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LENGTH: Epic Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2006
ISBN 1-58608-981-1
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Faced with an unwelcome marriage arranged by her father to save himself from ruin, Meredith flees, deciding the drudgery and uncertainty of life as a maid or governess has more appeal than marriage to a man she can not love. She did not set out for adventure, or danger, and certainly not with the expectation of finding love.

Rating: Contains violence, adult language, and sexual content.

WATCH OVER ME

By

Moira Wallace

© copyright October 2006, Moira Wallace

Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright October 2006

ISBN 1-58608-981-1

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

January, 1808

England

Midnight approached, and yet Meredith could not see her father’s carriage from the window where she waited looking out on the drive, even as the light of the full moon bathed it in an eerie blue glow. She nibbled her lower lip in apprehension as she kept her vigil by the window. Her gaze went down to the dog-eared letter in her lap for the hundredth time while she absently patted the grizzled head of Wolf, her aptly named wolfhound lying close by.

Her worried eyes scanned the foreboding sentence that occupied her mind and tormented her thoughts:

‘Daughter, I have found you a husband.’

If Meredith had learned anything in her twenty-three years on this earth, it was that any husband chosen by her father would not be a good one. Marriage had ruined her father; she would not let it ruin her as well. Though her father did not yet know it, she had little desire and no intention of marrying.

Her father might be an earl and of noble birth, but long years of bad investments and too much time spent in gambling hells had rendered him just slightly better off than impoverished. She crumpled the letter in her fist. All they had left to their good name was their family land, Manning Park, and whatever money Meredith had kept from her father, William Harris, the Earl of Cranthorpe. His latest scheme in his quest to recoup his losses was to use his daughter Meredith to find a wealthy husband who would be another source of income and betting money.

Meredith tried to be a good daughter. Since her mother passed, she believed it her duty to care for her father. Despite all his faults, he had loved her mother, but he had unfortunately changed for the worse since she died.

A sigh escaped Meredith, and she rose from her seat to move to the hearth with Wolf close behind. She picked up an iron poker and stirred the dying embers in the grate. The soft sound of the ashes as they tumbled over the andirons soothed her, and she smiled. Her gaze then turned upwards to the portrait of her mother that hung above the mantle. She was resplendent but subdued in dark blue silk that matched her eyes, the same eyes Meredith had inherited. A smile tugged at the corners of her mother’s generous mouth, captured to perfection by the artist many years ago.

Meredith’s heart squeezed inside her chest, and she turned back to the window as her mind raced with concern. What if her father was lost, or worse, hurt by men he owed money to? He could be lying beaten and broken in a ditch. Meredith shook her head and began to pace the faded hardwood floor. Wolf looked at her with a quizzical expression and dropped onto his haunches to watch her. The floors needed a good polishing, but the money for that had gone to repay one of many debts.

Just as a surge of anger rose inside her at her father’s carelessness, she heard the far-off clip-clop of hooves on gravel and the distant sound of a driver calling to his team. Wolf pricked his ears and gave a small grunt. Meredith flew to the windows and shoved aside the draperies to espy a hackney coach as it made its way up the path. She raced to the front door, relieved, and paused to pat down her hair and brush off her skirts.

Meredith flung open the door as the team of bays drew to a halt and shook their heads, setting their chains jingling. Her breath puffed out before her in the frigid winter air. Wolf, rarely excited by these homecomings, gave one warning bark and returned to the warmth of the house. The driver stepped down from his perch and opened the door to the cab. Meredith brushed past him and rapped on the door to gain the earl’s attention.

“Father!” He mumbled and shifted in his sleep. “Wake up and come in the house!” She reached inside to take his hand. He opened his eyes and perused her with a bewildered expression. She saw the bottle in his hands and frowned. In his cups again, as usual when memories of her mother came to him. What had set him off this time?

“Meredith!” he exclaimed in recognition and lifted himself out of the carriage. He embraced her as he set his unsteady feet on the ground. She returned the gesture, relieved to see him safe.

“Look here,” he said after a moment as he pushed her away to observe her. He gestured to the coach.

