She managed to remember his question and answer it: “I do not know. Annis has insisted on doing all the sewing, and I have not the least notion what she is sewing or how she is doing it. She and Lady Mattingly are planning the event.”
“Not too large an event, is it? Are you planning on making a real festival of it?” James seemed uneasy at the thought, and for some reason that made Meg feel even closer to him. Maybe he wasn’t such a forbidding stranger. Maybe he had his doubts about this unknown path they were preparing to tread together.
“No, I think just the Mattinglys and the Grandbys and Annis for the actual ceremony. That would make it more….” She searched for a word.
“You mean, not as many people would have to see you marry the ineligible bastard.” James’s voice had that taut, angry sound that she had learned to dread. She gazed at the harsh look his eyes always betrayed when he thought his birth had set him apart from other men.
“James, you must stop this! You know I did not mean anything of the kind. I am just having a little difficulty explaining what I do mean.” Meg was almost angry at him. Surely by now she had proved how highly she regarded him! If he still reacted with this prickly anger every time she said something he could possibly take the wrong way, how were they ever to reach the smooth accommodation she hoped for?
“Very well. I am sorry I jumped to conclusions about your feelings. Perhaps if you could explain, I would understand.”
“I want only those people who know and care for us to see us married. Our closest friends. That’s what I meant. If you have someone from the navy that you would like to have attend, please let me know and I will write to invite them.”
James grimaced. “I have made a fool of myself again, have I not?”
“No.” Meg laid a hand on his arm. “We are not mind readers, after all. How could you know what I meant if I couldn’t explain it?”
Relieved, James smiled. He seemed unable to break the habit of searching whatever was said to him for a hidden insult or slight, even with Meg, who never dealt in innuendo or sarcasm. If she was ashamed of him, he would know. If the circumstances of his birth made her uncomfortable, she could not have responded to Madam Headley the way she had. Long-held habits were hard to break, so it was said, and he seemed to be having more trouble than most.
“Thank you, Meg. If you would prefer to wait another week until we can be married on Saturday, that would be agreeable to me.”
She chuckled, a fat, rich sound he couldn’t remember hearing before.
“And I was about to say that Monday would be agreeable to me. We had better be careful, Captain, or we may both be so accommodating that we will get nothing whatsoever agreed upon.”
He took her hand, running a finger across the calluses on her palm. He must see to it that she had no more reason to work like a field hand after they were married. He looked forward to Meg’s hands being as white and well cared for as a lady’s should be. “Very well. I insist on Monday. And if your trousseau has not as yet been sewn, you will simply have to do without until after the wedding.”
Again that rich chuckle. “I tremble in my shoes, o, tyrant!”
“I have been known to have recalcitrant sailors keelhauled, madam. See that you do not provoke my wrath!” He gave her a mock glare.
This time it was Meg who frowned. “I do not believe I like the idea of going in fear of my husband,” she said. “And I do not like the idea of physical punishment for a wife at all.”
“It was a joke, Meg,” James said gently. For some reason, learning she, too, had instinctive reactions that had nothing to do with him made James feel better. He was not alone. They both had lessons to learn. And to unlearn.
Meg nodded. “I have been dealing all my life with men who really believe they are absolute monarchs in their homes. I suppose I find it hard to see the humor in that kind of joke.”
She gave him a wry half smile. “But I will try to view keelhauling—whatever that may be—with laughter, if you will do the same toward my preference for small, intimate social gatherings.”
James bowed. “Very well.” He looked around. “We are almost back at the house. And only our wedding date decided!”
Meg, too, looked around her. “I completely lost track of where we were walking. I had no idea we’d come so far.” She smiled and essayed a small pleasantry. “I had meant to discuss whether or not we should plan a large reception for some time after the wedding. I can only attribute my forgetfulness to the fascination of your company, Captain.”
She was a little surprised at the sleepy, heavy-lidded look he gave her before raising her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. “A very great compliment indeed, my dear,” he said.
* * * *
The days before her wedding flew by for Meg. She found herself immersed in preparations. The female companionship and laughter that she shared with Annis and Lady Mattingly during those days was different from anything she had known before.
To her surprise, she discovered that she liked the silly jokes, the sharing of ideas, recipes, and household tricks, the tongue-clucking over the vagaries of the male sex. Lady Mattingly had several interesting bits of lore regarding the healing properties of herbs. In the short time available, Annis not only made Meg’s wedding dress from fabric Lady Mattingly claimed to have found tucked away in the attics of Mattingly Place, but embroidered several chemises and petticoats and a beautiful nightdress.
Meg couldn’t seem to sit still long enough to sew anything. She continued to ride out on her daily rounds each morning, happy that now she could look forward to all those things that she’d long wanted to accomplish.
While that vision of the future made her happy, she sometimes wished that she had been able to do everything by herself, without having to depend on Captain Sheridan and his prize money to repair her home. When she recognized those thoughts, Meg scolded herself severely and spurred Princess into a gallop. That drove the thoughts she knew were selfish and silly out of her head. For the time being, at any rate.
