William was still stroking Oscar, now on his back, all four paws sticking into the air. “That’s disgraceful,” Meggie said, frowning at the cat. “That cat has no sense of self-worth. Why were you sent down?”
William cleared his throat when he saw her eyebrow arched at him.
“I, er, got a local girl pregnant, maybe, one really never knows, and her father wanted to kill me.”
“Not an uncommon reaction, I should say. Was she prettier than Melissa Winters?”
William’s jaw dropped. He tried to say something, then shut his mouth fast as a clam trap.
“You are a miserable human being, William,” Meggie said, so furious with her half brother-in-law that if she wouldn’t hang for it, she would have cheerfully stomped him into the ground. “You probably should have been strangled at birth. Saved everyone a lot of difficulties, particularly the female of the species.”
“But it wasn’t my fault,” William said, and Meggie knew a whine when she heard it, having four brothers and so many dratted boy cousins about. She was so furious with him that she jumped to her feet, her fists at the ready. She wanted to fight him, to sock him in the jaw.
“The girls just hold you down, William, and rip off your clothes?”
He looked shocked that she, a vicar’s daughter, would speak so bluntly. She just stared him down until he said, shrugging, “Well, no, but they’re the kind of girls who are with ever so many men, and I’m just the one who always gets caught. It wasn’t my fault. But you didn’t like me before you saw me, Meggie. Why?”
“Melissa Winters, you dolt. I know all about how you blamed Thomas for that. You’re a dishonorable cretin, William.”
“But it was Thomas who got her with child,” William said. “At the time I was in Glasgow with Aunt Augusta.”
Meggie couldn’t help herself. She slammed her fist into his jaw, a really solid hit that sent him reeling backward, his flailing arms nearly hitting Oscar DeGrasse. Oscar screeched and leaped straight up and backward, an amazing feat that Meggie couldn’t help but admire. William couldn’t catch himself and went crashing down on his back. He didn’t move, just stared up at her, trying to catch his breath.
“Thomas is honorable,” she said between fiercely gritted teeth. “You ever say something like that again, and I will kick you in the ribs after I’ve knocked you down.”
William whimpered and didn’t move.
“Thank you.”
Meggie whirled about to see her husband standing in the doorway to this big sparsely furnished room, his arms crossed over his chest, one of his favorite poses. The irony of that thank-you had hit her square in the nose. She raised her chin. “You are many things, Thomas, but dishonorable isn’t one of them.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.” He walked over to William and held out his hand. William looked at that hand, and Meggie thought for a moment that William would whimper. She said, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, William, be a man and take your brother’s hand. He won’t kill you. He is more civilized about things like that than I.”
“But you still might.”
“That is true. Go away. I’m trying to train these cats.”
William dusted himself off, gave his brother a very uncertain look, and was out of the room very quickly.
Thomas said slowly, “You defended me.”
“What would you expect me to do? Tell your dim-witted half brother that you ignore your new wife, that you treat her like she bores you silly, and thus he can say anything at all he likes about you?”
“No. You’re not like that.”
“Is it possible that another man did impregnate Melissa Winters?”
“No.”
“William said he was in Glasgow with Aunt Augusta.”
“He was. I sent him there after I beat him to within an inch of his life.”
“Well, good.” Meggie wiped her hands on her skirt, looked over at Oscar, who was now curled into a tight ball, sleeping in a corner. “He doesn’t look like much of a winner, does he?”
“Niles says he’s fast.”
“Did you see him execute that backward leap?”
“I wasn’t looking at him at the time.”
“What’s wrong, Thomas?”
“I came to get you for tea, Meggie. My mother, Libby, and Lord Kipper are in the drawing room. Cook has already brought the tea and cakes. You’re the only one missing.”
“And William.”
“Undoubtedly Barnacle will nab him.”
“I see. All right,” Meggie said, then looked over to see Barnacle grimacing toward them, his face contorted in awful agony.
She just looked at him, an eyebrow arched. “You’re supposed to nab William.”
