Martha Schroeder (12 page)

Well, love and lovemaking would have to remain a mystery for a while longer. Ladylike swoons and spasms were not her style, and she was not going to let the idea of marriage get the better of her. She had always ridden at a gallop toward life’s challenges, daring them to defeat her. She would not treat marriage to Captain James Sheridan any differently from running an estate without money. Everything could be coped with if you refused to entertain the idea of failure.

Meg raised her chin, ready to do battle.

Meadows entered and announced Mr. Quigley, a plump little man, his sober coat stretched over a round stomach. His white hair grew in wisps around his head. He bent over her hand and then lifted his head and peered at her through his spectacles.

“You are looking well, Lady Margaret. I have brought all the papers that pertain to your father’s estate, and those setting out Hedgemere’s income through the years.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Quigley. I wanted to go over everything with you before you spoke to Captain Sheridan.”

Mr. Quigley’s expression grew troubled. Meg had long noted that when something disturbed him, Mr. Quigley looked very like an unhappy baby. His mouth turned down, and his round, pink face puckered. She saw the signs now.

“I have received some very troubling reports about Captain Sheridan,” he said, shaking his head.

“He has discussed his... irregular birth with me,” Meg said, finding it much more difficult to talk about it to her solicitor than to James himself.

“Oh.” Mr. Quigley stared. He was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, but his concern for his client drove him to pursue it. “And you still wish to marry him, my lady?”

“Yes. It is why I have summoned you.” Meg’s tone was astringent. She respected Mr. Quigley and valued his advice, but she did not wish to lend any credence to the gossip about the captain’s ineligibility.

“Lady Margaret, the captain’s relationship with members of his father’s family are—not what they might be. I would like your permission to inquire into them more fully.”

“Come and sit down, Mr. Quigley.” Meg indicated a tapestry-covered chair facing her desk. She sat down behind the large mahogany desk and inclined her head. “Now tell me what disturbs you. I am aware that he has not been in touch with his father’s family for quite a while—a fact that does not disturb me. As you know, I do not remember my mother, and my father was not a presence in my life.” While literally true, the late earl’s absence, his ceaseless demands for money and disregard of any claims his daughter might have on his time or affections had dominated her life.

Mr. Quigley leaned forward. “Lady Margaret, the captain’s, er, father died several years ago. Reginald Devereaux, the new Duke of Kettering, has written to me, warning me that any further inquiries into the history of one Captain James Sheridan and linking his name with mat of Kettering will bring a suit for slander against me.”

“Good heavens, Mr. Quigley, what did you do to rouse such wrath?”

“Nothing at all untoward, my lady, I assure you. As you requested, I made some very cursory inquiries of the bank and the captain’s solicitor, both of whom you named in your letter. That was all. And they both spoke of the captain in the most glowing terms. He is indeed a wealthy man, thanks to the many French ships he captured with cargo from their colonies in the West Indies and to some extremely shrewd investments.”

“Then I do not understand. What possible objection could the duke have to such a request? How did he know anything about it?” Meg found herself concerned for the captain. It would not do him any good to have made an implacable enemy of his half-brother. “So far as I know, Captain Sheridan has had no dealings with anyone in the duke’s family for many years.”

“I do not know what so exercised the duke or how he came by his information. But I confess I am concerned. The tone of the duke’s letter was very angry. I would not want my actions to cause you or the captain any difficulty.” The little man’s concern for her was evident. Meg smiled at him.

“I cannot believe that anything difficult will come of your inquiries. After all, we have no intention of bothering the duke or even visiting London for the Season. He can perfectly well continue to ignore his half-brother and now his wife.”

“I hope you are right, my lady. Kettering is very powerful in political circles. His enmity can be costly.”

“I’m sure you are right, Mr. Quigley. But as I said, we have no interest in traveling in those circles. I feel sure that the duke will calm down after he hears nothing from us or about us.” She smiled reassuringly at her worried solicitor. But Mr. Quigley did not look reassured. Of course, solicitors were paid to worry about things no ordinary mortal gave a thought to. “Did you hear anything else about Captain Sheridan?”