* * * *
The day of the wedding dawned overcast, with low gray clouds scudding across the sky. Meg was awake at dawn and, unable to think of anything else that would ease the butterflies in her stomach, put on her oldest habit and went for a ride. When she got back, her cheeks were red and there was a sparkle in her eye. She paused in the kitchen for a piece of freshly baked bread and hurried upstairs, where Annis awaited, already certain that they would be late getting to the church.
“It’s a bad omen,” she said as she shampooed Meg’s short curls. “My father always says that a bride should not be late to the wedding or she’ll never be on time from then on and will drive her husband mad with waiting.”
“Nonsense. The last time you told me that story, it was the groom who shouldn’t be late.” Meg ducked her head under the bathwater and emerged sputtering.
At last she was ready, and when she gazed at herself in the pier glass, wearing the new silk dress of soft pink, with slippers and stockings to match, Meg had to admit that she looked better than she had any right to expect. She carried her mother’s prayer book and a small bouquet of pink roses, delivered that morning from the Mattingly greenhouse.
“You have done wonders,” she told Annis. “I look almost pretty. And the silk Lady Mattingly bought in town is wonderful.”
“You do not look pretty, you are beautiful, and how did you know the silk didn’t come from the attic?” Annis inquired.
“I guessed and now you have just told me,” Meg said, and bent to kiss her friend’s cheek.
Gerald had brought the flowers and was to drive Meg and Annis to the church. He kissed Meg when she descended the staircase, and told her she looked as fine as five pence. But the sight of Annis, in a dress of primrose muslin that turned her hair to spun gold, stopped him in midsentence.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he held out his arm without saying a word. Annis looked into his pale brown eyes and saw something in them that caused the co
lor to sweep into her cheeks.
“Good morning, Sir Gerald,” she said in her gentle voice.
“Yes,” he replied at random.
They stood motionless for a moment, then both seemed to recall themselves at the same time.
“Thank you for coming to get us,” Annis said.
“Yes, of course, my pleasure. We’d best leave now if we want to get our Meg riveted this morning.” His voice was full of false heartiness.
Meg stared at both of them. Why were they behaving in this extraordinary way? Her wedding must be affecting her friends, rendering them as off balance as she was.
“Well, then, come along,” she said briskly. “I’m the one who is supposed to be nervous and silly. You are supposed to tell me that everything is under complete control.”
“Everything is under control,” Gerald repeated obediently.
“Complete control,” Annis added with a smile for Meg. “I think I am more nervous than you are. It comes from finding that you’d gone out riding this morning when you ought to have been too distracted to think.”
The church was lovely, full of peace and tranquility. Mr. Grandby awaited them, and Lady Mattingly swept forward to greet everyone as if she hadn’t seen them in years. She cried a little when she saw Meg.
The captain stood in the front of the church, his face hidden by the shadow cast by the pulpit. As Meg entered, a sudden shaft of sunlight lit her face. He could see expectancy there and hope and, he believed, a little trepidation. But she was courageous as always. She raised her chin and smiled at him. James thought that smile was a benediction and a promise.
He smiled back and stepped out of the shadow to greet his bride.
Chapter Fourteen
When they came out of the church, the sky was dark again and rain began to come down in gusty spurts, which turned to solid sheets as they ran for the carriage. Meg’s pink dress was drenched before she could scramble inside, and she dropped her bouquet in the mud. Gerald waved them off from the church porch, but Annis ran out to rescue the bedraggled roses. She was to stay the night at Mattingly Place.
Meg had protested that it wasn’t really necessary. There was no reason why Annis shouldn’t come home with her and James. She and James were going to start their married life as she meant it to go on, very simply and at Hedgemere. There would be no wedding trip—there were no relatives they wanted to visit, after all, and their first night should be spent without ceremony, as if it were any other night. Meg hoped to slip into marriage quietly, pretending to be an old married couple until they in fact became one. But the Mattinglys and Annis insisted that she and James should have some time alone.
Meg went upstairs to change her dress. Without thinking, she pulled out her dark blue riding habit, as if this were indeed just another day instead of the beginning of a new chapter in her life. Perhaps though, the old dress was going a bit far since it was her wedding day.
Her wedding day. Meg sank down onto the bed with its gold silk counterpane. James was her husband now. She smiled to herself. His smile when he slipped the ring on her finger had been as intimate as a kiss, and his actual kiss had been warm and welcoming. Excitement tinged slightly with apprehension sent shivers down her body.
James. She was married to James. Another shiver. A special day after all, it seemed.
Yes, indeed, something a little more festive than her working clothes was called for. She found a simple dress in a soft, muted green color that she hoped James would think brought out the green in her eyes. She brushed her hair and twirled in front of the mirror, looking at herself from all angles, trying to see if James would be pleased. Embarrassed at her vanity, she turned away and went downstairs to find James.
He waited for her at the foot of the stairs, tall and imposing, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Without a word, he took her hand and led her into the library. His eyes held a disturbing light. He clearly did not believe this was just another day.
No, James had other ideas.
