Martha Schroeder Page 10

  “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.

  There were no surprises waiting for her in the library. She knew that, as Hedgemere was hers, in effect it would become James’s upon their marriage. She was not in a mood to regard that bit of English law with complaisance. “I understand that I lose whatever rights I have in my land when I marry,” she said through tight lips. “Pray do not go over it yet again, Mr. Quigley. I am more than put out about that now. Do not make it worse.”

  Mr. Quigley was unmoved. “We have discussed it before, Lady Margaret You do not lose your rights. The land is yours to dispose of by will. Your husband will have the right to use and dispose of it during your joint lifetimes.” He saw his client’s stormy hazel eyes light with the fire of battle, and he hastened to add, “And I am aware of your opinion as to the wisdom of English common law with respect to women and property. Now, however, we should discuss the provisions both of you should make for any issue of your union.”

  Issue of her union? Meg almost laughed out loud. No one could talk straightforwardly about children and marriage, it seemed. Certainly not lawyers. But then, she thought, lawyers could not talk straightforwardly about anything!

  “Yes, well, I assume we both want to leave our worldly goods to our—issue.” Meg swallowed a smile. “Do you not think so, James?”

  But James frowned at her. His back was as stiff as if he were awaiting the First Lord of the Admiralty. “I will be only too happy to sign whatever papers Mr. Quigley can write that will keep your family property in your family. I have no wish to u
ndertake responsibilities that are repugnant to you, my lady.”

  What was he talking about?

  “Captain Sheridan, I am certain that Lady Margaret did not mean to cast aspersions on your—

  “Lady Margaret is perfectly capable of telling me herself what she thinks,” James said, biting off every word. “And, indeed, she just did, I believe.”

  “What are you two talking about? What did I make clear? Nothing at all is clear to me, so I wish someone would explain to me just what you think I meant.”

  “You seem to feel that the law has erred in giving Captain Sheridan control over your property while he lives, my lady.” Josiah Quigley said carefully. “At least, that is the impression you conveyed.”

  “Well, and so I do.” Meg could see no reason for the captain to poker up and look as if he would like to take a cat-o’-nine-tails to her. “After all, the law does not give me control over his property. I mean, fair is fair, is it not?” She looked around as if waiting for James to acknowledge the justice of her complaint.

  But James wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he walked over to the window and studied the view out onto the lawn.

  Mr. Quigley glanced from one to the other and appeared to decide that retreat was called for. “If you will excuse me, I shall return in a few minutes.”

  James whirled around. “Where do you think you are going, Quigley?” he barked.

  “Well, I—I mean I thought—I have a few things to see to,” the little solicitor said, and slipped through the door.

  “What a coward!” James said, disgust in his voice.

  “Well, can you blame him?” Meg said. She was beginning to see the humor in the situation. “He had one client who was angry at the entire English legal system and another who was just angry. I think Mr. Quigley decided that discretion was the better part of valor.”

  A small smile played at the corners of James’s mouth. “You are very likely right. I myself confess to being a bit fearful when you launched into your impersonation of Mary Wollstonecraft.”

  “Ah, you are familiar with her writings on women’s—”

  “Meg, I think we should discuss what is really troubling you—apart from the general state of women in this country and the need for reform of—” He paused a moment and smiled at her. “You do not want me to control your land. I confess, I do not perceive what difference a document will make. I have set up a fund of twenty thousand pounds for your sole use. That is apart from the expenditures I can see need to be made in the house and the tenants’ cottages.”

  He walked over to stand in front of her, his thighs brushing her skirt. She could feel the heat of his body warming hers.

  “Do we really have to quarrel, Meg?” His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and his blue eyes, warm now and smiling, told her he understood but did not share her fears.

  “You are not afraid of losing your—your—?”

  “My what, Meg? My money? No, not at all. I have every faith that you will spend it wisely. My independence? I think that it is safe with you. Can you not feel some confidence in me?” He reached out and stroked her cheek with one long brown forefinger.

  Meg stared up at him, looking as if she were hanging on his every word. “Yes, I trust you, or at least I think I do. But, you see, I have not had much reason to trust men. My father was the least trustworthy person I ever met. He would pay his gambling debts and the purchase of a horse or a carriage from a friend. But he let his tradesmen’s bills pile up until his creditors applied to a magistrate for a writ. Then he would come here and demand money. He went to his other estates, too, but the bailiffs there knew better than to give him any. I was the only one he could force. Money that should have gone to buy animals or mend fences or—for a thousand things—went into his hand from mine. I should have held out against him, but I could not.”

  James looked down at her. She was so small and so stalwart. How much she asked of herself! She had refused her father money, stood up to him although he was not only older and stronger but had complete control over her life. Yet Meg was convinced she should have done more.

