Martha Schroeder

by Lady Megs Gamble

  They completed their ride to the top of the rise in silence. Below them the verdant countryside lay in perfect squares. James noticed some of the furrows on the side of the hill were curved instead of straight as a plumb line, like the ones on the flat. Curious, he asked, “Why do you curve the plowing in some of the fields, Meg?”

  Meg smiled at his use of her nickname and promptly dismounted. James followed suit. For the next few minutes words that sounded to James like “drill plow” and “crop rotation” and “contour plowing” flew around his head like gnats as Meg described the new agricultural methods she was adopting at Hedgemere and the theories behind them.

  At last, James held up his hands in mock surrender. “Enough, please! I can see I will have to read an enormous number of journals and books to begin to comprehend what you are attempting.”

  “I will be glad to lend you some of my papers and correspondence. And the works of Lord Coke.” Meg smiled, feeling for the first time a hint of shyness. “I find it all fascinating, but I understand that others do not.”

  “Not everyone wants to determine a ship’s course by using a sextant either, Lady—Meg. I think perhaps it is not so much a question of liking a subject as it is of finding it useful. I have never had to consider how to farm, but I have had to plot the course of a ship of the line.”

  It was the longest speech he had treated her to, and Meg was absurdly pleased that the wealthy captain with his mysterious family had felt at ease enough to speak his mind. She decided to push him a little further, if she could.

  “Do you wish to have a property to care for?” she asked.

  “Yes, I believe I do. It was just an idea until Sir Gerald asked me to accompany him. But now I think perhaps there is something here I have missed.” James looked around him. “Your land is beautiful, Lady Meg.”

  Meg decided not to press him to drop her title and use only her name. He was clearly uncomfortable with it, and many of her neighbors would consider it very fast of her to suggest it on such short acquaintance. She shrugged. She didn’t care much for her neighbors’ opinions of her manners. They respected her ability to manage an estate well, and that was what counted in her eyes. That they also thought it slightly scandalous for a young, unmarried woman to be devoted to such a task bothered her not at all. As for James Sheridan, if they were both truly considering marriage to each other, it was extremely silly to insist on formal manners.

  Though it remained to be seen if they could seriously consider each other as potential partners, Meg found that some small part of her was, in fact, considering it with every move he made. He was difficult to know, and she sensed a core of mystery he would not readily reveal. But despite his prickly exterior, Meg thought Captain James Sheridan might be a good husband.

  The thought brought her up short. She was not ready to think about actually marrying anyone. Judging from the ladies of her acquaintance, she reasoned that she was not the stuff biddable wives were made of. But there was no reason why Captain Sheridan would not make a fine husband—for someone else. He seemed not precisely malleable, but teachable, perhaps. He knew what he did not know, and he seemed aware she did know many of those things. For a moment Meg was hopeful. That might mean he would realize she should manage Hedgemere and that he should do ... something else. As he gazed at the countryside below them, lost in his own private thoughts, she slanted a glance at his granite jaw and tall, unbending figure.

  It occurred to her James Sheridan would not be an easy man to keep in his place—if that place were not of his own choosing. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. It was too beautiful a day to think about depressing things like marriage to a stranger—or dress shops in Harrowgate. Cheerfully, she mounted Princess, signaling to James that it was time to head back.

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon, seated at her desk in Hedgemere’s untidy but cozy book room, Meg wasn’t so certain that staying at Hedgemere, even if she could contrive it, was desirable after all. “Bills, bills, bills,” she muttered. And nothing to pay them with. In his will, her father had left her Hedgemere, the only unentailed property not already sold, but nothing with which to run it. That was bad enough, but she was used to it. He had left her in charge from her teens and asked nothing about the estate except how much she could send him. But then, after his death, the bank had notified her that the late earl had mortgaged Hedgemere ten years before for an amount far in excess of its value. That mortgage, the Friday-faced banker informed Meg the day after the earl’s funeral, was due and owing in full as of the date of his lordship’s death.

