," muttered Meg.
"My mother is very nice. She only yells at her mama and papa. Mr. Merriwether used to yell all the time, but he is dead now."
She was being reassured that the family life Diana would have was not so terrible. Meg was afraid she would be forced back into prostitution or worse before night fell. She put her fists to her head. No more, no more, no more. No more sleeping with strange men who cared nothing for her. I'm Diana. I'm Diana. I'm Diana, she chanted to herself.
"Diana?" Felicity opened the door. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Meg was sorry, sorrier than she could ever express. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
Felicity patted her hand and handed her a handkerchief. "There, there, if you aren't feeling well, it is understandable."
Which only served to make Meg feel worse. "I'll be fine momentarily. I'm sure I will." If she could just stop shaking. Stop the sure suspicion that it was just a matter of time before she was put to death for murder.
"We will get you home and see what can be done to make you feel better."
Meg reminded herself that Diana had been sick—sick unto death, actually. "I should like to take a rest before dinner, but in truth I am much better than I was before leaving France. The trip has been quite restful, and that helps. If I tax my strength too much, I shall end up in bed."
Felicity studied her as if surprised at her answer.
As she spoke the words, almost an exact quote of Diana's rather quixotic explanation of her illness, Meg wondered what strength-sapping things a girl in finishing school could have got up to. "The battlefields were horrific," she said vaguely. "There was no avoiding—" She broke off, uncertain of what to say next.
Felicity squeezed Meg's hands.
The gentleman, Major Sheridan, tossed a wry look in Felicity's direction. "That's why we must get her home. I'll hire a cart for her luggage."
Felicity swirled around and gave a hard look at the major.
He stepped back and held up his hands. "No recompense necessary. Take care of your niece."
Perhaps things were not going as badly as Meg thought.
Meg relaxed her fists. "I'm so very sorry to be such a nuisance."
Felicity—Aunt Felicity—gave a slow shake of her head and said to the gentleman, "Very well." She turned brown eyes that were full of concern on Meg. "You are not a nuisance."
His expression still wry, Tony handed Felicity into the carriage. She tapped on the panel between the closed coach and the coachman's box. The carriage lurched forward.
Meg swiveled to look out the window, wondering about the tall major with the unusual eyes.
"Is he..." Meg's voice trailed off. She
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