Martha Schroeder Read online

  James had never realized it before. Until Meg came into his life, he had never again felt overwhelming love and anger and loss all at the same time. But now the floodgates had opened, and old emotions, never fully acknowledged and thus still fresh, rushed in to mingle with what he felt toward his wife.

  The suddenness and strength of those feelings all but swamped him. James, who had spent most of life trying to avoid situations where he might feel something or care for someone because then he risked loss and pain, now was awash in emotion. So much so that he could hardly tell what he felt for his wife—the wife he loved, who was sorry she couldn’t love him. The wife he had trusted with his secrets who had betrayed him by bringing his past into his present. Did he love her despite his anger?

  Of course he did.

  He propped his elbows on the table and lowered his face to his hands. If he was not very careful, he would risk the unthinkable. Tears. He hadn’t cried then. He’d been so proud of leaving his home dry-eyed, knowing he’d never belonged there and would never be back. He knew now he could not leave Hedgemere and Meg the same way.

  Meadows cleared his throat. “Mrs. Meadows has breakfast ready, if you’ll just ring when the ladies return.” He saw the look in the captain’s eye and it almost made him gasp, so bleak and lost he seemed. Oh, dear, what had Miss Meggie done now?

  “Yes, Meadows, someone will ring.” James heard his voice as if it came from somewhere very far away. He turned and looked out the window without seeing the deep, green English summer he had enjoyed only yesterday.

  Meg and Claire returned to the room, both smiling until they saw him sitting there, a thousand cold miles away. Meg swallowed hard. She had not had time to tell Claire much—only how glad she was to see her, how happy James surely was, and that her coming was a surprise to them both, but a most welcome one.

  Claire seated herself and looked uneasily at her brother. “Jamie?” she said. “Have I upset you by coming? Did you not want to see me? I know that’s what you said the last time we met, in Naples, but I thought—when I heard from Meg—” She broke off as James swung around to face her, his expression inscrutable.

  “She said I might call her that,” Claire continued, still fearful of his disapproval, doubting his love. Just as he had intended. He said nothing. He couldn’t.

  Meg rushed in, her warmth and friendliness enough to melt the iciest atmosphere. “Of course, you must call me Meg. We are sisters, after all.”

  She looked around. “Where is my breakfast? And Claire’s?” She rang for Meadows. When he appeared with a laden tray, Meg kept on talking: explaining Hedgemere to Claire, telling her of her first meeting with James when Gerald had brought him home, how the two of them had saved Tim Barnes’s arm, their wedding. The night James had taught her to waltz.

  The warm, steady stream of conversation pulled James inexorably back from the cold wasteland of anger and loss he retreated to so easily. Her words were golden threads, binding the three of them together with memories now shared.

  When Claire had finished eating, she joined in, telling Meg of incidents from her and James’s childhood. She recounted games they’d played, books he’d read to her, forbidden treats from the kitchen they’d shared. Meg listened to it all with shining eyes.

  James sat silently, wondering, as he had so many times, why he could not share his life, why distrust and pride always kept him apart, even from these two—the only people in the world he loved. No wonder Meg could not love him. And Claire’s affection was that of a child for an older brother—part hero worship and, in his case, part pity as well.

  The silence in the room penetrated his self-absorption. He looked up, surprised. “Well,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse with suppressed emotion, “Claire, you look as if you could use a rest. Meg will show you to your room. I am going—

  “I think Claire has something she would like to talk to you about, James.”

  Both James and Claire looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?” Claire said.

  “Why else would you come here by stage, with only a small bandbox? You must have left as soon as you received my letter.”

  James gave her a chilly smile. “Meg is very good at ferreting out secrets, whether you want her to or not.”

  Her face whitened, but she rose gracefully and gestured for Claire to precede her. As they reached the library, she said, “I will leave you two alone to discuss family matters.”

  “Oh, please, Meg,” Claire said, “I would like you to stay. After all, you are James’s wife, and what I must tell him will affect you, too. And we are friends already, so please stay.”

  Meg smiled and entered the library. James noticed she didn’t look at him. She must know how angry he was. How could she not? Even Claire could sense something was wrong, judging by the puzzled look she gave them both. He sat down in a deep leather wing chair and looked at his sister. Yes, Meg was right, damn her. Something was very wrong with Claire. And what right did Meg have to understand him and his sister so well?

  He refused to allow his anger at Meg to interfere now. He would put aside his feelings and help his sister. Perhaps he could repay Claire now as he had not been able to do when she had helped the friendless outcast years before.

  “What’s the trouble, Sissy?” he said, using his special nickname for her. Reggie had told him once that Claire wasn’t his sister and he could not call her so, but she had insisted otherwise and been sent from the schoolroom in disgrace for her stubbornness. So, in retaliation, James had called her “Sissy.”

  “Oh, I was afraid you no longer thought of me as your sister. You look so stern, Jamie—James, I mean.” Claire’s hands twisted in her lap. “I am going to need all your kindness now, brother,” she said with an attempt at gaiety. Her pallor and the shadows in her clear blue eyes, the same startling sky blue as his own—the duke’s eyes, he realized now—were more than the result of her trip.

