I own a magic statue, my lord.
She could see his look of disbelief, and how could she prove it, especially when she didn’t have the sheelagh? Even if she did, she shuddered at the thought of using it again.
You might think you married me because of your grandmother, but really I trapped you into it through magic.
She shook her head. It was impossible.
And if she did convince him of the truth, it might be disastrous. He loathed his grandmother for trying to rule him. He’d warned Meg yesterday never to try to change or control him. How would he react if he believed that he’d been a puppet of her magic will?
So, she’d have to get the sheelagh back without her husband suspecting a thing. She leaned her aching head against the chilly glass of the window, wondering what sin she’d committed to end up in this state—
A knock on the door had her whirling around as if her guilty conscience were about to stalk in, finger pointed.
“Come.”
It was only Susie, followed by an anxious Laura.
“Feeling perkier, milady?” the maid asked. “Would you like a bath? A luncheon up here? A decanter of brandy?”
For all her cheerfulness, the last offering showed that Susie was still not sure about her. “A bath, please,” Meg said meekly, attracted by such indulgence in the middle of the day.
Ah, the luxury of high living.
And how little she deserved it.
Susie bustled off and Laura perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?” After a moment, blushing, she added, “Was it so very terrible?”
Meg almost groaned. Oh, what a tangle. “I’m perfectly all right,” she said, trying to exude contentment. “I just felt very tired.”
“Oh. I suppose that’s natural.” Before Meg could think what to say, she added, “The earl was up early, though. We weren’t sure what to do about breakfast, so we all dressed and went downstairs. He was already there, with Mr. Chancellor. And a bird. It called me Delilah!”
Meg had to laugh, and she tried to explain a little about the parrot. She’d heard a question in her sister’s words, however. A question as to why the husband should be so energetic in the morning when the new wife was worn out. Since Meg didn’t have a notion how to respond, she avoided that. “I hope they fed you.”
“Oh yes.” Laura dipped her head and looked up, seeming younger and unsure of herself. “I heard something . . .”
Meg couldn’t turn away her sister when troubled. She sat beside her. “What?”
“When we were approaching the morning room, I heard him say something. The earl, I mean. Something about it being foolish to have married you. That he regretted it. And about finding out all your secrets. What did he mean, Meg?”
Though she suddenly felt achingly hollow, Meg made herself laugh. “I’m sure it was just one of those things people say. After all, our marriage was foolish by the world’s view. Or perhaps he meant he regretted the rush of it.”
“And secrets?”
“When two people are strangers, they are bound to have secrets. When we marry someone, we begin to learn more about them.”
“I think I’d rather find out beforehand.”
Meg silently echoed that, but all the same, she knew she didn’t regret marrying the Earl of Saxonhurst. If only she could make it work.
Susie returned then to say that the bath was ready, and Meg was grateful to escape her sister’s concern and curiosity.
As she sank into the warm, delicately perfumed water, however, she was fighting tears again. Of course, the earl was disappointed in her, and suspicious, and regretful. Not only had she sent him away on their wedding night, but he’d then caught her wandering the garden in the bitter early hours of a winter’s day.
What did he suspect?
She dreaded to think.
Rubbing soft, creamy lather over her body, she wondered if he’d want to consummate their marriage at all. If she were him, she’d be having serious doubts. She had to swallow tears at the thought that her impulsive, idiotic, wondrous marriage might be over so soon.
After all, the Regent had separated from his arranged bride within days of meeting and marrying. It could happen.
Susie brought her some meat, bread, and fruit, and placed it on a small table by the bath, then topped up the water with new hot.
Meg smiled at this pampering. “I feel as indulged as a barbarian princess.”
The maid stiffened. “I wouldn’t know nothing about that, milady!”
Meg suppressed a giggle at the things that shocked people.
She languished there as long as she could, but eventually, she had to go out to face the world. More precisely, to face her unlikely and suspicious husband.
“Is the earl downstairs?” she asked Susie, who was tidying up.
“Yes, milady. But he has guests.”
“Guests?” Had he already summoned his lawyers to find a way out of his marital mistake?
“Just old friends. If you want, someone can take him a message.”
Feeling like a person reprieved on the gibbet, Meg shook her head. She couldn’t imagine sending a message to ask if she could join her husband. “I’ll go down shortly. I’ll just check on the others.”
As she hurried up to the schoolroom, she knew she was running away from things that must be faced.
She found the twins doing arithmetic under Laura’s supervision, but all three leaped up.
“At last!” Rachel cried. “You’ve been in your bath forever!”
Richard explained the eagerness. “Cousin Sax—he said to call him that—said that when you’re up, he’ll take us to see London. And we did do lessons this morning!”
“You’ve lived in London all your lives,” Meg pointed out.
“Not that London,” Richard said. “The Mint. The Tower. Perhaps even Bedlam.”
Meg stared at him. The mental hospital? “Saxonhurst suggested that?”
He colored. “No. But—”
“But no! The very idea. But if the earl is waiting, we had best all go down. Where’s Jeremy?”
“At Dr. Pierce’s, of course,” said Laura.
