“I don’t believe it. Compared to my brother, yours is practically perfect.”
“Oh, it’s true. Brandon grins. All. The. Time. I’ve even caught him whistling off-key as he walks down the hallway. Positively dreadful.” Meg rolled her eyes, but in truth, she couldn’t have been happier for him.
Honoria laughed. “I still cannot believe that someone finally snagged London’s most elusive bachelor.” Linking arms, they sauntered along the corridor, the runner muffling the sound of their unhurried footfalls. “It’s your turn up the aisle next, mon amie.”
A sharp twinge pierced Meg’s heart. She hated that losing Daniel still hurt. Not always, but still . . . It was as if the shattered pieces of her hopes and dreams hadn’t been put back together in the right location, leaving jagged fissures behind.
“I think not,” she said, attempting an air of nonchalance. “The notion has lost its appeal.”
Honoria issued a groan of commiseration. “I know precisely what you mean. After all, why should we end our carefree lives of parties and flirting to settle for the drudgery of matrimony? I enjoy the chase far too much to give it up.”
“Shameless!” Meg teased. “Though, being pursued by scores of men is not something I’ve ever had to worry about.”
“Then, there is no time like the present. After all, you’re on holiday. When better to practice your wiles than on random—exceedingly handsome—unsuspecting gentlemen?”
A rueful laugh escaped Meg. “I’m not certain I have wiles. If I do, I was never able to practice them with my brother always hovering over me like a hawk to his nestling.”
Perhaps if she’d had wiles, Daniel wouldn’t have . . .
No, she told herself firmly. You will not finish that thought.
“Nonsense. That was the old Miss Margaret Stredwick of Wiltshire, disappointed debutante, dutiful younger sister and prisoner of the home island,” Honoria said with a cheeky grin. Stopping at a large window, she gestured with a dramatic sweep of her arm toward the cityscape. “Now you are here. In France. Without your brother. You can be anyone you want—woman of many wiles, lady of intrigue, adventuress, or even visiting royalty from a foreign land.”
Meg shook her head. “You could surely do all those things, but I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can. I once invented an entire country and named myself its princess. Just a bit of fun for an evening.”
“Fun for you, because you’ve always been brilliant at those sorts of things.”
She remembered all the times they’d put on plays and how superbly Honoria embodied her characters. Not only that, but men found her intriguing and beguiling in a way that Meg had never been.
“Well, I do come by it honestly, or rather, dishonestly,” Honoria said with an unrepentant glint in her tip-tilted eyes. “Either way, it runs in the family. The Hartley clan is a veritable liars’ club.”
“Then, I wish we could travel together, so you could teach me everything you know.” Meg wasn’t wholly serious when she said the words, and yet, as they hung in the air she was suddenly compelled to seek her friend’s counsel. “Might I ask you a question?”
“I would pinch you if you didn’t.”
Meg grinned, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she looked around to ensure that there was no one close by who might overhear. “What would you do if you’d met a man whom you’d rather not know—while doing something you ought not to have done—only to realize that, days later, you could not push him from your mind?”
“Mmm . . . I’m quite intrigued by the something you ought not to have done,” she said with a sly lift of her finely arched brows. “I shall let you tell me all about that later. In the meantime, however, it seems to me that you require a distraction from these plaguing thoughts. And the only truly effective way to rid your mind of one man is to surround yourself with scores of others, upon whom you can practice your wiles.”
“And if I do not possess any, as I highly suspect?”
Honoria issued an unconcerned shrug. “Then, you’ll play the part of a woman who does. And it just so happens I know of the perfect place to start.” She held up a finger, her expression bright with something between mischief and excitement. “There is a party at the home of the Count and Countess Andret tomorrow evening to showcase the new acquisitions to his collection of . . . well . . . whatever it is that he collects. The point is, his wife knows everyone in society and is known for being a bit of a flirt herself. So there are bound to be all sorts of gentlemen in attendance. And since my cousin will likely not attend due to her condition, perhaps you and your companions could join the colonel and me?”
Her friend made it all sound so simple that Meg felt an unexpected thrill at the prospect. “I shall speak with the aunts straightaway.”
* * *
The aunts sent their regrets. As much as they wished to attend the soiree—if only to sample the menu and pilfer a recipe or two—their days of travel from Calais had caught up with them. And after spending the afternoon touring the gravel paths of the Jardin des Tuileries, they were more than content to rest their feet and lounge in their glorious rooms. In fact, they shooed Meg away, ordering her to expend her youthful exuberance somewhere else.
Honestly, it was a relief. She planned to practice flirting and didn’t want to get their hopes up. Not only that but telling them the truth—that she was doing so to rid her thoughts of a certain duke who should not be named—was absolutely out of the question. So she simply bussed their cheeks with a kiss and left with Honoria and Colonel Whittingham.
Meg had never anticipated such a lavish affair.
When they arrived, a queue of carriages already lined the driveway, offering a view of a torchlit arcade, flanked by column arches swathed in garlands of sweet wisteria and tall spiral topiaries on either side.
The count and countess lived just beyond the city. Their sprawling manor house sat at the far end of a vast, pristinely manicured lawn, and hosted a pair of twin stone staircases leading up from the gardens to a grand terrace.
Ascending the steps, Meg lifted the hems of her icy-blue satin skirts so that she didn’t trip and make a complete cake of herself. She cast a sideways glance to Honoria and saw that they were both stunned into speechlessness, attempting to hide their utter astonishment at their surroundings. Meg had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“Do not look at me again,” Honoria chided playfully, “for I will surely lose my carefully crafted facade and appear every bit the country bumpkin that I am.”
Meg shook her head. “No one would believe it. In that seafoam gown and with your hair swept up in pearl-encrusted combs, you look like you belong in such a palace. You’re a veritable siren, calling the men to fling themselves at your feet and crash against your hems.”
“As well they should,” she said with a laugh devoid of any self-modesty. If there was one thing that Honoria Hartley had always made perfectly apparent, it was that she knew what she deserved and she wouldn’t settle for anything less. “And what about you, hmm? All set to practice your wiles and lure men to your shores and rid your thoughts of that pesky duke once and for all?”