“That is to be compared with your honesty and openness, no doubt,” he remarked. “Exactly what have you told her? Does the poor girl even know your name?”
“Of course she knows my name,” Philip shouted. Then he stopped and wondered, Did she? What had he told Meg about himself? “I must have…“ he began, but his voice drifted away when Pierre raised his brows quizzically. “But I did not lie,” he bristled.
Pierre laughed. “Perhaps not in words.” He thrust the package of silks and clothing into Philip’s arms. “Here, take this. It is a good excuse to go down. Possibly you can make your peace with her before she realizes you are no better than she. Tell her, if she asks, that I have duties on the ship, which is true enough.”
However, it was too late. For a while after Philip left, Megaera was desolate. She had known he would be furious when the truth came out. Then she began to feel ill-used and to tell herself that if he could discard her for a little white lie, told out of fear, she did not need such a man. And she could not have him anyway, she told herself. His parents would never accept her. It was better to save herself the shame of such a rejection and, more important, save Philip from an open break with his family. It was easier to put it that way, much easier, than to face the fear that Philip did not wish to marry her, had realized after she identified herself that a carte blanche was no longer possible, and had seized on her confession as a way out. Thus, when he knocked she would not admit him nor answer his pleas to be forgiven. At last he left the package and retreated.
It was just as well that they set sail very soon. Pierre managed to keep Philip busy helping to work the ship. It was a short passage, although bitter cold, and Pierre sailed boldly into Newhaven. It took some hours before anyone high enough in authority could be found to accept Philip’s credentials and free the Bonne Lucie. Philip was necessarily deeply engaged in these negotiations and had no time to spare for Megaera. She was a deep anxiety at the back of his mind, but Pierre’s freedom was his first responsibility. Until he was sure of that, he could do no more than arrange a room for her at the best inn in the town.
A deep depression lit by small flickers of resentment—which Megaera repressed by reminding herself that she deserved what she was getting for her abandonment of propriety and morality—sent her to bed numb and silent. By the time Philip had been successful in arranging permission for Pierre to sail again, it was two o’clock in the morning. Exhaustion had conquered Megaera’s depression, and she slept. Philip tapped softly at her door when he returned from seeing Pierre off, but he was really grateful that there was no reply. He went to bed and to sleep, too tired to worry.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Megaera and Philip were wakened at first light as Philip had requested. It was a long drive to London, even going post in the luxurious carriage Philip had ordered to be sent round from Brighton nine miles away. The start of the day was not auspicious. A nasty cold rain was falling, and Megaera’s mood was in perfect accord with the weather. Before Philip could speak, she demanded that he send her back to Cornwall at once.
“I do not have enough money,” he replied, paling slightly. “Meg, please try to understand. It is my duty to get to London as quickly as possible with the information I am carrying, so I cannot accompany you, and I simply do not have enough money with me to pay for another carriage, horses, outriders—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Megaera snapped. “Do you think I’ve more hair than wit? Give me enough to pay my passage on the Mail—”
“No,” Philip interrupted. I cannot allow you to travel that way. I know you are angry with me. I do not blame you, but if you would let me explain—”
“I don’t want your explanations! I want to go home.”
The only explanation Megaera could think of that would make her angry was an exposition on why Philip could not ask her to marry him, and she certainly did not wish to listen to that. Philip looked as if she had slapped him, but he tried again.
“Meg, listen to reason—”
“It is always I who must listen to reason. Was it reasonable for you to drag me off to France? Why is it more reasonable for me to go all the way to London before starting for home than—”
“Because I can provide more comfort for you that way. Perhaps I have not always done the right thing or been reasonable, but I have not been as silly as you are right now,” Philip snapped.
That ended the conversation. Each consumed very little breakfast in a haughty silence, during which time the horses were put to the carriage. After a punctilious and totally unnecessary question as to whether Megaera was finished eating (she had not touched anything for ten minutes), Philip escorted her formally to the carriage, made sure the bricks for warming her feet were hot enough, the rug tucked securely enough around her, the picnic basket properly stocked and where she could reach it. Then he told the postilion that he would drive, which caused the man to gape at him as if he were a lunatic. It was very rare that a toff drove a post chaise; it was unheard of for one to drive in such weather.
