Call Down the Moon (12 page)

Meggie nodded. “I think it indecent, but Aunt Dorelia insisted.”

“Indecent?” he asked with a little frown. “Why? Because she’s dead?”

“No—because there’s hardly any bodice,” Meggie said, thinking that he should have noticed that for himself, “and the sleeves are nothing but little puffs, and I might as well be wearing my chemise for all the coverage I have!”

“Meggie—for God’s sake,” Hugo said, his voice suddenly tight. “Do
not
talk about such things at the table. Indeed, you shouldn’t talk about them at all. It’s not—it’s not proper.”

“Oh, it’s not proper for me to talk about, but it’s perfectly acceptable for me to appear this way? I think you live in a very strange world, Hugo Montagu,” she shot back without thinking.

“Oh, and the world you live in is normal?” he retorted sharply. “I hardly think so.”

Meggie stared at him aghast, feeling as if he’d slapped her. He
knew.
He knew about her ability, and he thought her a freak of nature.

He has made it his business to learn a great deal about you…

Someone must have told him. That was what he’d meant when he’d told Sister Agnes that he knew she was different. She pressed her hand to her cheek, wanting to die from mortification. “If you think me so abnormal, I wonder that you want to marry me at all,” she whispered.

He flushed a dark red. “I do not think you … that is, I—I meant only that you are not … that you are not familiar with the world.”

Meggie stared down at her hands. “Do you refer to my being shut away for most of my life,” she said, her voice infuriatingly shaky, “or do you refer to some oddity about me that leaves you with misgivings?”

He blinked. “Not—not at all. I was referring only to your isolation, Meggie. Forgive me if I sounded harsh.”

“Please, do not trouble yourself,” she said, about to burst into tears. “You only said what you meant.”

“No, I didn’t. What I meant to say is that you are not to know what is proper and what is not, given your lack of experience. As I said, it has been a long and tiring day, and I wasn’t thinking when I spoke.”

Meggie’s gaze flew to his face. She saw only genuine remorse in it—certainly no fear that she could read his mind. Thinking back, she realized he had given no indication at any time that he suspected her of any such thing.

Relief washed through Meggie, leaving her weak. He was telling the truth. He thought her no more than an ignorant girl. An ignorant girl he wanted to marry because she was decorative and he fancied himself in love with her.

“We are both tired,” she said, bestowing a genuine smile on him. “And I am very hungry,” she added, determined to change the subject. “You must be also. Have you ever eaten a lobster before?”

“Many times,” he replied, looking as relieved as she to drop the matter. “However, I wonder if this is to be a new experience for you. You seemed engrossed in their cooking.”

“I have never seen a lobster, let alone tasted one. Cookie assured me they were a great delicacy, and as you must have gathered, I am not accustomed to delicacies.”

“Then it is high time that you do become accustomed to them,” he said. “I promised you treats, and treats you shall have, starting tonight.”

As if on cue, the door swung open and Cookie appeared with the lobsters on a great platter, beautifully dressed and garnished.

He placed them on the sideboard, and Roberto the footman, who had lived at Lyden Hall for all of his thirty years, came in behind Cookie. Roberto portioned the lobsters out, then laid the plates on the table. Meggie nearly swooned at the delicious smell that wafted up from them.

“Wine,” Hugo commanded, raising an eyebrow imperiously at Roberto.

Roberto instantly produced a bottle from a bucket, pouring out the pale yellow liquid with great care before quietly vanishing again.

Meggie impatiently waited for Hugo to say grace, but when he picked up his glass and tasted his wine, she realized no grace was forthcoming. So she bowed her head and murmured to herself a prayer of thanks, then lifted the first fork that came to hand and dived into her plate without another word.

As the first taste touched her tongue her eyes closed in ecstasy. She had never sampled anything so delicious in her life; she’d never even imagined anything could taste so wonderful, so rich in flavor and yet so smooth and delicate all at the same time.

God be praised, she thought, taking another bite, for having been so kind as to put lobsters on the earth and for being even more kind for putting one in front of her to eat. God should also be praised for having produced Cookie to make the lobster so superbly good, and also for producing Hugo so that he could bring her to this very table where she might devour this extraordinary treat.

