Martha Schroeder (3 page)

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 years 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.”

Meg took a deep breath and quelled her sense of disorientation. “I am happy to hear that you are so contented, Captain. I had thought to go over the estate’s books with you this morning, if you are agreeable. Gerald, you and Annis can no doubt amuse yourselves for the next few hours.”

“Lady Margaret, I have no right—I had not thought to examine your books,” James stammered, taken aback. “You no doubt need more time. Indeed, we have not spoken as yet of any possible relationship between us.” James was very much afraid his face was showing his embarrassment.

“You are quite right, Captain. I spoke out of turn. I beg your pardon.” Meg gripped her hands in her lap. Could she behave any more clumsily than she had so far this morning? The man had hardly had time to say hello and ride over the home farm and she was offering him the keys to her kingdom. What was the matter with her?

“You need not apologize, Lady Margaret. I did not mean to overset you. If you would prefer I take my leave for today, I will do so.” James tried to sound conciliatory. To a captain in the British navy it was not a natural attitude.

Meg lit up like a Guy Fawkes bonfire. “I am not overset. I do not want you to leave. If I have been unladylike, I beg pardon. If you wish, we can continue to tiptoe around the subject we both know is uppermost in our minds—probably in the minds of everyone in the county by this time! When can we

safely discuss it? Does etiquette establish a time limit? Four days to see the filly’s paces and then—”

“Meg!” Gerald remonstrated. “Your temper, dear girl.”

“Dearest, do you think perhaps a turn around the gardens would do you good?” Annis’s gentle tones penetrated Meg’s anger, taming it somewhat.

“Yes, yes. It would be good, Annis.” Meg rose from the table, her face still flushed. “Excuse me, please.”

The captain rose. “If you do not mind, I would very much like to see your gardens, Lady Meg.” He offered his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, Meg took it.

As they left the dining room, she could hear the sound of Gerald and Annis letting out their breaths in simultaneous sighs.

“They despair of me, you know,” she said, still unable to curb her tongue. “I am afraid you have seen my besetting sin this morning, Captain.”

“What is that? A tendency to tell the truth and the devil take the consequences?” James looked down at her, and Meg thought she could see a lurking smile in his eyes. “I do not regard that as a fault. Many commanders fail for lack of it.”

“You are very kind, sir, but I think my flaw would be considered a detriment at sea as well as on land. I fear I have a tendency to rush my fences.” It was as close to an explanation for her behavior as she could come. They had taken the door that led from the book room to the veranda. Now she looked around the sun-dappled lawn. “Would you truly care to see my gardens, Captain?” She tried to smile, but she found it very difficult to look him in the eye. That fearless blue gaze would read her thoughts.

“Yes. Gardens have not come in my way often in recent years, but I remember them from my childhood.” He stood very straight and looked around the carefully laid out beds. “The smell and the look of them.”

“You are smiling, Captain,” Meg said. “Your childhood memories must be happy ones.”

He stiffened. “Some of them.” Again that forbidding, icy voice.

“Have I said something to displease you?” Meg asked. What was the use of having displayed the most appalling lack of manners if she didn’t use it as an excuse to pry into this prickly, mysterious man’s life? “I cannot help but notice you do not willingly speak of your family.”

James froze. Here was the opportunity he had been seeking. Now he could tell her and see what her reaction was. If she despised him, as most people would, he would see it very clearly out here in the sunlight. Whatever disavowal she made later, he would have seen her flinch away from him as if he were unclean. God knew, he had seen that look often enough over the years. He should do it now—but he couldn’t.

He took a deep breath. “Do you grow roses here, Lady Meg? I remember the scent of roses.”

He had warned her off, Meg thought. As clearly as if he had shut a door in her face. Thus far and no farther would he permit her to go.

“Yes, Captain. And we grow vegetables and I have a rather extensive herb garden, but they are both around to the back of the house, where they are sheltered from the winter weather.” Her voice was chill but sweet. If he wanted trivialities, she would provide them. Her chin went up. Damn him!

Hearing the cold notes in her voice, James silently cursed himself. He hadn’t been able to do it. All the will in the world and he had still balked at the thought of how she would turn from him in disgust. Damn! Why could he not throw his birth in her teeth? He’d done it now and then over the years, whenever the subject of his unknown mother had been broached by someone, usually a fellow officer who’d had too much rum.

“I am sorry, Lady Meg. I—”

“You find it difficult to speak of your family. I understand. I do not often discuss my father. As for my mother, I never knew her.” She had picked up a stick and swung it idly as they walked.

Surprised, he peered at her.

“We share that lack. I never knew mine either.” His throat was tight. He could hear the words again....

His mother was a gypsy, I believe, and no better than she should be. It’s most improper. I cannot imagine what the duke is thinking of, keeping the little mongrel around.