  “I think you are the most intrepid person I have ever met,” he said at last. “And I know you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Besides which, soon we will be able to do everything that needs to be done for Hedgemere.”

  Meg dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. She was going to cry, she just knew it, and then her humiliation would be complete. Not only had she behaved like an idiot, she had been unkind to James, accusing him of wanting to take Hedgemere away from her.

  “James, I am sure that I will be very fortunate to have you as my husband. I hope that you can bear with my—my uncertain temper. I do try to stay as calm and unruffled as Annis, but there are times when I simply cannot. I am sorry I said what I did. Pray forgive me.”

  She stood with her eyes cast down like a penitent child, and James would have forgiven her anything in that moment. “Meg. My dear.” He tilted her chin up, and before she could say anything more, his lips closed over hers and anything she might have said flew out of her head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun shone that Sunday when the banns were first read. Meg took it to be a good omen. A soft rain had fallen during the night, freshening the air and making the leaves glisten when the sun at last came out. Several people who had not been at the Headleys’ dance came up to the captain and Meg after the service to congratulate them.

  She and James walked slowly back to Hedgemere, taking the opportunity to talk without the press of other people around them to divert them from each other.

  “We have to decide upon a wedding date,” Meg announced. “What would you think of a month from Saturday?”

  “Do we have to wait that long?” James said, taking her hand in his. He found he was looking forward to his marriage with curiosity and enthusiasm—two emotions he hadn’t associated with the wedded state. Not until Meg.

  Everything seemed possible with Meg.

  “Well, we have to wait two more Sundays so the banns can be read again. I thought the following Saturday—” Meg gave him a surprised glance.

  “I know. I seem to be rushing you. It isn’t that I want to cheat you out of a ceremony and a breakfast afterward with all your friends. I’m just eager to begin.” He smiled down at her. Something warm and a little disturbing gleamed in the depths of his blue eyes.

  “You are?” Meg refused to deal with the implications of that intimate glance. “I have to confess I will enjoy setting about to mend the tenants’ cottages. It has been dreadful to pass them by in the winter and see rags stuffed in the windows and know that my father had gambled away what could have served to keep our people in comfort.”

  “You are far more high-minded than I,” James said dryly.

  Meg gave him a puzzled look. “I am? Do you not want to see the cottages mended and the gardens weeded and new hay ricks?”

  “I do, my dear. Of course I do.”

  Why was he chuckling? Meg frowned, her lower lip stuck out in what some might characterize as a mulish expression.

  “I am always glad to make you smile,” she said primly. “I would, however, be happy to be informed as to what in particular about improving my—our—property is humorous.”

  James schooled his expression to one of serious consideration. How to explain that he was delighted by everything about her, particularly her complete refusal to simper or blush or do anything else that might be construed as flirting?

  “None of your plans is humorous. I did not intend to mock you, Meg. On the contrary, I think your concern for your land and the people on it is one of your most admirable qualities.”

  Meg looked at him a little uncertainly, as if trying to see if he was teasing her. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I’m glad you think I have admirable qualities.”

  “Yes, of course I do. You are courageous and honest as well as caring. You have many admirable qualities.”

  Admirable qualities were s
urely a good thing. Why did they sound so stuffy and boring? She found herself wishing he would think of her as enticing, amusing, beautiful. Now, where had that come from? Surely virtue was more to be sought after than beauty or charm. It might be so, but Meg was honest enough to admit that she didn’t care a rap at this precise moment for any qualities except those that would ensnare Captain James Sheridan.

  She wanted him to care about her. He did like her. Most of the time she was sure of that. The way he had smiled at her when he had taught her to waltz . . . surely that smile meant he felt something for her. Something positive. If only she’d had a Season in London or even in Bath, Meg was sure she would have learned to recognize a man’s feelings by the way he talked and smiled.

  And kissed.

  That must indicate some … liking, mustn’t it?

  No, you ninny, she told herself in disgust. It only means he s agreed to marry you so he can have a home and a family that will be better than the arrogant snobs who made his childhood so miserable. Men kiss their wives so, of course, he has to practice. You would know that’s all it was if you knew anything about men or marriage. Which, of course, you do not!

  Determined not to persist in this fruitless line of thought, Meg smiled at James and said, “We were deciding on our wedding date, were we not? I still think the Saturday after the third reading of the banns would be best.”

  “And I think the Monday after would be better.” James took her hand. “Why should we wait an entire week? Do you need all that time to sew . .. whatever it is you ladies sew?”

  Again, Meg felt that current of attraction running between them. It was exciting and, she felt, a little forbidden. At any rate, she’d never experienced anything like it before, and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.