Meggie gaped at him. He wanted her to marry him? This was quite the strangest day—kicking a hassock, falling on her rump, and a marriage proposal. And then Meggie thought of Jeremy, thought of kicking him off the back of his prized Arabian stud, perhaps even kicking him off the edge of the earth. At least Jeremy had taught her a very important lesson. Ignorance of a man’s opinions could bring a woman low. She said, “I’m sorry, Thomas, but before I give this consideration I must question you first.”
“Question me? Oh, I see. No, Meggie, I’m not a wife beater. I would never strike a woman.”
“Neither is Jeremy and neither would he.”
Naturally he knew exactly who this Jeremy was, and he felt cold all the way to his toes as he said mildly, “This is your almost dratted cousin?”
“Yes, he is visiting. I wanted to smack him silly last night.”
“Ah, so he’s the one who caused your ire to rise to dangerous levels. He’s the one responsible for making you boot the stuffing in my hassock?”
“He’s the one. He’s also a man. I couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth, Thomas, and he’s only been married six months or so. I know my father isn’t at all like that, but I just don’t know about you, and so I must ask you. You see, if I married you and you turned into Jeremy, then I would have to shoot you. A vicar’s daughter isn’t allowed to do things like that.”
“I understand perfectly. Ask away.”
“Do you believe women are stupid?”
“No more stupid than men.”
“I personally believe we are far less stupid than men. I came to this belief quite objectively after raising Max and Leo. All right, so you claim to be even-handed. Now, do you believe it is a husband’s right to tell his wife she may not ride her mare when she becomes with child?”
He could but stare at her, her voice so very serious, so intense, and he remembered the anger that made her face red to her eyebrows. He said slowly, “If I had a wife and she was carrying a child, why then I would trust that she had the good sense not to do anything to endanger either herself or the babe. I would not want a wife who is a twit. I would not want a wife who needed instruction on something as obvious as that.”
“Excellent, just excellent,” Meggie said. “I knew you weren’t an idiot. Now, do you wish God hadn’t made women so that you wouldn’t have to deal with them when you wanted a child? You wish that He’d devised another way for men to acquire boy children?”
“No. Don’t tell me Jeremy could have intimated anything that ridiculous? Surely you mustn’t have heard correctly.”
“That was a very long question and your answer was very short. Would you care to elaborate?”
“No, Meggie, I wouldn’t. Have I passed your test?”
She stroked her jaw, frowned at the hassock that had laid her low, and said, sighing, “Actually, to be honest, I’m not sure that Jeremy really believes that. It’s just what I accused him of believing. Do you believe that husbands have the right to give orders to their wives?”
He said slowly, “I’ve never been married, Meggie. Would I ever give you orders? Yes, if you were in danger and I wanted to protect you.”
“That’s all right,” she said, staring again at the dead mouse in the far corner. “I would give you orders as well if I believed you were in danger. Also, you’re bigger than I am. If we ever were in any danger, surely your size would be useful.”
“I hope so.”
“I know all about horses, Thomas. I don’t know much about studs and how to manage them, but I know I’m smart enough to learn. If you had a stud, would you consider me too stupid to be useful, all of this based solely on the fact that I’m not a man?”
“You, the premier racing cat trainer, not useful? That’s ridiculous, Meggie. No man, not even an idiot, could say that.”
“He believes women are too stupid to know man sorts of things.”
“A moron,” Thomas said. “The man who said that is a moron. Jeremy, I take it? Would you like me to pound him, perhaps kick him off the cliffs into the Channel?”
She shook her head sadly. “No. If you did that, he would hit on the beach, not wash out at all, and his body would be quickly discovered and you would be hanged.” She sighed. “Anyway, if I’m not allowed to pound him, then it wouldn’t be fair to have you do it. Do you like women, Thomas?”
“Immensely.”
“Do you really wish to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You’ve known me no more than a month.”
“How odd. It seems like I’ve known you all my life.” He paused a moment, looked down at the floor, then out the window. Finally, he said, surprise in his voice, “The thing is, Meggie, you make me laugh.”
