Pendragon

by Catherine Coulter

  Jeremy said, “Meggie is growing up fast.”

  “No. Actually, she’s already well grown. She has very firm ideas about things.”

  “She always has. What a joy to tease her until the smoke came out of her ears.” And he grinned again. “Now, about that Arabian. The fellow’s nasty as a cock who’s been kicked out of the hen yard. He’s also as fast as the fox who managed to break in just last week and eat one of our best setters. He made a big mistake, however.” Jeremy laughed.

  Tysen arched an eyebrow.

  “He tried to bite Charlotte, and she smacked the toe of her boot against his nose.”

  10

  IT WAS TOO soon. Thomas knew he made her laugh, perhaps she’d even found his two kisses more than interesting, not that he could know for sure. Dammit. He forced himself back to the task at hand, making himself finish writing the letter to his steward.

  He didn’t know what made him look up, but he did, and there she was, striding like a long-legged boy into his garden. He slowly rose, rounded his desk, and opened the French door. She was flushed, breathing hard, her breasts pumping up and down, a rather nice sight.

  What the devil had happened? He opened the door wide.

  “Mistress Sherbrooke,” he said formally, giving her a small bow, “do come into my humble estate room. I didn’t realize that small private gate still opened.”

  “I forced it,” Meggie said. “Good afternoon, Thomas. It isn’t raining. Have you finally allowed Mr. Hengis some potato sticks?”

  “No. Morgana informed me that Mr. Hengis—Benjie—was a poltroon, that you, little sweetling that you are, got a soaking because he misread his nose and you could have easily succumbed to an inflammation of the lungs.”

  He watched her calm, even smile at his jest, regain her bearings. He said then, “Come in and sit down.”

  She did, saying nothing more. She eased down in the leather chair across from the big mahogany desk.

  He sat on the edge of his desk and swung his leg, content to watch her for a few moments. She was really quite upset.

  “All right, tell me what happened before you spit nails on my carpet.”

  “Nothing, dammit.”

  He very nearly laughed. “You, the vicar’s daughter, shouldn’t tell lies, Meggie. You probably shouldn’t curse either. Something bad is bound to happen, like your tongue might rot off.”

  “Why would you care? What is my tongue to you?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she remembered all too well that kiss in Martins’ barn. “Never mind, don’t you dare say anything. All that tongue business was very improper. I am so angry, Thomas, I could kick something.”

  “That moldering old hassock is at your disposal.”

  Meggie leapt to her feet, gave the hassock a hard kick, so hard she nearly knocked herself backward. She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “A person should never allow ire to build to high levels. It clogs the body’s pathways and leads many times to bad things, such as cursing.”

  “Blessed hell, surely that is nonsense.”

  “Oh no. I once knew a man who worried all the time, even worried when he discovered that his watch was several minutes slow and how many people he’d offended by being late. He never said much, just walked about with a frown on his face and bucketfuls of worry in his heart. Finally, one day when he was worrying about how his hog would ever find enough mud to wallow in since there hadn’t been much rain, he just fell over dead, his pathways all clogged. So the moral to this tale is to spit it out when you’re upset about something and kick something. Now, would you like a bit of brandy?”

  “Brandy? Goodness, I haven’t tasted brandy since Leo, Max, and I once stole Papa’s bottle, hid behind one of the big tombstones in the cemetery, and drank it empty. All three of us were vilely sick. Papa, as I remember, didn’t give us a hiding, just said that we now knew firsthand what stupidity tasted like.”

  Thomas laughed. “A taste does not stupidity make.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Some long ago brilliant fellow.”

  “You’re lying, but all right, I will try my first taste of brandy as a grown-up person.”

  He poured her a bit and himself a bit more. He clicked his snifter to hers. “Here’s to the demise of the obnoxious person who made you angry enough to spit.”

  She choked, spewing the mouthful of brandy all over the front of his white shirt. She dropped the snifter, and stared at the darkening stain on that pristine white shirt. “Oh no, I don’t believe I did that. This is awful, just look at that stain. It’s such a beautiful shirt and I’ve ruined it. I spit on you. I’ve never done that before. I’m so sorry, Thomas.”

