Meggie colored hotly. “No,” she whispered. “I suppose not.”
“That is more like it,” Sister Agnes said, her severe expression relaxing. “I believe that God has always had a special plan for you, Meggie Bloom. Do not turn your back on this opportunity simply because you do not understand
why
it has been offered.”
“Oh, Sister, I do not want to turn my back on it. I want to open my arms and embrace it more than I can say.”
“Then I think you should go to Lord Hugo and tell him just that,” the nun said, ever logical.
With her words something swelled in Meggie’s breast, something bright and beautiful, the real possibility that she could have a life outside of these walls, and best of all, a life with Hugo Montagu.
Yes, I will come to you…
“Yes,” she said very softly. “Yes, I will. I will.”
“Excellent,” the nun said, clapping her hands together with pleasure. “Where did you leave him waiting?”
Meggie paled, belatedly recalling exactly where she’d left him and under what circumstances. “In the um … in the solarium, Sister,” she said, swallowing hard.
“The solarium—but that is no place for visitors! You know perfectly well it is only for those who are waiting to be admitted.” Sister Agnes’s eyes shot wide open in horror. “Oh, Meggie. Meggie Bloom. You didn’t. You couldn’t have.”
“I’m afraid I did,” Meggie said miserably.
She reached into the pocket of her apron and held up the key.
“Five thousand one hundred six, five thousand one hundred seven,” Hugo muttered, fiercely concentrating on each step he paced off, trying to ignore the cold sweat that trickled down the back of his collar.
“Five thousand one hundred eight, five thousand one hundred nine…” He reckoned by the time he reached four hundred thousand, he would have earned every last penny that marriage to Meggie Bloom would bring him.
But by God, if he wasn’t released long before that, there would be hell to pay. He didn’t know how he’d kept a handle on his sanity this long. He’d never experienced such torture.
Hugo paused, bending over and squeezing his eyes shut to keep the walls from closing in on him yet again. He knew logically that shrinking walls were just an illusion. Unfortunately the logical part of his brain had shrunk to the size of a very small pea, and the section that had supplied him with highly detailed nightmares as a child had taken over as if it had never been away.
“Meggie Bloom, you will marry me if I have to drag you by the hair kicking and screaming all the way,” he hissed from between his teeth, his breath coming hard and fast. “And then I will lock you up as surely as you have me and see how
you
like it. I—I will withhold chocolates and ribbons and even your bloody asinine lettuces from you. And then, when I am forgiving enough to let you out of your torture chamber after a number of excruciating months, you can damned well go and sleep in the kennels with the hounds, since you’re so bloody bird-witted that you can’t even tell the difference between a dog and a bleeding wolf!”
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh God. Oh God, please take mercy on me. Please. I’ll do anything you ask, I swear it,
just let me out of here
!”
He straightened in disbelief as he heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the first lock. God couldn’t possibly have heard him so quickly.
His first impulse was to fling himself at his liberator, but some remnant of pride took over. He quickly mopped at his face and neck and pulled on his coat faster than he’d ever managed in his life.
Dignity, he told himself, stuffing his neckcloth into his pocket, since there was no time to do anything else with it. Dignity and mastery of the situation. Revenge could wait.
He stood perfectly still as the heavy door creaked open. The first thing he saw was the top of a flaxen head lowered in his direction.
“Miss Bloom?” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “I see you have chosen to return. How courteous of you.”
“Lord Hugo.” She stepped through the door, leaving it wide open. He was infinitely grateful. “I have a very great apology to make to you.” She raised her translucent eyes to his, which only unsettled him further.
“An apology?” he said, forcing himself to maintain the righteous indignation that threatened to melt away in the force of her penetrating gaze. “Would that be for leaving me locked in this godforsaken room for the last forty-five minutes with no explanation?”
“Yes. I made a terrible mistake. You see, I thought you had come to stay.”
“You thought I had come to stay.” Hugo gazed at her with a horrible fascination. Dear Lord, but what was he letting himself in for? “You mean that you thought this was where we’d be living after we were married? I do have a home of my own, you know.” He inched toward the open door as he spoke.
“I know,” Meggie said. “Or at least I assumed you had. What I meant was that I thought you had escaped, and so I was returning you. When Sister Agnes reassured me that was not the case at all, naturally I was sorry. I am very sorry.”
