Pendragon

by Catherine Coulter

“And he’s an earl now, not just a mangy baron,” Barnacle said from just on the other side of the still-open drawing room doors.

  Lord Kipper laughed. “I was always too big to walk Barnacle’s back,” he said, “and he’s never forgiven me.” In that moment Meggie knew to her toes that he was as outrageous and as charming as both of her uncles. She wondered what her uncle Ryder would have to say about the six maids in a locked bedchamber.

  As Lord Kipper walked across the wide expanse of dismal drawing room, Meggie noticed that he limped. When he reached her, he gave her an intimate smile again, devastating it was, took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips, never looking away from her face. “Meggie. What a lovely name, my dear.”

  “You will not try to seduce my wife, Niles,” Thomas said, just the barest hint of menace showing through the amusement in his voice. “Drop her hand this instant.”

  Lord Kipper didn’t drop her hand, rather, he very gently lowered it until it was nearly touching her breast. Then he eased free, pressing her fingers lightly downward until she was touching herself. He smiled. Meggie was so shocked, so utterly mesmerized by what he’d done, that she just stood there like an idiot, gaping at him.

  “You are such a tease,” Libby said, a wealth of knowledge and a touch of coyness in her voice, Meggie wasn’t mistaken about that. And a dollop of jealousy perhaps because Lord Kipper hadn’t done it to her?

  “Do you have a wife, sir?” Meggie asked, pulling herself together by the simple act of taking three steps away from this dangerous man.

  “Oh no, my dear. Well, there was Nell. She gave me my heir, then departed to her reward very shortly thereafter, bless her, and she did it quickly, with little fuss. Unfortunately my heir died at the age of six. I admit I worried about an heir for a while, but no longer. No, I decided I didn’t want another wife. Far too confining, you know. Since I am English and I have money, why, I much enjoy keeping a mistress now and again. My nephew is my heir, a good boy, at Oxford now, and so he isn’t around to sniff after them.”

  Meggie knew he was now looking at her bosom, and she was so disconcerted she said, “You are speaking of your mistress, sir, in polite company?”

  “Ah, this group isn’t at all polite,” Lord Kipper said. “Just ask that husband of yours, one of the wickedest young men I’ve met in a long time.”

  He grinned over at Thomas, who’d taken a step away from the fireplace when he’d threatened to kill Lord Kipper, now moved back, relaxing again against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Thomas isn’t wicked,” Meggie said, frowned and paused, tilting her head to one side. “At least I don’t think he is. We haven’t known each other all that long, you see.”

  “Yes,” Lord Kipper said, “I see.”

  “Niles hasn’t ever changed his stripes,” Thomas said to his wife. “He was a terror when he was a boy, sowed more wild oats than an entire class at Oxford, and decided he quite liked it. Meggie, I am not wicked at all. He is the master and he’s always wanted a student to follow in his path, but it isn’t me. I doubt not that Niles will go to his grave a terror.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Libby said. “Thomas, you are teasing your bride. My dear, he is quite wicked enough. Now, Niles, who is your latest mistress?”

  “Well,” said Lord Kipper, “I just dismissed a young lady who returned last week to her home in St. Ives.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, utterly distracted. Was he still thinking about her?

  “Ah, yes, Melinda,” he said. “I expect I shall miss her, particularly as the days grow longer and there is so much light to see and to enjoy and—well, perhaps with the addition of your wife, Thomas, the company is polite enough now to forego specificity.”

  Meggie looked frankly disappointed. Her husband grinned at her.

  “Then why did you let her go?” Madeleine asked.

  “Unfortunately my nephew paid me a surprise visit and nearly lost what few wits he possessed when he saw her. He refused to go back to England, read poor Melinda love poetry from below her window, standing in the rain. I was afraid he would catch an inflammation of the lung, so what was I to do?”

  “Send the fool packing,” Thomas said. “Not Melinda.”

  “Ah, well, such a pity I didn’t think of that at the time. What’s done is done. Now, I am on the lookout, you could say.” He paused a moment, stroking his long fingers over his jaw. “I think I just might be in the market for an older, more experienced female person. Will you consider it, Libby?”

  “Will I have to lose flesh?”

