The duchess frowned. “I just don’t know, darling. Even if he had put her in the family way, who would have forced him to marry her? She has no influence, certainly no relatives to hold a gun to his head, and even if she had, Hugo is a duke’s son. He wouldn’t be expected to marry a girl of no consequence—these unfortunate things happen all the time, and a tidy sum of money usually takes care of the problem.”
“How worldly you are,” Rafe said dryly.
“One needs to be, especially with a son like Hugo,” the duchess replied, picking up Hugo’s letter again. “I would like to think that we are wrong, that he does love her. It is not outside the realm of possibility. As I said, I’ve been told that she is full of compassion, acutely sensitive, and … and I can only think that your brother must have seen all of those qualities in her,” she finished lamely, scanning the rest of the letter. “Maybe he really has changed. According to this, he is deeply involved in seeing to Lyden business.”
“Let me see,” Rafe demanded, holding out his hand.
“Yes, of course, although it doesn’t seem to say anything more about the marriage.” She handed the next page to him.
Rafe read carefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “He says that there have been some sort of misdoings involving previous trustees.” He looked up. “What previous trustees? Does he refer to Linus Eliot’s time? Who managed the estate?”
“I have no idea, dear. Hugo told me very little when we last spoke, although he did say there was a steward.”
“Hmm. He says he is trying to straighten all of that out.” Rafe sucked in a breath of astonishment. “He
says
he intends to write me for advice when he has more details in hand, as he is deeply concerned about his tenants and their ongoing welfare.” Rafe looked up at his mother. “He intends to consult me? Hugo has never consulted me about anything, ever, unless it was over how I was going to bail him out of trouble.”
“As I said, people grow up, dear.”
Rafe’s voice became even more incredulous. “He says that he is presently making certain his tenants are looked after until he can sort out the problems, but wants to be sure of their future security no matter the cost.”
The paper fluttered from between his fingers and floated down to the tabletop, landing halfway between the butter dish and the marmalade pot.
“Mama? I think you had better dispatch yourself to England immediately and see just what is going on. I’d go myself if I didn’t have a wife and infant son who need me.”
“I think I had best do exactly that,” the duchess agreed, “and I believe I know exactly where to start.”
“With our esteemed firm of solicitors?” Rafe replied, shooting her a look of wry amusement.
“No. With Sister Agnes, director of the Woodbridge Sanitarium. If anyone has answers, it will be she. Who would know better what went on between Meggie Bloom, and Hugo?”
Rafe’s face split in a broad grin. “Oh, good idea, Mama. You go and ask a nun all about it. Do be sure to write and give me the details.”
“Dreadful child,” the duchess said fondly, rising to drop a kiss on her son’s head before going to make her travel arrangements.
“S
uch lovely stitchery, child, simply lovely. Did the nuns teach you?”
Ottoline hung over Meggie’s shoulder, watching as she placed the finishing touches on Eve. “Mmm,” Meggie replied absently, sitting back and appraising her work, now stretched on a proper frame that Dorelia had produced from some comer of the house. She continued to produce all sorts of Lally treasures that she’d been saving over the years.
Silver-backed hairbrushes, tortoiseshell combs, beautiful crystal bottles full of creams and lotions that Dorelia had made up herself all appeared as if by magic in her room. Dresses for all times of the day and night, cleverly altered by Dorelia to fit the present styles, began to fill the cavernous wardrobe. Shawls and delicate chemises, gossamer-thin night shifts, retrimmed hats, marched along side by side with shoes and boots and gloves.
Meggie felt as if Dorelia and Ottoline expected her to waltz about like an overdone fashion plate, but she had no place to wear most of the beautiful clothes—let alone any time or inclination to change seven times a day. A day dress, a riding habit, and a dinner dress were good enough for her, even if the aunties didn’t approve of her lack of attention to fashion.
The afternoon sunshine poured through the windows of Meggie’s very own sitting room, a luxury she never would have dreamed of three weeks before, and lit up the tapestry in a brilliant display of colors. Meggie’s embroidered Garden of Eden looked as fresh and dazzling as her new life.
She’d had hardly any time to devote to her stitching in the last three weeks, far too busy with Hugo and her work on the estate. What few moments of solitude she could snatch she did, wanting the time to think and reflect on what had been done, what needed to be done, what might be done down the road.
She began to better understand why Sister Agnes considered deep silences and long contemplations essential. Before Lyden, Meggie’s responsibilities had been confined to the management of patients and gardens. Now she had so many more obligations. The tenants and their welfare needed attention, from the health of their children to the state of their drains.
Mr. Coldsnap, of whom she had become very fond, was a godsend, taking her around and introducing her to the various families. He carefully answered any questions Meggie asked and explained all sorts of other things he thought she needed to know as Hugo’s wife. He made her feel like a proper lady—and Meggie found to her delight that she didn’t have to alter her behavior one iota to have him treat her like one. As far as he was concerned, she was Lady Hugo, and that was that.