  “You will always be my sister,” he said, knowing it was the truth, one he could no longer even try to deny. “And something is very wrong, I can see. What is it, Claire?”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and took a deep breath, “It all began when the duchess died. Until then, Reggie had ignored me for years.”

  “When did she die?” James asked.

  “A month ago. She had been ill for quite some time, and in more and more pain. It was a blessing at the end.” Claire sighed. “None of the others could come for more than a few days, but I was there throughout her illness. It seemed like a very long time. For both of us.”

  She looked at Meg, her eyes bright with tears. “I hated seeing her so tired and sad and—old. She was always so beautiful, wasn’t she Jamie?”

  “Yes, she was,” James said. He couldn’t deny it. She had hated him and wanted him gone from her life, but she had always been so lovely, it almost hurt to look at her.

  “It all dissolved, all that beauty. I was never her favorite because she didn’t much like to look at me. But toward the end, she did not mind it. The duchess said unlike the others, I did not remind her of what she was losing.” Claire’s face looked pinched with sorrow.

  Meg’s heart went out to her. She knew very well the sort of pain that an unloving parent can cause. Claire did not even call her mother “mama.”

  “Claire, after your—after the duchess died, what happened?” She reached out to take Claire’s hand. Ice cold, it closed convulsively around hers.

  “Reggie came home, of course, and met with the bailiff and the solicitor. A great deal of the money was hers, you see, and for some complicated reason it reverted to her when the duke died.”

  Claire was having difficulty getting to what she had to tell them.

  She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on James, as if willing him to understand. “He told me that now that his mother—his mother, Jamie, not mine—had died, he must think of marrying. Though that could not happen until after the year of mourning had elapsed. He could be madly in love, but he w
ould not say a word until his year in black gloves was over.” Claire’s voice was laced with contempt. “He said that he’d just marry me off, too. To save time, I suppose. Honestly, Jamie, he is the stiffest, most toplofty peer in the realm.”

  “Did he have any idea about who your husband might be?”

  “Oh, someone dull enough and old enough to settle for me, I suppose. He said I was much too used to having my own way and that a younger man would not be able to ‘control’ me.” Claire made a face. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter in the least what he thinks. I told him I would never marry to oblige him. He was furious!”

  James remembered all the orders that Reggie had issued when they were children. He hadn’t obeyed any of them then, and he was going to help Claire disobey now. “You must stay here, Claire, for as long as you like. If Reggie comes after you, I know how to handle him.”

  Meg said nothing. She could see the bond between her husband and his sister, but she wondered a little why they found Reggie to be so dreadful. He didn’t seem to want anything but a wife for himself and a husband for his unmarried sister. Surely an unexceptionable plan, one held by most brothers for most sisters.

  “He will not come after me, Jamie. I am afraid I am going to be here for some time. You see, he washed his hands of me after that quarrel and stormed off to London to allow me to think over my undutiful attitude.”

  James laughed. “I can hear him saying that. What a pompous, stiff-rumped fool he is. Of course you must make your home here, with us.”

  “I shan’t be a charge on you, you know. The duchess left me a little something in her will. At least, that’s what she always told me. But Reggie said that he is my trustee and he will only release any of the funds to me when I am married.”

  “Still ordering the world to do his bidding.” James sounded disgusted.

  Meg could keep silent no longer. There was one question she longed to have answered. “Why do you not wish to marry?”

  Claire looked at Meg and then at James, as if considering what to tell them. Then she stiffened her spine and said, “I wish to go back to Italy to learn to paint—truly paint, not the little daubs I do now. It is the only thing I have ever wanted, and now that I have no more family responsibilities, I am determined to do it, if I possibly can. Please say you will help me.”

  Meg looked at her sister-in-law with respect and amazement. Slender, shabby, and tired after her long ordeal with her mother, Claire nevertheless radiated purpose and determination.

  James seemed a good deal less sympathetic. “Claire, you have just lost your mother and quarreled with Reggie. I do not think you are in any condition to make decisions about your course in life.” He saw his sister’s downcast countenance, and his expression changed to one of warmth and affection.

  Meg could feet her heart contract in pain. Would he never look at her that way again? Had she somehow ruined everything by bringing Claire and him together?

  But Claire was about to do battle with her beloved brother. “I am not unable to make decisions because of my bereavement. But if I were, it would make no difference. I made this decision years ago. I told you of it—or I tried to—when I saw you in Naples. You refused to hear anything I had to say.”

  “I thought that was best,” James said stiffly.

  “It might have made sense if I had been a proper young lady, traveling to acquire a little social polish.”

  “Well, what else were you?” James was so clearly astonished that Meg almost laughed.

  “I was an artist,” Claire said with a mischievous smile, “cleverly disguised as a proper young lady! It was the only way I could convince the duke to let me go to Italy to see the great paintings for myself.”