She walked up to him, hugged her arms around his back, and leaned her head back. “I can’t think of a better reason. All right, I’ll marry you.”
He nearly shook he was so relieved. He slowly closed his arms around her back. He didn’t kiss her, just held her. He would have to accustom himself to being a husband.
“Thomas?”
“Yes, Meggie.”
“If we were blessed, and I conceived, would you expect me to present you with a boy?”
Children, he thought, children, something he’d assumed were simply a part of married life, but he hadn’t thought of them, not as a reality, not as a natural result of making love to Meggie. “I could probably expect all I wanted. I don’t think one can predict these things.” He held her closer, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of anything outside of right now and the both of them standing very close in this room with a dead mouse in the corner.
He said against her left ear, “Perhaps I will set Tansie up in a quilt business.”
She laughed and lightly bit his collarbone, even as she groaned at the taste of the sticky brandy on the front of his shirt.
Jeremy Stanton-Greville left at nine o’clock the following morning, feeling just a bit guilty because Meggie was obviously still angry at him. He’d wanted to hug her and punch her arm, tell her that soon she would learn that men could be led about like pigs with rings in their noses. No, not a good image. Well, maybe some day he would tell her that he’d just been jesting. She’d been so defensive, so ready to tear his throat out at his steady stream of insults.
Fact was, he had insulted her and her sex quite thoroughly, but not when he’d said that a wife’s well-being should be the husband’s responsibility. When Meggie was married, she would learn that was one of the main uses for a husband. That and sex. He grinned vacuously and began whistling between his thoroughbred’s ears.
Not seven minutes later, Thomas Malcombe, seventh earl of Lancaster, knocked on the vicarage door.
Mary Rose, who was devoutly grateful that Jeremy had taken his leave, fearing that Meggie would go over the edge and try to stuff him up the chimney, blinked at the sight of Thomas Malcombe, beautifully garbed in riding clothes, so grateful that it was he and not Jeremy returning for some reason, that she nearly threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. He was carrying a riding crop in his right hand, his hat in his left. His dark hair was immaculate and she suspected that he hadn’t set that hat on his head at all this morning. He was, she realized, a very handsome man.
She gave him her hand. “Good morning, Thomas. What a delightful surprise. Meggie is visiting with Mrs. Beach, who suffers from asthma and was wheezing quite dreadfully all last night.”
“I am sorry about Mrs. Beach. However, I am here to see the vicar, Mary Rose.”
“Ah. May I ask why? You see, Tysen is dreadfully busy right now, or at least he’s trying to be busy. Every time he looks at Rory, he still must pick him up and toss him over his head just to hear him shriek with laughter. That’s why the sermon is lagging behind.”
“I don’t plan to keep him from either Rory or his sermon for very long. I just want to ask him if I can marry his daughter.”
Mary Rose didn’t hesitate, gave him a big smile, and said, “Oh, I am so
very pleased, Thomas, so very pleased indeed. Meggie has been so unhappy, although you wouldn’t readily see it, but her father and I know her very well, and we’ve worried so much about her. Then you came and wooed her, and just look what has happened. Oh my, both Rory and Tysen will be delighted to see you. Come this way, Thomas.”
Thomas set his hands on her shoulders before she turned to dance away down the corridor. “I hope the vicar will accept me. He is a fine man. I think you would make a magnificent mother-in-law.”
“Now that’s a frightening thought,” Mary Rose said. “I will try not to become a shrew and a tyrant, like my own mother-in-law, who, I am convinced, will outlive even her grandchildren. Tysen! Come here, Thomas Malcombe wishes to speak to you.”
When Tysen asked her to come in a few minutes later, Mary Rose said, “We will have champagne, in just a moment. How delightful that Meggie will live here. We had always feared the day she wed that she would move to a faraway land and we would scarce see her.”
“Well,” Thomas said, “we won’t be living here all the time, Mary Rose. I have other homes.”
When Meggie followed the commotion into her father’s study, she realized that Thomas had already done the deed.