Lyden Hall itself needed managing, too, for the more staff Hugo hired, the more people she had to oversee. Much to her surprise, the Mabey sisters had stepped back, professing themselves overjoyed to be relieved of responsibility, but gently nudging and instructing whenever they felt it necessary.
Two footmen had replaced Roberto, who had been elevated to butler. Meggie now had a housekeeper, a gentle soul named Mrs. Hitchcock who thankfully got along with everyone, including Cookie.
Meggie even had her own personal maid, Daisy, whom she’d brought over from Snape, just as she’d promised Rose—and thank the good Lord, Daisy was proving a great deal more intelligent and efficient than her younger sister.
“Where’s the apple, dear?”
“I beg your pardon?” Meggie asked.
“I said, where’s the apple? Shouldn’t Eve be holding out an apple to tempt the poor boy?”
Meggie looked up at her dear adopted auntie, who sometimes tried her patience, but whom Meggie valued highly. “No, she should not. I’ve always thought the notion that woman was responsible for corrupting man rather depressing and ill-spirited. Anyway, Adam took the apple, didn’t he, but that was never made much of at all.”
Ottoline cackled. “Good for you, child, good for you. Right you are, too. Where is Adam in the scheme of things? I presume he comes next?”
“Yes, he does.” Meggie grinned up at Ottoline. “I didn’t have a proper model before now. I think if I’d tried to depict him, I would have ended up with a Jasper Oddbins, who is not very inspirational, being barrelchested, knock-kneed, and nearly bald.”
Ottoline nearly collapsed in giggles. “My, no. That would be no good at all. Now dear Hugo, he’s another story, eh? He would grace your tapestry nicely, with that fine masculine figure and a head of hair any girl would be happy to sink her fingers into.”
“Auntie, sometimes I think you have no shame,” Meggie said, knowing perfectly well it was the truth. She’d long since intuited all the details of Ottoline and Dorelia’s extraordinary relationship with Linus Eliot, and in her secret heart she thought it wonderful, even if wildly eccentric.
At least they’d all been very happy together for well over forty years from everything she’d gathered. She still wondered exactly how they’d managed their unique arrangement, but given that the aunties seemed to operate as one voice, she couldn’t be surprised that they’d made it work to everyone’s benefit.
Both sisters certainly had a lusty approach to the physical aspects of life, which they made no attempt to stifle in Meggie’s presence now that she was a married woman.
“Madrigal, dearest? Do you attend me? Sometimes I do wonder if you haven’t Lally’s tendency to drift off when one is speaking.”
“I am listening,” Meggie answered, digging in her satchel for another skein of thread. “You were speaking of Hugo’s hair. It does need cutting, I agree,” she said, hiding her smile. “I wonder if he ever is going to summon his valet—he keeps saying he will, and then nothing comes of it.”
“That comes as no surprise, dear girl. Use your brain. Why would your husband want to introduce a blatant reminder of his past life into the idyllic situation he has here? He’s learning to manage on his own, and if you ask me, he likes it, or at least he likes it for the moment.”
Meggie sat up, the thread forgotten. “What do you mean he likes it for the moment? Are you saying that he will not like it for very much longer?”
“I am saying that be is a man. Men become restless very easily. He might decide that he has had his immediate fill of the splendor of marriage and the simplicity of country life that goes along with it.”
“I don’t—what do you mean, auntie?” Meggie asked, concerned. She felt a strange, nervous energy coming from Ottoline, most unusual in the usually ebullient and outspoken woman, and it worried her.
“I only mean that he will most probably vanish shortly to London and places beyond before eventually returning and picking up the pieces,” Ottoline said abruptly. “That
is
what men of his station do, you know.”
Meggie’s mouth went dry. She didn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. Hugo wouldn’t do that to her. She knew he wouldn’t. “I think you are mistaken about him,” she whispered.
Ottoline moved around to Meggie’s front. “I do not mean to distress you, child, only to warn you,” she said, taking Meggie’s hand. “That is how life goes. If left to their own devices, men will stray, so they will. They bore easily and are always on the lookout for new sexual conquests, especially once they think they have you in hand. You need to keep them where they belong, or go where they go. One trick is to keep the bed as welcoming as you can, and your tongue between your teeth if that doesn’t suffice, but I personally recommend staying close by their sides so as to forestall temptation.”
Meggie blindly nodded at this unsolicited and unwelcome piece of advice.
Ottoline patted her hand and placed it back on Meggie’s lap. “You’re a good girl, Madrigal, that you are.”
She then proceeded to trot out of the room as if she’d said nothing more remarkable than that the habit of eating three meals a day was to be recommended.
Meggie sat frozen. The idea of Hugo seeking out another woman made her heart contract painfully. Being told that it was an inevitability, and told from someone who would know how these things went, made her want to die.
Made her want to die?
She brought herself up short. Absolute nonsense. She’d survived far too much to let herself be brought low by the base assumptions of an old woman who hardly even knew Hugo.
Meggie took a deep breath and raised her chin defiantly. She wouldn’t believe it of Hugo, she just wouldn’t. It didn’t matter what other gentlemen of quality did, Hugo wasn’t anything like them.
