Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

REVEREND TYSEN SHERBROOKE, Baron Barthwaite of Kildrummy in Scotland, looked at Thomas’s mother, his head cocked ever so slightly, and said in his deep elegant voice, one brow arched, “I beg your pardon, ma’am, I am not exactly sure I heard what you said.”

“I said, my lord, that your daughter—well, perhaps it would be for the best if your darling daughter did go back to England with you, don’t you think? It simply isn’t safe for her to remain here, now is it? No, she’d be far better off away from Pendragon.”

Compared to what his mother had first said, this was a capitulation indeed, Thomas thought, turning an admiring eye to Meggie’s father. Just maybe her father could turn Madeleine into a diplomat. That thought would surely give him a headache.

“Evidently not,” Mary Rose said, ready to hit the old harridan in the nose even though Tysen had managed to get her to change her tune quickly enough. “However, I am very certain that you, ma’am, have made her welcome.”

“I would welcome her even more excessively if she would just get herself pregnant.”

“Quite a feat that would be,” Thomas said, rising. “Now, Mother, I don’t think you should embarrass Meggie’s father in exactly this way. You need to learn to pick your moments. Until that happens, why don’t you sip your tea until it is time for you to partner Mr. Jeremy Stanton-Greville in whist. I understand all three of our guests are superb players. You are always saying that you would like some competition. You have it. Sir,” he added to Tysen, “thank you for coming. Now, I will bid you all good night and see that Meggie is settled in.”

Thomas nodded to his three guests and took himself upstairs. He was whistling when he went into the White Room to see Meggie lying on her back, her hair spread on the pillow, lace and satin to her chin, her eyes closed.

He sat quietly in a chair beside her, crossed his legs, and thoughtfully began tapping his fingers as he looked at her face.

“Stop that.”

He’d thought she was asleep and jumped at the sound of her voice. “How do you know what I’m doing?” he asked.

“You’re watching me.”

“It gives me great pleasure to watch you, Meggie.” He paused a moment, continued to tap those long fingers of his together slowly, saying thoughtfully after a few moments, “When I arrived in Glenclose-on-Rowan to assume my father’s responsibilities, to fit myself into my new title, the last thing on my mind was taking a wife. However, it seems that when I saw you, everything just seemed to fall into place.”

Her heart was pounding, slow deep strokes. She didn’t say a word.

“The first time I saw you, you were peeling your little brother’s sticky fingers off your skirt. Evidently you would give him candy to keep him quiet during your father’s service.”

“I remember. It was a new gown. Poor Rory, he was so dismayed that he’d upset m

e. Oh goodness, then he tried to lick the sticky stuff off the skirt.”

“Yes, and you laughed and laughed, held him close, and the sun burst upon my head.”

Meggie’s heart felt suddenly so very full that she wanted to cry. She wanted to leap from the bed and tell him he was a wonderful man, that she would never leave him, that he was hers, forever. But that meant telling him straight in his beautiful dark eyes that she loved him. She wouldn’t lie, not about something so utterly important as that. But she knew she wanted him, wanted him to be happy, with her. She knew he was as fine a man as her father was, as her uncles were. He made her wild—no question about that. But the other—that heart-wrenching excitement when she saw Jeremy for that first time so very long ago in London, that soul-wrenching near-pain when he’d smiled at her—no, she’d never felt that with Thomas. She’d never felt it with anyone but Jeremy.

On the other hand, she hadn’t felt any of that heart-pounding, near-nausea, light-headed, utterly out-of-control excitement when Jeremy had walked into the drawing room this afternoon. Not a bit of it. Nothing at all. She said to her husband, “Thank you for making me remember that wonderful moment. I also thank you for writing to my father and for telling me that the sun burst upon your head.”

“You’re welcome on all three counts. I hate this, but I really do think you should return with them, Meggie. Actually, I’m here to talk you into it.”

“Very well, I’m not stupid. I don’t wish to be shot again; maybe the next time it would be just my luck to be low tide. I agree. I will do as everyone wishes.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said slowly, staring at her. “You would never agree to leave me.”

Meggie laughed. “It’s about time you believed that down to the soles of your big feet. You’re perfectly right. But don’t you see? It is very easy to agree. By the time I am well enough to travel, all this will be resolved.”

“That is another thing about you—you are an optimist beyond anything I have ever seen.”

“No, listen, Thomas. The person responsible for all this misery, he or she must be becoming quite frantic—nothing has worked. I’m alive and three more people are here to watch over me. I have this feeling that something is going to happen very soon simply because this person will burst if he doesn’t try to finish it. Now, come to bed, Thomas, if, that is, you can swear to me that there isn’t murder being committed in the drawing room.”

“Actually, there might be, depending on how competitive your father and mother are when playing whist.”

“Oh dear. Your mother is partnering Jeremy?”

“Yes.”

“They will win; my parents don’t stand a chance. You see, Papa and Mary Rose will keep laughing and comparing hands and gossiping about this and that. It drives serious players quite mad.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. My mother is very serious about her journals and about whist. What about Jeremy?”