Hugo only nodded, since he had absolutely nothing to say to that piece of foolishness.
“So if you’d still like to marry me, I really would like that very much, even if I didn’t understand until Sister Agnes explained everything to me. Or at least everything that she could.”
“Did she. I am most obliged to her.” He walked into the hallway and took a deep breath. Only about a hundred paces more and he’d be at the front door.
Meggie followed him. “Lord Hugo, don’t you think we should discuss this properly? After all, as Sister Agnes pointed out, you are taking on a big responsibility, and so am I. Well, that is to say, I really have no idea what is involved, but I am sure that I will have responsibilities. Won’t I?” she asked, trailing off uncertainly.
Hugo paused only long enough to glance over his shoulder. “I do not wish to discuss this now.”
“Oh … I see. Have I made you so angry that you would rather not marry me after all?”
She sounded so disappointed that Hugo nearly laughed. He stopped and turned. “Meggie. Listen to me carefully. I still want to marry you. However, I have no intention of standing here in this—this hellhole and having an involved conversation with you on the subject.”
Her brow drew down. “You do intend to discuss this at some point?” she asked. “Or do you mean to keep me so stuffed with chocolates that conversation will be impossible?”
Hugo prayed for patience, then reached out and grasped her hand, thinking that the first thing he was going to do with her when he got her out of the asylum was to throw her into a bath. He hauled her down the corridor, through the entrance hall, and directly to the front door.
“Go and collect your belongings and be quick about it,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “I will be outside. When you have finished packing and saying whatever goodbyes you have to make, meet me out front.”
“You really
do
mean to take me away this very afternoon,” she said, gazing at him with an odd expression he couldn’t interpret, but he hoped to God it didn’t mean she was suddenly having second thoughts.
He instantly switched to the persuasive tactic he knew worked best with her. “I intend to do exactly that, and this very minute could not be soon enough to leave. I have a fine carriage waiting outside with two pretty white horses to pull it.”
Meggie scratched her nose. “A fine carriage with two pretty white horses?”
“Yes, and it is only a half hour’s journey to my nice big house. It is by the sea, or close enough to it. Do you like the sea, Meggie?”
“I imagine I do,” she said, “but then I have never seen the sea.” She scratched her nose again, looking as if she was about to sneeze. “Is it also very big?”
“Not so big as to be troublesome. Now be a good girl and run along, or we will be late for supper.”
“Supper,” she said with a dreamy smile. “What a heavenly thought. On Fridays we usually only have gruel and bread for both meals. It’s something to do with penance, but I’ve never been very clear about why—of course, there is so much I am not clear on. I was hoping you could explain these things to me.”
“I wouldn’t worry yourself over explanations. I am sure we can do much better than bread and gruel for supper. With a little luck we will have a feast. A
magical
feast, if you but hurry,” he said desperately, envisioning standing there for another two hours while Meggie’s mind wandered all over kingdom come.
“A magical feast? In that case, I will use my flying carpet to carry me upstairs.”
Hugo watched her scamper away up the main staircase, wincing as a volley of giggles erupted from her throat about halfway up the first flight and didn’t stop until she was out of earshot.
He pressed his hands flat against his forehead, then walked out into the fresh air. It was a damned good thing Meggie Bloom was as beautiful as she was, or even his financial desperation would not have been enough to keep him from fleeing.
But now he was as close to a
fait accompli
as he could get, and there was no turning back. He would just have to find a way to manage her—or rather, manage to keep his own sanity while around her.
Maybe if he kept her mouth stuffed with chocolates, as she had suggested, he’d be able to admire the extraordinary physical bounties God had given her in place of a brain.
Thinking of chocolates, he wasn’t at all sure where this magical supper he’d just invoked was going to come from.
True, he’d written a letter to the Misses Mabey, informing them of his intention to arrive that day with his bride-to-be and requesting two bedrooms to be aired and a simple evening meal to be made ready.
However, since he didn’t know whether the Misses Mabey could even see well enough to read, let alone function well enough to organize a supper, it was anyone’s guess as to what he might find upon his arrival.
He’d considered sending his valet ahead from London to organize the place, but had reconsidered. He realized that it was just as important to keep Mallard in the dark about Meggie’s origins as everyone else. Word always spread faster than wildfire from the servants’ quarters all the way up into the finest drawing rooms, and the truth flying around the finest drawing rooms was the last thing he needed.
