Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  Meggie thought that her mother-in-law could have spoken to her rather than through her. Not a very good beginning.

  “I believe we will both be ready for some tea in a short time,” Thomas said, and turned to Meggie.

  She said, “Yes, my lady, I will be delighted to be brought back for tea.”

  Meggie said not another word as she trailed Thomas out of the large, cold, dismal drawing room with its tattered furnishings and thick heavy draperies that tightly covered all the windows.

  What a dreadful room.

  “My mother is perhaps a bit eccentric,” Thomas said, not looking at her.

  “Maybe she should meet my grandmother,” Meggie said, not dropping a bit of her good cheer. “I will probably be able to tell you in a week who would win that battle. I was rather hoping that since she believed my dowry was adequate, I would be treated better.”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t entirely ill health that kept her away from our wedding.”

  To his surprise and relief, Meggie giggled. “You were trying to save my feelings, and so you told me a very blameless lie.” She sighed. “You did it well, but still, you were caught out. I always am as well. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what those things you wrote to her about me that aren’t so adequate?”

  “I wrote only that you were a brilliant flower ready to be plucked.”

  “That’s nauseating.”

  “Yes, I thought you’d like that. Truth is, she didn’t want to come because she is the most perverse woman in England. I could have been marrying a princess, and she still would have sniffed and stuck her nose in the air.”

  “That’s all right then. Perversity is interesting.”

  “I just hope you will still think that in a week from now.” Thomas nodded to a desiccated old man who looked like he was in horrible pain. He was walking slowly toward them, his back terribly bent, an occasional moan slipping out of his mouth.

  “My lord,” the old man said, rolling the lord around on his tongue. “Aye, what a lovely sound that be.”

  Thomas said, “Barnacle, do see to our luggage.”

  “Aye, my lord, but it will be an awesome struggle, as ye well know, since ye have cracked my poor back for me many times for me over the years.”

  “I know, Barnacle. What I meant was, get Ennis to fetch the luggage and you will instruct him as to how to carry it and where to place it.”

  “It is good of ye to be more specific, my lord. Be she the new ladyship?”

  “Aye,” Meggie said. “That I be.”

  “Yer pretty, all that hair what can’t make up its mind what color it is. Yer not all that big, leastwise not as big as his lordship has become. Mayhap ye’d walk on my back for me when it gets all knotted up?”

  “I would be delighted to walk on your back, Barnacle.”

  The old man nodded, threw back his head, and yelled, “Ennis! Get yer skinny buttocks and yer strong back in here, lad.”

  Meggie was sure she saw one corner of Thomas’s mouth turn up a bit, but he said nothing.

  Barnacle made his way slowly back to the front door.

  Meggie said, “Barnacle looks as if he’s nearly dying with pain, Thomas. How bad is it?”

  “Not at all bad.”

  “But he looks like he’s ready to yowl in agony. I even heard him moaning. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Few people have. Actually, I’ve seen him practicing his agony in front of the mirror. He nearly caught me because I laughed, I just couldn’t help it. I was about fourteen at the time. I don’t doubt that his back bothers him a bit, but most of it’s a sham. He’s done it since before I was born. The old bugger will doubtless outlive all of us, even with his back nearly bent like a horseshoe.”

  “That look of his does have a potent effect,” Meggie said.

  “You sound impressed.”

  “Oh, I am. He looks to be a splendid old man. Did you ever walk on his back for him?”

  “When I was a boy. Now it’s your turn. He will grunt and groan and enjoy himself immensely, and complain the whole time.”

  “He is an unusual butler, Thomas. Ah, I wonder what you will think when you meet Hollis, my uncle Douglas’s butler. He’s more distinguished than the king.”

  “It wouldn’t require all that much.”

  She smiled and said, “Barnacle. That is a very strange name.”

  “You haven’t begun to see all the strangeness at Pendragon yet, Meggie.”

  “Thomas, why didn’t your mother wish to come to our wedding? Besides just being perverse?”