She looked up to find Hugo watching her with a slight smile curving his lips. “Mmmm,” she said through a mouthful, “ ‘s wonderful. Sup’rb.”

“You made your opinion obvious from the way you attacked it,” he said dryly, wiping the comer of his mouth with his napkin. “Although I must say that I agree. Cookie did a fine job.”

Meggie swallowed the very last bite, then nodded vigorously. “Cookie should be canonized.”

Hugo laughed. “Cookie should probably be jailed, but we’ll let the matter go, considering his skill. Try a little of your wine. You’ll find that it complements the flavor nicely.”

Meggie, who had never had wine in her life, picked up her glass and took a large swallow. “It’s very nice,” she said in surprise, choking a little on the unexpected strength, but also enjoying the warmth the liquid created as it slipped smoothly down her throat.

“Easy there.” Hugo reached out a hand and stayed her hand before she could take another swallow. “You must sip your wine, Meggie, not gulp it. Drink it slowly, or you’ll be falling off your chair in no time.”

Meggie shook her head in wonder. “All these new pleasures. You must forgive my ignorance. I’ve never even had wine at Communion. Well, I couldn’t, but I didn’t think I was missing anything.”

“Oh,” Hugo said, a slight frown creasing his brow. “I hadn’t even thought about the question of your religion. You
were
baptized at some point?”

Meggie nodded. “My aunt Emily had me christened when I was a baby.”

“Your aunt Emily?” he said, his frown deepening. “I thought you had no relatives.”

“I haven’t. Emily Crewe was my foster mother. I thought you knew about my past,” she said, suddenly worried that maybe Sister Agnes had misunderstood him. She’d be devastated if she had to explain her status to him and he changed his mind about marrying her.

“Ah, yes, I remember now,” he said, tapping his finger against his glass. “She died when you were—what, nine? That’s when you went to the orphanage, I believe.”

Meggie breathed again. He did know everything after all. ‘Yes. She was a wonderful woman and kind. I loved her very much,” Meggie said simply.

“Did she have you christened in the Catholic or the Anglican Church?” Hugo said. “I only ask because I am Anglican, and your being Catholic might complicate matters.”

Meggie wondered why Hugo looked so nervous. Perhaps his religion was important to him after all, even if he didn’t bother to say grace. “I was baptized an Anglican,” she said. “Would it matter very much if I were Catholic?”

“It wouldn’t matter in the least to me,” he said, his frown replaced by an expression of relief. “I’m not a religious man. I was only concerned that our marriage might become complicated.”

“Why?” Meggie asked, genuinely curious.

“I really don’t know, Meggie,” he said impatiently. “I’ve never been married before and therefore have never paid any attention to the ins and outs of the various legalities. Who knows if there isn’t some inconvenient Catholic directive about marrying outside the faith? The point is that I do not want anything getting in the way of tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“Really?” she asked softly, a warm glow spreading through her at the thought that Hugo was so anxious to marry her, even if it was just to get her into bed.

“Really. However, the way I see it, as long as you are a member of the Church of England, as I am, and above the age of consent, as I am, and we have a valid license, which we do, there is nothing to stop us. Nothing at all.”

“Where will we be married?” Meggie asked, excitement blossoming in her breast at the prospect of standing at the altar with Hugo. “Is there a parish church? Aunt Emily and I used to go to our parish church every Sunday, and I so liked the simplicity of the services. Catholic services are so much more … tedious.”

“Yes, I can imagine that you must have found them tedious,” Hugo replied. “I, too, would be bored if I couldn’t understand what was being said.”

Meggie bit her tongue. She understood Latin well enough to have read Virgil in the original, although Hugo wouldn’t want to know that. What she’d actually meant was that she preferred the lack of pomp and circumstance of the Anglican church, but Hugo probably didn’t want to know that, either. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said instead. “Is there a parish church?”

“I imagine there must be, Meggie, since there’s a vicar,” Hugo said, rubbing his cheek with his fingertip. “However, I will ask the vicar to come here to Lyden to marry us. It is less vulgar to be married at home, I think, than in a local church where neither of us has ever set foot before.”

“Surely we have to be married in a church?” Meggie said in considerable surprise.