  Meg leaned back and tried for the thousandth time to think of something that would save her home. And for the thousandth time, she found no answer. She had no way of satisfying one-tenth of the value of the mortgages. If she did not sell Hedgemere and use all the money to satisfy the mortgage, the bank would foreclose and sell it for her.

  In either case the answer was the same. No money for Meg, no money to run Hedgemere. She had been contriving and scrimping and robbing Peter to pay Paul for years. Repairs to the tenants’ cottages, a new roof for the barn, a prize bull for the herd—nothing had been done that was less than an emergency.

  At this moment Meg didn’t know how she was going to be able to purchase the much-talked-of dress shop in Harrowgate. For once, her natural optimism and confidence failed her, and she literally shook with fear. She had no relatives to depend upon; both her parents had been only children, as had their parents before them. The new earl was a distant cousin she had never even heard of, let alone met before he assumed the title.

  Her talents were not salable. She knew estate management. Perhaps she should try for a position as a bailiff. That notion brought a tired smile to her face. A female bailiff! Ludicrous. No one would hire a woman for such a position. Except for a rudimentary knowledge of sewing, she had no domestic skills.

  She rubbed her forehead. There was an answer somewhere; there had to be. She just hadn’t thought of it yet.

  Of course, there was Gerald’s answer: Captain James Sheridan. A man apparently without a home or a family, but with plenty of gold. Enough to spare for Hedgemere. But would she have to sell herself in order to get it?

  Oh, stop sounding like a bad melodrama, she told herself, well aware most of the marriages in the ton were alliances made for money and property. No one marries for love, she thought, recalling the London newspapers and novels she had read detailing the dissolute life in the capital. She was being asked to do what most women of her class did, without question.

  Nevertheless, some corner of her heart rebelled. She would not, could not, give a man she hardly knew absolute rights over her body as well as her property—not after having managed for so long on her own. She rose jerkily and went to stand in front of the bay window that overlooked the garden. It was marriage or exile. With her usual ability to puncture her own pretensions, she thought, Exile, indeed! And who are you tonight, my girl? Mary, Queen of Scots? Doing it far too brown, Lady Margaret!

  She gave a shaky chuckle and decided she would think more lucidly after dinner and a night’s sleep. Surely something would occur to her tomorrow.

  * * * *

  Later that evening James stood by the long window in his bedroom and looked out over the moonlit garden of Mattingly Place. What would it be like, he wondered, to have lived all your life in a place like this? A place you belonged to every bit as much as it belonged to you? He sighed, then called himself to task. There was nothing in his life to sigh about. He had come out of England’s bloodiest and most costly war with all his limbs intact and a great deal of money. He had retired only after Napoleon Bonaparte had been defeated. James knew that in a peacetime navy, advancement would be based on political connections rather than performance at sea. And he had none.

  For a moment he asked himself if it wouldn’t be better to buy a smallish property in a spot where he was unknown and live out his days there in comfortable anonymity.

  He shook his h
ead. He wanted more than a place that was his by purchase. He realized for the first time that he wanted people whom he cared for and who cared for him in return. A reluctant smile eased the usually straight line of his lips. The navy had given him plenty of responsibility—a whole ship full of people he was charged with taking care of as well as forging into a fighting machine. He should be heartily sick of it by now. Instead, he must have developed a taste for it. It would seem he wanted a place where he belonged. A home.

  And Gerald Mattingly had given him a way to get one— complete with a wife who knew the countryside the way he knew the sea. A wife who was at the very least an attractive and interesting woman. And at most? He sensed that once her affection and loyalty were given, she never reneged, never fought shy. Yes, his instincts told him Lady Margaret Enfield was a prize worth winning.

  So, it seemed he was seriously thinking of marrying a virtual stranger. An idea that only yesterday he had called absurd. And if he looked at it coldly, it was still absurd. He was completely ineligible. Lady Margaret would see that the minute she knew his history. He tried to imagine telling her, but he saw those candid hazel eyes darken, her finely carved lips tighten with distaste.

