Pendragon (10 page)

 

Jeremy Stanton-Greville left at nine o'clock the following morning, feeling just a bit guilty because Meggie was obviously still angry at him. He'd wanted to hug her and punch her arm, tell her that soon she would learn that men could be led about like pigs with rings in their noses. No, not a good image. Well, maybe some day he would tell her that he'd just been jesting. She'd been so defensive, so ready to tear his throat out at his steady stream of insults.

Fact was, he had insulted her and her sex quite thoroughly, but not when he'd said that a wife's well-being should be the husband's responsibility. When Meggie was married, she would learn that was one of the main uses for a husband. That and sex. He grinned vacuously and began whistling between his thoroughbred's ears.

Not seven minutes later, Thomas Malcombe, seventh earl of Lancaster, knocked on the vicarage door.

Mary Rose, who was devoutly grateful that Jeremy had taken his leave, fearing that Meggie would go over the edge and try to stuff him up the chimney, blinked at the sight of Thomas Malcombe, beautifully garbed in riding clothes, so grateful that it was he and not Jeremy returning for some reason, that she nearly threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. He was carrying a riding crop in his right hand, his hat in his left. His dark hair was immaculate and she suspected that he hadn't set that hat on his head at all this morning. He was, she realized, a very handsome man.

She gave him her hand. “Good morning, Thomas. What a delightful surprise. Meggie is visiting with Mrs. Beach,
who suffers from asthma and was wheezing quite dreadfully all last night.”

“I am sorry about Mrs. Beach. However, I am here to see the vicar, Mary Rose.”

“Ah. May I ask why? You see, Tysen is dreadfully busy right now, or at least he's trying to be busy. Every time he looks at Rory, he still must pick him up and toss him over his head just to hear him shriek with laughter. That's why the sermon is lagging behind.”

“I don't plan to keep him from either Rory or his sermon for very long. I just want to ask him if I can marry his daughter.”

Mary Rose didn't hesitate, gave him a big smile, and said, “Oh, I am so very pleased, Thomas, so very pleased indeed. Meggie has been so unhappy, although you wouldn't readily see it, but her father and I know her very well, and we've worried so much about her. Then you came and wooed her, and just look what has happened. Oh my, both Rory and Tysen will be delighted to see you. Come this way, Thomas.”

Thomas set his hands on her shoulders before she turned to dance away down the corridor. “I hope the vicar will accept me. He is a fine man. I think you would make a magnificent mother-in-law.”

“Now that's a frightening thought,” Mary Rose said. “I will try not to become a shrew and a tyrant, like my own mother-in-law, who, I am convinced, will outlive even her grandchildren. Tysen! Come here, Thomas Malcombe wishes to speak to you.”

When Tysen asked her to come in a few minutes later, Mary Rose said, “We will have champagne, in just a moment. How delightful that Meggie will live here. We had always feared the day she wed that she would move to a faraway land and we would scarce see her.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “we won't be living here all the time, Mary Rose. I have other homes.”

When Meggie followed the commotion into her father's study, she realized that Thomas had already done the deed.

“Well,” she said from the doorway, dangling her straw bonnet by its ribbons, “will my father allow this business to proceed, Thomas?”

“Oh yes,” Mary Rose said, and rushed to enfold her stepdaughter in her arms.

The champagne was quite delicious. Rory, who'd never left the study, and who hadn't really cared that he would gain his first and only brother-in-law, was allowed a small sip.

Tysen drank the champagne, smiled, said all the right things, but worried. He worried that he didn't know a damned thing about Thomas Malcombe. He worried that Meggie was marrying the first acceptable man to ask her when she still loved Jeremy Stanton-Greville, something he wasn't about to tell Mary Rose.

