Megan screamed and fought for all she was worth to escape, but her attacker-Sir Greville Seton, no less-was infinitely stronger and kept her pinned to the bed. After a struggle that lasted only a minute, but seemed a lot longer to Megan, she stopped fighting and lay still.
Greville thought he had apprehended a male intruder, and knelt roughly astride her. "You damned villain! Let's see your face!" he cried, and snatched back her hood. But he wrenched her hat off as well, and then froze as her long brown hair tumbled down in only too feminine profusion. "A-a woman?" he gasped, and leapt from the bed as if scalded. Then his glance went belatedly to the luggage, which was clearly not his. "What's going on? Who are you?" he demanded.
Angry and frightened, Megan scrambled away on the other side of the bed from him. "How dare you assault me so!" she cried.
"I dare because at the last time of reckoning this happened to be my room, and I caught you apparently rifling my belongings. I see now that I was wrong."
"You are indeed!" she replied angrily. They gazed warily at each other, their eyes bright with instinctive dislike and mistrust. Neither intended to give an inch, because both felt in the right. Megan spoke again. "Am I to understand that you are Sir Greville Seton?"
"You have the advantage of me, madam. Am I to have the honor of your name? Or is that to remain one of life's little mysteries?"
"I am Megan Mortimer, Miss Megan Mortimer, and I am Lady Evangeline's companion."
He stared at her. "Lady Evangeline's what?"
The sharp altercation brought Evangeline at the double from her apartment directly opposite. "Miss Mortimer is with me, sirrah, and this is her room!" she declared as she halted in the doorway to survey them both. She had changed into a peach taffeta dinner gown, and Annie had not quite finished her coiffure, so that several long gray ringlets hung down a little untidily. The little Frenchwoman peered over her mistress's shoulder to see what the noise was about.
Greville whirled about in disbelief, for she was supposed to be far away in Bath! Rupert came running as well, and he too stared at his aunt. "Aunt E? What are you doing here?" he cried.
"I live here, if you recall," that lady replied waspishly, "and I was under the erroneous impression that I was going to spend a quiet Christmas alone with my new companion. Instead I find that my home has been rather presumptuously invaded in my absence!"
Rupert colored. "I, er…" Then he fell silent, for what she said was quite true. Then the import of what she had said about Megan began to sink in, and his glance slid uncomfortably toward Greville, whose opinion of companions was hardly a secret.
Greville was appalled. Not only had he and Rupert walked into the lion's Christmas den after all, but there was a damned companion here as well!
Evangeline's peach taffeta rustled irritably as she came into the room. "Now, then, sirs, since you are here, allow me to formally present Miss Mortimer, who was Lady Jane Strickland's companion, but is now mine."
Greville's face became very still, and Rupert recalled what had been said in the garden at Hanover Square. This was the same companion who had so brazenly attempted to seduce Ralph Strickland? She certainly didn't look brazen, he thought, nor would Aunt E have employed her if there was any truth in the story Ralph was putting about.
Evangeline continued. "I trust you will both make her feel welcome, for she is about to become very much part of my household. She will be taking her meals with us, and is to be treated with respect in every way."
Megan's lips parted. Take her meals with them? Oh, that was not at all the thing! Her place was in the kitchens with the other servants.
Evangeline observed Greville's stony expression. "Sir, pray do not forget my wishes in this, for your private attitudes are not to be aired while beneath my roof. It is hardly Miss Mortimer's fault that your fool of a father ran off with your mother's companion when you were only six."
He was nettled that she should express such a derogatory opinion in front of Megan. "Aunt E, I hardly think Miss Mortimer is interested in my childhood," he replied in a tone as blunt as hers.
Evangeline already regretted her sharp tongue. "I shouldn't have said that. Please forgive me. It's just that it grieves me to see you still so bitter about something that happened such a long time ago. On top of which, I hardly think it is fair of you to direct your antagonism toward Miss Mortimer without her knowing why you feel as you do."
Greville didn't reply, and his silence conveyed that he didn't consider it to be any of Miss Mortimer's business.