“Well,” she said from the doorway, dangling her straw bonnet by its ribbons, “will my father allow this business to proceed, Thomas?”
“Oh yes,” Mary Rose said, and rushed to enfold her stepdaughter in her arms.
The champagne was quite delicious. Rory, who’d never left the study, and who hadn’t really cared that he would gain his first and only brother-in-law, was allowed a small sip.
Tysen drank the champagne, smiled, said all the right things, but worried. He worried that he didn’t know a damned thing about Thomas Malcombe. He worried that Meggie was marrying the first acceptable man to ask her when she still loved Jeremy Stanton-Greville, something he wasn’t about to tell Mary Rose.
As for Thomas Malcombe, Tysen would find out everything about the damned man—down to any birthmark—before he allowed his precious daughter to walk to the altar. But Meggie was smiling, grinning like a fool, actually. She’d always had excellent instincts. He’d always trusted her, but this was for life, no reprieves if the man turned out to be a gambler or a womanizer. And what about her feelings for Jeremy? Had he put the nail in her feelings before he’d left? Were they gone now? Was this a sign of it? He wished he knew.
When he thought about it later, Tysen knew he would be very surprised if indeed he found a skeleton lurking in the back of one of Lord Lancaster’s closets. He was an excellent young man.
Still, he would look.
11
WHEN TYSEN FINALLY managed to snag his daughter away from the rest of the family, particularly Alec, who wanted to show her a new racing cat training technique that involved a bucket, he led her through the vicarage garden, to the gate, and down the path to the cemetery, where few parishioners chose to spend any time when not absolutely necessary. He needed privacy. He unlatched the very old black wrought-iron gate, slowly pulling it open for her to step onto the path that led into the depths of the cemetery.
The air was different here. Still and soft, as quiet as fingers stroking a racing cat’s back. Meggie stopped, breathed in deeply, and said over her shoulder, “You come here when you wish to think, Papa. I remember you sitting on that one particular bench from my youngest years. I used to wonder why you so admired Sir Vincent D’Egle, a medieval warrior who likely wasn’t an overly religious man. I picture him in battle, yelling and swinging his sword and finally being cleaved in two himself at far too young an age.”
“Cleaved in two? Actually, I also rather fancy that might have happened to him. However, no matter how he died, there is something about his grave that draws me back,” he said, smiling down at her as he took her hand. “I don’t know why this should be so, but I know that when I sit there, and I hear Mr. Peters ring the church bells, I feel peace and calm seep into my very bones. You still bring flowers to his grave.”
Meggie nodded, and said, “It will rain soon. Can you feel how heavy the air has suddenly become? How it is already wrapping itself about your head, wanting to soak you? I’ve decided that it rains too much in England. Everyone is so tired of feeling damp to their toes and—”
“Meggie, I must speak to you.”
“I know, Papa. You’re being very gentle with me. When you do that, I know there is something you’re dreading to tell me. I can take it. Has Leo done something awful at Oxford? Will I need to go there and fix things? Try to teach him what’s what?”
“I devoutly hope not. No, it’s something else, Meggie.”
She looked at him steadily. “This is about me, isn’t it? And about Thomas.”
“Oh Meggie, my sweet girl, let’s sit here beside Sir Vincent on his bench. Yes, this is about Thomas. I am your father and you know down to your bones that I will always want what is the very best for you.”
She didn’t say a word, just looked at him and waited for the ax to fall.
He realized in that moment that she just wasn’t ready to be blighted. He was willing to wait, and when he paused, she quickly said, her hand lightly closing over one of his, all forced smiles and enthusiasm, “I was listening to Mary Rose read Rory the story of Renard the Fox.”
“It is his favorite,” Tysen said, running his fingers over the smooth worn gray stone. “But Mary Rose must read it to him only in Latin.” He shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “How very strange it is. We live in the modern world, yet two of my sons and my wife speak Latin. Latin. It boggles the mind, Meggie. Now, my dear—”
Meggie said quickly, “I meant to leave, but then she started reading him Chanticleer the Cock. Mary Rose can even cock-a-doodle-doo in Latin.”