“Nothing that was anything less than complimentary,” he replied. “Nothing that need concern you.”

She laughed. “I am not a solicitor, Mr. Quigley. I am much more interested in the nice things people had to say about the captain than in the things you think should concern me!”

“Yes, well, as to the captain’s reputation, my lady, those whom I knew at the Admiralty were very warm in their praise of his service. A brave and resourceful commander, they said. One trusted by his superiors and loved by those who served under him.”

Hearing the captain praised so heartily made Meg’s heart swell with pleasure. When she realized she was hanging on Mr. Quigley’s every word, she shook her head. What was the matter with her? She was as proud of James Sheridan as if she were some silly girl who had fallen in love with a war hero!

“And his fellow officers thought well of him, too, though they found him a bit closemouthed. Never talked too much of his family or friends.”

“How did you manage to find all this out in such a short time, Mr. Quigley?” Meg asked in admiration.

“I should like to know that as well,” said an angry voice from the doorway. “Good morning, Lady Margaret.” The captain’s face wore a mask of icy fury. “Pray tell me, have you engaged a runner to find out about my disreputable past? Or was it concern for me that led you to investigate my life behind my back, rather than ask me about it?”

For a moment Meg was speechless before the captain’s rage. He remained perfectly in control of himself, but there was no doubt as to the depth of his anger. Then she rallied. She had done nothing underhanded.

“I do not believe it is unheard of for a family to inquire into the life and prospects of a young man who wishes to marry one of their daughters. In fact, you must have thought the same when you gave me the names of your banker and your solicitor. I do not have a relation to do that for me, so I asked Mr. Quigley, my solicitor, who has always proved trustworthy and discreet, to ask those questions for me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “In fact, I wished to make Mr. Quigley known to you. That is why I invited you to come here this morning. I have invited him to lunch with us.”

“Really?” James drawled, disbelief dripping from the word.

“Really.” Meg would not look away or back down. “As a matter of fact, it is probably a very good thing that you were not here. You would have heard a great deal of praise—enough to give you a marvelous conceit of yourself.”

James gazed deep into her eyes and saw nothing but truth there. He realized that despite his instinctive anger at anyone who probed into his personal life, he knew she did not lie. The truth seemed always to shine in her eyes, as it did now. He felt the tightness in his chest relax. He had not been betrayed. The person asking about him had been doing so for Meg. Meg who, he knew at some deep, instinctual level, would never betray him.

“Very well,” he said. “I trust you have found everything in order, Mr. Quigley?”

The solicitor rose. “Yes, sir. As I was telling Lady Margaret, you are most highly regarded not only by those gentlemen but by those in the Admiralty as well. They were sorry to lose you.”

James’s expression tightened. “I trust you have not made a pest of yourself inquiring of the navy about me.”

“No, Captain. I have friends who were only too happy to sing your praises.” Mr. Quigley did not smile. His professional competence had been questioned, and Meg could see he was standing on his dignity.

“James, there is something that you should know. It is about your half-brother, the present Duke of Kettering.” Meg stood up and moved around the desk to the fireplace. She motioned for the two men to sit down in the comfortable wing chairs while she took the small armchair between them.

“You spoke to the duke, sir?” James asked. “That was taking a good deal on yourself, Mr. Quigley.” He turned to Meg. “I assume you shared the delightful story of my birth with your solicitor, Lady Margaret. Tell me, when you send our betrothal announcement to the papers will you take pains to refer to me as the Duke of Kettering’s bastard brother?”

“James, please, I—

“Captain Sheridan!” Mr. Quigley, too, was angry. His face was red and his breath came in short gasps. “I resent your implications! Lady Margaret told me nothing of your antecedents. The duke must have informants in London, perhaps at the bank and the Admiralty. He wrote to me, threatening me if anyone discovered the secret of your birth through me.”

There was silence for a moment. James shut his eyes and passed his hand over his face. “My apologies, Mr. Quigley. That does indeed sound very like Reggie. He was always spoiled and devious, and terribly proud of being the heir.”

