A Lady's Point of View Read Online Free PDF Page A

her mistress. “You’ve been so good to me! I’ll write to you
from Canada, as long as you don’t mind the spelling.”
    “Indeed not.” This farewell was
even sadder than the ones in London, as Karen and her Peter would most likely
never return to England. A tear slipped down Meg’s face and she made no attempt
to wipe it off.
    After Karen left, Meg couldn’t
seem to fall back to sleep. Indeed, she realized with a jolt, this was the
first time in her gently bred life that she had ever been entirely on her own,
without the protection of a servant or relative.
    Though it would surely be a
matter of only half an hour, or perhaps an hour at most, before the driver came
for her, Meg listened carefully to every noise in the hallway. She had read
stories of women menaced in isolated castles, and while she wasn’t so cork-brained
as to expect dark-cloaked villains in the hallway, inns sheltered all manner of
people. Nervously, Meg bolted the door.
     
    If only she could see better!
Then she might go downstairs—not into the taproom, of course, but in a place
within public view where none was likely to threaten her. But in her state of
comparative helplessness, she was far better off here.
    Her mind returned to the scene
outside. What would have transpired had not the merchant’s purse turned up?
That poor woman might have been arrested; perhaps even Meg and Karen with her.
In London, cheering masses gleefully attended the frequent hangings. Could such
a thing really happen to innocent women?
    Never before had she realized how
sheltered her life was. Compared to the danger of arrest, the scandal that had
loomed so large a scant time earlier now faded to insignificance.
    In this parlour far from London,
Meg saw the members of the beau monde for the foolish, artificial people
they really were. Such fuss over Beau Brummell, whose only accomplishments were
his choice of a tailor and his rapier wit! How absurd that the highest lords
and ladies should shun a woman merely because she failed to acknowledge his
greeting.
    The first few months of this past
season had been met with hope and eager expectation. At each ball she had
imagined she might discover a man who would meet her heart’s needs.
    Now Meg could see that she had
become disenchanted even before her ridiculously aggrandized scandal. Perhaps
her departure was a blessing in disguise. But what lay ahead?
    A rapping at the door roused her
to herself.
    “Yes?” She wondered if the
pounding of her heart could be heard by the unseen visitor.
    “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but
the innkeeper said there was a Miss Lindsay here and I’m sent to fetch her to
her carriage,” said a polite male voice.
    Much relieved, Meg drew the bolt
and opened the door. Before her stood a coachman exquisitely clad in
black-and-silver livery. It was beyond any uniform she would have expected for
a post chaise driver, but no doubt this fellow took pride in appearances, and
Meg could only think well of him for that.
    “I’ve been expecting you,” she
said, willing to overlook his mispronouncing the name Linley as Lindsay. In her
experience, it was a common mistake among tradesmen.
    “This is your trunk then, miss?”
In a trice, the driver and a young groom carried the cases downstairs, with Meg
hurrying in their wake. To her surprise, the driver insisted upon paying the
innkeeper for the parlour. “I have my instructions,” he said when she
protested, and Meg silently thanked Karen for her thoughtfulness.
    The bustle in the courtyard was
as great this afternoon as it had been in the morning. Meg could perceive
little beyond a great blur of motion and colour, with high-perch phaetons
weaving perilously between rude wagon-carts.
    “This way, miss,” said the
driver, taking Meg’s arm to help her into the chaise.
    “What a smart carriage,” she said, impressed by the
gleaming black-trimmed silver paint. She even suspected, as he opened the door,
that she might have seen a coat of arms