“I’ll nab him all right, but this is more important. It’s vital to set things in their proper order and his lordship—our lordship, that is, my lady—is the most important thing hereabouts in any order. He has told me to tell you that he wishes to see you at your convenience in the estate room. And here he is telling you all by himself—and here I am doing the telling as well, but no matter. Two times is better than a chance on none doing the telling.”
“I am very afraid, Barnacle,” Thomas said, “that I understood you.”
Barnacle beamed at him before he remembered, and reset his face into a fearful grimace.
Meggie gave the old man a smile and a very light pat on the back. “Yes, he has told me himself, Barnacle, and now so have you. I surely haven’t a chance of forgetting now. Thank you.” When he hobbled out, moaning with each stiff step, Meggie turned again to her husband. “You said tea. Barnacle said you wanted to see me in the estate room. What’s going on, Thomas?”
“I just wanted to tell you that there is another package from your family.” He paused a moment, examined his fingernails, and said easily, “Perhaps it’s another gift from your almost cousin.”
“Jeremy? Another gift? Probably not.”
Then Meggie paused. There’d been something different in his voice when he’d said that, something just out of her reach.
“Tea or the package first, my lord?”
“That would depend on how excited you are about receiving another present from your almost cousin.”
This time it smacked her in the nose. Jeremy, he was jealous of Jeremy. Had he heard something? No, surely neither her father nor Mary Rose would have said anything. Goodness, Mary Rose didn’t even know. She was shaking her head even as she knew that he couldn’t know, just couldn’t. Then what was going on?
“His name is Jeremy Stanton-Greville,” she said. “You met him at our wedding. He is five years older than you. He is married, his wife expecting a child. It is no more likely to be a present from him than from any other cousin or uncle or aunt or brother.”
“I see,” he said, and she wanted to hit him for that snide tone.
“I must go now and straighten myself before presenting myself in the drawing room with your blessed mother. I will look at my package later.”
“Take care, Meggie. Five minutes, no more. Otherwise I will send someone for you.”
“I doubt someone will try to bash me on the head on my way to my bedchamber.”
“Five minutes.”
She merely nodded and stalked out of the room. How could he possibly be jealous of Jeremy? It made no sense at all. But his voice had been different. She sighed. She just didn’t know, had no idea, and she’d thought and thought about what she could have done to alienate him so very much. All she could figure out was that her husband had gotten himself in a snit because Jeremy sent her a carving of Mr. Cork. It was ridiculous.
She nearly knocked over her mother-in-law she was so deeply immersed in her own thoughts.
“Watch your direction, Missy!”
“What? Oh, ma’am, sorry I nearly plowed you down. It would surely be different if I’d meant to, but I didn’t.”
“You are entirely too smart for your own good. Just look at that dreadful chandelier overhead with all that raw-l
ooking rope holding it up. My ancestors are thumping in their graves.”
“You don’t have any ancestors to thump here, ma’am. It’s the Kavanaughs, don’t you remember?”
“A low lot, the Kavanaughs,” Madeleine said, staring at that rope, “so low they don’t deserve to have ancestors here. No matter. Now, as for you, Missy—”
“It’s my lady.”
“Bah. I can tell that my dearest son is already tired of you. He keeps his distance from you, just plain avoids you, everyone has noticed it. Didn’t take him long, did it? You are boring, obviously, you no longer amuse him, and he bitterly regrets marrying you. At least he got a lovely big dowry out of it. Well, are you pregnant yet?”
“Ask your son, ma’am,” Meggie said, and nearly knocked her mother-in-law down on purpose this time. She managed to hold her temper, and forced herself to breathe in the wonderful fresh lemon wax that had shined up every bit of furniture and armor in the castle. There wasn’t a single cobweb in any corner. Everything shone. Even though Mrs. Black couldn’t see into any corners, she claimed she could always hear spiders weaving their webs and she didn’t hear a single thing now.
