Chapter One
Meredith Chilton-Grizedale pursed her lips and stroked her
chin as she slowly circled Lady Sarah Markham, who stood
upon the dressmaker's platform. Meredith's gaze critiqued
the slender form garbed in the elegant, pale blue wedding
gown, noting every detail, from the demure square neckline
to the elaborate ruffled flounce. A satisfied smile
threatened to curl her lips upward, but she staunchly
subdued it. One could not afford to be too effusive when
dealing with Madame RenΓ©e, Oxford Street's most exclusive
milliner. For every compliment Madame received, she
clearly felt compelled to increase her already exorbitant
prices.
"You look lovely, Lady Sarah," Meredith said. "Lord
Greybourne will be besotted the moment he sees you." A
tiny flutter of something that felt suspiciously like envy
rippled through Meredith, surprising and irritating her.
She slapped the feeling aside like a bothersome insect and
gazed at the beautiful young woman standing before her.
Pride instantly supplanted her errant twinge of envy.
Oh, she had indeed arranged a brilliant match on Lord
Greybourne's behalf. Lady Sarah was a diamond of the first
water. Sweet, innocent, amenable, possessed of a gentle
temperament, lively conversation, a singing voice that
could rival the angels, and a formidable talent for the
pianoforte. The negotiations, which Meredith had handled
between Lady Sarah's father, the Duke of Hedington, and
Lord Greybourne's father, the Earl of Ravensly, had proven
quite delicate and tricky, even for a matchmaker of her
considerable experience. What with the scandal that had
ensued three years ago when Lord Greybourne had not
returned to England from roaming the wilds of foreign
locales to honor the marriage agreement his father had
entered into on his behalf, coupled with the fact that
he'd incomprehensibly walked away from the comforts of
Society to live in uncivilized conditions where heathen
traits abounded in order to study artifacts, only Lord
Greybourne's title and family connections kept him from
being hopelessly unmarriageable. Indeed, it had taken an
enormous amount of time, flattery, and diplomacy on
Meredith's part to convince the duke that Lord Greybourne
was the perfect match for Lady Sarah -- a task made all
the more difficult considering the hordes of eligible
titled, and unmarked-by-scandal, young men buzzing around
her.
But convince Lord Hedington she did. A sigh of immense
satisfaction eased past Meredith's lips, and she was hard-
pressed not to twist about and physically pat herself on
the back. Thanks to her -- if she might say so herself --
inspired efforts, the most anticipated wedding of the
Season would take place in two days at St. Paul's
Cathedral. A wedding so grand, a marriage so brilliant, so
talked-about, that Meredith's reputation as the foremost
match-maker in England was assured.
Ever since the betrothal announcement two months past,
anxious mamas were courting her attention, inviting her to
tea and their musicales and soirees, asking her to whom
their darling daughters would most be suited. And which
eligible bachelors were serious about choosing a bride
this Season.
As she had so many times over the past few months,
Meredith again found herself wondering why a man born into
the upper echelons of Society, the heir to an earldom, a
man who would never have to spend his life doing anything
save seek pleasure, would spend a decade living in rustic
conditions, digging up artifacts belonging to dead people.
Everything practical in Meredith revolted at the very
thought. Clearly Lord Greybourne harbored some very
unusual beliefs and tendencies, and, she feared, his
manners would most certainly need some dusting off. Even
his father had hinted that his son might require a bit
of "polishing."
Even so, she did not doubt that she could shine him up
enough to make a grand showing at the wedding. After all,
her reputation, her livelihood depended upon the success
of this wedding. She could only hope that after the
ceremony he would prove to be an affable and kind husband.
Because, based on the enormous gilt-framed painting of him
hanging in his father's drawing room, Lord Greybourne had
not been blessed with a bounty of physical attractions.
An image of that painting flashed through her mind. Poor
Lord Greybourne. Where his father, the earl, was quite
handsome, Lord Greybourne was ... not. His painting
depicted a pale, pudgy-faced, unsmiling countenance
decorated with thick spectacles magnifying unremarkable
brown eyes. Definitely not the most attractive of fellows.
Of course, the painting had been commissioned fourteen
years earlier, when he was but a youth of fifteen.
Meredith hoped his years abroad had improved him somewhat,
although it did not really matter. In addition to being a
Paragon, Lady Sarah did not, like many young women her
age, harbor unrealistic romantic notions regarding
marriage. Thank goodness. Because the dear girl is taking
on more the frog than the prince, I'm afraid.
Yes, Lady Sarah knew it was her duty to marry, and marry
well, according to her father's dictates. Meredith blessed
the fact that Lady Sarah was not difficult like a growing
number of modern young ladies who professed to want their
marriages to be love matches. Meredith fought the urge to
snicker at such nonsense. Love matches indeed. Love had
nothing to do with a successful marriage.
Meredith looked up at Lady Sarah, who, based on her
expression, was not as happy as she should be. "Now, don't
frown, Lady Sarah," Meredith scolded gently. "You'll
wrinkle your forehead. Is something amiss? The dress --"
"The dress is fine," Lady Sarah said. Her huge pansy-blue
eyes, reflecting unmistakable distress, met Meredith's in
the mirror. "I was just thinking about what you said ...
about Lord Greybourne being besotted the moment he sees
me. Do you truly think he will be?"
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