As for Thomas Malcombe, Tysen would find out everything about the damned man—down to any birthmark—before he allowed his precious daughter to walk to the altar. But Meggie was smiling, grinning like a fool, actually. She'd always had excellent instincts. He'd always trusted her, but this was for life, no reprieves if the man turned out to be a gambler or a womanizer. And what about her feelings for Jeremy? Had he put the nail in her feelings before he'd left? Were they gone now? Was this a sign of it? He wished he knew.

When he thought about it later, Tysen knew he would be very surprised if indeed he found a skeleton lurking in the back of one of Lord Lancaster's closets. He was an excellent young man.

Still, he would look.

11

W
HEN TYSEN FINALLY
managed to snag his daughter away from the rest of the family, particularly Alec, who wanted to show her a new racing cat training technique that involved a bucket, he led her through the vicarage garden, to the gate, and down the path to the cemetery, where few parishioners chose to spend any time when not absolutely necessary. He needed privacy. He unlatched the very old black wrought-iron gate, slowly pulling it open for her to step onto the path that led into the depths of the cemetery.

The air was different here. Still and soft, as quiet as fingers stroking a racing cat's back. Meggie stopped, breathed in deeply, and said over her shoulder, “You come here when you wish to think, Papa. I remember you sitting on that one particular bench from my youngest years. I used to wonder why you so admired Sir Vincent D'Egle, a medieval warrior who likely wasn't an overly religious man. I picture him in battle, yelling and swinging his sword and finally being cleaved in two himself at far too young an age.”

“Cleaved in two? Actually, I also rather fancy that might have happened to him. However, no matter how he died, there is something about his grave that draws me back,” he said, smiling down at her as he took her hand. “I don't know why this should be so, but I know that
when I sit there, and I hear Mr. Peters ring the church bells, I feel peace and calm seep into my very bones. You still bring flowers to his grave.”

Meggie nodded, and said, “It will rain soon. Can you feel how heavy the air has suddenly become? How it is already wrapping itself about your head, wanting to soak you? I've decided that it rains too much in England. Everyone is so tired of feeling damp to their toes and—”

“Meggie, I must speak to you.”

“I know, Papa. You're being very gentle with me. When you do that, I know there is something you're dreading to tell me. I can take it. Has Leo done something awful at Oxford? Will I need to go there and fix things? Try to teach him what's what?”

“I devoutly hope not. No, it's something else, Meggie.”

She looked at him steadily. “This is about me, isn't it? And about Thomas.”

“Oh Meggie, my sweet girl, let's sit here beside Sir Vincent on his bench. Yes, this is about Thomas. I am your father and you know down to your bones that I will always want what is the very best for you.”

She didn't say a word, just looked at him and waited for the ax to fall.

He realized in that moment that she just wasn't ready to be blighted. He was willing to wait, and when he paused, she quickly said, her hand lightly closing over one of his, all forced smiles and enthusiasm, “I was listening to Mary Rose read Rory the story of
Renard the Fox
.”

“It is his favorite,” Tysen said, running his fingers over the smooth worn gray stone. “But Mary Rose must read it to him only in Latin.” He shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “How very strange it is. We live in the modern world, yet two of my sons and my wife speak Latin. Latin. It boggles the mind, Meggie. Now, my dear—”

Meggie said quickly, “I meant to leave, but then she started reading him
Chanticleer the Cock
. Mary Rose can even cock-a-doodle-doo in Latin.”

“Rory is only four years old, Meggie. At least he doesn't announce his age yet in Latin.”

Meggie laughed. “He will. Give him a couple more years. You know that Mary Rose is very smart, Papa. I believe she was learning Latin at Rory's age.” Tysen looked at his daughter while she spoke, so Sherbrooke in her looks—blondish brownish hair with all the shades in between, and clear light blue eyes the color of the summer sky. In short, she looked like him, only her features were more finely drawn. Her chin, he thought, was very possibly more stubborn. As for her temperament, his daughter saw something that needed to be done, and she did it, no shilly-shallying about, no excuses, never procrastinating. She felt strongly about things, many times too strongly. No middle ground for her. He remembered she'd been three years old when she saw old Mrs. McGilly struggling with several packages on High Street and had immediately tried to help her. But she wasn't strong enough, and so had fetched two men from the tavern to tote the bundles. One of them, Tysen remembered, had been very tipsy and proceeded to drop the packages. Meggie had scolded him.