Meggie was smiling as she strode away from her mother-in-law, shoulders finely squared, her step light until she thought of Thomas and knew that his mother was right. He was bored with her, tired of her, whatever. What had happened? What had she done? Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with Jeremy.
I’m not boring, she thought, and pulled an early blooming rose from a vase that sparkled with cleanliness and crushed it in her fist. I train champion cat racers. How can that be boring?
Madeleine called after her, “I will prove to you that I can train racing cats better than you can.”
Meggie didn’t even pause. But she did smile, just for a moment. Madeleine just didn’t give up.
The package from home—it was a painting of her family. She wasn’t aware that she was crying until Thomas said, all stiff and hard, “It is a fairly good painting. I do believe though that Mary Rose’s hair is not quite as red as that rendered by the artist. Also, Max has a sharper chin. As for Leo, he looks ready to vault over a fence and race around the fields. All in all, it is excellent. Stop crying.”
Meggie sniffed, then set the painting on a table against the wall, backed up, and stared at it. “It’s just excellent. My father knew I would be terribly homesick. He’s the best father in the world.”
Thomas didn’t say anything. “Shall we take it downstairs and show it to everyone? Too bad your uncle the earl isn’t in it. My mother would surely appreciate you more if reminded of your high-ranking relatives. I forgot to tell her that your aunt is the daughter of a duke. Hmmm. Maybe you can salvage her yet.”
“She still calls me Missy. I’ve corrected her twice, just a bit on the snide side. I don’t think she’ll ever stop.”
Thomas nodded. “Probably not. Let’s go.” He carried the painting all the way to the drawing room, set it atop the mantel, and stepped back.
Libby said, “Goodness, Meggie, your father is a fine figure of a man. Does he truly have silver wings in his hair?”
“I believe so,” Meggie said.
“She is too young to be your mother,” Lord Kipper said, both his eyes on Mary Rose. “Wonderful features, interesting the way she is leaning toward your father, you can feel it, even though she appears to be sitting straight.”
“You cannot seduce her, Niles,” Madeleine said.
Lord Kipper turned and smiled. “Would you like to wager on that, my dear?”
“Mary Rose is Meggie’s stepmother. She’s Scottish,” Thomas said, turned from the painting, and added toward his wife, “Would you be so kind as to serve us tea?”
And so she did. She knew everyone’s taste in tea now and moved quickly. Cook had made scones for her, and they were really quite good. Cook now made, besides a brilliant breakfast, a very acceptable luncheon. She never sang except delivering the nutty buns to the breakfast table each morning. Dinner, however, still strained her abilities. She needed a song, Meggie knew, and felt guilty because she hadn’t thought about it.
She said more to herself than to Thomas, “I should be receiving some more recipes from Mary Rose soon now.”
“Cook will butcher them,” William said, coming into the drawing room. “Give her a haunch of beef and she will turn it into a fence rail.” So saying, he cast Meggie a wary look.
Meggie frowned at him and began rearranging the scones on the platter. “Oh, stop looking like a whipped dog, William. Would you like tea?”
He nodded and managed to slink all the way across the huge room to stand behind a very old wing chair that Meggie planned to replace just as soon as—She frowned into her teacup. She had to go to Dublin to the Gibbs Furniture Warehouse. She wondered what her husband of three weeks would say when she asked him about that.
“I say, that’s your father, Meggie. The vicar.”
“That’s right. You caused a very fine mess, William, and he was the one to resolve it, he and your brother.”
“What is this?” Libby said. “What did you do this time, dearest?”
“Mother, I haven’t done a single thing since I’ve gotten home. Lord Kipper, you promised you would show me your new hunter. I should very much like to see it, sir.”
“Since your mother bought it off me for your birthday, I suppose you can see it.”
“The new hunter, Mother?” At Libby’s nod, William swooped down on her and nearly crushed her into the sofa, so exuberant was he with his hugs.
“You are a good boy, William,” she said, kissing his cheek, “you always have been.”