“But, since he was the heir,” said Meg, “why would be harbor a grudge against you? I thought you hadn’t seen him in years.”

“No, I have not. But, you see, I was older than Reggie, and his mother, the duchess, couldn’t stand the sight of me. Reggie assumed her attitude. I thought, when I left for the navy, they would forget about me.”

“Are you sure that is all it is?” asked Mr. Quigley, his face brightening. “Perhaps they had some reason to dislike you. Perhaps the duke and your mother were secretly married and—”

“I am sorry to disillusion you, Mr. Quigley, but there was no clandestine marriage. I was grateful to be brought up at Kettering. Even remembering as little as I did about the orphanage, I knew I did not want to be there. The duke treated me better than many of the nobility would have done.” James’s voice was matter-of-fact. He had accepted the truth a long time ago.

Meg could see that he had no desire to pursue the subject. “Mr. Quigley,” she said with a smile, “I believe you must have a secret vice. Novel-reading, unless I am mistaken, gave you that idea.”

Mr. Quigley blushed, looking more than ever like an infant being scolded. He ducked his head and said, “I fear you have caught me out, Lady Margaret. I do indulge from time to time, especially in those gothic tales. They are very exciting, and I must confess there are a good many mistaken identities in them.”

Ignoring the solicitor, James turned to Meg and looked deeply into her eyes. “I am sorry if you wanted a nobleman. I am the duke’s bastard, just as Mrs. Headley said. I own no title save captain.” He glanced away and said, “I suppose it was asking too much of you not to hope I was better than I am.”

Meg was distressed that he would misjudge her. “James, please, you are a person who would grace any title. And your half-brother, by contrast, seems a little—well, obsessed with his.”

“Perhaps he is. He was always obsessed with my place in the family.” James shrugged. “I do not think you need concern yourself with him. He can do nothing save spread gossip in London circles which I do not have any interest in entering.”

Annis came in to say that a cold collation was ready for them in the dining room, and the discussion ended. But Meg could not help but wonder what the captain’s life had been like in the home of his father, whose wife and son had despised him.

Chapter Twelve

After luncheon, Mr. Quigley and James closeted themselves in the library, presumably to discuss settlements and other financial matters. When Meg had moved to join them, James had raised his eyebrows and Annis had plucked at her sleeve. Unlike her usual neck-or-nothing approach, whereby she would have simply walked into the library and plunked herself down, she had allowed Annis to lead her into the drawing room to toy with her embroidery.

She was not happy about it.

“I fail to see why I cannot be present when it is my affairs that are being discussed,” she grumbled. “Mr. Quigley has treated me like an adult for seven years, yet now I am excluded, so that he may talk about me to a man who knows nothing of my financial affairs!” She flung her embroidery onto the sofa and rose to take an agitated turn around the room. “You are much more au courant with the nice requirements of modern manners than I am, Annis. Explain it to me, please.”

Annis smiled. “Any explanation I could give would be met with furious argument at this point. I’m not so foolish as to quarrel with you when you are in a passion. Especially not an intellectual quarrel about women’s rights.”

“This has nothing to do with women’s rights. It is a matter of simple intelligence. Why exclude the one person who knows the situation best?” Meg’s eyes glowed. She was going to have her argument, no matter what soothing oil Annis poured over her troubled spirit. “The person, mind you, whose future is being decided. Would it not enrage you if your father were to take it upon himself to arrange a marriage and a settlement for you?”

Annis again smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I have told you I know when to refuse your conversational bait. Now, let me see. I wonder if there will be rain this afternoon. There are clouds massed in the north. That usually means rain, does it not, my dear friend?”

Meg glared. She knew that when Annis made up her mind not to be goaded into gratifying Meg’s desire for the cut and thrust of argument, there was no changing her. “You would greet Napoleon with a smile and an offer of tea if he were to appear at the head of an invasion force.”

Annis was spared the need to reply by the entrance of Mr. Quigley, asking if Lady Margaret would care to join them in the library. Smiling, Annis watched as her employer, the wind taken abruptly out of her sails, made her way out of the room.