He cared nothing for their empty values. He’d said as much, lying in her arms, murmuring countless times to her how happy he was to be away from that world, how none of it meant anything to him. He’d had his fill and had no intention of going back to that sort of life.
Meggie believed him.
He loved Lyden. He loved his work, his people, he loved her, or at least everything he knew about her. She was still very careful to keep her education to herself, since she didn’t want to upset him in any way, and she certainly took care to keep her gift to herself, but in all other things they were in accord with each other.
Hugo was even in accord with Hadrian … well, in a manner of speaking, she amended. They put up with each other. Hugo allowed Hadrian to come along when he and Meggie went walking or riding together. He made no objections to Hadrian’s presence in the house, but the bedroom was firmly off limits. Hadrian slept in the kitchen, and that was that.
For his part, Hadrian made it clear that Hugo was no foe, but he wasn’t exactly a friend, either. Hugo never received the licks that Hadrian lavished on everyone else, nor did Hadrian ever invite him to a playful game of tag. He tolerated Hugo, no more, and Meggie understood. For so long it had just been the two of them, and she had bestowed all of her love and her affection on Hadrian. Now Hadrian had to share Meggie with someone else, and that someone happened to be a man who did not hold Hadrian in the same high regard that he was accustomed to.
She shook her head with a laugh. Dorelia had been right about that—the two of them were engaged in a struggle over territorial rights, and they were still coming to terms.
Glancing up at the clock on the mantelpiece, she realized that if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for her meeting with the vicar. He wanted to organize a Ladies Aid Society, with Meggie as chairwoman and patroness.
She felt rather odd about the idea of being a patroness of anything, but she certainly saw the worth in the idea. It had also occurred to her that this might be a good venue for showing people that Hugo’s interest in good works went beyond the boundaries of Lyden Hall. She thought she’d keep the proposition to herself though, until she had something concrete with which to present Hugo.
He tended to be very protective of her, worried that she might be overcome by the pressures and demands of the outside world, given her previously sheltered environment.
Unfortunately, to Hugo the outside world included not just London and all that it entailed, to which she readily admitted a fear of, but also the tiny hamlet of Orford.
Really, as much as she loved him, sometimes Hugo could be very silly.
“Tell me, Mr. Coldsnap,” Hugo said, riding out on the daily afternoon rounds that he enjoyed immensely, “seeing as it is only mid-June, if we planted the southerly fields with hay, and plowed up the northerly fields, leaving them fallow until the autumn, would we not be able to plant a winter crop in the latter and still make next spring’s schedule for crop rotation?”
“Indeed we would, and very good of you to see it,” Coldsnap said, his voice filled with approval.
“Not at all. It is you who provided me with the books and charts and suggestions. I only wish to implement them in the wisest way possible, and this occurred to me as an interesting option.”
“A fine one, too, the more I consider it,” Coldsnap said. “I daresay, Lord Hugo, you have learned an extraordinary amount in hardly any time at all, and absorbed it better than I ever would have imagined. It takes imagination to see beyond the obvious, and you have plenty of that.”
Hugo glanced over at him. “So I’ve been told,” he replied wryly.
He didn’t add that for once in his life he was putting that imagination to good use. Oh, how he liked the feeling of being truly productive, of having each day count for something, of seeing even in this short time his efforts make a difference. The satisfaction that he had when he went to sleep at night, Meggie wrapped up in his arms after a rewarding session of lovemaking was far beyond anything he’d ever expected when he’d taken on Lyden—and Meggie.
Life was good. Hugo felt blessed far beyond anything he deserved, and he couldn’t help questioning the gifts bestowed on him out of nowhere.
“I cannot tell you what pleasure I take from working alongside you, just as it was in the old days,” Coldsnap said, rambling on. “The tenants, they feel just the same, my yes, for they’ve said as much over and over again, and none of them can say enough about your dear wife, either. She seems to know just what they need to hear, and her manner is so easy, so natural, and charming that they light right up when she goes to visit.” He nodded. “A lovely woman, Lord Hugo. You could not have chosen better.”
Hugo personally agreed with him, but he only inclined his head and smiled. It didn’t do to say too much about Meggie, just in case she should have a relapse. He prayed that would not happen.
She had made such improvement in only two weeks that he had actually begun to believe that Meggie’s mental condition had been caused only by a severe lack of love, coupled with the lack of stimulation endemic to institutional life.
He’d once seen the same phenomenon occur in a horse who had been locked away and badly neglected. Destined to be shot, at the last moment it had been sold for a song to a new and caring owner and had flourished, its nervous habits and peculiarities disappearing as if they’d never been.
Once released from confinement, Meggie had flowered at Lyden. Her brain appeared to heal from its dysfunction with every hour, every day that passed—and with each of those hours and days he loved her more. True, she still had her odd moments when she’d come out with the most bizarre statements and observations, but he now barely noticed them at all. Or maybe he was simply becoming inured to them.