Evangeline looked at him. "Greville, if only you would understand and accept that with your father gone, the last five years of your mother's life were far happier."
"I beg to differ on that point."
"But you were only eleven and away at Eton when she died. She was happier, believe me. Anyway, I wish you to let bygones be bygones while you are in this house." Evangeline decided to give him a moment or two to consider this, so she introduced Rupert to Megan first. "Miss Mortimer, this is my nephew and heir, Lord Rupert Radcliffe."
Rupert had been observing Megan, and was now of the firm opinion that she could not possibly be the scheming witch Ralph Strickland claimed, so he stepped gallantly forward to raise her hand to his lips. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Mortimer."
"Lord Rupert," she replied with a grateful smile. At least he was a gentleman!
Evangeline braced herself as she turned to Greville again. "And this disagreeable fellow is Sir Greville Seton. I forget what his relationship to me is exactly, but suffice it that he is definitely family."
Greville had no intention of emulating Rupert, but if Aunt E required politeness, politeness she would have. "Miss Mortimer," he murmured, and showed the limit of his chivalry by merely inclining his head.
"Sir."
Evangeline wasn't about to let him off lightly. "Sir, I think you should apologize to Miss Mortimer for your disgraceful physical attack upon her."
Greville was provoked. "Aunt E, this was my room when I departed for Mahomed's Baths, so it was reasonable enough to presume that it was still my room when I returned. When I found someone in a hooded cloak apparently examining my luggage, of course I thought it was a thief!"
"So you acted first, and asked questions afterward. I'm deeply disappointed in you, Greville, for I thought such lamentable conduct was the preserve of half-witted hotheads like Sigismund Garsington."
Megan felt dreadful, and wished the whole business could be dropped.
"Aunt E," Greville answered in a labored tone, "if I were Sigismund Garsington, I'd have fired a pistol at Miss Mortimer, not simply apprehended her. However, you are right to castigate me for my actions, and so I will indeed apologize." He turned to Megan. "I trust you are able to forgive me, Miss Mortimer, for you may be sure that if I had realized, I would not have dreamed of acting as I did."
"Of course I forgive you, sir." She didn't really, but there was little else she could say.
Evangeline was satisfied. "I have removed you to the mauve chamber, Greville, because I wish Miss Mortimer to be close to me. Fosdyke has aired it and had a fire kindled there, so it will be sufficiently warm by the time you retire tonight."
"As you wish, Aunt E, but it would have been pleasant if I had been informed of this when Rupert and I came back from the baths. Such consideration would have prevented me from making such an error."
"Fosdyke was instructed to do so, but he clearly did not realize you had returned. Besides, who are you to carp about being kept informed? I do not recall being informed that you were going to take liberties with my home in my absence."
He knew he was beaten, and gave her a wry smile. "I concede defeat, Aunt E. The laurels are yours."
"Yes, I rather think they are," she declared archly.
"Do you really mind us being here?" he asked, knowing she didn't.
"Of course not, you silly boy." Evangeline fingered the gold locket at her throat. Mind? On the contrary, for their timely arrival on the scene speeded up her plans considerably. "Now, then, gentlemen, I believe you have both forgotten something." She presented her cheek for a kiss.
Rupert obliged warmly, but as Greville kissed her as well, she tapped his sleeve with her fan. "Why, your shampoo has left you smelling of rosemary. It is quite appetizing. I almost wish Mrs. Fosdyke were preparing some mutton, or better still, some sweet Welsh lamb."
"It was not my intention to smell like a roast dinner," he replied.
"Nor, I'll warrant, was it your intention to spend Christmas with me," she observed shrewdly.
"That isn't so. I'm more than pleased that you have returned," he protested untruthfully, then added. "Er, why have you returned?"
"Oh, this and that," she murmured, studying his face. "Acting will never be your strong suit, will it? Be honest, sir, you are absolutely horrified to see me, and already you begin to suffer the onset of stage fright! How is your Malvolio coming along?"
"He isn't," Greville replied frankly. "Aunt E, I may as well be honest; I have no intention of being Malvolio or anyone else."