  “I have decided that a bit of strategic padding on a woman’s body isn’t as distasteful as I have always believed. How could a man dislike such a lovely expanse of white flesh? No, my dearest Libby, you may continue eating to your heart’s content. I will come back on the morrow and we will discuss how this is to be accomplished.”

  Libby nodded and bowed her head, a lovely smile on her mouth. She was humming under her breath.

  Meggie’s uncles were outrageous, no doubt about that, even though they did try to keep their hands off their wives and keep all their drawing comments to a whisper when any of the children were near. But since she was the next generation eavesdropper after her aunt Sinjun, she’d heard quite a bit over the years, but never anything like this. She stared at her husband. He had no expression at all on his face. No, that wasn’t right. He was looking a bit amused, maybe a touch of irony mirrored in those dark eyes of his. She wanted to go to the stable, find herself a stout horse, and ride back to Cork Harbour. Maybe there would be a boat headed back to England.

  Thomas said abruptly, “Niles, you remember Bernard Leach, do you not? He and his wife own the Hangman’s Noose near St. Agnes?”

  “Oh yes, a tippler is Bernard, tried to cheat me once about ten years ago. I kicked him but good in his ribs, his wife holding him down for me, all the while cursing him from Cornwall to Scotland. Marie’s a good woman. Why do you ask?”

  “His wife, Marie, was murdered—hanged—and Bernard is missing. Before he disappeared, he told me the Grakers did it.”

  “Marie is dead? Murdered? Oh no.” He sighed deeply and everyone in the room knew he was much affected. “How we enjoyed each other whenever I managed to sneak into the inn, usually right under Bernard’s nose. Now, what is this about Grakers? Cornish pixies? Why, those little mites wouldn’t harm a soul. Whenever I am in England I swear I can hear them singing in the yew bushes. Bernard is lying. He killed her, the bastard.”

  Lord Kipper had slept with Mr. Leach’s wife? “Evidently Grakers can be vicious,” Meggie said, knowing in that moment that she’d been thrown into Bedlam.

  Niles shrugged. “That’s a tale. You say that Bernard disappeared? Come now, Thomas, where could he possibly disappear to?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t join the search for him because I needed to come home to Pendragon. Stay away from my wife, Niles, or I will break your leg, not your lame one, your very fit one.”

  Niles, Lord Kipper, sighed, and toasted Meggie with his teacup when she handed it to him and said, “I shall miss Marie. Lovely woman, although her tongue had grown sharper over the years. I hope they catch old Bernard and stretch his neck.”

  Alvy Shanahan, Meggie’s fifteen-year-old maid, was small, pert, her hair was as black as Thomas’s, and she had the most beautiful lilting accent Meggie had ever heard.

  And she heard a lot of that lilt because Alvy didn’t stop talking, not for a single moment, from handing Meggie her chemise to the final pat on her hair, Alvy talked. And she talked of only one person—Thomas Malcombe, how very handsome he was, and ah, so very big and manly, and all that lovely black hair, and those forearms of his, thick with muscle and brown from the sun with black hair on them, and don’t forget those lovely dark eyes of his, that ye could just fall into.

  Oh dear, Meggie thought, she didn’t want her maid to be in love with her husband.

  Just after nine o’clock that evening, Thomas led her into the
White Room, dismissed Alvy, ignoring her look of abject adoration, and said, “I have decided to sleep with you, Meggie.”

  “Good. Then I can begin improvements on you immediately.”

  He laughed even as he unfastened the long march of buttons down her back. “Cook—Mrs. Mullins—came here to Pendragon with my mother. That’s why you had English fare.”

  Another area needing improvement. “You liked the beef, Thomas?”

  “Oh no, but no matter. She has been with us as long as I’ve been on the earth. When I am really hungry, I ride into Kinsale to visit a friend and beg my dinner. However, you will have a pleasant surprise at breakfast.”

  “Perhaps I can give her some new recipes that will improve upon the meals.”

  “Just go easy, that’s all I ask, Meggie.” He pulled her sleeves down to her elbows, trapping her arms to her sides. Slowly he turned her to face him. “I like the dark blue against all this white. A splash of color in the snow.”

  She raised her face and he kissed her.