  Yet he wanted to stay here, deep in the country, surrounded by peace. He wanted a place of his own, a family of his own. In just a few hours, Hedgemere had struck a chord that had never resonated before.

  But was this the only way he could get a home? Surely, if Gerald was correct about the straits in which Lady Meg now found herself, he could simply purchase Hedgemere and proceed to spend his life improving it.

  But that would not be enough.

  Lady Meg, to her credit, made no pretense of caring for him. She had looked him over, seen how he behaved in her drawing room—a shabby apartment, James noted, that could use an infusion of money to provide new draperies and chair covers and carpeting.

  It seemed that one way and another, he and Lady Meg were testing each other, to see if there might be enough tastes and talents and needs shared between them to form the basis of a marriage.

  James smiled, remembering her hair, how softly it had gleamed, and those level hazel eyes. And her mouth. Perhaps Gerald Mattingly was not as foolish as James had thought at first.

  Chapter Three

  Meg awoke the next morning feeling as if she had spent the night harried by a pack of demon hounds. She had tossed and turned, waking more than once to face the question that had dominated her dreams: What was she to do with her life? Marry a man she had scarcely met, and one who seemed possessed of a temperament that was both proud and private? A very difficult man to know . .. and to live with? To…To have children with?

  Her mind swerved away from the thought. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror. This would not do. Margaret Enfield did not fight shy. She could throw her heart over any fence, and she would take this one with the same courage.

  To keep what she loved, she would have to ride into the unknown, into a relationship she knew nothing about, with a man she feared she would never know. A man she found ... not unattractive. Could she do it? She tested her resolve.

  Yes, yes. She could. Very well, then!

  She would marry James Sheridan.

  Sometimes Meg found that decisions came to her out of the blue, seeming as firm as if they had always been there. Although she prided herself on being a practical, sensible person, without a romantic bone in her body, she sometimes reached important decisions by a sort of inexplicable, somehow mystical process. She had almost hoped that this decision would come to her in that way.

  But this was not such a decision. Apprehension—she would not call it fear—swept over her in waves. No, she couldn’t do it. Better a tiny, cramped life in Harrowgate than intimacy with Captain James Sheridan.

  Meg grimaced and shook her head. What kind of craven was she? A safe little impoverished life was not for her. She would dare to venture into the biggest mystery life had to offer-— a relationship between a man and a woman. It terrified her, but that was all the more reason why she must do it.

  A line from Shakespeare that Annis had given her to memorize years before came back to her. “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.” She couldn’t remember the rest of it, or what play it was from, but she whispered it to herself.

  She would take that tide at the flood. She would marry James Sheridan.

  * * * *

  “Annis,” Meg said as she entered the dining room and saw her companion, “I have decided to marry Captain Sheridan.”

  “What!” A masculine voice answered. “Do you not think you should wait until you are asked before you say yes?” After the first frozen moment of horror, Meg realized it was not Captain Sheridan who spoke.

  “Gerald, what are you doing here?” Meg wasn’t really surprised to see him so early. Gerald often rode over to take breakfast with them when he was home.

  “We decided to breakfast with you and see if we could interest you in the village concert that’s being held this evening.” Gerald’s expression was bland.

  “We?” Meg’s voice went up an octave. Oh, no! Dear Lord, please don’t let me have made a complete fool of myself! And before breakfast. “You mean you and—

  “Yes, the captain and I came together.” Meg could see the gleam of laughter in his eyes. “Fortunately for you, you brazen hussy, he stopped at the stable to speak to one of your lads.”

  “Thank heaven!”

  “While we have a minute, tell me, what made you decide so quickly? Are things as bad as that? If they are, I could—”

  “No, no, Gerald, truly, I do not need to be towed out of the River Tick at this moment.”

  Gerald scowled at her, then held out his hand across the table. “You do know that I am ever at your service, don’t you, Meg?”