In front of the cozy fireplace a small mahogany table had been placed. It glowed with crystal and silver. A bottle of wine stood on a small stand nearby. Meg looked around. He must have conferred with Meadows and Mrs. Meadows while Meg dressed and countermanded her directions. He had ordered a wedding luncheon—or, really breakfast in her case. She had been much too nervous to eat that morning.
“James,” she murmured foolishly, the first words either of them had spoken since they’d arrived home. And what a stupid word. Of course it was James. Who else would it be?
“I thought we might enjoy eating here by the fire, since the day is so gloomy.”
Did she hear an uncertain note in his voice? Of course not. The British navy did not have captains who were uncertain, no matter what the circumstances. Even on their wedding days they would be dashing and completely in command, she thought.
“Remember Nelson,” she said. The words just slipped out, before she was aware of it.
“I frequently do,” James said, a smile touching his mouth. “But why particularly now, my lady?”
Meg had to laugh. “I haven’t the least idea. My mind seems to have slipped its moorings somehow. I can’t imagine why.”
“I think I can.” This time his deep voice held a note of promise.
Meg felt a shiver more across her nerves like quicksilver. “I think I would like some wine, James.” That would give her something to do, and she had heard people say that wine soothed them. Though when she thought about it, she wasn’t sure why she should need soothing. Her thoughts made no sense at all.
“Get hold of yourself!” Again the words slipped out before she thought.
This time James laughed. “Were you speaking to me, my lady?”
“No,” Meg replied with her usual devastating honesty, “to myself.”
James reached out and pulled her gently into his arms. “I think I’ll get hold of you instead. And,” he added as his lips left a trail of kisses from her cheek to the soft spot just behind her ear, “I would prefer not to think of Nelson while I’m doing it!”
Meg felt his kisses as a trail of fire. Blindly she lifted her face to his, her lips ready for his kiss.
There was a discreet tap at the door. Meg pulled away as if she’d been scalded. James smiled and put his arm around her waist, “it’s all right, Meg. We’re married. It’s permitted to kiss your spouse.” He did so briefly and then called out, “Come in.”
Meadows appeared, bearing a large silver tray on which were several serving dishes. He beamed at Meg and said, “I wish you both very happy, and Mrs. Meadows joins me in that wish.”
“Indeed I do.” The plump cook, who had been at Hedgemere since before Meg was born, wiped a tear with the edge of her apron and then, remembering that she still had it on, whipped it off and bundled it up behind her back. “Our best wishes to you both, my lady, Captain.”
When the dishes were arranged, Meadows and his wife left, still smiling and misty-eyed.
“They are very fond of you,” James remarked as he filled Meg’s glass with the pale, straw-colored wine.
“Yes, they have known me all my life. I believe they came with my mother when she was married. She wanted some of her own people around her.”
“She must have inspired the same kind of affection you do.”
“I believe so. I never knew her.” Meg’s face was shadowed for a moment. “She died when I was barely three. I don’t know anything about her. My father refused to speak of her.”
“You don’t remember her at all?” James said. “I have a vague recollection of my mother, though I only saw her a few times. I was older than you. The memory of a voice, and a feeling of softness. I remember her tears. I had never seen a grown-up cry before, and it made a great impression on me. I cried then, too, and the matron made me go to the dormitory.”
He stopped talking abruptly. Why on this day of all days was he talking about his mother? It was a subject he never spoke of at all under normal circumstan
ces. But of course his wedding day was hardly normal circumstances. And he found Meg almost too easy to talk to. Her childhood had been as lonely as his, and he felt that she understood.
Meg leaned across the table toward him, her brow wrinkled in thought. “You know, now that you mention it, I have those feelings, too. I simply thought they were dreams. I hear a voice singing to me and a scent—the scent of roses, I believe.” Her face was bright now, and she smiled at James. “My mother,” she said, wonder in her voice. “Do you think I may actually be remembering something real?”
She looked so excited, as if she had made a wonderful discovery. “Why don’t you ask Mr. and Mrs. Meadows?” he suggested. “They might know if your mother wore a rose scent.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. And—thank you, James.” Her smile was brilliant.
“For what?” He shrugged, uneasy with her friendliness, her gratitude.
“For making my mother more real to me. I wanted my father to talk to me about her, but it made him angry when I brought it up. He ordered the Meadows not to speak of her either. I think that’s one of the reasons he came here so seldom.”
James reached across the table and took her hand. “Let us try to make sure that our future in no way resembles our pasts.”
Meg smiled. “You are right. We can almost be assured that our future together will be happier than our past. It will give us much to be grateful for.”
The rest of that long, rainy afternoon they spent wandering around the house. It was the first time in a long while that Meg had really looked at her home. She pointed out some of its beauties—the plasterwork and wood paneling in the dining room and the library were still lovely. But most of what they saw needed to be refurbished.
“I should begin making a list of what needs to be done,” she said without enthusiasm. “Perhaps I could recruit a few girls from the village to help clean. Then we could see what repairs and changes should come next.” She sighed. The house had never much occupied her, and the idea of spending time counting linen sheets and selecting chair covers did not seem very exciting, nor did she know exactly how to go about making such decisions. It was one more example of how lacking she was in the arts most women acquired at their mothers’ knees.
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