Philippa Gregory - Meridon

I am sorry that I have been so foolish about you, and about Becky. I will try to be glad about that, glad that you love her. I have been selfish I think. I did not know that there was that between you, I should have guessed – I lived in a wagon long enough! I just did not think. I am sorry. I feel foolish that I did not think, but I am glad that she loves you, and that you love her. I am sorry that I was selfish in asking you to come to London to see me as I did. I was lonely here, in this big city, and I wanted to hear your voice and see your face. But I should have realized that you loved her. I think I have never understood love like that. I warned you quick enough not to love me didn’t I? I was a fool not to know that you would find someone else. I am glad she loves you, and that you are happy. I hope she will let me come and see her children and you when I am married and come to Wideacre.

Your friend,

Sarah.

I paused then, and put my head in my hands for a long time. I was a slow writer and that muddle of thoughts had taken me an hour to spell out. I flushed with shame at the thought that Will might write very well for all I knew and he might think me ignorant and stupid not to be able to loop my letters and scrawl all over the page.

But then I heard noon strike and my maid tapped on the door and I called for her to go away, that I would be down for breakfast in the instant. And then I laid my head on the paper on the writing table and groaned as if I was injured, knifed to the heart. I felt as sick as a horse and I could not think why. When I thought of the red weal on his cheek and him telling me of his Becky I wanted to throw up my accounts.

I pulled a sheet of notepaper towards me and I knew I was down below the lies, well below the level of anger and pride. Below even the level of trying to be pleasant about his woman. I was down to where I belonged. Where I had always belonged. And down below that. For I was no longer Mamselle Meridon dancing on horseback who was cold as ice. Now I was no longer Meridon the slut horse-tamer who could make her da spit with rage. I was now someone whose name I did not know who was longing, longing, longing for someone to love. Longing for him.

Dear Will,

This is all wrong.

Please do not promise any more to her. Please come back to London. I do not want to marry Perry. I want to be with you. I have loved you and wanted you from the moment I first saw you, that night at Wideacre. Please come for me at once. I beg your pardon for having struck you. You were right, it is no good here. It is hopeless with Perry.

I am sure she is lovely, but I cannot believe you do not love me, and if you do not come for me now, I do not know what I will do. Please come to me. I love you with all my heart.

Sarah.

I took the six pages of notepaper and I screwed them up into a fat ball. I cast them in the fire and I held the poker and watched them burn. I mashed down the clot of embers so that there was nothing left. I turned my back on the fire, I turned my back on the writing desk.

I could not be betrothed to one man and write like that to another. I could not break faith with Perry, I could not abandon Lady Clara without a word. They had treated me well, by their lights, I could not walk away from them as easily as I had walked in.

I would have to wait, wait and plan. I would have to get free, honourably free, before I wrote to Will, before I thought of him again.

I leaned my forehead against the cold thick glass of my window and looked at the grey sky and thought of Will riding home with the scarlet weal from my whip on his cheek. I had no right to strike him, I had no right to make a claim on him. The letters were burned, I would not write another. I would never write to Will. Not in anger, not in love. Our ways lay by different roads. Perhaps one day he would forgive me for the blow. Perhaps one day he would understand.

I rang my bell for my maid to come and dress me in my morning dress.

I could think of nothing else I could do.

33

I was ill, and it was that which made my eyes seem red and made me so dull at the luncheon.

‘You are cruel!’ lisped Sir Richard Fuller.

I looked at him blankly.

‘Cruel to one who adores you!’ he said smiling. His lips were painted a delicate pink, he had a black patch in the shape of a heart at the corner of his mouth.

‘Yes,’ I said stupidly. ‘I suppose I am.’

He gave his ringing peal of laughter and a couple of old dowagers looked around at us, saw Sir Richard and smiled indulgently.

‘A Diana! A very Diana!’ he cried out.

I shrugged. Half the time in this mannered social world I could not understand a word of what people said to me. The other half I understood well enough but I could not think why they troubled.

‘Do you think I have not seen the newspaper this morning?’ he asked teasingly. ‘I knew it was coming but oh! the blow to my hopes!’

I stared at him again. We were seated in the window seat of the princess’s parlour, looking out towards the park. Will had been right about it being cold. The hoar frost was still white in the sheltered corners, a yellow sun was harsh in the sky.

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.

Sir Richard’s pale eyes danced with malice. ‘About my heartbreak, about my heartbreak!’ he said.

I was no good at this kind of flirting. I sighed and went to get up and walk away from him.

‘I knew you were half promised, but I had no idea he would be so speedy,’ Sir Richard twinkled, putting out a hand to detain me. ‘Have his losses really been so bad?’

‘Perry?’ I said, coming through the maze of innuendo.

‘Of course!’ Sir Richard said limpidly. ‘Who else are you engaged to marry?’

I looked at him blankly and said nothing.

‘Don’t look so surprised, Miss Lacey!’ he begged. ‘You are charming, charming. But I cannot believe that even Perry would post your engagement in the newspaper without consulting you!’

I nodded. Perry was quite capable of it.

‘Which is why I ask!’ Sir Richard cried triumphantly. ‘What freak has Perry taken up now that he must run through your fortune as well as his own? We knew his losses at faro were staggering, but I hear now he is playing piquet like a fiend! And why, heartbreaking Miss Lacey, do you hand your fortune over so readily? Is it love? Do you tell me to abandon all hope?’

I gritted my teeth and got to my feet. ‘You must excuse me, Sir Richard,’ I said politely. I held my embroidered silk morning gown to one side and dipped him a polite curtsey. ‘I see Lady Clara wants me, I must go.’

I crossed over to the other side of the room and stood at Lady Clara’s elbow. She was playing whist with the princess and I waited until she had taken a trick before I interrupted her. I wished her son had half her skill at cards.

‘Perry’s put our engagement in the Morning Post,’ I said in her ear.

Her face never changed. She should have worked as a gull sharper in the taverns. She was wasting her talents on rooking Quality spendthrifts like the princess.

‘I did not see,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t object, do you?’

‘He might have told me,’ I said. ‘I have had Sir Richard Fuller raking me over. I looked a fool.’

Lady Clara nodded. ‘He should have told you indeed,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you warned me. There he is, speak to him yourself.’

I glanced up. Perry was coming through the crowd of people who were standing near the door by the buffet table. As he came through with a smile and a word for many of them, he caught my eye and he beamed at me and came to my side.

‘Sarah!’ he said. ‘I thought I’d find you here. Have you seen the newspaper this morning? We are in! Isn’t that nice! I gave them an extra guinea to get it in at once!’