Of course, but Meg wished he were here. As they descended the stairs, she blushed for yet more cowardice. She was deliberately facing him in company because she already knew the earl well enough to know he would not ask difficult questions in front of the children.
She’d forgotten that he already had company, and when they entered the drawing room, she found two other men with him, laughing at something. In her guilt and discomfort, she immediately thought they were laughing at her. Or rather, at the ridiculous marriage.
When Knox screeched, “Eve! Delilah!” it sounded like a true accusation.
She froze, even thinking about retreating, but the earl rose to greet her with an apparently genuine smile, even if the parrot on his chair had turned its back. “Ah, Minerva! Come and meet these fellows.”
She had to go over and be introduced to Viscount Iverton and Lord Christian Vale, both tall, athletic-looking men of the earl’s age, one brown, one black haired.
Both were polite, bowing and offering congratulations and best wishes for the marriage. Both, however, looked surprised and curious. Meg supposed she’d have to get used to people wondering how the Earl of Saxonhurst had ended up with such a dowdy dab.
“And this is my new family,” the earl was saying, introducing Meg’s siblings so easily that it heaped coals of fire on her head. He was being perfect, and she was a lying and conniving wretch.
She was pleased to see that the twins were on their best behavior, even though she knew they were fascinated by the parrot, and itching to ask about their promised exploration of London.
Saxonhurst winked at them and said to his friends, “I have to throw you out. I’ve promises to keep.”
The guests left amiably enough and the earl took his discourteous bird on his hand and turned to the twins. “Now, the truth is that your slugabed sister has wast
ed the best part of the day. It will be growing dark soon, so we’ll have to put off our explorations until tomorrow. You’re not to sulk about it.”
Richard put on his affronted face. “We never sulk, sir!”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” He stroked his bird and made it at least face them all. “And I promise that we’ll go on our jaunt tomorrow, even if we have to drag your sister out of bed by the hair.”
The twins giggled. “She’s always up first anyway, sir.”
Saxonhurst cast her a brief, but slightly amused look. “So she is. Now, before the daylight fades, why don’t I show you all around this house.”
Accompanied by the dog, which sidled out from under a sideboard as if it would rather no one knew it had been there, and the parrot tucked inside his jacket, presumably for warmth, the peculiar Earl of Saxonhurst gave them a well-informed guided tour. Meg marveled at the beautiful items that were, to him, mere furnishings. Tables inlaid with polished, jewellike stones. Enameled cabinets covered in pictures made from tiny pieces of inlaid oriental woods and ivory. Table items of silver and gold. Chandeliers with hundreds of faceted crystals.
Everything was so beautiful, so unlike her. She found Brak a comfort. Anyone who was fond of such an ugly dog should be able to tolerate Meg Gillingham, who at least did not look as if she were snarling all the time.
“I suppose,” she said, “that you inherited all this.”
“Most of it, yes.” He’d stopped off to leave his bird in his warm rooms, and now led them back downstairs. “The collection of paintings was sparse, so I’ve been adding to it. And other items that take my fancy here and there.”
As he ushered them into a library full of books, he gave her a rueful look. “I doubtless should have pointed this room out to Jeremy straightaway. If you see him before I do, assure him he has the freedom of it.”
“You’re very kind.” An understatement of the first order!
He shrugged it off. “It would be unthinkably churlish to deny such a scholar the use of the books, most of which are never opened.”
Everyone was wandering around studying the titles behind the glass doors, or the valuable ornaments on every surface. With half an eye on the twins, Meg admired the paintings hung wherever the shelves left space on the wall.
She didn’t know a great deal about art, but she could tell these were all by masters and indicated depressingly high standards. Which had he chosen?
“Sir!” That was Rachel’s voice. “Why does this lady have a bird’s face?”
Meg turned and saw that the twins were fascinated by a particular painting. When she went over, she saw that indeed, the richly dressed woman in the portrait had a hawk’s face. Not far away was a picture of a man with a face made of fruit.
“Allegorical?” suggested the earl, strolling over. “I have no idea, but I found the pictures intriguing. The artist is called Fuseli, and you may meet him one day. Despite his work, he is fairly normal. As normal as any of us, at least.”
Well, thought Meg, studying the disturbing pictures a while longer, she shouldn’t be startled. She knew the earl was eccentric.
She thought of the pictures in her rooms—mostly conventional landscapes and still-lifes. They’d doubtless been consigned there as boring. There was a very quiet little Dutch interior that was snaring her interest, as if it were a magical window into another world. That painting was to her taste, and yet her husband liked pictures of people with strange things where their faces should be.
She shrugged off her worries. She’d expected to pay for the sheelagh’s solution, and the price wasn’t too high. His behavior thus far had been tolerable. A little wild now and then, but no more than that. Whatever caused his behavior with his grandmother, it clearly wasn’t his normal way of going on.
When they’d toured the house, Saxonhurst declared that they all needed a quiet evening at home. He ordered an early dinner and then invited the Gillinghams to show him how they were used to passing a winter’s evening.
With glee, the twins found their pieces for the game Fox and Chickens.