  He looked her straight in the eye and said, “She didn’t want me to marry.”

  “Me?”

  “No, anyone. She believes I’m too young, but she’ll come to love you, Meggie. How could she not?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t like the fact that my father is a vicar. Maybe she thinks I’m not well enough born for her son the earl.”

  “No,” her son said with a goodly dose of cynicism, “she just doesn’t want to relinquish the reins of control here at Pendragon.”

  “Well, I don’t have to, you know, I—”

  “Meggie, you are my wife, the countess of Lancaster, the mistress of Pendragon. Pendragon is your responsibility. Don’t forget about what your uncle said about responsibility.”

  “No,” Meggie said slowly, “I won’t.” She turned and looked around the entrance hall. It wasn’t dreadful at all. It was cold and dismal, like the drawing room, but it had some majesty to it, soaring up three stories to the blackened beamed roof. There was a huge old chandelier hanging down from that immense height. Meggie hoped the rope holding it was very sturdy indeed and wondered when it had last been checked and cleaned. Probably not since it had been rebuilt after Cromwell had burned it down. She looked down when her heels clicked on the marble floor. Those black-and-white tiles were lovely. All they needed was a good scrubbing, maybe three good scrubbings. The filth didn’t hide how impressive they still were. Suits of armor lined one wall, one after the other, and at least a half dozen sconces soldiered along in a straight line above them. The sconces and the armor looked like they hadn’t been used or cleaned or polished for at least a century, maybe two.

  Thomas seemed to see nothing amiss. He said with a negligent wave, “The armor—it’s Flemish, for the most part, fifteenth century. My uncle bought them from a viscount in Surrey who’d lost all his money, and had them carted here.”

  Then he said as he pointed to the huge oak staircase that could accommodate a near battalion marching side by side, “The house is old. Since it was originally built in the late fourteen hundreds by the Kavanaghs, it was added to over the years, then destroyed, rebuilt, and ended up looking like this. Both my great-uncle and my uncle did very little. You will find it somewhat drafty. Now that I have access to unexpected funds I will finish off all the necessary repairs.”

  “Is that why you married me, Thomas? You needed my dowry?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly the reason.”

  “Good. I hope there is enough for everything you wish to do.”

  He said, “You amaze me, Meggie, the way your brain works. No, I didn’t marry you for your damned dowry. You will forget that.”

  “I never thought that you did.” She was looking at his mouth. He started, then took a step back. He pointed to the very old paintings climbing up the wall beside the staircase. Meggie, engaged, said, “Are these your ancestors or Kavanaghs?”

  “My uncle claimed they were all Malcombes. They are so old, no one, however, really cares. In the master’s bedchamber there are portraits of Malcombes. A gloomy bunch. A couple of rogues, an out-and-out scoundrel, a womanizer, and a prominent member of the House of Lords.”

  “Now you are the earl. You will do something amazing, Thomas, I just know it. You have a strong sense of duty, your brain is quite fit, and you don’t indulge yourself overly.”

  He appeared startled. “You really believe that?” he asked slowly, stopping on the stairs and lookin
g down at her. You believe that my brain is better than that damned Jeremy’s? Is my sense of duty greater?

  “Oh yes, certainly. I’m your wife and I should know all your good points as well as your bad. Now, your uncle was, of course, your father’s younger brother?”

  “That’s right. He made his money in trade, something my mother doesn’t like to speak of, but his brain served him well. I happen to agree with him. Making money all on your own isn’t a bad thing. In my case, it was necessary because there wasn’t much.”

  Meggie looked down at the stair railing that needed polish very badly. “Actually, I’ve never really had to think about money or the lack of it. My uncle the earl manages vast estates and is very rich, but it all comes from old wealth, you understand. Uncle Douglas is an excellent caretaker and more, he has added to the coffers through his fine management. At least that’s what I overheard his estate manager saying.”

  “However would you, a female, know of that?”

