Jo Beverley (16 page)

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 wasted 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.

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 questions 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.

Then he turned to Meg and Laura, “Fair ladies, let us go and spend a great deal of money.”

Meg was still trying to protest when they entered the establishment of a fashionable dressmaker. As soon as she saw the gowns on display, however, she abandoned all attempts to be sensible. She'd never pined for pretty dresses, not being one to pine for what she couldn't have, but if he was going to insist it was her wifely duty to be clothed in such fairy-tale garments, who was she to refuse him?

She let the earl and Madame d'Esterville play with her like a doll, choosing designs and draping her with fabrics so beautiful she could almost weep to think of them being cut. By the time they left, she seemed to
have ordered dozens of outfits but had no clear idea what they would turn out to be.

Laura was in a daze of delight, since she, too, was to have new gowns suitable for social occasions.

When Meg gave the earl a worried look, he said, “They'll be as decorous as you could wish. But she's old enough to come to the theater with us now and then, and perhaps even to attend a party in the country.”

“Really?” Laura gasped.

“Really.” His twinkling, indulgent smile and Laura's happy laughter made Meg even more intent on being worthy of him.

“Now,” he said, offering an arm to each of them, “we'll let the carriage trail along and visit a place I know you'll like. Mrs. Sneyd's.”

“And what, pray, is Mrs. Sneyd's?” asked Meg.

“A haberdashery. But a haberdashery, my dear ladies, such as you have never enjoyed before.”

And he was right. The place was a vast emporium, displaying every item imaginable. Dazed by hundreds of styles of stockings, thousands of gloves, by lace, and ribbon, and braid, by shifts of silk and shifts of linen, by nightgowns and robes, and even by cheaper types of jewelry, Meg was literally spoiled for choice.

Again, he took over. She wasn't sure she had drawers enough for the stocking and shifts he bought for her, all of the finest quality.

“My lord,” she protested, watching him gathering silk stockings like someone picking berries, “I will need cotton hose, too.”

He smiled at her. “Of course. I was thinking of me.”

Laura turned, startled. “Do you wear silk stockings, my lord?”

His lips twitched. “With court dress, yes. But not like these.” He held up a pair made of finest flesh-colored silk with tiny butterflies embroidered up the back. He winked at Meg, causing a fiery blush. Her legs would look naked in those. Naked, with butterflies!

Clearly, however, he had not developed a disgust of her, and she couldn't help but be fiercely glad.

Conscience eased by his extravagance, she began to choose for herself, or in fact, mostly for her brothers
and sisters. She happily equipped them with new underclothes, stockings, and night wear.

As Mrs. Sneyd's delighted employees ran out to the carriage with pile after pile of purchases, the earl sighed with the satisfaction of a job well done. “I think we'll command the shoemaker to the house. But I'd like to stop by a certain millinery I know.”

As they strolled into the busy street, Laura asked, “Do you have sisters, my lord?”

“Only my new ones. Why?”

“You know so much about ladies' clothing.”

Meg had to bite her lip, and Saxonhurst seemed a little strained as he said, “I have a great many female friends who ask my advice.”

“Oh,” Laura said. “How strange.”

Meg found herself sharing a suppressed grin with her husband, and blushed. But it was a pleasant blush. She liked him, and she thought that perhaps he might like her.

She wasn't even shocked or offended at his rakish admission. He'd been right in saying she wasn't pure. It must be all the reading she'd done, that and her natural curiosity. Thank heavens her husband didn't seem to mind.

It was ironic that they shortly encountered one of his female friends—a fashionable woman on the arm of a dashing, red-coated soldier. With clustering golden curls under a high, elaborate bonnet, and cheeks and lips that clearly owed something to paint, she made Meg feel like a hedge-sparrow.

“Sax,
darling
! What a lovely surprise. I was just wishing I had your advice on silks.” She presented a cheek, and he obliged by kissing it, then nodded to the officer. “Redcar.”

The woman ignored Meg and Laura as if they were servants, and stepped a little closer to the earl. “I'm trying to decide on just the right material for some very
intimate
apparel. . . .”

“Then you'll have to rely on Redcar's advice, Trixie.” He turned to Meg. “My dear, let me introduce you to Lady Harby and Colonel George Redcar.” To them, he
said. “This is my wife, Lady Saxonhurst, and her sister, Miss Gillingham.”

Two jaws literally dropped.

The silence was embarrassing, but Saxonhurst didn't seem to mind. It could only have been seconds, anyway, until manners clicked in and both lady and officer smiled, greeted, congratulated. Then they hurried on, carrying a promise of invitations to the ball the earl would be holding shortly to introduce his wife to the
ton.

“Ball?” Meg queried, rather shaken.

“I confess, I hadn't thought of it till then, but we might as well puff it off in style rather than in dribs and drabs. A Twelfth Night ball. We'll make sure you have that apricot gauze thing to wear.”

Meg tried to distinguish apricot gauze from the rest of the rainbow of fabrics. . . .

“Our wedding announcement was in the papers today anyway,” he was saying as he stopped in front of a familiar shop. “But Trixie Harby never reads anything.”

Meg seized her courage. “Will you invite your family to the ball?”

He turned at the door. “Family?”

She knew this wasn't wise, but had to do it. “Your grandmother and—”

“No. Come along.” He shepherded them through the door of Mrs. Ribbleside's, and Meg's brief spurt of courage faded. It was early days. She'd heal his family's wounds later.

The pretty milliner gushed and glowed again, but with a calmer eye Meg didn't entirely like the way the woman smiled at Saxonhurst as she curtsied. Theoretical tolerance clearly didn't extend to actual examples. Meg wished she knew another fashionable milliner to suggest. An elderly one. Or one with warts, or crossed eyes, or an enormous sausagey nose.

She didn't however, and Mrs. Ribbleside was clearly skilled at her trade. As Meg was determined to make up for her moral shortcomings by being a perfect wife in every other way, she could not object. Soon she was a mere head under a parade of toppings, bombarded with questions about brims, height, ribbons, fruit, flowers, feathers. . . .

The earl, lounging on a chaise, gave most of the responses. “Not that one. Too heavy round the face. . . . Try another pink. Ah yes. Very becoming . . .”

Eventually, hat boxes were stacked to be delivered later, and the earl gave Laura carte blanche to choose some headwear for herself under Mrs. Ribbleside's advice. He drew Meg over to the window.

“Tired?”

“A little,” she confessed, feeling a poor creature when he hummed with energy in a way that reminded her of the
sheelagh.
“But I must thank you—”

“Devil a bit. I'm having enormous fun.” He turned to watch Laura angle her head to admire a wide villager hat of white lace trimmed with cream roses. “Take that one, for sure, pet. Come spring, you'll slay all London.”

Laura chuckled, but ordered it, eyes brilliant with excitement.

“She's going to be wonderfully dangerous,” Saxonhurst said.

“Dangerous?”

“To men. And,” he added with a twinkle, “to our peace of mind. She won't even need a fortune to be hunted. You're lucky to have me, you know. I'm not sure you could have kept the predators at bay.”

Meg stared at him, forcibly reminded of Sir Arthur, of what might have been.

He deserved so much, this generous man she had trapped. She wished she could be completely honest, but she didn't dare. She could, however, try to put one thing right.

“The other night,” she whispered, glancing to be sure Laura and the milliner could not hear, “I lied about . . . about my courses.” She wouldn't give him an explanation, for that would need a new untruth.