  He set down his own snifter and took her hands between his. “It’s all right. It’s just a shirt. No, Meggie, please don’t try to suck it clean like little Rory tried to do to your skirt that morning at the church.” She looked as if she would burst into tears and laughter, both at the same time.

  He didn’t think, just leaned down and kissed her. He tasted brandy and that sweet scent of her that had tantalized him when he’d kissed her before, a scent he’d never before tasted on another woman.

  He touched his tongue to her mouth, urging hers to open, and she did, just a bit. When he eased his tongue into her mouth, she jumped, pushed away from him, backed up three fast steps, tripped over the hassock she’d kicked and landed on her bottom not on the soft Axminster carpet, but onto the oak floor.

  “Meggie! Are you all right?”

  She blinked up at him. “I think I’ve jarred my innards,” she said, “but nothing that will kill me.”

  “Your bottom is well padded. Your innards should be safe.”

  She shook her head, came up to her knees, and stayed there a moment, looking fixedly into the corner of the estate room.

  “Why did you jump away from me?”

  “This time I just happened to leave my mouth open and you slid in your tongue. It’s very strange, well—very personal—you know what I mean?”

  “If you will just hold still and give it a chance, just maybe you will like it. Meggie, why are you staring off across the room?”

  “There’s a dead mouse in the corner.”

  He laughed, the latest laugh in the long line of laughs that had come from deep within him since he’d come here and met this woman. He said, “That must mean that Tansie was making another quilt rather than cleaning properly. I will tell Morgana and she will either forbid Tansie potato sticks or have her go eat mushrooms in the forest.”

  Meggie laughed. She just couldn’t help it. “I do wish you would stop that.”

  “Stop what? Making you forget that you want to be angry and miserable and that your bottom hurts?”

  “Yes, all of that.” She sighed and pulled herself up. He watched her rub her bottom, even as she chewed on her bottom lip and stared at one of his shirt buttons.

  “The brandy has already stained your lovely shirt. I am so sorry. If anyone sees you they will believe you a drunkard. I will have to defend you, but alas, here is your shirt as a silent witness, and thus no one will believe me. So, may I take it back to Mrs. Priddle? She can remove any stain in Christendom.”

  “If it means that much to you, and to save my reputation,” he said, and begun to unfasten his shirt.

  Meggie grabbed his hands. “You can’t do that! What is wrong with you? You can’t take off your clothes in your estate room, particularly since I’m standing right in front of you. My father is the damned vicar!”

  And he doubled over with laughter, and the feel of that laughter was deep and full and he was growing quite used to it. He said, knowing he shouldn’t, knew it was too soon, but unable to prevent the words from bursting out of his mouth, “Meggie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Meggie gaped at him. He wanted her to marry him? This was quite the strangest day—kicking a hassock, falling on her rump, and a marriage proposal. And then Meggie thought of Jeremy, thoug
ht of kicking him off the back of his prized Arabian stud, perhaps even kicking him off the edge of the earth. At least Jeremy had taught her a very important lesson. Ignorance of a man’s opinions could bring a woman low. She said, “I’m sorry, Thomas, but before I give this consideration I must question you first.”

  “Question me? Oh, I see. No, Meggie, I’m not a wife beater. I would never strike a woman.”

  “Neither is Jeremy and neither would he.”

  Naturally he knew exactly who this Jeremy was, and he felt cold all the way to his toes as he said mildly, “This is your almost dratted cousin?”

  “Yes, he is visiting. I wanted to smack him silly last night.”

  “Ah, so he’s the one who caused your ire to rise to dangerous levels. He’s the one responsible for making you boot the stuffing in my hassock?”

  “He’s the one. He’s also a man. I couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth, Thomas, and he’s only been married six months or so. I know my father isn’t at all like that, but I just don’t know about you, and so I must ask you. You see, if I married you and you turned into Jeremy, then I would have to shoot you. A vicar’s daughter isn’t allowed to do things like that.”

