Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

“But you wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“No, that’s the way it’s done.”

She pulled away the last bit of paper and lifted out a beautifully carved wooden cat. It was a perfect likeness of Mr. Cork, even the size. There was a plaque at the bottom with Mr. Cork’s name, his sire and dam, and the dates of his racing wins beautifully etched into the wood.

Meggie held it close, then burst into tears.

“Meggie! What’s wrong? It’s a statue of Mr. Cork. It’s a very nice statue, but tears? What is this?”

“I miss him so much, and Cleopatra, too. All the cats, Thomas, they would run and jump, meow their heads off, or sit there and tell you, without words, that they weren’t going to move a paw, no matter what you did.”

“I think,” he said slowly, watching her dance around the room clutching the wooden Mr. Cork to her chest, “that just maybe we should introduce cat racing to Pendragon. Did your father carve this exquisite piece?”

“No, Jeremy.”

“I see,” he said and wanted to howl. Couldn’t the mangy bastard just leave her alone?

After Thomas left her to go downstairs to see Paddy, Meggie was humming as she dusted off Mr. Cork’s fine statue. Suddenly she stopped cold. At least an hour had passed since she’d thought about the person who’d slammed whatever it had been down on her head. Just the thought of it now brought a flash of pain. Even when Thomas had mentioned it, she’d been too excited about her present and hadn’t heeded it.

She winced, walked slowly to the window, and looked at the breezy spring day. It was cloudy, but at least right now it wasn’t raining.

She picked up her father’s letter and read it through again. “My dearest girl, Jeremy sent this wedding present to me since he didn’t know where you would be. I am enclosing his letter.”

Meggie didn’t want to read Jeremy’s letter, she really didn’t, but nonetheless, now that Thomas was gone and she was alone, she slowly unfolded the single sheet of paper, pressed it out with her palm, and read, “Dear Almost Cousin Meggie, I wish you and your new husband the very best. Charlotte and I would welcome a visit from you. I hope you enjoy this rendition of Mr. Cork. It took me a while to carve it which is why it was late.” And it was signed just Jeremy. His direction was written on a separate piece of foolscap. Jeremy. Jeremy and Charlotte. She walked slowly to the fireplace and stood there, staring at the three stacked logs, bits of paper stuffed around them. She shredded the letter and tossed the pieces in amongst the kindling. Then she lit the fire and watched it burn. She heard Alvy moving about behind her, but didn’t move.

“Dr. Pritchart is here to see you, my lady.”

She frowned, not realizing at first why he would come to Pendragon. Oh, her head. She turned and smiled at Alvy. “I will see him shortly in the drawing room. Please let Barnacle know, Alvy.”

Ten minutes later Meggie, Thomas beside her, greeted Dr. Pritchart, who was sipping at a cup of Cook’s tea and scratching his ear.

“There is a rash on your ear, Dr. Pritchart,” Meggie said, walking to him. “Is it all right?”

He paused and looked at her, for a very long time, didn’t say anything, just looked. “You’ll do,” he said, snapped the cup into its saucer, and gave her a brief bow. He said to Thomas, “If she suffers a relapse, you will call me. Good day to you both. The rash comes twice a year, one of those times is right now, in April. It’s nothing at all.” And he was gone.

“Well,” Meggie said. “I wonder how much his bill will be for that visit.”

“He thinks you’re fine. That’s all I wanted to know. He’s had that rash twice a year since for as long as I can remember.” He crossed to her, pulled her against him, and kissed her.

Meggie was nothing loathe and kissed him back. She said into his mouth, “This is so much nicer than those dreadful things you did to me on our wedding night.” She pulled back and looked up into his face. “I know, you don’t want to talk about it.”

&nb

sp; “No,” he said against her ear, then stroked his thumb along her jawline. His hands were on her hips when there was a clearing voice from the doorway. Thomas slowly raised his head. “Damnation.”

He turned to see his mother standing there, and she didn’t look at all happy.

“Yes, Mother?”

“Lord Kipper has decided to take Libby for a ride in his curricle. He told her he had a very lovely spot to show her and that she would truly appreciate it, especially since it wasn’t raining. He told her how much he admired her. I told her he was lying, that he didn’t like women with as much flesh as she has. He was just going to drive her to this nice spot and bed her on a blanket just because there was no one else about for the moment, no one with less flesh than she has. She was merely a temporary convenience, I told her, surely she realized that. She called me horrid nasty names and slammed out of the castle. It was unforgivable. I’m thinking of having her live elsewhere.”

Thomas stared at his mother, then laughed.

Meggie, fascinated, said, “What did she call you, ma’am?”

“She had the absolute gall to call me a pernicious old tart. Can you imagine?”

“Well, no, I can’t,” Meggie said.