Mallard could bloody well arrive when Hugo had Meggie better in hand, and if he didn’t manage to get her in hand, well, he could always claim that the shock of their wedding night had completely unhinged her.
Hugo grinned. Now
there
was a brilliant idea.
He could just see Meggie unhinged by excessive passion. He wouldn’t mind giving it a try—not that she wasn’t unhinged already, but it was the excessive passion part that appealed to him. Meggie, lying in his bed with that dreamy look in her eyes that she’d bestowed on him only minutes before, her hair floating around her shoulders in a golden cloud. There was a truly appealing image.
Granted, she’d bestowed that particular look on him only when he’d promised her a fine supper, but there was more than one way to satisfy an appetite.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Hugo suddenly felt infinitely more cheerful.
M
eggie reached her room and collapsed on her hard little bed in fits of laughter. The irony was too much for her. Hugo Montagu was completely in his right mind after all, and that news had come as the most wonderful relief. But it now appeared that he thought her some kind of a simpleton. Why else would he speak to her in such a peculiar fashion?
She sat up, grinning broadly. She had to admit, as silly as it was, his mistaken assumption did make a nice change. Where most people thought she perceived far too much, her soon-to-be husband apparently thought she perceived far too little.
He might as well have been addressing Rose.
She supposed that was what he must have meant by her not being entirely of this world. What was it Sister Agnes had said? Oh, yes.
He thinks of you as an angel…
Meggie shook her head. She didn’t see how he could think her much of an angel when he’d made such an obvious point of wanting her in his bed, but what did she know about men and what lay behind their desires?
She found it hard to believe that he wanted a dimwitted angel for a wife, but she supposed she ought to indulge him as best she could. After all, he was being kind enough to marry her.
He’d figure out the truth eventually, and with luck he’d realize that it wasn’t such a terrible thing to have a wife who was not only entirely earthbound, but sensible as well.
For the moment, her only objective was to escape from the sanitarium before anything could go wrong.
She stripped off her dress, thinking that it was a shame it was only Friday. On Saturdays she was allowed the weekly luxury of a pitcher of hot water to bathe with. By tomorrow she’d be a married woman with a home of her own. Maybe she could even have a pitcher of hot water every day. Oh, the luxury…
She shivered as she washed in her little basin, scrubbing herself clean as best she could with a sliver of lye soap, then rubbed herself dry on the threadbare towel that hung on a nail next to the washstand.
A clean dress—that was a good idea. She’d pack the one she’d been wearing and wash it later. The wardrobe held only her spare white work dress and her best dress for Sunday church, black with a plain white collar. She laid them both out on the bed and looked down at them, wondering which would be more suitable.
A scratch came at the door and Meggie sighed, already knowing it was Rose.
“Come in,” she called, still trying to decide which dress to wear.
“Oh, Meggie!” Rose cried as she exploded into the room. “Sister Agnes sent me along to help you pack—she said you was leaving today to be married! Is it true? That is, it has to be if Sister Agnes said it was, but I cannot understand how such a thing came to pass. Did you meet him in town? You said nowt of it … Is he a fine one? He must be, oh so very fine. Is it a grand passion? Oooh, this is so romantic I can scarcely bear it.”
Meggie glanced at Rose over her shoulder with dry amusement. “Actually I him right here. He is the son of one of the patronesses.”
“Meggie,” Rose gasped, her mouth gaping. “Is he quality, then? A proper gentleman?”
“Not just a gentleman, he’s a proper lord. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Rose shook her head, her eyes looking as if they were going to pop right out of her head. “Then you will be a proper lady?”
“I suppose I will be,” Meggie said, genuinely startled. That hadn’t even occurred to her. Meggie Bloom, who had all her life been nothing more than an unfortunate stain on the blotter of social respectability would be transformed into Lady Hugo Montagu, wife of an aristocrat. It didn’t seem possible—and it probably wouldn’t be unless the truth was kept quiet.
“A proper lady,” she repeated, wondering how she was going to pull that performance off. It was a good thing she had an education and decent elocution, but the rest really would be a challenge.
Rose stuck one finger in her mouth. “I was just wondering … since you are to be a fine lady and all, you’ll be needing a lady’s maid to dress you up, won’t you now?”
Meggie shrugged. “I don’t know what for. It’s not as if I haven’t been dressing myself my entire life. It seems a little silly to have someone do it for me now.”