"Nonsense." Her eyes were wickedly knowing. "Greville, I can just see you in cross-gartered yellow stockings, and although I concede that it will be out of period, I think it might be amusing to fit you with the Henry VIII codpiece as well."
Rupert made a strangulated noise, and Greville was aghast. "Aunt E, I positively, absolutely refuse to even consider that-that thing!” The codpiece in question had been hidden away at the very back of the theater wardrobe for two years now, because of its shocking size. It had been intended for a production of Shakespeare's Henry VIII, but Evangeline had been so certain that its appearance onstage would result in charges of indecency, that it had languished among the wardrobe cobwebs ever since.
She pursed her lips. "Well, on reflection perhaps it would be a little too much, but the stockings stay, for they are essential to the play."
"Essential or not, I will still not be wearing them," Greville replied doggedly.
She shrugged. "Well, no one is forcing you, so if you wish to scuttle back to London, I will quite understand. I am sure that Mr. March will leap at the opportunity to play alongside Chloe, who is to be Olivia. I did write to one of you about Mr. March, did I not?"
Rupert scowled. "I don't want that scoundrel leaping into anything, unless it be a pit of vipers."
"Well, at least we are agreed on something, for he is indeed a scoundrel, but Chloe seems quite taken with him," Evangeline replied. "Still, Greville's craven desertion means a replacement is needed, and I happen to know that Mr. March is very fond of amateur theatricals, so he will have to do."
Greville saw the anguish on Rupert's face, and felt obliged to reverse his decision, even though it meant Malvolio, stockings and all. "I'm not cravenly deserting anyone, Aunt E, I'm staying right here."
"Then, you are going to be Malvolio, and that, sir, is that."
"I know," he answered heavily, and Rupert looked away to hide his unutterable relief. Megan cordially hoped Malvolio would cause Sir Greville Seton endless embarrassment.
Evangeline was triumphant again. "It is settled, then. You are to be Malvolio, Rupert is Duke Orsino, Chloe is to be my Olivia, and Sir Jocelyn will be my Sir Toby Belch. Your cousin Ada is to be Viola, her husband will be Sebastian, and her sister insists upon being the maid, Maria, although with her squeaky little voice I fear it may be a disaster. Your other cousin Archibald, who as you know is very shy and retiring, has very bravely undertaken to be Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He promises faithfully not to hide behind the scenery as he did last year. After that I quite forget who is to be who, but they are all rather minor considerations."
"And who, pray, are you going to play, Aunt E?" Greville asked curiously, noticing the singular omission.
"Feste."
He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't he the clown?"
Evangeline twiddled the locket. "Er, yes, he is."
Greville folded his arms. "And doesn't he wear bells and brightly colored hose?"
"Yes." Evangeline wouldn't look at him.
"And doesn't he sing?”
"Yes."
Rupert groaned. "Oh, no…"
Evangeline was cross. "I may not have a voice like Catalini, but-"
"No, you have a voice like Caterwauli!" Greville interrupted crushingly. She was tone deaf in his opinion, and the prospect of her off-key trilling was almost worse than that of Sybil Garsington.
Evangeline drew herself up indignantly. "I'll have you know that I have been taking lessons, Greville, and I think you will be agreeably surprised by my Feste."
"I await your performance with bated breath."
"So do I, sirrah, for I have some information that will surely pay you back for your sharp tongue. I happened upon Lady Garsington at the circulating library recently, and she informed me that Sigismund and Sybil are returning to Brighton for Christmas. So if you imagine that by scuttling here you have eluded her, I'm afraid you are very much mistaken." For Megan's sake, Evangeline omitted to add that Lady Garsington had also said that her other daughter, Sophia might be coming as well, together with her husband, Ralph Strickland.
Greville closed his eyes for a moment. "Please assure me this is a tease," he begged faintly.
"It is the plain, unadulterated truth. She will soon be upon us, harp and all." Evangeline glanced pointedly at her little jeweled fob watch. "It is almost time for dinner, gentlemen, so I suggest you go to your rooms to change," she declared, thus bringing the conversation to an end.