thing then? He glanced at Trevor, but his friend was frowning. He took a step back and bumped Trev’s leg on purpose. “May I present my good friend, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet?”
She curtsied again, and Trev wiped the frown from his face and bowed. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Price,” he said as he straightened, “but I had to thank you personally for saving Lady Phoebe’s life. The Dearborns have been good friends for years, and I take your assistance as a personal favor.”
Putting it on a little thick, Chase thought. But Miss Price merely lowered her gaze to the shine of Trev’s black high-topped boots.
“You are too kind,” she murmured. “I’m sure Lady Phoebe must have realized by now how little I did to help her.”
“On the contrary,” Chase assured her, “she is effusive in her praise. You have made a conquest, Miss Price.”
She looked up then, meeting his gaze, and once more he felt put firmly in his place. “I didn’t intend to conquer anyone, my lord. It was very kind of you to visit, but I fear I cannot stay. This afternoon’s events overtired my stepmother. I must return to her side immediately. Good day.”
She dipped one last graceful curtsey and slipped from the room while Chase and Trev were still in midbow.
Trev met Chase’s puzzled gaze. “For a woman out to trap you, she doesn’t have a great deal of use for your company,” his friend pointed out. “In fact, I’ve never seen a woman more intent on resisting your least charm.”
Chase shook his head and motioned Trev out of the room ahead of him. “Then perhaps I will have to become irresistible, for I intend to learn everything I can about the formidable Miss Price.”
Chapter Three
Meredee didn’t know whether to be pleased or perplexed. What did it mean that Lord Allyndale had brought his close friend to meet her only hours after being introduced? She could not credit that she’d made such an impression on the earl. They’d only spoken a few sentences!
And then there was Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, easily one of the handsomest men in Scarborough, with his raven hair and square jaw. She was no student of fashion, but even she could tell that his navy coat had been cut by a London tailor. Still, she could not be sure of his character. His lips might smile, but calculation crouched in his cool, green eyes. She’d have been tempted to stay safely in her little room, but Algernon was certain that she and Mrs.
Price should not alter their habits to avoid any possibility of suspicion. So, while her stepbrother cooled his heels at the inn, she accompanied Mrs. Price to the spa house the next morning.
The town of Scarborough ran along a hillside and sloped gently down in the center toward the shore like the neckline of a frock. The headland that held Scarborough’s castle (and several regiments) separated the more rustic North Bay from the South and sheltered the harbor and fishing fleet.
Scarborough’s spa house sat to the south. The long, low building lay close to the shore and could be reached by driving along the sands. Mrs. Price insisted on puffing down the tree-shadowed path that wound down the cliff. Meredee enjoyed the views of the sea on the way down, but some days she’d have far preferred to lounge in a sedan chair like many of the fashionable ladies and let someone else’s legs carry her back up.
The spa house was its usual hub of activity that morning as they entered the receiving room. Already ladies in bright flowered bonnets sat on the harp-backed chairs that lined the pale green walls and chatted. Their voices rose and fell like the sound of the waves on the shore just outside. Couples promenaded around the polished wood floor or paused to gaze out the row of clear glass windows at the sea. Many people were already making for a door at the far end of the room, which led to a flight of dark stone stairs and a terrace that held the two wells of healing spring water for which the town was famous.
“And here is the savior of Scarborough Bay,” proclaimed William Barriston as they entered the receiving room. The governor of the spa was a tall, thin man with an engaging grin who was rumored to have attained the stunning age of eighty-eight years by drinking daily of the waters. Meredee had known him since she was a baby. His bright blue eyes twinkled in his wrinkled face as he approached her now.
“What is this I’ve been hearing about you from Mrs. Barriston?” he said, shaking his long finger at her. “Quite the heroine, eh?”
Meredee wasn’t surprised that his wife had told him the tale. The governor’s third wife was the area’s most accomplished gossip, and someone Meredee avoided whenever possible.
“I have received no less than five requests for introductions already,” he continued. “One fellow even offered me a gold piece.” He rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully.
“It was nothing,” Meredee insisted. “I wish everyone would stop dwelling on it.”
He patted the shoulder of her jonquil-colored short jacket. “You are the latest seven days’ wonder, my dear. I advise you to make the most of it.”
Impossible. She had to avoid undue attention, for Algernon’s sake if not her own sanity. She’d never liked being the center of attention. She didn’t come to the spa to preen.
Not so Mrs. Price. She immediately set about greeting everyone they knew, from portly Mr. Cranell, who was an old friend of Meredee’s father’s, to the bold countess who had introduced herself yesterday after Meredee had rescued Lady Phoebe. Meredee smiled politely through every conversation, trying to keep from fidgeting. She’d have much rather cheered Mr. Openshaw, who had lost an arm serving on the Peninsula, or the country squire crippled with gout. The sadness in their eyes, their tenacity in adversity, spoke to her heart. She felt more at home with them than with the fashionable ladies who wrinkled their noses at the strong metallic taste of the waters they sipped, all the while their gazes roamed the room like those of lionesses intent on their prey.
Ah, but she shouldn’t judge them. She had been told time and again—by her father, by her governess—that the surest way to a secure future was to find a wealthy husband. Even Mrs. Price understood that. She’d already buried two husbands, and still she batted her thinning lashes, swished her pale muslin skirts and giggled like a girl at something the widowed Mr. Cranell said, making the old fellow turn as red as the tops of his boots. As soon as she could, Meredee excused herself and went to stand by the windows, gazing out at the sea.
She could hear the waves through the glass as they tumbled over the sands. Already men in dark coats and women with pale parasols wandered the shore. But Scarborough’s bays never failed to remind her of her father. How many times had he trod those golden sands, head bowed, hands clasped behind his black coat, while she scurried along behind him, hoping she might find a way to be useful to him.
“Wait for me, Papa!” she’d cry.
But as usual, he hadn’t waited. He’d gone on ahead of her and left her behind, no more sure of her purpose.
“Such dark thoughts on this fine day,” Lord Allyndale said quietly beside her.
Meredee took a deep breath and composed her face. He had no need to know anything more about her. In fact, the more she said, the more likely he was to connect her with Algernon. She turned and smiled at him. “Good morning, my lord. And how is your dear sister?”
“Fine, as you can see,” he said, nodding to where Lady Phoebe was squealing with delight over another young lady’s
