Page 87 of Appointment in Bath

Mrs. Philips was unmollified. “Which means I shall soon have an angry baronet pounding at my door. And me in my dotage!”

Meg didn’t know how to reassure Mrs. Philips on that score. She couldn’t very well tell the lady that Sir Frederick cared nothing about his only daughter. Certainly not enough to chase after Meg with undue speed.

Guilt nevertheless rose up to plague Meg’s conscience.

Had her father realized she was gone yet? Had he found the short letter she’d left on her dressing table?

And if he had, how had he reacted to it? Was he furious? Was he shouting at the servants from his bed? Threatening to sack them all without a reference? Or was he rousing himself to come to Bath? Was he even now bundled inside his carriage in dogged pursuit?

Meg swallowed the lump that formed in her throat at the thought of her father’s wrath. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t m-mean to—”

“Meg?” Miss Adams entered the room swiftly. Even in her robe and slippers, she possessed the same air of practical efficiency that she’d had during her time at Letchford Hall—her shoulders set, her chin firm, and her dark hair worn in the same uncompromising knot at her nape. “Oh, my poor dear girl. What must have happened to bring you here in all this state?”

Meg was on her feet in an instant. Miss Adams was the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother. Seeing her familiar stern but kindly face worked on Meg in a powerful way. All at once, the full, overwhelming weight of her situation descended upon her.

She flew into Miss Adams’s arms and promptly burst into tears.

* * *

“Gone?” Ivo stared at the grizzled little housekeeper. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

Mrs. Church stood in the doorway of Letchford Hall, mouth pursed tight. It was she who had answered Ivo’s knock. She’d offered him no welcome. On the contrary. She was all but barring his way. “Miss Burton-Smythe has gone away to Bath for her season,” she informed him.

The devil she had!

“Since when?” Ivo demanded.

“She departed some five days ago, sir,” Mrs. Church said.

Ivo’s mouth went slack. It took him several seconds to formulate a reply. “Five days ago? But that…”

It had been but five days ago that she’d danced with him at Beasley Park.

Ivo hadn’t called on her in the meanwhile, despite his desperate yearning to see her and to reassure himself she was well. He’d been attempting to exercise caution for once. To allow tempers to cool and better judgment to prevail. Not for his own sake, but for Meg’s. Lord only knew how her father must have reacted to her defection. The sight of a Beresford so soon afterward would only inflame the situation. As a consequence, Ivo had forced himself to keep his distance.

More fool him.

Apparently, as he’d been biding his time at Beasley, Meg had been making arrangements to leave.

“Quite so, sir,” Mrs. Church said acidly. “She departed the morning after your ill-advised little party. If that’s all?” She moved to shut the door.

Ivo stopped it with his boot. “What about Sir Frederick? Has he accompanied her?”

“Obviously.”

It wasn’t obvious to Ivo at all. “I wouldn’t have thought he could accommodate a lengthy journey, given his ill health.”

An even sourer look came over the old housekeeper’s face. “Then he shall suffer for it, shan’t he? Another evil we can lay at his daughter’s door. Had he not been compelled to chase after her—” The old woman stopped herself. Her lips thinned. “But I will say no more.”

“You’ve said quite enough.” Ivo removed his boot. The door promptly closed in his face.

Meg had run away. The realization struck Ivo like a thunderbolt. He was at once consumed with worry for her.

He was equally plagued by guilt.

Meg had accused him of rolling over her like a runaway train. Of ignoring her feelings—everyone’s feelings—in favor of embracing what he knew to be a better future. At the time, Ivo had believed that achieving that future had been worth the temporary pain his actions had caused.

But he had been wrong.