Pendragon

by Catherine Coulter

  “No, I don’t know that at all. I was bought. Isn’t it fair that I know my price?”

  “You weren’t bought.”

  “My father paid for me, thus I was bought. Come on, now. Spit it out. How much, Thomas?”

  “Dammit. Ten thousand pounds.”

  He wanted to kick himself for just spitting that out. He arched a brow and tried to look supercilious. “Do you think you’re worth ten thousand pounds?”

  She sighed. “I’ve lived all my life never knowing hunger or want. If I saw a bolt of material that pleased me, I would order it. My father spent so much money on my Season in London and I never even thought about it.” She sighed. “I didn’t even find a husband. After Jeremy—” Her voice dropped like a stone off a cliff.

  21

  HE SAID, VERY carefully, unable to help himself, “What do you mean, ‘after Jeremy’?”

  “Forget Jeremy. He’s just an almost dratted cousin, nothing more. The fact is that I’m pitiful, Thomas, and I never realized it until now. No, truth be told, I’m not worth anywhere near that many groats. I think you got a pig in a poke.”

  “No,” he said, “I got a Sherbrooke with beautiful blue eyes that she’ll pass along to our children.”

  “Yes, I will try. I’m sorry, Thomas.”

  Thomas stopped, looked at her, an eyebrow arched up. “Whyever are you sorry?”

  “I’m very sorry if you were poor after your father divorced your mother.”

  “Never hunger or real want, Meggie. My uncle was at low ebb the last twenty years of his life, but he took my mother and me in, and he did it gladly, generously. He was a fine man. I will tell you something though. It’s a sorry thing when there are people depending on you and you have to think and scheme and dicker with all sorts of very distasteful men to get together enough money to see to their needs. That was true for me until two years ago. That was when my first ship arrived back in Genoa from China.” He took her arm and they continued up the stairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. There was a thread-worn Turkish carpet tacked down to the steps. Ancient, by the looks of it. “I wonder how many feet have walked on this rug?”

  That got his attention. “I’ve wondered that myself. I think when I was about thirteen years old I decided that several armies had stayed here, bringing the feet up to at least five thousand.”

  “That sounds about right. Two armies?”

  “Cromwell came twice. The first time he failed, but not the second time.”

  “Oh. I didn’t tell you that my aunt Sinjun was an heiress. Actually she was one of the premiere heiresses in all of England. She married a Scottish earl who was so poor his castle was near to falling down about his ears. She saved him. Do you think perhaps that I am saving you just a bit? You could consider me another one of your ships sailing into port, all loaded with wonderful goods?”

  “You’re more than one ship, Meggie. When I think of your goods, my toes curl.” He gave her the wickedest grin imaginable.

  “I like the sound of that. Now, about your goods—”

  He kissed her hard and fast, then straightened. “Also, my father was very well off, Meggie. Together, you have made me rich indeed. Generations to come will bless your dowry.”

  Down at the very end of a long, dim, very wide corridor that echoed and another threadbare Turkish carpet over oak planks that creaked, lay the master bedchamber. Actually, it was a suite of rooms, she heard Thomas say from behind her. The master bedchamber, she saw, was so dismal that she had to swallow and seam her lips together to keep back a moan of disappointment. She shouldn’t have been surprised after that drawing room. But still, she was. The large room was filled with heavy old furniture, tattered draperies, miles and miles of bare oak plank floor leading to a mammoth bed that sat on a three-foot dais. If anything, it was more depressing than the drawing room. She said finally, her arms crossed over her chest, “It is certainly a very big room, Thomas. There is an extraordinary amount of floor.”

  “There is a dressing room in there with a nice big copper tub, then another bedchamber beyond, which would be your bedchamber, I suppose.”

  The dressing room was small and dark and smelled of camphor balls. The bedchamber beyond surprised her. When she opened the door, she had to blink because the sun was flooding in so brightly. Where had the storm gone? She would have sworn it was still battering the area, given the dankness of every other room she’d seen in Pendragon, but not this room. It was white, pure white, no other color, and it made you want to fling your arms out and whirl about.