“No, we don’t,” he replied patiently. “The special license I told you about, which I obtained at great expense and for this very reason, allows us to be married wherever we please, whenever we please, without waiting for the reading of banns or the need for a church.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. In the rare fantasies she’d had about marrying someday, she’d always seen herself in a simple little church with a wreath of flowers on her head, saying her vows before a kind-faced vicar.

But this was no time for indulging herself in fantasies, as much as a church ceremony would have meant to her. Hugo obviously was not on comfortable terms with God, which seemed a great shame, but none of her business. So she smiled and recited her pat reply. “As you wish, Hugo.”

“Exactly,” he said. “The drawing room should suit well enough. I will write to the vicar first thing in the morning and ask him to come after luncheon. That way, he won’t expect to be asked to stay for a meal.” He looked at her sternly. “I cannot abide a fuss.”

Meggie had never heard of anything so unromantic, but she held her tongue. Roberto cleared away the plates—and the first set of knives and forks—and refilled the glass of wine that Hugo had already emptied.

Moments later Cookie marched in with a platter containing an entire leg of lamb. The delicious aroma distracted Meggie from her gloomy visions of tomorrow’s wedding. Nothing was going to keep her from enjoying her meal, not even the thought of being married in a drawing room.

She watched in fascination as Cookie expertly carved the joint at the sideboard, producing paper-thin slices of juicy pink meat unlike anything Meggie had seen before. In her experience, lamb was gray and greasy and appeared in sinewy chunks well-laced with fat.

Cookie really could work miracles.

In the mealtime, and much to Meggie’s astonishment, Roberto produced another bottle of wine, this time red, and poured it into the larger glasses on the table.

So that was what they were for, she realized, but why two types of wine with dinner? It did seem excessive, rather like all the knives and forks.

Oh, well, the ways of the aristocracy were not for her to question. Her task was to learn about them as quickly as possible, so that she wouldn’t disgrace Hugo or herself.

Roberto slipped a plate heaped with lamb and vegetables and crisp roast potatoes smothered in gravy in front of her, and Meggie gave herself over to the sheer pleasure of eating. This wasn’t just food, it was ambrosia. As much as Meggie had loved her Aunt Emily, she’d been no cook. To her food was meant solely to nurture the body, not inspire the spirit.

Meggie had never realized that food could be a form of art—every bit as much as a painting or a tapestry or a beautiful piece of music. Edible art. She smiled to herself. Apparently artists came in all shapes and sizes, too. Cookie was a shining example of that.

Hugo didn’t speak a single word during the second course, or the third, a delectable fruit pudding in a meringue crust. His gaze remained firmly fixed on his plate.

Meggie prayed that the reason for his silence was an equal appreciation for Cookie’s talent. Meggie didn’t think she could bear Hugo’s dismissing him, not after she’d just discovered the true joy of food.

Anyway, she liked Cookie. She knew he had a warm heart and a wonderfully sentimental nature despite his appearance to the contrary. So far he hadn’t invaded her head with unwelcome thoughts—always a good sign.

She looked up as Roberto magically reappeared yet again and refilled her glass of claret, which had gone down so smoothly she’d hardly realized she’d finished it.

Roberto then poured the last of the wine into Hugo’s glass. Meggie gaped, realizing somehow during the course of the meal, Hugo had managed to consume almost the entire bottle on his own.

Sipping from her goblet, she waited in fascination to see if he’d fall off his chair, but the wine didn’t seem to have had any effect on him. Hugo stayed perfectly upright, not even slumping a little.

She was impressed by his stamina. She’d had only two glasses—well, three if one counted the glass of white—and just those alone had left her feeling light-headed. Positively giddy, she realized, leaning back in her chair, feeling as if she might just float away. Her head felt completely disassociated from her body, but in the nicest possible way.

Her body. Yes, there was that serious matter to consider. She clasped her hands over her stomach, wondering how she was going to manage to waddle out of the dining room and all the way upstairs without bursting at the seams. All that food had to go somewhere.

She put her hand over her mouth and giggled as a ridiculous vision came dancing into her head of great alabaster orbs, swollen over time by enormous helpings of food and more food.