“Oh, but Meggie—my sister, she was in service up at Wickham Market in the big house till they closed it down not six months ago. Mind you, she weren’t no lady’s maid, just a chambermaid, but she learned all about how to go about it from the Frenchie who looked after the mistress. It’s been Daisy’s heart’s desire to work as a lady’s maid ever since, but she’s had no luck in finding a position.” Rose sucked in a quick breath of air. “So if you should find yourself in need, well, Daisy’s a good girl and hard working, and we’d all be ever so grateful. She’s right there in Snape, helping Mam with the young ‘uns, now that I’ve come to work here. Anyone can tell you where to find the Kersey cottage. I know Daisy’ll be as pleased as punch. She’ll go anywhere you ask.”
Meggie went to Rose and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll do what I can once I see what my new circumstances are,” she said, her heart going out to the girl. For all of Rose’s simpleness, she had a kind nature and only the best of intentions. “In the meantime, maybe you could help me. Which dress do you think most suitable for me to wear to arrive at Lord Hugo’s house in? The black or the white?”
“Oh,” Rose said, frowning hard in concentration. “It’s a pity you don’t have summat with a bit more color. You don’t want his lordship to think you a nun like some of the others around here—but he must know better than that, or he wouldn’t be taking you away with him, now would he?” She chortled merrily at her joke. “Still, why not the black? It won’t stain with travel like the white will. I always did wonder why Sister Agnes thinks white a suitable color for our work clothes…
Meggie, who was paying only the slightest amount of attention to Rose’s patter, nodded absently. She’d already put on the black dress and was busy taking the rest of her belongings out of the wardrobe and folding them neatly on her bed.
When she’d finished that task, she pulled out the carpetbag that had been gathering dust in the bottom of the wardrobe. She’d never thought she would use it again for anything other than storing her spare threads and needles, and she’d certainly never imagined she’d be using it to carry a meager trousseau.
She plunked the open bag onto the bed next to her pile of clothes and pushed the skeins to one side. Two homespun nightgowns went in first, followed by one cotton shift and her spare cap and apron. The dirty dress and apron she’d been wearing worked well enough to wrap her work shoes in, and she laid that bundle on top. There was nothing more to add than her toothbrush, her hairbrush, and Aunt Emily’s Bible.
Finally, she fetched the large satchel that contained the tapestry she’d been working on for so many years. It was the only thing she possessed that was truly
hers.
She had thought that when she was finally done with the tapestry, it would represent the sum of her experience. Day by day. Stitch by stitch. Until her life was at an end, and she was buried in the far field where everyone without a family was given a place.
And now everything had changed in the blink of an eye.
Meggie gazed down at the satchel that contained her precious work, swearing silently to herself that no matter what came, she would not abandon her touchstone. It would always be with her to feed her truth, to reflect back to her those things she couldn’t express in words. Memory was the only legacy she had.
Pulling the tapestry out, she looked over the needlework, feeling as if she was reading through a personal journal. Each segment represented a portion of the time she’d spent at the sanitarium, her memories defined by every stitch.
She traced her fingertip over the section of lush trees, with brightly colored fantastical birds roosting in their branches. She’d embroidered that during the winter six years before when Mrs. Beatrice Collins had been recovering from her terrible grief over the fifth loss of a child. Meggie showed her each panel as it progressed, speaking incessantly of God’s love and wisdom, and of the joy of heaven where surely all of Mrs. Collins’s children were now at peace with the angels.
Mrs. Collins had gone home to her husband just as the first buds showed on the trees, her troubled spirit finally at peace.
And here, she remembered, moving her finger along, was the section she’d worked on the following year when Sister Agnes had been so ill with influenza that they’d all worried for her life. Meggie had sat by her bed, hour after hour, caring for her fevered body, stitching away when Sister Agnes dozed fitfully.
That month, Meggie’s final defenses had fallen. She had allowed herself to trust Sister Agnes. Hadrian had begun to trust her at the same time. Hence his image embroidered into the scene.
His dear face looked out at Meggie, reminding her of how small he’d been then.
“Hadrian!” she gasped, dropping the tapestry back into the bag. “Oh, Rose—how could I have forgotten? Will you be a dear and fetch him for me? He’s still in the garden where I left him, poor fellow.”