He grinned with the memory. Yes, his Meggie knew only one direction—forward. In this, she was just like her aunt Sinjun. And, he knew, she wanted to move smartly forward with Thomas Malcombe, Lord Lancaster.

Meggie was saying now, “Did you know that Alec wants to be the Prussian Gebhard Leberecht von Blucher when he grows up? He can even say the whole name. And spell it. He's had me play Napoleon more times than I can count. He's chased me all over the graveyard and into the bell tower. Then he finds me and claims he's not going to send me back to Elba. No, he's going to send me some place where I will rot. In perpetuity. He actually says perpetuity.”

Tysen felt the tug in his heart, let it blossom a moment, flooding him with sweet memories of Meggie as a little girl, her finger in every village pie, her ear against every door, her opinion offered on every sermon. And that little girl had adored him since she'd come from her mother's
womb and smiled up at him. He said easily, “He always chases me and Mary Rose too. I have yet to be graced with perpetuity.” He took her hand in his, competent hands, beautiful long fingers. He said, “Meggie, you are only nineteen years old. You spent only one Season in London. You have lived all your life in Glenclose-in-Rowan.”

“I live in Scotland every year too, Papa.”

“Yes, well, that's true.”

She turned to him then, took one of his hands between hers. “All right. I'm ready for whatever you have to tell me. Come, spit it out, Papa. What is wrong? What have you learned about Thomas?”

“I don't wish you to misunderstand me,” Tysen said slowly. “I like Thomas Malcombe. He saved Rory's life, I am quite convinced of that, as is Dr. Dreyfus. He is a charming young man. He seems intelligent, witty, responsible. From what I have heard from your uncle Douglas's man in London, he was no pauper even before his father died and left him his holdings. Thomas's business interests are evidently primarily in Italy, where he has grown rich in shipping, in a very short time. I could find out nothing about him that would make me worry.

“He wanted to pay me a dowry for you. Naturally I refused. You will not go to your husband empty-handed. You are not quite the heiress your aunt Sinjun was, but your dowry is really quite satisfactory. Lord Lancaster is assuredly not a fortune hunter.”

“Then what is Lord Lancaster?”

“Meggie, your dowry aside, you and I have known Lord Lancaster for only two months, maybe not even that long. I knew his father, didn't particularly dislike the man. He was secretive, Meggie, very tight-fisted, didn't speak well of anyone. He was not a man I would have easily trusted. Now, I don't believe you know this. The old earl divorced his wife and kicked both her and her young son out of Bowden Close. Neither of them ever came back. I have heard rumors about a second wife, perhaps another child, but I don't know if any of that is true.”

“None of that in any way redounds on Thomas.”

“No.”

“Thomas told me that there had been a falling out between his father and his mother, and she took Thomas and left. He didn't mention a divorce. I didn't press him. He doesn't like to speak of it. I believe he's been very hurt by it.”

“I asked Thomas as well. He told me much of the same thing, all said in a voice so emotionless that it smote me.”

“Poor Thomas. He finally told me that he remembered terrible fights between his parents. He did see his father a few times over the years, but never here, never at Bowden Close. It is all very sad. I believe he came to hate his father. His father never visited him at school, where he spent most of his growing-up years, only in London, at one of his father's clubs. I know that Thomas doesn't trust easily, certainly understandable. And I know that he was very hurt by his parents, not physically, mind you, but his soul. Naturally he will not admit to any of this. He merely pretends that he doesn't care. Perhaps when we have been married for a while, he will grow to trust me more, to share his concerns, to share old secrets that have hurt him. He feels things deeply, that I do know. You did not see his face when he believed Rory would die. But there is this well of distrust that is very deep in him. These things take time, Papa.

