Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

What a handsome man he’d become. Darby hadn’t seen him since he was a carefree young man, wild and free and a new member of the Four Horse Club, wearing their colors, racing to the death.

For the first time since he’d assumed butlerdom, Darby smiled, showing a missing molar.

“It’s Darby, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good God, I see you’re now in charge of this place. Congratulations.” And Jeremy shook Darby’s hand, nearly sending the redheaded Darby into a swoon of pleasure.

“Ah, my lord, it’s been too long, far too long. I haven’t laid an eye on you since—what was it—September of 1815, yes, that was it, there were such celebrations because Napoleon was gone once and for all. How have you been?”

Jeremy smiled. “I have been just fine, Darby, traveling quite a bit, to Jamaica, you know, to my plantation there and then to Baltimore.”

“You went to Baltimore? Why ever would you wish to go there?”

Jeremy turned at Meggie Sherbrooke’s voice. He turned and smiled at her. “Hello, Meggie. Yes, I was just telling Darby that I spent several years in Jamaica at Camille Hall, my sugar plantation there. Then I went to Baltimore to stay with James Wyndham and his family. They have a very famous stud and racehorses. I learned an immense amount.”

“Surely you already knew an immense amount, Jeremy. After all, you were raised by my uncle Ryder.”

He took the white hand she was offering him. “Would you believe it? I learned even more about horse racing and breeding. In addition to racing horses, I want to start a stud at my home in Fowey. I needed to learn everything I could before I began.”

At the touch of his hand, Meggie nearly swallowed her tongue. Never in her eighteen years had she felt the slightest bit of anything at all when a boy or a man had touched her—admittedly most of the touching had been done by male relatives and the good Lord knew there was no titillation in that. Jeremy was a relative, but not really. They shared no blood. She couldn’t remember his touching her when she was thirteen, except maybe to take her hand when he’d arrived or when he’d left. She could just remember standing about, staring at her god, perfectly willing to worship him from whatever distance was required.

“I suppose there is more money in horse racing than in cat racing,” she said.

She looked down at his hand holding hers. She didn’t want to release him. He’d stopped talking and was looking at her now, a dark eyebrow cocked up a good inch.

“Oh,” Meggie said, and with the greatest reluctance, she let go of his hand.

His head was cocked to one side. “Is your father here?”

She shook her head, took a step closer, then drew up short. Where was her brain? It had shut down, it was that simple. Just looking at him, listening to him speak, watching how he used his hands when he talked, and her brain had moved out, vacated her head.

“No, Father and Mary Rose couldn’t leave Glenclose-on-Rowan just yet. Perhaps in a fortnight they will visit London and see me all togged out in my new clothes. Uncle Douglas and Aunt Alex are in the drawing room. I, ah, heard you speaking to Darby and came to fetch you to them.”

Very weak, Meggie, she thought as she saw Darby blink at her, and hoped he would keep his mouth shut. Darby took his duties very seriously and here she was, interfering. Who cared? She took Jeremy’s hand again and tugged him after her. “This way.”

“You’ve grown up, Meggie,” he said from behind her in a beautiful smooth voice. “You’ve grown up very fine.”

That brought her to an immediate halt. She turned to look up at him. “Thank you. You’ve grown very tall and handsome. Although I remember you as tall and handsome. I think you were twenty-three or -four when I last saw you.”

“Something like that, I guess.” He had dark brown eyes. They were twinkling down at her as if he believed her to be flattering him—as a cousin would flatter another cousin.

Well, blessed hell.

“Jeremy, I’m glad you are here.” It almost seems like fate, but she couldn’t say that.

Uncle Douglas took over then, clapping Jeremy on the back, ushering him into to greet Aunt Alex. Meggie stood there a moment, until Darby cleared his throat.

“Miss Meggie, is there something amiss?”

She turned slowly to look at him. “Yes, Darby, there certainly is. I must figure out what to do about it.”

“He has become a very nice man, hasn’t he?”

Meggie nodded, thinking, he has become a lot more than just nice. He was a lot more when I was thirteen. Now he’s here and he’s here for me. Thank you, God.

Uncle Douglas called out, “Meggie, have Darby fetch us some tea and cakes, won’t you?”