“Rory is only four years old, Meggie. At least he doesn’t announce his age yet in Latin.”
Meggie laughed. “He will. Give him a couple more years. You know that Mary Rose is very smart, Papa. I believe she was learning Latin at Rory’s age.” Tysen looked at his daughter while she spoke, so Sherbrooke in her looks—blondish brownish hair with all the shades in between, and clear light blue eyes the color of the summer sky. In short, she looked like him, only her features were more finely drawn. Her chin, he thought, was very possibly more stubborn. As for her temperament, his daughter saw something that needed to be done, and she did it, no shilly-shallying about, no excuses, never procrastinating. She felt strongly about things, many times too strongly. No middle ground for her. He remembered she’d been three years old when she saw old Mrs. McGilly struggling with several packages on High Street and had immediately tried to help her. But she wasn’t strong enough, and so had fetched two men from the tavern to tote the bundles. One of them, Tysen remembered, had been very tipsy and proceeded to drop the packages. Meggie had scolded him.
He grinned with the memory. Yes, his Meggie knew only one direction—forward. In this, she was just like her aunt Sinjun. And, he knew, she wanted to move smartly forward with Thomas Malcombe, Lord Lancaster.
Meggie was saying now, “Did you know that Alec wants to be the Prussian Gebhard Leberecht von Blucher when he grows up? He can even say the whole name. And spell it. He’s had me play Napoleon more times than I can count. He’s chased me all over the graveyard and into the bell tower. Then he finds me and claims he’s not going to send me back to Elba. No, he’s going to send me some place where I will rot. In perpetuity. He actually says perpetuity.”
Tysen felt the tug in his heart, let it blossom a moment, flooding him with sweet memories of Meggie as a little girl, her finger in every village pie, her ear against every door, her opinion offered on every sermon. And that little girl had adored him since she’d come from her mother’s womb and smiled up at him. He said easily, “He always chases me and Mary Rose too. I have yet to be graced with perpetuity.” He took her hand in his, competent hands, beautiful long fingers. He said, “Meggie, you are only nineteen years old. You spent only one Season in London.
You have lived all your life in Glenclose-in-Rowan.”
“I live in Scotland every year too, Papa.”
“Yes, well, that’s true.”
She turned to him then, took one of his hands between hers. “All right. I’m ready for whatever you have to tell me. Come, spit it out, Papa. What is wrong? What have you learned about Thomas?”
“I don’t wish you to misunderstand me,” Tysen said slowly. “I like Thomas Malcombe. He saved Rory’s life, I am quite convinced of that, as is Dr. Dreyfus. He is a charming young man. He seems intelligent, witty, responsible. From what I have heard from your uncle Douglas’s man in London, he was no pauper even before his father died and left him his holdings. Thomas’s business interests are evidently primarily in Italy, where he has grown rich in shipping, in a very short time. I could find out nothing about him that would make me worry.
“He wanted to pay me a dowry for you. Naturally I refused. You will not go to your husband empty-handed. You are not quite the heiress your aunt Sinjun was, but your dowry is really quite satisfactory. Lord Lancaster is assuredly not a fortune hunter.”
“Then what is Lord Lancaster?”
“Meggie, your dowry aside, you and I have known Lord Lancaster for only two months, maybe not even that long. I knew his father, didn’t particularly dislike the man. He was secretive, Meggie, very tight-fisted, didn’t speak well of anyone. He was not a man I would have easily trusted. Now, I don’t believe you know this. The old earl divorced his wife and kicked both her and her young son out of Bowden Close. Neither of them ever came back. I have heard rumors about a second wife, perhaps another child, but I don’t know if any of that is true.”
“None of that in any way redounds on Thomas.”
“No.”
“Thomas told me that there had been a falling out between his father and his mother, and she took Thomas and left. He didn’t mention a divorce. I didn’t press him. He doesn’t like to speak of it. I believe he’s been very hurt by it.”
Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123) Page 41