  “I understand perfectly. Ask away.”

  “Do you believe women are stupid?”

  “No more stupid than men.”

  “I personally believe we are far less stupid than men. I came to this belief quite objectively after raising Max and Leo. All right, so you claim to be even-handed. Now, do you believe it is a husband’s right to tell his wife she may not ride her mare when she becomes with child?”

  He could but stare at her, her voice so very serious, so intense, and he remembered the anger that made her face red to her eyebrows. He said slowly, “If I had a wife and she was carrying a child, why then I would trust that she had the good sense not to do anything to endanger either herself or the babe. I would not want a wife who is a twit. I would not want a wife who needed instruction on something as obvious as that.”

  “Excellent, just excellent,” Meggie said. “I knew you weren’t an idiot. Now, do you wish God hadn’t made women so that you wouldn’t have to deal with them when you wanted a child? You wish that He’d devised another way for men to acquire boy children?”

  “No. Don’t tell me Jeremy could have intimated anything that ridiculous? Surely you mustn’t have heard correctly.”

  “That was a very long question and your answer was very short. Would you care to elaborate?”

  “No, Meggie, I wouldn’t. Have I passed your test?”

  She stroked her jaw, frowned at the hassock that had laid her low, and said, sighing, “Actually, to be honest, I’m not sure that Jeremy really believes that. It’s just what I accused him of believing. Do you believe that husbands have the right to give orders to their wives?”

  He said slowly, “I’ve never been married, Meggie. Would I ever give you orders? Yes, if you were in danger and I wanted to protect you.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, staring again at the dead mouse in the far corner. “I would give you orders as well if I believed you were in danger. Also, you’re bigger than I am. If we ever were in any danger, surely your size would be useful.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know all about horses, Thomas. I don’t know much about studs and how to manage them, but I know I’m smart enough to learn. If you had a stud, would you consider me too stupid to be useful, all of this based solely on the fact that I’m not a man?”

  “You, the premier racing cat trainer, not useful? That’s ridiculous, Meggie. No man, not even an idiot, could say that.”

  “He believes women are too stupid to know man sorts of things.”

  “A moron,” Thomas said. “The man who said that is a moron. Jeremy, I take it? Would you like me to pound him, perhaps kick him off the cliffs into the Channel?”

  She shook her head sadly. “No. If you did that, he would hit on the beach, not wash out at all, and his body would be quickly discovered and you would be hanged.” She sighed. “Anyway, if I’m not allowed to pound him, then it wouldn’t be fair to have you do it. Do you like women, Thomas?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Do you really wish to marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? You’ve known me no more than a month.”

  “How odd. It seems like I’ve known you all my life.” He paused a moment, looked down at the floor, then out the window. Finally, he said, surprise in his voice, “The thing is, Meggie, you make me laugh.”

  She walked up to him, hugged her arms around his back, and leaned her head back. “I can’t think of a better reason. All right, I’ll marry you.”

  He nearly shook he was so relieved. He slowly closed his arms around her back. He didn’t kiss her, just held her. He would have to accustom himself to being a husband.

  “Thomas?”

  “Yes, Meggie.”

  “If we were blessed, and I conceived, would you expect me to present you with a boy?”

  Children, he thought, children, something he’d assumed were simply a part of married life, but he hadn’t thought of them, not as a reality, not as a natural result of making love to Meggie. “I could probably expect all I wanted. I don’t think one can predict these things.” He held her closer, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of anything outside of right now and the both of them standing very close in this room with a dead mouse in the corner.

  He said against her left ear, “Perhaps I will set Tansie up in a quilt business.”

  She laughed and lightly bit his collarbone, even as she groaned at the taste of the sticky brandy on the front of his shirt.

  Jeremy Stanton-Greville left at nine o’clock the following morning, feeling just a bit guilty because Meggie was obviously still angry at him. He’d wanted to hug her and punch her arm, tell her that soon she would learn that men could be led about like pigs with rings in their noses. No, not a good image. Well, maybe some day he would tell her that he’d just been jesting. She’d been so defensive, so ready to tear his throat out at his steady stream of insults.