“I do know that Thomas Malcombe is a principled man, a decent man. He told me he wants to marry me because I make him laugh. I cannot think of a better reason.”

Tysen lifted an eyebrow. “Actually, he could have told you he loved you.”

“Somehow,” Meggie said slowly, looking up at the beautiful old church tower, wishing Mr. Peters would ring the bell at this very moment, “I cannot imagine him saying those words, at least not now. Actually, I didn't say them to him either.” Meggie paused a moment, looking down at her clasped hands, and Tysen knew all the way to his boots that Jeremy was still in her head, perhaps even in her heart. Damnation.

“Yes, Thomas laughs easily now, a smile nearly always near his mouth. I'll never forget that first time when he laughed with me. I thought he sounded rusty, as if he were somehow surprised that such a sound could come from him. I've made great strides with him, Papa.”

“Meggie, you are not marrying him out of some sort of misguided sense of gratitude, are you?”

“For saving Rory's life? No, Papa, but I was very grateful, and the result was that I spent more time with him initially than I normally would have. And I came to like him a great deal. He is an honorable man, I am quite sure about that.”

“You won't be living here, Meggie. Thomas was evasive. He said he has two other houses, both outside of England.”

“One is in Genoa, Italy. He was living in Italy, making his fortune. He came back to England only to take over his father's holdings. Can you imagine sailing to Italy, Papa? I should love to travel, to see other places, how other people do things, how they think. I wonder where his other house is.”

At least Thomas Malcombe hadn't told him one thing, then told his daughter something else. There were no inconsistencies that meant a lie. But it wasn't the point. Tysen kissed his child's forehead, rose, and crossed his arms over his chest, the father now, the authority figure.

“Meggie, I am very sorry, but I must be blunt. I didn't want you to find out about this, but now there is no choice. You have to know. I cannot believe that Thomas Malcombe is honorable, and therefore I cannot trust his word on anything of import and I certainly cannot trust him with you.”

“He saved your son's life.”

“For that I owe him a debt that will never be repaid. However, I do not owe him my daughter.”

Meggie knew something bad was coming, she just knew it. She drew herself up. “I'm ready, Papa. Tell me.”

“As you know, Melissa Winters left last Thursday for an extended visit with her grandmother in Bury St.
Edmonds. You know that, but not the reason for her leaving. I didn't want to tell you this, I didn't want to tell anyone this, and it is a confidence. I ask that you not betray it to anyone, even Mary Rose. Evidently Thomas Malcombe was in London before he came here. He met Melissa there. She was staying with her aunt and attending parties and such, sort of an informal come-out for her. There's no easy way to say this, Meggie—he seduced her and got her with child. You and I and Melissa's parents are now the only ones to know. And Lord Lancaster, of course.”

Meggie said slowly, “Thomas didn't tell me he was in London before he came here.”

“He was. I asked. Because he wants to marry you, it was my responsibility to ask, to find out everything I could about him. Mr. Winters heard, of course, that you were to wed Thomas Malcombe. He searched me out. He told me about this, in confidence, just this morning. It was obvious he didn't want to tell me, Meggie, but he has great liking for you and didn't want you to be hurt.”

There was fire in her eyes as she said the fateful words he would have given anything not to hear, ever, “I don't believe it. Melissa is lying. She wanted him. I know that Thomas must have rejected her, and thus this is her revenge. I know that Melissa—to punish Thomas—was intimate with another man, to make him jealous, perhaps, and this is the result. I am sorry for it, but Thomas is innocent. Papa, if Melissa were truly pregnant with his child, then why wouldn't Thomas marry her?”

“You are not näıve, Meggie. You must know that Melissa's birth isn't high enough to tempt a man like Lord Lancaster, nor is her dowry an incentive to overlook her birth. Even though her mother is the daughter of a baron, her father is in trade. In short, there is nothing to induce Thomas Malcombe to tie himself forever to the Winters family.”