“What is it this time? Father, really, you must stop this gambling. It will ruin you.” She sighed and expected to see another worthless bauble or trinket bought with the expectation of selling for more.

“It is the surprise I told you I would bring home! Lord Longchamp, come, meet my daughter, the most beautiful girl in all of England!”

Shock consumed Meredith as she watched narrow legs unfold, followed by a lean, awkward form garbed in black. Not this soon! She assumed the man her father ushered out of the carriage was her husband to be. The bland expression that met her was so intensely disinterested and haughty that Meredith thought for a wild moment that her father was playing a jest on her.

“Meredith, daughter, I am pleased to introduce Percival Alder, The Right Honorable Earl of Longchamp. He has agreed to take you as his wife.”

Meredith stared at the man in utter astonishment and horror. Was this some horrible nightmare and she would soon awaken? The Earl of Longchamp bent in a stilted bow and raised his pale hand so she might offer hers. She stared at it as if it were some bizarre object that she had never seen before. The earl’s eyes shifted to her father, then he cleared his throat and slowly dropped his hand to his side.

“Poorly mannered thing, isn’t she?” the earl spoke aside to her father. Meredith glared at him.

Her father sent her a sharp look. She ignored it. Her father had selected this man for her to marry? Was he serious? This snide and haughty aristocrat? A man old enough to be her father, with a wan, arrogant gaze that suggested he had never laughed before? Meredith felt a sudden overwhelming urge to run. That, or laugh in this man’s face.

“Welcome your fiancé, Meredith.”

Her father’s sharp tone broke through the strange haze that filled her head. She blinked rapidly to clear her thoughts, glanced up at the earl, and managed a tight smile. “A pleasure, Lord Longchamp.”

Her father observed the pair before he finally spoke. “Come, come, let us not allow a warm fire and comfortable home to go to waste. Come, Longchamp, we shall retire to the library for brandies. Let us leave my daughter to ponder her new future.”

He took her fiancé by the arm and guided him into the house. Meredith followed, mute with shock. Wolf met her in the hallway and growled as her father and the earl passed, but they took no notice. They veered off in the direction of the library and left her in the hall. This had to be a mistake. She would not accept that sneering pale man. Anyone but him.

She fought down a sense of panic and despair, lifted her muslin skirts, and dashed up the curved stairs to her chambers. She heard the click of Wolf’s toenails on the treads behind her. Once within the sanctity of her room, she lit a candle with trembling fingers and fell with a groan upon her bed. Wolf jumped up onto the mattress and lay down beside her.

She would have to reason with her father. There had to be another way. If he had not frittered away their fortune, there might have been enough money to send her to London for a proper coming out. It was too late now, and any prospects she had in the marriage market had dwindled as she grew older.

Her chest became tight, despair abandoned her in a sudden flash, and she shook with rage. Rage at her father, who had let himself become so destroyed by her mother’s death that he had squandered every last penny he earned on drink and cards, rage at the wretched, beaked-nose earl her father had brought home, and rage at herself, for allowing her father to fall into that pit of ruin.

Meredith sighed. She realized there was naught to be done until her father retired to his chambers, where she might speak with him, try to encourage him to let her find someone in her own time. She rose and moved to the tall dressing mirror in the corner of her chamber to undress. As she stood there in the faint glow of the single candle she had lit, she reached up and removed the pins from her hair. Wolf watched her with pale amber eyes from the comfort of the bed.

Without money, there were no servants to help her with the task, and only Harriet Cleave, the ancient widow who served as cook and housekeeper, and Bernard, the elderly groom, remained. Meredith’s own horse was, in all likelihood, the most valuable thing they owned, aside from the house. Odysseus, a fine bay hunter, had been a gift to Meredith for her eighteenth birthday. Her father had won the animal in a game of whist, and, having no desire to ride the horse himself, had been kind enough to give him to his daughter.

Not that he could have ridden Odysseus even if he wanted to, Meredith thought with a smile, as she combed through her now loose tresses. The poor creature had been abused by his former owner, and had taken a very strong aversion to anyone of the male persuasion. But he was as gentle as a lamb with Meredith, who lavished attention on the horse. He was oftentimes the only friend she had, aside from Wolf, whom she had found as a stray pup two years ago and had not the heart to abandon.

