Man of My Dreams by Johanna Lindsey
Johanna Lindsey
Man of My Dreams
Dedication
For Lee Ann and Harry,
When true love happens, it endures
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
“Just what do you think you’re staring at, Tyler Whately?”
Chapter 2
“You’re eating again?” Tiffany asked as she sailed into the…
Chapter 3
“This is taking precaution too bloody far, Mr. Browne. Walking, by…
Chapter 4
Arnold Penworthy glanced up from the letter in his hand…
Chapter 5
Megan whirled around the second the door closed and leaned…
Chapter 6
“I want to ride you, you can’t imagine how much.
Chapter 7
Megan ran all the way to the house and straight…
Chapter 8
Megan had the opportunity to speak to her father over…
Chapter 9
“Pink?” Devlin said as he stared at the drapery Mortimer…
Chapter 10
Having found a lovely green poult-de-soie silk along with white…
Chapter 11
Ambrose Devlin St. James, fourth Duke of Wrothston and a slew…
Chapter 12
The study door opened just as Megan reached the bottom…
Chapter 13
That afternoon, Devlin was the only one in the front…
Chapter 14
“They say he has a terrible temper.”
Chapter 15
“Frederick Something-or-other is his name.”
Chapter 16
“Would it be all right if I spoke with your…
Chapter 17
“Why haven’t you told me, ‘I told you so’?”
Chapter 18
Megan was surprised by how anxious she was to get…
Chapter 19
As much as Megan would have loved to let Sir…
Chapter 20
Devlin spent the remainder of the day ruining his section…
Chapter 21
Devlin had put Megan in the most horrid mood for…
Chapter 22
The exchange Megan had witnessed between Devlin and the young…
Chapter 23
Not until the next day, and only after careful examination,…
Chapter 24
She’d said it, but Megan knew she’d never stick to…
Chapter 25
Megan stayed in her room for three days brooding, though…
Chapter 26
Devlin dove under the water, swimming the length of the…
Chapter 27
It wasn’t possible that she was on her way to…
Chapter 28
They spent their last night of unmarried bliss in the…
Chapter 29
Megan was so angry she could spit. They were thieves,…
Chapter 30
“Are you sleeping, lass?”
Chapter 31
Megan’s stiffness had lasted all of two minutes after Devlin…
Chapter 32
Megan had slept in half of her clothes. But after…
Chapter 33
Megan quickly swiped up a napkin to fill with the…
Chapter 34
Since she wasn’t paying any attention to where she was…
Chapter 35
Megan didn’t know the English countryside well enough to realize…
Chapter 36
Megan was nowhere to be found in the stables. Devlin…
Chapter 37
“He doesn’t love me.”
Chapter 38
It was two days before Megan visited the stables to…
Chapter 39
The situation was intolerable. Devlin was obviously avoiding her. That…
Chapter 40
Devlin left for London the next morning. Megan found out…
Chapter 41
It made a difference, their new relationship. By mutual agreement,…
Chapter 42
It was a beautiful wedding, just what Megan had always…
Chapter 43
“Make that bloody announcement already, Duchy, or you’re going to…
Chapter 44
Logic told Megan that after the official announcement of her…
Chapter 45
Megan’s comment about the music was like a signal for…
Chapter 46
Megan walked out of the house with her small bag…
Enter the World of Johanna Lindsey
About the Author
Praise
Other Books by Johanna Lindsey
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
England, 1878
“Just what do you think you’re staring at, Tyler Whately?”
Megan Penworthy’s tone was unduly sharp, but then she had meant it to be. It was also, along with the look she turned on him, filled with haughty disdain, as if she couldn’t abide the fellow. That wasn’t true at all. She actually liked the Honorable Tyler Whately.
He was pleasantly handsome, with light blond hair that needed only a minimum of Macassar oil to control it, a trim mustache, and whiskers that weren’t so long that they hid the strength of his jaw. His dark green eyes were rather nice, too. And he was not excessively tall, so that a poor girl had to crane her neck to look up at him. Nor was his body intimidating in its slimness, which was not to say he lacked strength. At twenty-seven, he was a young man with excellent prospects, not to mention a rather sizable estate inherited from his mother’s side of the family.
Megan had no doubt whatsoever that Tyler would make a fine husband. She might even have set her own cap for him if her best friend, Tiffany Roberts, hadn’t confessed soon after they’d met him, that she wanted him.
Those had been Tiffany’s exact words. “I want him, Meg.” The two girls had always spoken bluntly, at least to each other, and when no one else was around to be shocked by it. But Tiffany had been too excited that day to care if anyone else heard her. “This is truly the one. I’ve never felt so—so—when he smiled at me, well, the feeling was—damn, I can’t describe it, but I swear I was going to faint.”