However, he did not drive long. In a few minutes there was a tap on the glass. Philip turned his head and saw Megaera urgently beckoning to him. He pulled up the horses, got down, and opened the door. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Do not be such a fool, Philip,” Megaera said quietly. “You will be soaked and frozen. Let the postilion drive.”
Philip looked at her, but she would not meet his eyes. He turned away from the door, not really sure himself what he was going to do, but the curve of her cheek was so lovely and her mouth was so sad… Philip told the postilion to drive on, and swung himself into the carriage. There were a few moments of silence while he shook the wet off his hat and took off his gloves to blow on his fingers. Megaera stared out the window, and Philip stared at her. Color began to rise in her face. Philip’s lips twitched.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “do not be so angry. I realize that I seemed to be blaming you for lack of confidence in me, while I was withholding my own confidence from you, but it is not true. You will think me an idiot, but Meg, I just forgot to tell you who I am.”
“Forgot?” Megaera was so surprised that she was momentarily distracted from her pain.
Philip laughed. “We were so close I never remembered that we had not been—been properly introduced. Let me make it good. I am Philip Joseph Guillaume St. Eyre, only son of Roger St. Eyre of Castle Stour, Kent. My uncle is Sir Arthur George Joseph St. Eyre, Bart. of Stonar Magna, Kent. When we reach London, I can present bona fides for myself, but the Moretons know me. I was staying as a guest—not a cully-catcher—and I went to Eton with Perce, Lord Kevern. They will vouch for me I am sure.”
“Ah, that’s easy enough to say when we are so far from Moreton Place,” Megaera remarked wickedly. She had almost forgotten, in her amusement at the formal way he introduced himself, that endless misery was waiting to swallow her. She couldn’t help teasing him in revenge for that remark about cully-catching. Then she laughed at him for looking taken aback. “Never mind,” she said, “I don’t need bona fides, and I’m sorry I hurt you, but—“
He didn’t want explanations and interrupted eagerly, “Am I forgiven?”
“Am I?”
The answer to that took some time and eliminated any need for explanations. Emerging from an embrace that was growing far too passionate for their cramped quarters, Megaera sighed.
“What is it, love?” Philip asked tenderly. “You are not still worried about those stupid debts, are you? There can be no problem at all now that the lands will be yours someday. Leonie can buy up the mortgages if my father has not quite enough to cover them, and—”
The kiss was sweet and the concern for her worries kind, but Megaera had not heard the one thing she wanted to hear. Philip still said nothing of marriage—and now a woman’s name, familiarly spoken with a note of tenderness had come out. “Who is Leonie?” Megaera interrupted sharply.
“Oh, you jealous little cat,” Philip chuckled
. “Do you think I ask my wealthy mistresses to… No, no, love, do not lose your temper all over again. Leonie is my stepmother and as far from the wicked kind as it is possible to get.”
“I don’t see why it should make any difference whether the lands will be mine or not,” Megaera said. “Why should your stepmother be willing to buy up the mortgages? If I cannot make money smuggling, it will take forever to pay them off.”
“But my dear Meg, Leonie would think it highly improper for her daughter-in-law to be involved in smuggling,” Philip said gravely, but with laughing eyes.
“Daughter-in-law?” Megaera echoed. “Are you married?” she shrieked.
“Married?” Philip repeated, totally confused. “Of course I am not married. What are you talking about?”
“Then who is Leonie’s daughter-in-law? Didn’t you say—oh, you mean Leonie’s son’s wife. But what has her smuggling got to do with my estates?”