  She walked to the middle of the room, standing on a thick white carpet that covered nearly all the floor in this airy room. “Oh my,” she said.

  “You weren’t expecting this. It’s called, originally enough, the White Room.”

  “No. I like it very much, Thomas.” She paused a moment, not knowing exactly how one spoke of this, and Thomas said, “Just spit it out, Meggie.”

  “My father and Mary Rose share a bedchamber. So do my uncles and their wives. I’ve seen Uncle Colin carry Aunt Sinjun into his bedchamber over his shoulder. I’ve always believed that was the way things were done. Do you think we could do that as well?”

  “You wish to share a bedchamber with me?” he asked slowly, and knew he was stupid to feel the leap of hope.

  “Well, yes. How can I improve upon you if I don’t have you with me?”

  “It would be well nigh impossible. I need improvement?”

  “Oh yes, but I will say that I truly believe in ten years you will become the perfect man.”

  “Only ten years?”

  “I’ve always been an optimist.”

  He walked to her and cupped her face in his palm. “Yes, I knew you were the moment I met you.”

  Meggie went up on her tiptoes and looked right at his mouth.

  “You want me to kiss you?”

  “Yes,” she said, nuzzling his chin. “If you have to ask me that, then I’m afraid that it will constitute an additional improvement. We’re perhaps talking more than ten years here, Thomas.”

  He ducked his head down and kissed her. Her mouth was so bloody warm and soft, just like the rest of her—both inside and out—and that included her loyal heart, damn her. He lifted his head and continued to cup her cheek. “Your face is very expressive, Meggie. You hate my bedchamber, don’t you?”

  “It could be improved upon—”

  “Just like me.”

  “No, I expect you’ll be much easier. I propose that we use this lovely white bedchamber until I have managed to make the larger one more inhabitable.”

  He said even more slowly, his fingers lightly stroking her jaw, “I have never heard of husbands and wives sharing a bedchamber unless they were forced to. Certainly it is difficult for me to imagine that my father and mother ever shared the same bed. I mean, certain husbands and wives share a bed long enough to, well, perform intimacies, but not the entire night. Are you certain that all your male relatives share with their wives?”

  “Oh yes.”

  He said slowly, “I think I need to think about this, Meggie.”

  “I don’t think I snore,” she said. “You do, though, at least you did that first night. However, that first night was undoubtedly a strain on you, so I should not be too swift with a conclusion here.”

  He dropped his hand from her face. “Perhaps snoring is one reason husbands and wives don’t sleep together the entire night.”

  “I think Mary Rose just shoves my father over on his side when he snores. I heard her speaking of it once to him.”

  “I will think about it, Meggie.”

  Well, Thomas hadn’t mentioned love, but still, she thought, two people who were not only married but also enjoyed the other’s company, as she and Thomas did, except for their debacle of a wedding night, should surely wish to sleep together. She gave him a long thoughtful look, and said only, “Do that,” and walked to the huge white-painted armoire. When she opened the doors, she saw a row of gowns. Shoe
s of all sorts lined the bottom of the armoire. Slowly she pulled out one of the dresses. It was high-waisted and looked to be rather old. She turned, holding the dress, her head cocked to the side in question.

  “I suppose the gowns belonged to my uncle’s wife, Aunt Sarah. She died back in 1810, in the winter. She was always cold, didn’t matter if it was deep summer. My uncle painted this room white and built more windows so when there was bright sun, as there is now, she would feel it on her face and be warm.”

  “When did your uncle die?”

  “Two years ago. I was living in Italy at the time, in Genoa, immersing myself in shipping. At least before he died, he knew that I was making enough money to assure that Pendragon would be revitalized, that all his dependents would be taken care of.”

  “Then your father died six months ago. You were in Italy at that time as well?”

  “Yes. I’m in business with the earl of Clare, a man I much admire. His boys are your age and a bit younger.”

  “How many does he have?”

  “Six.”

  Meggie’s eyes widened at that. “Six boys? Goodness, Thomas, his poor wife.”