“Probably your corset laced up too tight again,” Megan had replied with a teasing grin. “You know you need at least a little room to breathe—”
“Oh, stop.” Tiffany had laughed. “I’m perfectly serious. What do I do to win him, Meg?”
Just because Megan was the older by five months, she was supposed to have all the answers, but she knew next to nothing about that particular subject, though she was loath to admit it. After all, men fell all over themselves trying to get her attention. It was embarrassing, especially since she never did anything to attract them. But after two years of having every eligible male in the neighborhood come calling, she had finally concluded it was simply her looks, even though she had the most unfashionable hair color in the kingdom, an atrocious, gaudy, bright rusty-copper color, the one and only thing she had inherited from her father.
So Megan had drawn on common sense that day and said to her best friend, “Just smile and be yourself, and he won’t have a chance.”
And he didn’t. Within two months of meeting her, the Right Honorable Tyler had been moved to propose to Tiffany. They were to be married on her eighteenth birthday, in a little less than three months. And no simple ceremony for this viscount’s son. They would be doing it up grand right at the height of the London Season.
Considering how pleased Megan was for her friend, and what a fine fellow she thought Tyler to be, her churli
Tiffany had appreciated it at first, when Megan had set out to make Tyler think she was the veriest bitch, for any young man Tiffany had ever been the least bit interested in had understandably fallen in love with Megan instead. It wasn’t that Tiffany wasn’t pretty. She was quite pretty; her blond curls and deep blue eyes were in the height of fashion. But pretty didn’t stand a chance next to the kind of mesmerizing beauty that Megan had been blessed with. So Megan had set out at the start to make sure that Tyler’s interest didn’t roam elsewhere, most especially in her direction.
But Megan’s rather unorthodox strategy had been going on long enough, that Tyler no longer just flushed and stammered apologies for whatever it was the outspoken Megan had taken offense at. He now fought back, and he was getting rather good at it.
As he flipped the reins sharply at the high-stepping bay that was pulling the open carriage away from Tiffany’s home, where he had picked up both girls, he remarked without looking at Megan again, “Why, I was staring at nothing at all, Miss Penworthy. Absolutely nothing.”
Tiffany stiffened. Tyler had never been quite that cruel in a comeback before. Megan, she saw, took his reply to heart, blushing furiously and turning away so he wouldn’t see that his barb had hurt.
Tiffany couldn’t blame Tyler. There was just so much nastiness a man could take without getting nasty in return. No, it was Tiffany’s fault for not putting a stop to Megan’s scheme long before now. The reason she hadn’t was that small kernel of doubt she still harbored that if Tyler ever saw Megan as she really was, he would become just as smitten as all the other men who were treated to one of her smiles.
But enough was enough. She was sure that Tyler loved her. And if she couldn’t hold him by now, then she didn’t deserve him, or more to the point, he didn’t deserve her. She would speak to Megan right after the vicar’s sermon—or maybe before, at least before the hurt wore off and Megan got mad instead. That thought worried Tiffany, because when Megan got angry, which fortunately wasn’t often, she could be utterly unpredictable.
Tiffany found her chance when they arrived at the parish church on the edge of Teadale Village. Tyler moved ahead of them to pay his respects to Lady Ophelia and her three daughters. As Countess of Wedgwood, Ophelia Thackeray was in possession of the most lofty title in the neighborhood, and she lorded that over the lesser gentry. Even Megan was not immune to Ophelia’s consequence. She never missed an opportunity to put herself before the lady’s notice, because the countess was the reigning hostess in the parish and her invitations were highly coveted. Megan would do just about anything to get one.
Tiffany had to pull Megan back from plowing after Tyler to greet the countess, so she could have a few words with her. Megan’s impatient look didn’t promise she’d be attentive to those words, however, and she was quick to try to forestall them.
“I hope you’re not going to mention what happened in the carriage, Tiffany.”
“I most certainly am,” Tiffany replied, undaunted. “I know what you’re doing, Megan, and I love you for it. I’m sure it even helped in the beginning. But I’d like to think I can hold Tyler on my own now, that the sight of those cavernous dimples of yours won’t have him fainting at your feet.”
Megan blinked, then gave a spontaneous, unladylike hoot of laughter before she hugged her friend. “You’re right, I know. I think it’s just become a habit, my picking on the dear man.”
“So break the habit this very day.”
Megan grinned. “Very well, but you don’t suppose he’ll think something is wrong with me, do you, if I start being nice to him?”
“I think he’ll quit subtly suggesting that I stop seeing you.”
Megan’s midnight-blue eyes flared, then narrowed. “The devil he did! When?”