  She said without guile, “I have told you, have I not, that I have been a great eavesdropper in my time? My father would sometimes come to me if he suspected something and needed it verified. I just wish I’d eavesdropped when Jeremy and my father—no, never mind that, it isn’t at all important.”

  Thomas wished Jeremy were here right at this moment, standing on the stair next to him. He’d pick him up and hurl him to the marble floor, then stomp him. He wanted to hear his jaw snap when his fist hit him.

  He said, “Whereever did you get this eavesdropping tendency?”

  She said easily, thinking everything was just fine, “I inherited it from my aunt Sinjun. I fear it is a lifelong habit, my lord.”

  “I will keep that to myself. I will also be watchful of what I say when you don’t appear to be around.”

  “Wise of you. Now, my uncle Ryder inherited a huge amount of money from my great-uncle Brandon as well as a sugar plantation in Jamaica. As for my father, thanks to Uncle Douglas, who has always tended his money, he is also rich. Then Kildrummy Castle came into our lives and that brought more money into my father’s pockets. Not that he ever noticed or spoke of it.” Meggie looked at him closely. “If you did marry me for my money, why then, I think you made a very wise investment.”

  “Thank you. I agree. It was actually far more that I’d expected.”

  “How much was it?”

  He stopped again, looked down at her, and said slowly, “One doesn’t speak of that to a lady, surely you know that.”

  “No, I don’t know that at all. I was bought. Isn’t it fair that I know my price?”

  “You weren’t bought.”

  “My father paid for me, thus I was bought. Come on, now. Spit it out. How much, Thomas?”

  “Dammit. Ten thousand pounds.”

  He wanted to kick himself for just spitting that out. He arched a brow and tried to look supercilious. “Do you think you’re worth ten thousand pounds?”

  She sighed. “I’ve lived all my life never knowing hunger or want. If I saw a bolt of material that pleased me, I would order it. My father spent so much money on my Season in London and I never even thought about it.” She sighed. “I didn’t even find a husband. After Jeremy—” Her voice dropped like a stone off a cliff.

  21

  HE SAID, VERY carefully, unable to help himself, “What do you mean, ‘after Jeremy’?”

  “Forget Jeremy. He’s just an almost dratted cousin, nothing more. The fact is that I’m pitiful, Thomas, and I never realized it until now. No, truth be told, I’m not worth anywhere near that many groats. I think you got a pig in a poke.”

  “No,” he said, “I got a Sherbrooke with beautiful blue eyes that she’ll pass along to our children.”

  “Yes, I will try. I’m sorry, Thomas.”

  Thomas stopped, looked at her, an eyebrow arched up. “Whyever are you sorry?”

  “I’m very sorry if you were poor after your father divorced your mother.”

  “Never hunger or real want, Meggie. My uncle was at low ebb the last twenty years of his life, but he took my mother and me in, and he did it gladly, generously. He was a fine man. I will tell you something though. It’s a sorry thing when there are people depending on you and you have to think and scheme and dicker with all sorts of very distasteful men to get together enough money to see to their needs. That was true for me until two years ago. That was when my first ship arrived back in Genoa from China.” He took her arm and they continued up the stairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. There was a thread-worn Turkish carpet tacked down to the steps. Ancient, by the looks of it. “I wonder how many feet have walked on this rug?”

  That got his attention. “I’ve wondered that myself. I think when I was about thirteen years old I decided that several armies had stayed here, bringing the feet up to at least five thousand.”

  “That sounds about right. Two armies?”

  “Cromwell came twice. The first time he failed, but not the second time.”

  “Oh. I didn’t tell you that my aunt Sinjun was an heiress. Actually she was one of the premiere heiresses in all of England. She married a Scottish earl who was so poor his castle was near to falling down about his ears. She saved him. Do you think perhaps that I am saving you just a bit? You could consider me another one of your ships sailing into port, all loaded with wonderful goods?”

  “You’re more than one ship, Meggie. When I think of your goods, my toes curl.” He gave her the wickedest grin imaginable.