  Fact was, he had insulted her and her sex quite thoroughly, but not when he’d said that a wife’s well-being should be the husband’s responsibility. When Meggie was married, she would learn that was one of the main uses for a husband. That and sex. He grinned vacuously and began whistling between his thoroughbred’s ears.

  Not seven minutes later, Thomas Malcombe, seventh earl of Lancaster, knocked on the vicarage door.

  Mary Rose, who was devoutly grateful that Jeremy had taken his leave, fearing that Meggie would go over the edge and try to stuff him up the chimney, blinked at the sight of Thomas Malcombe, beautifully garbed in riding clothes, so grateful that it was he and not Jeremy returning for some reason, that she nearly threw her arms around him and squeezed hard. He was carrying a riding crop in his right hand, his hat in his left. His dark hair was immaculate and she suspected that he hadn’t set that hat on his head at all this morning. He was, she realized, a very handsome man.

  She gave him her hand. “Good morning, Thomas. What a delightful surprise. Meggie is visiting with Mrs. Beach, who suffers from asthma and was wheezing quite dreadfully all last night.”

  “I am sorry about Mrs. Beach. However, I am here to see the vicar, Mary Rose.”

  “Ah. May I ask why? You see, Tysen is dreadfully busy right now, or at least he’s trying to be busy. Every time he looks at Rory, he still must pick him up and toss him over his head just to hear him shriek with laughter. That’s why the sermon is lagging behind.”

  “I don’t plan to keep him from either Rory or his sermon for very long. I just want to ask him if I can marry his daughter.”

  Mary Rose didn’t hesitate, gave him a big smile, and said, “Oh, I am so very pleased, Thomas, so very pleased indeed. Meggie has been so unhappy, although you wouldn’t readily see it, but her father and I know her very well, and we’ve worried so much about her. Then you came a
nd wooed her, and just look what has happened. Oh my, both Rory and Tysen will be delighted to see you. Come this way, Thomas.”

  Thomas set his hands on her shoulders before she turned to dance away down the corridor. “I hope the vicar will accept me. He is a fine man. I think you would make a magnificent mother-in-law.”

  “Now that’s a frightening thought,” Mary Rose said. “I will try not to become a shrew and a tyrant, like my own mother-in-law, who, I am convinced, will outlive even her grandchildren. Tysen! Come here, Thomas Malcombe wishes to speak to you.”

  When Tysen asked her to come in a few minutes later, Mary Rose said, “We will have champagne, in just a moment. How delightful that Meggie will live here. We had always feared the day she wed that she would move to a faraway land and we would scarce see her.”

  “Well,” Thomas said, “we won’t be living here all the time, Mary Rose. I have other homes.”

  When Meggie followed the commotion into her father’s study, she realized that Thomas had already done the deed.

  “Well,” she said from the doorway, dangling her straw bonnet by its ribbons, “will my father allow this business to proceed, Thomas?”

  “Oh yes,” Mary Rose said, and rushed to enfold her stepdaughter in her arms.

  The champagne was quite delicious. Rory, who’d never left the study, and who hadn’t really cared that he would gain his first and only brother-in-law, was allowed a small sip.

  Tysen drank the champagne, smiled, said all the right things, but worried. He worried that he didn’t know a damned thing about Thomas Malcombe. He worried that Meggie was marrying the first acceptable man to ask her when she still loved Jeremy Stanton-Greville, something he wasn’t about to tell Mary Rose.

  As for Thomas Malcombe, Tysen would find out everything about the damned man—down to any birthmark—before he allowed his precious daughter to walk to the altar. But Meggie was smiling, grinning like a fool, actually. She’d always had excellent instincts. He’d always trusted her, but this was for life, no reprieves if the man turned out to be a gambler or a womanizer. And what about her feelings for Jeremy? Had he put the nail in her feelings before he’d left? Were they gone now? Was this a sign of it? He wished he knew.