“Aye, that I will, Meggie,” Rose said, her smile instantly vanishing. “I hadn’t thought that he’ll be leaving us as well. I don’t know who I’ll miss more, you or that dear doggie of yours.” She hung her head, tears welling up in her eyes, and in another second she was sniffling hard into her hands. “It didn’t seem real till just now,” she explained.
Meggie quickly moved to Rose’s side and put her arm around her broad shoulders. “I’ll miss you, too, but don’t you worry, I’ll be back to visit, I promise.”
She did mean it, most sincerely. Meggie had no intention of abandoning those patients who had been benefiting from her care. She couldn’t just disappear without a trace, and why should she? From everything Hugo had said, his house was only a half hour away.
She should find it easy enough to get away every now and then.
“Do you promise?” Rose asked. “You will bring the doggie with you, too?”
“If I can,” Meggie said, wondering how she was going to get Hadrian out of the sanitarium in the first place, given Hugo’s unfortunate aversion to animals. She supposed she’d just have to be adamant. If he wanted to marry her so very much, then he would have to accept the consequences—all of them—including life with a wolf.
Hugo lounged impatiently against the side of his curricle, wishing Meggie would get on with it. He couldn’t imagine what was taking her so long.
He caught a movement from the comer of his eye, someone coming down the path that led from the garden. He instantly straightened, all muscles tensing as the figure vanished behind a copse of trees, then reappeared only yards away.
It was a girl, dressed all in white as Meggie had been, a cap hanging askew from her head. She was large boned and round, with a face like pudding. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him and stared. Her jaw dropped until it practically rested on the ample bosom that her hands were fanning wildly.
Hugo swallowed hard, wondering what she might do next, for she was clearly another one of
them.
She suddenly tore her gaze away from him, looking around as if expecting something to appear out of thin air. Then she spun on her heels, put her fingers to her mouth, emitted a piercing whistle, and started flapping her arms like a chicken.
Hugo winced, wishing a keeper would come and take her away. It pained him to watch her pathetic antics.
Just as that thought crossed his mind a huge dark shape came bounding out of the copse of trees, aiming straight toward her at a lightning clip.
Hugo’s knees nearly buckled with fear.
“Watch out!” he cried, instinctively leaping into action. The girl might be crazed, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be devoured by a wolf.
He tore down the path toward her, intending to throw himself on her and shield her body with his own while he tried to fend off the wolf.
But the wolf reached her before Hugo could. He jumped upon her, his paws resting on her shoulders. Instead of knocking her down and mauling her, he proceeded to wash her face with his tongue while she giggled and rubbed his head.
Hugo ground to a halt, his heart pounding furiously in delayed reaction. He ran a hand over his face. Nothing in this place had any rhyme or reason to it, including the wild animals.
The wolf was as crazy as the rest of them—everyone knew that wolves couldn’t be tamed. Their sole purpose in life was to eat livestock and people, and not necessarily in that order.
“You must be his lordship who’s come to marry our Meggie,” the girl said with another giggle, pushing the wolf down. It sat at her heels, a huge pink tongue lolling from a mouth in which sharp white fangs gleamed menacingly. “I’m Rose Kersey, and this here is Hadrian, Meggie’s dear little doggie. I was just telling Meggie not ten minutes ago how we’re going to miss them both ever so much, but then one can’t do without t’other, so we’ll just have to make do ourselves. Without them, I mean.”
Hugo cleared his throat with an effort and said, “If you are so fond of Meggie’s dear little doggie, Miss Kersey, you may keep him for your very own.”
“Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t do that,” Rose said, her eyes popping wide open. “He’d pine so for Meggie, and she for him. I dunno what they’d do at night for company without each other.”
She clapped her hand to her mouth and giggled wildly, rolling her eyes. “It’ll be the three of you now, won’t it? I reckon Hadrian’s going to have to make room in the bed.”
A violent protest emerged from Hugo’s throat, but it came out sounding more like a strangled sob. Meggie couldn’t possibly sleep with a wolf in her bed … could she? Then he remembered that of course this poor girl was not to be taken seriously any more than Meggie was.
“I imagine we will all manage nicely,” he said in a soothing voice. “Isn’t there someplace you’re supposed to be?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t think so, sir. Let me see. Sister Agnes asked me to help Meggie pack, and Meggie asked me to get the doggie from the garden, and … it’s not time for supper yet, so I reckon I should be waiting for Meggie right here.”