  “You almost make me sympathize with Reggie,” James said. “I’ve never heard of anything so outlandish. You are a duke’s daughter. You cannot go traipsing off to Italy to paint!”

  “You sound just like Reggie,” Claire said in disgust. “I love you, Jamie, but I think your wife is going to be easier to convince!”

  James got up and went over to Claire’s chair. “I think it might be better to discuss all of this after you have a chance to rest a bit. Perhaps a bath would make you feel more the thing.”

  “A nap and a bath are not going to make me change my mind about my life, Jamie. I will not return to Kettering. If you will not take me in, I shall become a governess. Italy and painting were my dream, but if I cannot do that, I shall at least not marry a man someone else has selected for me. Certainly not Reggie’s selection.” She frowned at James. “And not yours either, in case you are thinking because I love you I will let you ride roughshod over me.”

  Seeing the harassed expression on her husband’s face, Meg rose and said, “Come, Claire, let us give your brother a chance to grow accustomed to the idea that you are still his intrepid friend and companion.”

  After they left, James settled down behind the desk and put both the stubborn females in his life out of his mind. He was determined to bring some order into the estate’s accounts. At least numbers always stayed the same. They didn’t change overnight and become strong-minded and incomprehensible. He opened a ledger with a sigh of relief.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The next few days left Meg in a state of suspended animation. James apparently decided to ignore the question of Claire’s future until they had a chance to reacquaint themselves. One evening Claire brought down a portfolio of her work—sketches and watercolors that showed a wonderful talent, Meg thought, though she was hardly a judge. Annis had given up sketching as part of Meg’s curriculum after only a few months of crumpled pencil scrawls and muddy watercolors.

  But James did know. He had seen the treasures of Italy, too, and she could tell he was impressed. He studied each one carefully and kept the portfolio for several days. In the meantime, he seemed determined to enjoy every day of his sister’s visit. And Claire, able to relax for the first time in years, was visibly blooming.

  Meg was happy to see James’s joy in the company of his sister. It was, she told herself bracingly, exactly why she had risked his wrath by writing to Claire. But she couldn’t help feeling a little left out when the two Devereaux went off for a ramble by themselves or launched into the type of long reminiscences only the participants find interesting.

  With Meg, however, James remained cold and polite by day, completely absent at night. She was beginning to be angry herself. Did he mean to ignore her for the rest of their lives? And why? Because she had done something for him. Something he benefited from, was happy about! An icy, unforgiving relationship might suffice for him, but she needed more from even a flawed marriage. She decided to demand an explanation.

  That evening, after Claire had retired to her room for the night, Meg put on the embroidered nightdress she had worn on her wedding night and, with a light shawl over her shoulders, went downstairs to find James. This cold, angry silence could not be allowed to go on a moment longer. She had been more patient than she’d ever been in her life, and she was about to burst. A light under the library door showed where James was.

  One deep breath for courage and Meg opened the door. “James?” she said, despising the hesitant tone of her voice. “James!” That was much better. Almost a quarterdeck bark, she thought.

  James was sitting at the desk, reading a sheaf of papers by the light of a single branch of candles. Their wavering flames turned his hair to gold and sharpened the planes of his face. It was an austere and sometimes forbidding face. But she loved it.

  “Come in,” he said. “I’m glad you’re still up.”

  Meg smiled. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as hard as she’d thought. “I couldn’t sleep without talking to you.” She had not exactly decided what she was going to say, an omission she now deplored. But she was here, and she steeled herself to begin.

  James didn’t give her the opportunity. “I received a most interesting letter this afternoon. I have been looking for a chance to discuss it with you.”

&nb
sp; “You have?” Meg’s hopes soared. He had forgiven her! He understood that she had only written Claire because she wanted him to be happy. He was taking her into his confidence again. “What does the letter say, James? Who is it from?”

  “It is from Reggie, and I think I have discovered why he washed his hands of Claire when she refused to marry.”

  Claire. He wanted to discuss the duke and Claire. Meg’s heart sank, though she gave herself a serious talking-to. What was wrong with a discussion of his brother and sister? It must mean that he’d forgiven her for meddling in his family, mustn’t it?

  “What does he say?” she asked.

  “Once again, that he relinquishes all interest in Claire, that she can do as she pleases. He is planning to marry himself, and he does not want either Claire or me to put in an appearance that might put a spoke in his wheel.” James smiled. “I am almost tempted to take Claire to London just to see his face when we appear at Kettering House.”

  Meg was more interested in the reason behind Reggie’s desire to keep the skeleton in his family’s closet from jumping out and embarrassing him. “Do you think he is pressed for money?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I am not sure. It just seems the most logical reason for a sudden marriage.”

  Silence. It took Meg a moment to realize what she’d said. “I—I hope you do not think that I mean that our marriage— though of course it did begin—but I thought—” She stumbled to a halt, aware that she had increased the distance between them, probably a thousandfold. Her stupid, stupid tongue. It never seemed to let her say what she meant to her husband.

  Still James said nothing. She couldn’t leave the situation so muddled. “James, you must know that I no longer feel—”