  “Oh my,” she said when he finally raised his head some time later. “Oh my. That is so very nice, Thomas. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you are wicked, in the very best of ways.”

  He was pleased with his wickedness when he brought her to orgasm some fifteen minutes later, had her shuddering with such deep pleasure that she looked ready to expire from it. She lay panting on the beautiful white bed with its white counterpane and white sheets with him still deep inside her, and she loved the feel of him, the sound of his voice as he said love words to her and sex words, many of which she didn’t understand, for after all, she was a vicar’s daughter. Many of them, however, she did understand because she was, after all, also her uncles’ niece.

  “Thomas,” she whispered against his shoulder, then lightly bit him and licked his salty flesh.

  “Ah, don’t,” he said, but it was already too late. He groaned, harsh and low that groan that bespoke his innards were being stomped on as he spilled his seed so wonderfully deep inside her.

  When he was breathing again, his eyes focused on her face, she said, “That was very nice, too, Thomas, very nice indeed.”

  A vast understatement. He was too far gone to talk. How could she manage to speak coherently?

  After some time, Thomas managed to lean over and douse the row of candles in the filthy silver holder. When it was dark, when she was lying on her back, staring up at the white ceiling which she now couldn’t see, she said, “I like children. I remember I was so pleased when Mary Rose birthed Alec and—”

  “Go to sleep, Meggie.”

  “The ten years—perhaps I can accomplish it in nine years.”

  “What ten years? Nine years? What are you talking about?”

  “To make you the perfect man.”

  He laughed and pulled her against him. He felt her warm breath on his flesh. He was asleep long before she was. He didn’t snore.

  The next morning when Meggie walked down to the small family dining room that Alvy told her about, in between more choice comments about the new earl, she heard a man’s voice. It wasn’t Thomas.

  Barnacle said from behind her, “Ye didn’t walk on me back, milady, now did ye? Ye forgot.”

  “I’m sorry, Barnacle. After breakfast I will meet you in the kitchen. I will walk on your back in there.”

  He gave her a nod, a small salute, and staggered back to the front door.

  She should have asked him who was in the dining room. She walked in the small dark room. What a dreadful room, what with the curtains drawn tightly over the two bay windows that gave onto something, what, she had no clue, and she found herself staring at a young man who looked a great deal like Aunt Libby.

  He saw her, rose slowly from his chair, and said, “You are Thomas’s new wife.”

  She nodded, walked to the draperies and pulled them open, fastening them with the wide golden ropes. Light flooded into the room. It made it look even worse, but at least now she could see outdoors.

  She looked at the fine-looking young man. He was blond and fresh-faced, tall, not as tall as Thomas, but very nearly, and he was giving her a fat smile. “Yes, I’m Meggie Malcombe. And who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m William Malcombe, Thomas’s half brother.”

  He was, Meggie realized in that moment, as she looked across the table, Aunt Libby’s son. He was the young man who had impregnated Melissa Winters and let Thomas take the blame and the responsibility.

  What was going on here?

  23

  “MY WILLIAM ARRIVED late last night,” Aunt Libby said, and patted his arm. “Sit down, my love, and let me serve you some nice bacon that’s just barely been waved over a flame, just as you like it. My, look at all the light in here. I had no idea there was even any sun to be had. Does it make me look wrinkled?”

  “No, Mother, you look beautiful,” William said, and took his seat again beside her. “You always do.”

  “What a sweet boy you are, William.”

  “No one else ever says that to me, Mother.”

  Meggie certainly believed that. She saw that Madeleine was eating at a fine clip, not paying any attention, and eased herself into the empty chair next to what she assumed was Thomas’s chair.

  She said, “Does anyone mind that I opened the draperies?”

  “You are doubtless trying to show us all that you are the important one here now,” Madeleine said, her mouth full of eggs.

  “No, ma’am, I’m not, truly. It’s just that I would like to see who is at the breakfast table this morning and what is on my plate.”

  Cook suddenly appeared out of the wall. No, it was a narrow door cut very cleverly into the wall, its seams fitted perfectly to the striped wallpaper, her arms filled with covered trays. “Och, the new countess. Hello, milady. It’s a fine breakfast I’ve made for you, now isn’t it?” And without another word, Cook broke into song as she served Meggie’s plate, piling it high with scrambled eggs with four nutty buns arranged around the eggs.