“Ah, I remember playing this,” he said, and proved it with his skill, even though he often had to be reminded of the rules. Meg thought that sometimes he forgot on purpose. Life was complicated by the fact that the parrot was back and wanted to play with the pieces as much as they did.
He’d spoken the truth about the time he spent in the bird’s company, but she did think there was true affection there. Perhaps devotion on the part of the bird. Such devotion carried obligations, and she should be glad that he respected it.
In fact, she was glad, especially when the bird decided to make overtures of friendship to Jeremy and Richard by plucking holly leaves off the mantel and bringing them over as offerings.
Soon the two of them had little piles of holly leaves, and the mantel was looking decidedly bare, and everyone was laughing at the bird’s antics.
Enjoying her family’s high spirits, Meg let herself appreciate the moment. Even if life was troubled, such moments were to be treasured, as was the man who brought them like holly sprigs into her life.
She was very tired, however, feeling as if she might close her eyes and slide into sleep at any moment. Perhaps he noticed, for he commanded a supper and suggested an early night for all.
Meg wondered if he would try to seduce her again, and shivered with weariness at the thought. But he merely escorted her to her bedroom, kissed her cheek, and left her. Meg was happy to let Susie prepare her for bed, to finally settle to a solid night’s sleep.
She still had problems, but she had so many blessings as well. Not least of them her unpredictable, glossy, entrancing husband.
Chapter 10
After breakfast the next morning, Saxonhurst gathered them all for the projected tour of London and commanded a carriage. “I think we can squeeze five into one vehicle. It’s cold out there, though. Coats, hats, gloves, and scarves.” When the twins rushed off, pursued by Laura to keep them in order, he said to Meg, “You’ll have gathered that your brother has gone to his tutor again. I tried to tempt him to leisure, to no avail. A serious student, isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“No need to apologize. I’m sure the world needs some people who think translations of Horace of great importance.”
They were alone, and there was a look in his eye. Rested and refreshed for battle, Meg retreated a few steps. “I should go and get my cloak. . . .”
“Not at all.” He tugged the bell and a footman stepped in. Or limped in.
“Milord?”
“The countess intends to go out.”
“Very well, milord.” The man left.
“I can get my own things.”
“Be charitable. They need employment.”
“But that one shouldn’t be asked to climb stairs.”
“Clarence? How is he to work if he doesn’t climb stairs? He would hate being pensioned off as an invalid.”
Meg supposed that was true.
“His leg doesn’t pain him much. It just makes him awkward. So,” he added, “how are you today?”
Her fictitious monthly! She knew she was coloring with guilt. “Very well, thank you.”
“It won’t inconvenience you to drive around London for a while?”
How delicately he phrased these questions. “Not at all.”
“Good. I hope you’ll also feel up to visiting a modiste for measurements and design choices. The sooner the better.”
He was ashamed of her appearance. Well, of course, he was. “I have no objection, my lord.”
He tsked, and she hastily said, “Saxonhurst.”
“Sax.”
She stared at him. “Not yet.”
Surprisingly, he grinned. “Good for you. The last thing I want is terrified obedience. Send me to the devil whenever you want.”
If she heard “without lying excuses” it was doubtless just her guilty conscience speaking.
She expected questio
ns then—about keys and what she’d really been doing out in the garden yesterday—but he chatted about the weather, and about a diplomatic mission to Russia mentioned in the day’s papers. He asked if she favored a particular news-sheet, saying she should order it.
“Oh, and magazines, I suppose. La Belle Assemblée. Ackermann’s.”
Meg had to again stop an instinctive protest. These magazines wouldn’t be wanton indulgence. In order to be a suitable countess, she doubtless needed all the advice she could find on fashionable living. And Laura would love them.
When her brother and sisters ran downstairs, bright-eyed, ready for adventure, she experienced another burst of happiness. She was likely to turn dizzy with them all, and they all came from Saxonhurst.
As Laura dimpled innocently at some teasing flattery from her brother-in-law, Meg offered a full-hearted prayer of thanks—a prayer directed sacrilegiously to the sheelagh and the earl as much as to God.
No matter what it took, she was going to become a countess worthy of him, and make him happy.
In every way.
They rode first to the Tower, where Mr. Chancellor had arranged a private tour by a Beefeater. The man knew plenty of gory tales suited to ten-year-olds. For her part, Meg was interested, but rather saddened by the many tragedies that had been played out here. Languishing prisoners had scratched messages into stone and glass, and some had been taken out to lose their heads on the mound. High rank had accorded them privacy from the howling mob, but she doubted it had been much comfort in the end.
She swallowed at the thought of how close she’d come to the gibbet, and at the thought of the risks she might still have to take. How was she going to get the sheelagh back?
When they emerged through the stone gateway, the carriage was waiting to drive them to a tea shop for refreshments. Meg was becoming fascinated by the way the earl was surrounded by perfect service. She rarely saw him even express a wish. His servants seemed to pride themselves on providing for his needs without being asked.
When everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the earl announced that it was growing late for another major expedition. He suggested instead that Monkey, who had ridden on the back of the carriage, should escort the twins home on foot. He promised that the footman would show them some interesting spots along the way.
Jo Beverley Page 15