“More than once, but can you blame him when you only show him your very worst? It baffles him why we’re such good friends, since it appears to him that we are so very different in temperament.”
“Fat lot he knows,” Megan snapped. “We’re cut from the same cloth, right down to the ragged hem.” But then she bit her lip, unable to hide her concern. “He wouldn’t insist, would he, after you’re married?”
“You know he’s not the least bit highhanded,” Tiffany said reassuringly. “And even if he did insist, it wouldn’t make a jot of difference. I’m afraid you’re stuck with this friend for life, Miss Penworthy.”
Megan smiled the smile that released both dimples and gave her a different kind of beauty, a look that was warm, open—approachable. It even gave Tiffany pause, though she was gifted by that special smile quite often. It still made her feel privileged each time it was bestowed on her, and quite certain there wasn’t anything in the world she wouldn’t do for this dearest friend. It also made the gentlemen in the churchyard who had been covertly watching Megan stop their conversations in mid-sentence to stare openly. Several even took hope from it and determined to try their hand again at courting the incomparable beauty of the parish.
Having said her peace, Tiffany put her arm through Megan’s and led her to the church door, where Tyler was still talking with the four Thackerays. She whispered aside with a grin, “I feel lucky today, Meg. That long-awaited invite is going to be ours at last, I just know it. And you look smashing in that new blue poplin. Old hatchet-face will most definitely be impressed.”
“Do you really think so?” Megan asked hopefully.
Tiffany wished that damn invite wasn’t so important to her friend, but it was. And it wasn’t just that the countess seemed to know everyone in the whole of Devonshire, that people came from miles away to her parties, always guaranteeing new and interesting people to meet. That was only part of it, though a big part for a young girl with the same hopes as every other young girl, to find the man of her romantic dreams, since she hadn’t found him in the gentlemen of her own acquaintance.
That still wasn’t the main reason, for Megan would be having her London Season in a few months and would meet all the eligible men she could hope for then. No, the Countess of Wedgwood had worked hard over the years to make it an achievement to be invited to her home. To never end up on the guest list implied you weren’t quite up to scratch, or worse, that there was actually something wrong with you, a family scandal perhaps, that just hadn’t made the rounds yet. Then again, every other family of note in the parish had received its invite, even if only once, even Tiffany’s family. Her parents had gone, but she had begged off with an illness out of loyalty to Megan, though that was one secret she had never told her friend, for it would only have made her more desperate for that invite, and she was already desperate enough.
They had been so sure, the two of them, that the countess was merely waiting until Megan turned eighteen. But two months had passed since then, and the squire and his daughter were still being ignored.
Tiffany squeezed Megan’s arm in answer to her inquiry, praying she wasn’t just getting her friend’s hopes up, only to have them dashed again. But this was the first time in over a month that they would have the opportunity to speak with the countess, thanks to Tyler. Perhaps all Lady Ophelia needed was to be reminded that Megan Penworthy was her neighbor…
“Next Saturday, then, Mr. Whately,” Lady Ophelia was saying when the two girls joined them. “Just a small gathering of forty or so. And do bring your lovely fiancée.”
The countess smiled at Tiffany, stared at Megan for a moment, then turned and entered the church.
It was a direct cut, a deliberate cut. Alice Thackeray, the youngest daughter at seventeen, even giggled before she hurried after her mother. The other two girls, Agnes and Anne, merely looked spitefully pleas
Tiffany was appalled for only a moment before she got angry. How dare they? Everyone knew that Megan and Tiffany were best friends, and that Megan accompanied Tiffany and Tyler almost everywhere because she was their chaperon. It was as if the Thackerays had planned this slight, timed it perfectly for the greatest effect, this subtle telling that Megan’s coveted invitation wasn’t going to be forthcoming, ever. Tiffany was afraid she knew why. Megan was just too lovely to have around when one had three less-than-pretty daughters to marry off.
Tyler cleared his throat, recalling them to the fact that they were just standing there. Tiffany finally glanced at Megan to see how badly she was taking the Thackerays’ snubbing. Worse than Tiffany expected. Megan’s face was as pale as the white ribbons on her bonnet, her large blue eyes awash with tears that were going to spill at any moment, though she was trying to hold them back. Tiffany’s heart ached for her, and it made her even angrier that there wasn’t anything she could do to help other than to offer her support.
She squeezed her friend’s hand, drawing those bewildered blue eyes to her. “Why?” Megan whispered.
Tiffany was angry enough to be blunt. “You’re too pretty, damn it. She’s got those plain chicks of hers to marry off, but no man will even look at them if you’re around.”
“But that’s so—so—”
“Selfish? Petty? Absolutely, Meg, but—”
“It’s all right, Tiff, really—but I need to be alone right—”