  “Hey Ho—it’s a fine day for the nutty buns!

  Hey Ho, Hey Ho—here come the Nutty Buns!

  Hey Ho, Hey Ho, Hey Ho—NUTTY BUNS!”

  A new experience for a Sherbrooke at a breakfast table, Meggie thought, wanting to laugh, but she only smiled, nodding toward Mrs. Mullins. “That was lovely. Thank you, Cook. May I have a cup of tea?”

  Cook continued singing even as she poured the tea. Soon every nutty bun was in capital letters. Then, with a final hey ho, she disappeared back through the wall.

  No one saw anything amiss with anything. Just another breakfast at Pendragon.

  Meggie ate. The eggs were delicious, as were the nutty buns. So Cook made a perfectly wonderful breakfast, just as Thomas had told her, but why, then, was the dinner so abysmal? She would write to Mary Rose immediately for recipes. Wait, maybe she needed to have a song to accompany the dinner dishes she prepared. Hmmm. Meggie hadn’t ever tried to write a song before, but now she would.

  William Malcombe said, a limp piece of bacon draped over one finger, “You’re a very pretty girl.”

  “Thank you, William. You are a very nice-looking boy. You look like your mother. Are you really sweet?”

  Libby said, “A pretty compliment. Madeleine, did you hear that?”

  “I heard. Where is Thomas, young lady? Did you exhaust him last night?”

  Thomas said in a very loud voice from the doorway, “Mother, forgive me for being late. I wanted to see that Pen was all right after his soaking yesterday. He is. Meggie, you have met William, I see. He is visiting us from Oxford. A surprise visit.”

  “Yes, I have met William.”

  She said nothing while Cook served Thomas scrambled eggs and nutty buns. She wasn’t singing now. Meggie continued to say nothing when Madeleine said, “What are your plans today, Thomas?”

  “I am taking Meggie about the property. Would you like to introduce her to Mrs. Black?” He added to his bride, “She is our housekeeper.”

  “Here
from before you were born?”

  “That’s right,” he said, all pleasant and easy, and ate a nutty bun.

  “I will need a horse,” Meggie said.

  “I have selected Aisling for you. That means ‘dream’ in Gaelic. She is a bay with one white stocking, and on a good day she can beat Pen in a race.”

  “Prepare, my lord, to eat dirt.”

  He laughed. “After Survivor, I couldn’t very well provide you with a nag, now could I?”

  Closer to two hours later, since Meggie had agreed to walk on Barnacle’s back in the kitchen, she joined her husband at the Pendragon stables to meet her new mare, Aisling, and give her two carrots.

  When they were riding down the long drive, the sun hot overhead, she said, “I met Mrs. Black in the kitchen. She is very nice. She is also nearly blind, Thomas.”

  “Yes.”

  “She can’t see dirt.”

  “No, probably not much.”

  “Then why hasn’t your mother seen to it that Pendragon is cleaned and the furniture waxed and the draperies replaced since Mrs. Black is blind?”

  “I never asked. However, now you will see to it. At last I will have a clean house.” She was so startled she nearly got knocked off Aisling’s back when the mare swerved too close to an oak tree branch.

  “Have a care, Meggie.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sorry, Aisling. Goodness, you have noticed that the place is a mess then?”

  “Mrs. Black is nearly blind, not I. I was hoping that you would notice and wish to take a hand in fixing things. There is enough money to make any reparations you wish to. I have already done quite a bit of work on our tenant cottages and outbuildings. You have but to ask Paddy, my steward, and he will see to it. He will be about this afternoon. I ask only that you tread diplomatically around my mother and all the servants. Change is usually very difficult for people.”

  Meggie nodded. “Maybe your mother believed there wasn’t enough money and that was why she didn’t do anything.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow to that. “You’re kind to make that excuse, Meggie. However, as you know, cleaning really doesn’t require much money. No, she merely doesn’t care. She has always hated Pendragon. Her home was Bowden Close. I imagine that she might want to go live there now that it belongs to me. She spends all her time producing endless journals, recording all her woes in both English and French.”