Philip just sat staring at Meg with his mouth open. He had lost control over the conversation completely. In fact he seemed to have lost contact with reality. “Do you think everyone casually takes up smuggling?” he asked. Then, before Megaera could answer, he shook his head sharply. “We do not seem to be speaking the same language. Perhaps I had better go back to the beginning. Leonie has no son—unless you mean me—and her daughter-in-law is you.”
“You mean you are going to tell your family that we are married?”
Megaera was completely confused by Philip’s use of the present tense rather than the future. Instead of recognizing that he had long considered himself married to her, she thought he intended to lie about it to remain free while his stepmother bought out the mortgages. She did not know whether to be hurt by his desire to avoid marrying her, revolted by the sneaking device, or touched by his concern for her safety.
“But Philip,” she said faintly, “I don’t see… I mean, that isn’t right. Surely they will ask for proof before they… I know there are legal arrangements…“
“Yes, and they take a damned long time, too,” Philip said aggrievedly, concentrating on his own thoughts so that Megaera’s broken sentences did not quite penetrate. “I did think of marrying you by special license, but I am afraid it would hurt my father’s feelings—”
“You mean you wish to marry me?” Megaera asked. If his concern was for his parents rather than that he himself thought her unworthy of marriage, it would be easier to bear.
Philip looked at her with abstracted eyes. “I am not sure—”
“What do you mean, you aren’t sure?” Megaera shrieked, bitterly hurt.
He jumped with surprise at her ferocity, and anguish in her voice. “I did not mean to hurt you, love. Of course we will do just as you like. If you want St. George’s at Hanover Square, that is what you will have. I only thought of a special license because I—because I want to be with you, and if we wait for the settlements to be arranged—”
“Do you or do you not want to marry me?” Megaera asked, shaking him in exasperation.
Enlightenment came to Philip. His eyes opened wide and he drew in his breath, torn between amusement and apprehension. “Good God,” he murmured, “do not murder me, Meg, please do not. I—I guess I forgot to ask you.”
There was a brief, breath-held silence while Megaera tried to decide whether to burst out laughing or slap Philip’s face. He watched her anxiously, but with just a glint of laughter in his eyes.
“But Meg,” he wheedled, “I never intended anything else. I thought you knew. It would be most—”
“If you say it would be most improper not to marry me after what you have done, I will murder you,” she spluttered. “A remark like that would be insulting rather than—”
Naturally she was not allowed to finish. “It will have to be a special license,” Philip sighed after he freed his lips to catch his breath. “I do not think I will survive months of lawyers fiddling about with settlements.”
“Or I either,” Megaera agreed frankly, “but we must. You cannot distress your parents by doing something you know they would dislike, especially when the woman you wish marry will not be at all… Oh Philip, perhaps we had better not. I could not bear to be the cause of an estrangement between you and your family.”
“Do not be foolish. I would marry you even if no one in the world would ever speak to me again, but there will not be any estrangement. My father and Leonie are not that kind.” Philip’s voice was firm, but his eyes were worried. “Perhaps we could say nothing to them about—”
“No. No, Philip, you—or I—must tell them everything as soon as possible. It cannot be concealed. Too many of our memories are tied up with what I have done, and as soon as Pierre sees your father… No. For them to hear from anyone but you or me would be terrible.”
“Yes.”
They reached the end of the first stage before either spoke again. Philip asked if Megaera wanted to have some tea or stretch her legs, but she merely, shook her head. Now that she realized Philip had never scorned or undervalued her, she was racked by guilt. She had enough good sense, however, to realize there could be no question now of running away or refusing marriage. It was a good thing that she had had only a few hours of sleep the previous night and none at the night before that. Soon after the carriage started off again, sleep overcame her.
When he was sure Megaera was well and truly asleep, Philip took over the reins again. The rain had stopped, and the Brighton to London road was particularly good because it was traveled so often by the Prince Regent and his court. Philip was a far better whip than the hired man, so that the ride was smooth and swift, but Philip need not have worried about Megaera. Emotion and physical fatigue had combined to form a powerful soporific drug.