  “Of course I do. I have always known it, my dear.” Meg’s smile was radiant as she took his hand in hers. Gerald was the best friend anyone could ask for.

  Standing quietly just outside the door, James saw that smile and the clasp of hands, and felt an unexpected arrow of pain streak through him. It had been years since someone had smiled at him so warmly. Claire had done so more than once, but the last time he had driven her away, as he had anyone after her who tried to break through the armor that guarded his heart.

  Until this moment, he had believed that his need for such a gesture of warmth and friendship—even more than friendship— had died. But now this feeling was as strong as it was unexpected. His life had been essentially solitary; command at an early age had isolated him from the men under him. His strange upbringing and lack of family connections had left him used to loneliness. Until now ... when he suddenly felt ferociously jealous of Gerald Mattingly and his easy friendship with Lady Meg. Gerald had been all that was kind to James, but in this moment, if James could have fought him to take Gerald’s place in her life, he would have.

  Then the moment passed, and he was once again aware only of the sense of being outside some sort of charmed circle of warmth and good fellowship. That was a feeling he recognized. It had accompanied him during most of his life, though never as strongly before. Lady Meg, what have you done to me? He didn’t want to occupy his usual place on the outside, looking in. If he could bring himself to show such cowardice, he would flee right now.

  Instead, he stepped into the dining room, with a smile on his lips. “Good morning,” he said in what sounded to his ears like an even voice.

  He noticed that Lady Meg flushed becomingly. It made her look truly lovely instead of just passably pretty, and he found himself wishing once again that he could somehow manage to earn a welcome into the warmth and light that surrounded her.

  “Good morning, Captain,” she said with a smile that, James noted, was not as bright as the one she had given Mattingly. “Won’t you join us? I can ring for fresh tea. I am afraid that the pot on the sideboard is stewed by now.”

  “Thank you, but it is not necessary. Fifteen ye
ars at sea teaches you to eat and drink anything. Stewed tea will be fine for me.”

  Meg looked at him doubtfully. There was a note in his voice she couldn’t quite identify. He sounded strained, as if he were trying to be polite without meaning it.

  Had he heard her announcement? Meg could feel hot color flood her face, and knew that she looked guilty. “How long have you been here, Captain?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  He looked puzzled, no doubt wondering where such a question came from. “Two days, Lady Margaret.”

  She tried again. “I mean—here—this morning. How long—?”

  Captain Sheridan’s blue eyes blazed into hers. “Not long. I do not lurk outside of doors eavesdropping, if that is what you are asking.” His words dropped into the silence like stones.

  “No, no, please. You don’t understand.” Meg reached out a hand. Why was she so awkward with this man?

  “Yes?” It was a voice that must have reduced midshipmen to jelly.

  “I—I—I cannot seem to remember what it is I wanted to say.” She smiled a little shyly at him. What was the matter with her? Things had seemed so simple when she came down to breakfast, but now she was simpering and stammering like a schoolgirl. Stop this at once, she told herself fiercely.

  “I see.” The captain sat down. His plate held only toast, and his cup was filled with dark brown tea.

  “Is that all you want?” Meg asked before she could stop herself. “Mrs. Meadows would be happy to make an omelet or—

  “This is sufficient, thank you.”

  “Oh.”

  Meg looked around the table in mute appeal. She couldn’t seem to talk without tying her tongue in knots, but surely Annis could. Or Gerald. He spent his days talking, if she understood the workings of diplomacy correctly.

  “Are you enjoy—” Annis began.

  “Is there anything—” Gerald said simultaneously.

  James looked up and gazed at them both, and then at Lady Meg. Despite the unfamiliar feelings he had faced this morning, he was glad to know that he still kept a sense of humor. He smiled, a little mordantly, and said, “Yes, I am enjoying my visit to Hampshire, Miss Fairchild. And no, Sir Gerald, I need nothing further to make my day complete.”