Meredith undid the laces of her gown and let it slip down her shoulders before she laid it over the back of a chair. It would need mending in the morning she noted with a sigh. The hem had torn loose, and she could not afford the luxury of a new gown. Stripping off her remaining undergarments, she donned a heavy dressing gown of warm wool and moved to stoke the fire Harriet had built up earlier in the evening.

Wolf raised his head to glance at her as she moved to the windows to draw the drapes closed. She had grown weary of the struggle, the begging, and the pleading for her father to stay home, to stay away from the hells. But she could not sleep until she asked him this one last favor.

Before long, she heard her father’s whistling in the hallway and his staggering footsteps on the stairs. Meredith steeled herself to face him as she belted tight her dressing gown and moved to the door. Her heart pounded in her chest. She must convince him, she must! Lord Longchamp might have money and a name, but she refused to be married off like chattel or to grovel to a man she neither knew nor cared for.

She eased the door open, gazed out into the hallway, and spied her father at the top of the stairs. He gripped a glass of brandy in one hand, the newel post in the other.

“Father?” she began, her voice low so as not to startle him. He cleared his throat and peered through the shadows before smiling in recognition.

“Ah, Meredith, there you are. Should you not be in bed at this hour?”

“Yes, but I wished to discuss Lord Longchamp.”

“Ah, yes, Longchamp. Good chap. I do wish you had been a little warmer towards him, Meredith. He’s come all the way from his home in Shropshire to meet you. What’s more, he is willing to forgo a dowry.”

“I understand, but you and mother said I might have a man of my own choosing.”

“Do not speak of your mother.” His voice was abrupt as he said these words. Meredith thought she detected a slight tremble in his tone, and she regretted the mention of her mother. Her father sighed and ran a hand through his thin hair. “You’ve left it too late.” His tone was weary. “You’re twenty and three and far too old to be unwed. You have no suitors to speak of, and I’m not getting any younger. And he has wealth.”

“Father.” Meredith kept her tone calm and collected as she stepped farther out into the hall. “What if I were to go to London for a stay? If I could find a suitor myself, surely you might reconsider? Lord Longchamp is no doubt a good man, but he’s so old….”

“He is fifty,” her father interrupted in a tone that hinted at his anger. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

“I won’t do it, Father, I won’t.”

“You’ll do as you’re bloody well told, and if you don’t, I shall drag you to the altar in chains!” His voice grew to an alarming volume now, and she resisted the urge to shrink back from him. “Besides, it’s too late, Meredith. The marriage contracts are drawn up, and the banns are to be called a week from today. You will marry Lord Longchamp.”

Even as he spoke the words, Meredith could not be sure he had actually said them. It was done then. And no amount of convincing would change that. A lump of ice formed in the pit of her stomach, and at the same time, a hot prickling sensation went through her limbs. Her head buzzed. Nauseated, she begged, “Father, please….”

“No, Meredith.” His fingers grew white as he clutched the glass in his hand, and she feared he might break it. He shook his head to show that his decision could not be altered. Though he was erratic at times, he was a man of his word, and when he made a decision, it was for good.

“Go to bed,” he ordered in a manner that brooked no argument. She turned and entered her chambers. She shut the door behind herself and heard nothing for a long moment. Then quiet footsteps retreated to the other end of the hall. As she stood there, with her back against the door, it occurred to her that her father would undoubtedly keep his promise. If it came down to it, he would drag her to the altar in chains.

She shook her head. Hot tears scalded the inside of her eyelids. Damn them, she thought as her fists clenched at her side. Her throat convulsed for one horrible moment, and she raised her head in grim determination. She would sooner die than marry a man she did not want or give into her father’s wild moods once more. She could not stand to be married to a man like her father, ruined, careless, and wasted away. If marriage was in her future, it would be to someone of her own choosing, not her father’s. She could no longer put all her effort into healing a man who clearly did not want to be healed. She would leave. Tonight.

She looked at Wolf who watched her with a steady eye.

“And you are coming with me.”