Megaera was roused finally by the frequent stops and starts of London traffic and the loud clatter of wheels over cobblestones. By now she was too accustomed to being in strange places to be alarmed, but she wondered for a frightened minute or two whether she had dreamed the escape and they were back in Paris. Then as sleep receded she realized the unintelligible cries of the street vendors were only a coarse accent new to her. The words were English. The houses went on and on. Megaera shuddered. They were in London already. She sat upright and tried to straighten her crumpled bonnet. It was hopeless.
Tears rose into Megaera’s eyes. She would certainly begin on the wrong foot with Philip’s family. She was wrinkled and dirty, her hair shorn raggedly and looking worse than it should because the bonnet had been chosen to sit over the heavy coils of her long hair. She had no baggage, not even clean underlinen. It must be obvious to anyone that she was Philip’s mistress, traveling with him without even a maid. But perhaps he would not take her directly to his parents’ house.
Where else could he take her? No decent hotel would permit her to cross the threshold in the condition she was in, no matter how clever the story Philip told. And if the manager could be convinced, it would only make matters worse. The story would be all over Town in no time. Suddenly Megaera peered anxiously out of the window. Surely he would not take her to a bawdy house again! Although her fear was not immediately relieved, she could see that the streets were getting wider, the houses neater and better cared for. They were moving into a better part of the city—but Madame’s house in Dieppe had been on quite an elegant street.
The doubt could not linger. The houses changed from good to elegant and then to grand. Megaera shivered again. She had no idea that Philip’s father was so wealthy. From what Philip said, Roger was a younger son of a baronet, since his uncle was a Sir Arthur. As the carriage pulled up before a veritable mansion, Megaera shrank back farther in the carriage, so terrified that for a moment she really considered opening the far door of the vehicle and running away. Only the hard fact that she had no purse, no acquaintance, and nowhere to go held her in place.
The door opened very promptly to Philip’s knock, giving immediate evidence of how precious a member of the family he was. The butler, clearly a well-trained and august
personage, was so relieved and pleased to see Philip that his dignity broke, and he exclaimed, “Master Philip! Thank God!”
“Yes, here is the bad penny again,” Philip said cheerfully, shaking the servant’s hand fondly. “Is Lady Leonie at home?”
“Yes, indeed, sir, and if I may say so, she will be very, very happy to see you again.”
“Well, I—” Philip looked anxiously back at the carriage, unsure of whether to go in and prepare Leonie for Meg or bring Meg in with him.
The choice was not left to him. Leonie had heard a carriage stop and had looked out the window. At the sight of a hired vehicle hope sprang up unbidden. She knew perfectly well that it might be any of Roger’s numerous half brothers or half sisters—the luxury of the vehicle had implied that it was a woman traveling. Nonetheless Leonie could not help running out into the corridor—as she had been doing like a fool since Philip left. But this time hope was confirmed when she heard the butler utter Philip’s name. She flew down the stairs and into his arms hugging and kissing him, careless alike of the cold, the butler’s smile (soon hidden), and the shock on the face of a passerby.
“Cher, cher, Philippe, tu en es revenue sain et sauf!”
“Bien sûr, Leonie, ne sois pas si sotte. But listen, I have someone with me. Her name is Megaera Devoran, and she is the daughter of Lord Bolliet of Bolliet, Cornwall, but—“
Megaera bit her lips hard to keep back her tears at the knowing look that flashed across Leonie’s face, but what she said was a complete surprise. “Bête!” she cried, “the girl of whom you wrote. I know what you have done. You have led the poor girl into mischief, and now she is afraid to come in.”
“But I want to marry her,” Philip said.
“Bien sûr,” Leonie agreed. “Would you bring to me a girl you did not wish to marry?” She advanced on the carriage and opened the door while Philip let down the step. “Come in, my dear, come in. That Philippe is a fool the most extraordinary. Did you hear him announcing to the whole street that he wishes to marry you? He has no reserve, that one.”
The Cornish Heiress (Heiress, Book Two) Page 44