  “Lady Rayna rules all of them with an iron fist. He is also in business with his brother-in-law, Kamal, who is half European and half Muslim. He was at one time the Bey of Oran—a king in his own right, loaded down with a palace and a harem, master of all he surveyed. He married Arabella Welles, the earl’s sister. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

  “Does she have six daughters?”

  “No, two girls and two boys. All of them come to England once a year, in the early fall. You will meet them.”

  “And will we travel to Italy?”

  Ah, she wanted to, he saw it on her face, heard it in her voice. It was something he could give her that Jeremy couldn’t. “I don’t see why not. It’s quite beautiful in the early fall. Now, I will tell Ennis to put my valises in the master bedchamber for the time being. You may have this room. I can see that it pleases you.”

  “It pleases me,” Meggie said in a perfectly pleasant voice, “because it isn’t dark and dank and dismal, like that big room just yon that you really should let me fix before you move in there for just one day.”

  “I will think about it,” he said yet again and left her standing there, staring at the empty doorway to the dressing room. He knew all the way to the soles of his big feet that if she were to whisper Jeremy’s name in her dreams, and he was there beside her to hear it, he would be worth nothing much at all after that.

  Thirty minutes later Meggie found her way back down the huge oak staircase, pausing a moment to admire the carving on the newel post on the top of the banister. She also wanted to admire the plastered ceiling, but it was dirty, in bad need of painting. She walked to the drawing room. She paused when she heard raised voices—the loudest one belonging to her mother-in-law. It was probably about her, since she was the only new specimen about. Meggie practiced her smile. Getting that smile all the way to her eyes, however, was another matter.

  When she walked into the drawing room, it was to see not only her husband and her mother-in-law, but also another lady of indeterminate years, sitting on a faded brocade sofa opposite her mother-in-law. This lady was as plump as Thomas’s mother was thin. Her hair, probably once richly blond, was now faded, threads of silver weaving in and out of the fat braids that sat atop her head, unlike Thomas’s mother, whose hair was very dark, heavily laced with snowy white strands of hair. This lady was very fair, her skin as pale as a new snowfall, her eyes light blue, deep dimples in her cheeks. She was really quite pretty, and she was also yelling. “By God, Madeleine, this is nonsense! Tell me you do not mean that!”

  So her mother-in-law’s name was Madeleine. That was very pretty.

  “I mean it all right, Libby, so you may shut your trap. I tell you, he’s—Ah, here’s my new daughter-in-law with her blue eyes, nice eyes, if one considers the size of her dowry. However, she smiles too much.”

  That really made Meggie feel low as a chunk of dirt. I smile too much? Meggie wiped the smile off her face and walked stiff as a soldier at attention to the center of the horrible drawing room and looked first to her husband, then to her mother-in-law, and finally to the plump Libby with her fat blond braids and very pretty smile.

  “Hello,” she said, then turned to her husband and nodded. “My lord.”

  Thomas said, “I would like a cup of tea, Meggie. Just a bit of lemon for me. Mother? Would you like Meggie to pour for you? Aunt Libby?”

  Aunt Libby?

  Madeleine puffed up, no other way to put it. She swelled inside her dark blue gown, pushed out her cheeks. “You want her to pour, Thomas? I am your mother. I was the first person ever to pour tea down your little gullet.”

  “Meggie is now the countess of Lancaster, Mother, and the mistress of Pendragon. It is her responsibility to pour the tea down both your gullets and now mine as well. Sit back and ease yourself into the cushions and let her serve you.”

  “She isn’t smiling now, showing off all those white teeth of hers, so I suppose it would be all right.” She gave a regal nod to Meggie. “I like sugar and milk.”

  Meggie merely nodded, not smiling, but looking as serious as Mary Rose when she was trying to outdo Max with a new Latin aphorism. She said toward Libby, “And you, ma’am? Would you like tea?”

  “Certainly not. I wish to have sherry, as Madeleine knows very well. Thomas, fetch me sherry. I will pour it down my own gullet, thank you.”