  “I like the sound of that. Now, about your goods—”

  He kissed her hard and fast, then straightened. “Also, my father was very well off, Meggie. Together, you have made me rich indeed. Generations to come will bless your dowry.”

  Down at the very end of a long, dim, very wide corridor that echoed and another threadbare Turkish carpet over oak planks that creaked, lay the master bedchamber. Actually, it was a suite of rooms, she heard Thomas say from behind her. The master bedchamber, she saw, was so dismal that she had to swallow and seam her lips together to keep back a moan of disappointment. She shouldn’t have been surprised after that drawing room. But still, she was. The large room was filled with heavy old furniture, tattered draperies, miles and miles of bare oak plank floor leading to a mammoth bed that sat on a three-foot dais. If anything, it was more depressing than the drawing room. She said finally, her arms crossed over her chest, “It is certainly a very big room, Thomas. There is an extraordinary amount of floor.”

  “There is a dressing room in there with a nice big copper tub, then another bedchamber beyond, which would be your bedchamber, I suppose.”

  The dressing room was small and dark and smelled of camphor balls. The bedchamber beyond surprised her. When she opened the door, she had to blink because the sun was flooding in so brightly. Where had the storm gone? She would have sworn it was still battering the area, given the dankness of every other room she’d seen in Pendragon, but not this room. It was white, pure white, no other color, and it made you want to fling your arms out and whirl about.

  She walked to the middle of the room, standing on a thick white carpet that covered nearly all the floor in this airy room. “Oh my,” she said.

  “You weren’t expecting this. It’s called, originally enough, the White Room.”

  “No. I like it very much, Thomas.” She paused a moment, not knowing exactly how one spoke of this, and Thomas said, “Just spit it out, Meggie.”

  “My father and Mary Rose share a bedchamber. So do my uncles and their wives. I’ve seen Uncle Colin carry Aunt Sinjun into his bedchamber over his shoulder. I’ve always believed that was the way things were done. Do you think we could do that as well?”

  “You wish to share a bedchamber with me?” he asked slowly, and knew he was stupid to feel the leap of hope.

  “Well, yes. How can I improve upon you if I don’t have you with me?”

  “It would be well nigh impossible. I need improvement?”

  “Oh yes, but I will say that I truly
believe in ten years you will become the perfect man.”

  “Only ten years?”

  “I’ve always been an optimist.”

  He walked to her and cupped her face in his palm. “Yes, I knew you were the moment I met you.”

  Meggie went up on her tiptoes and looked right at his mouth.

  “You want me to kiss you?”

  “Yes,” she said, nuzzling his chin. “If you have to ask me that, then I’m afraid that it will constitute an additional improvement. We’re perhaps talking more than ten years here, Thomas.”

  He ducked his head down and kissed her. Her mouth was so bloody warm and soft, just like the rest of her—both inside and out—and that included her loyal heart, damn her. He lifted his head and continued to cup her cheek. “Your face is very expressive, Meggie. You hate my bedchamber, don’t you?”

  “It could be improved upon—”

  “Just like me.”

  “No, I expect you’ll be much easier. I propose that we use this lovely white bedchamber until I have managed to make the larger one more inhabitable.”

  He said even more slowly, his fingers lightly stroking her jaw, “I have never heard of husbands and wives sharing a bedchamber unless they were forced to. Certainly it is difficult for me to imagine that my father and mother ever shared the same bed. I mean, certain husbands and wives share a bed long enough to, well, perform intimacies, but not the entire night. Are you certain that all your male relatives share with their wives?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He said slowly, “I think I need to think about this, Meggie.”

  “I don’t think I snore,” she said. “You do, though, at least you did that first night. However, that first night was undoubtedly a strain on you, so I should not be too swift with a conclusion here.”

  He dropped his hand from her face. “Perhaps snoring is one reason husbands and wives don’t sleep together the entire night.”

  “I think Mary Rose just shoves my father over on his side when he snores. I heard her speaking of it once to him.”

  “I will think about it, Meggie.”