Meggie nearly turned blue she held her breath so long so that she wouldn’t say anything.
Near midnight, when Thomas finally came into her bed, making his way quietly from his own bedchamber, Meggie said from the depths of the goose down, “Thomas, we must go to the furniture warehouse in Dublin.”
He jumped a good foot.
To her delight, after he paced the room three times, he turned back toward the bed on his bare heel, frowned, and nodded. “All right. You’ll probably be safer in Dublin than here. Make your lists, Meggie, and we will leave when you’re ready.”
“Would you like to come lie beside me and we can discuss it?”
He looked over at his wife. She was sitting up now and she wasn’t wearing one of her usual white muslin nightgowns. She was wearing something that looked sinful, the color of a peach, and fit her so well he could clearly see her breasts. He was so hard he hurt. By the time he reached the bed, he was harder than Lord Kipper’s pipe stem.
He stopped cold. “No.”
“No what?”
“I want you, Meggie. You can look at me and I am incapable of hiding it from you.”
“I am your wife. I want you as well. Please, Thomas, if you can’t tell me what’s bothering you, can’t you at least come here and make love to me?”
He felt himself shaking, beginning at his feet, those shakes working their way up. “You’re trying to seduce me,” he said slowly, the shakes now to his knees.
“Well, yes,” she said, and smiled at him. “If you won’t talk to me about what’s bothering you, why then, I might as well enjoy you in other ways.”
She’d brushed her hair out and it was curling and falling down her back and over her right shoulder, framing her right breast, her hair and that wicked nightgown she was wearing that was now in danger of falling off her right shoulder.
He swallowed. “If a man doesn’t have pride, he has very little.”
“Pride? Whatever are you talking about?”
He said at nearly a shout because it had been festering inside him for so very long now, and he just couldn’t hold it in anymore, it was corroding his innards, “Jeremy, that damned almost cousin of yours! That’s what I’m talking about, as if you didn’t know.
“You betrayed me in your heart, Meggie. You married me when you knew you loved him, and you still love that d
amned bastard, and here he is married and will have a child soon. You married me because you couldn’t have him and thus it didn’t matter to you. I knew you didn’t love me, but I thought I could bring you around. But it had nothing to do with anything, did it?
“I was the fool who was ready to offer you everything. Did you even hesitate, Meggie? Did you feel the least bit guilty when you agreed to marry me? I don’t think much of you for doing that, Meggie, I really don’t.”
29
MEGGIE SAID, HER voice dull and accepting, “I loved him beginning when I was thirteen years old.”
“Why did you marry me, dammit, when you loved another man?”
“I liked you very much, Thomas, you pleased me, you made me laugh, better still, I made you laugh. I esteemed you. I admired you and knew you were honorable. I wanted to marry you.”
“You loved another man.”
Slowly she nodded. “You didn’t love me either.”
“How do you know?” He slashed his hand through the air. “Not that it matters. Is that your defense? Let me tell you, Meggie, I wasn’t cherishing some other woman in my heart, which is balderdash, naturally, but that is the way one says it, I suppose. I didn’t marry you under false pretenses.”
Meggie felt her heart pounding slow deep strokes. Her mouth felt dry. “May I ask how you know about Jeremy?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you. We had been married all of an hour when I happened to overhear you speaking to your father about how very noble Jeremy was, how you admired him, how you would have loved him forever, if only he hadn’t met Charlotte.”
Meggie squeezed her eyes closed, remembering each word, feeling the pain each one brought her, pain that just by saying them had flowed over her husband. “You remember so very much. I’m sorry, Thomas. You see, my father was very worried about me and about you as well. He didn’t want either of us to be disappointed. When he asked, I admitted that I knew Jeremy had been playacting when he’d come to the vicarage, that he’d just told me he wasn’t really obnoxious at all, that it had all been an act to help me get over my feelings for him. He was telling me then since it wasn’t important any longer since I’d just married, and he didn’t want me to dislike him anymore.”
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