  Thomas, looking immensely patient, walked to the sideboard and poured Aunt Libby a large dose of sherry.

  Meggie poured and distributed the tea.

  “It isn’t sweet enough,” said Madeleine after taking one tiny sip.

  Meggie added another spoonful of sugar to the cup and watched her mother-in-law stir it until surely the tea was cold.

  This wasn’t at all promising. Meggie sipped her own tea, looking toward her husband, who was standing beside the fireplace, his back against the wall. He’d set his teacup on the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Barnacle tottered into the drawing room, looking to be in agony, and gasped out, “Ennis has delivered yer luggage to yer rooms, my lord. He didn’t do it well, even though I instructed him thoroughly all along the way. My lady, I will be ready for yer ministrations in an hour.”

  “Her what, Barnacle?” Libby asked, and poured the rest of her sherry down, holding out her empty glass even as she thrust it toward Thomas.

  “Her ladyship, the one wot’s married to our new lordship here,” said Barnacle, screwing up his face into even more agony, “is going to walk on my back, since both ye and the dowager countess are too heavy and would surely break me in two.”

  No one said a word. Meggie was the only one who watched Barnacle totter out of the drawing room. The two women were arguing again, but low now, and Meggie couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  This was surely the strangest household Meggie had ever visited. No, not visited. She lived here. Blessed hell. Then she remembered Glenda Strapthorpe, who’d gone to great lengths to try to trap Meggie’s father into marriage, and knew she’d have to think about this before making a judgment. Perhaps every household was strange in its own way. She thought of her grandmother Lydia and sighed. She kept her eyes on her teacup.

  Not many minutes later Barnacle was standing again in the open doorway to the drawing room. He said in a very formal voice to Thomas, “Lord Kipper is here, my lord. Since ye are now an earl and he is only a baron, he isn’t worthy enough to be shown into the drawing room unless ye expressly wish him to.”

  “You’re right. He is only a baron. What do you think we should do with him?”

  “Lock him in a bedchamber with a half dozen maids and see if he emerges alive.”

  “Hmmm. A creative idea, but just think of the maids, Barnacle. Bring him in and we will pretend he is worthy enough to be in my presence.”

  22

>   MADELEINE AND LIBBY were laughing even before Barnacle was out of the drawing room, and Barnacle knew it, bowing his shoulders and tottering even more.

  When Barnacle and his back were out of sight, Thomas ignored the laughing women and said to his wife, “Lord Kipper is an old smuggler who was knighted by George way back in 1809 when he accidently managed to sink a French warship. He really believed it was a boat of English soldiers bent on taking him to Newgate.”

  “You’re making that up,” Meggie said.

  “Young lady, my son never makes anything up,” Madeleine said. “Lord Kipper is a very brave man, not like that wretched Lord Lancaster, who, thankfully, is finally six feet underground. Had I been there, I would not have worn mourning nor thrown a rose atop his casket. I would have spit.”

  “Meggie’s father, the vicar of Glenclose-on-Rowan, gave the service. He surely wouldn’t have appreciated that, Mother.”

  “My lord. Ladies.”

  Meggie looked up to see a man stride into the drawing room. He was as tall as Thomas and twice his age. He was very possibly one of the most beautiful men Meggie had ever seen in her life. He looked like a fallen angel, fair and blond, but the compelling strength in his face, the planes and shadows of the bones, the blueness of his eyes, the way all of him fit together was incredible. She imagined that Uncle Douglas’s twin sons, James and Jason, would be as beautiful as Lord Kipper when they were his age, and that was saying something indeed since her dratted cousins had been so beautiful since early boyhood that her uncle Douglas and aunt Alex had been constantly bombarded with gifts from all the girls in the neighborhood, hoping to be noticed by the twins.

  It was amazing, this male beauty. Lord Kipper looked toward her and smiled, an absolutely devastating smile, all white teeth and intimacy, and it made her toes curl in appreciation. Six maids with him in a locked bedchamber? Hmmm.

  “I am Meggie Sherbrooke—”

  “You are now a Malcombe. I am her husband, Niles.”