by Royal, Emily
Did he think her a simpleton? He’d made it plain on her wedding day that he despised her and loathed her husband.
Mrs. Wells entered the room.
“Was that a letter from the master?” she asked. “Is he coming?”
“It was from my father,” Meggie said. “He’ll be staying for a few days.”
“When?”
Meggie picked up the letter and reread the words as if she could will them to say something else.
“He arrives in a fortnight.”
“Then we’d best get the place ready, Mrs. Hart,” the housekeeper said, “and you must write to the master as soon as you can. He’ll want to be with you when they arrive, won’t he?”
Meggie set the letter aside.
Three sentences on a piece of paper. That was all it took to shatter the illusion that Meggie could feel as if she could be happy here.
She would have to endure the company of the man she thought she’d never have to see again—the man who had sold her to his enemy. And she’d have to play hostess to the woman who looked down on her—the woman who’d boasted, with such relish, of her conquests, past, and future, of Meggie’s husband.
In one aspect, Mrs. Wells was right. Meggie’s husband would want to be here.
But not for her.
Chapter Fifteen
Dexter turned the letter over in his hand and read the bland, soulless words on the page.
But did he expect any different from Daisy? She might be happier than she would have been had that wastrel not abandoned her, but by refusing to pay the man, Dexter had brought about that abandonment.
And she still blamed him.
He fingered the scar on his chin. A mere echo of the marks on his back, but administered by the same hand, albeit some ten years later. It served to remind him how he’d let Daisy down.
He picked up his pen and held it over a blank sheaf of paper. What could he say to her? He wasn’t a man of feeling. Any expression of regret penned by his hand, she’d view as insincere. And the last time they’d spoken, Daisy had made it clear she never wished to set eyes on him again. The shame of her situation had been too much, and she’d imposed herself in exile until she had been saved—by a better man than her brother.
If he delved into the deepest recesses of his heart, he might discover that he was capable of love. But love—even for a sister—was a weakness that could be exploited.
Something compelled him, this time, to write a few words of affection. Perhaps an inquiry after her health. He wrote a sentence, then almost immediately scrunched the paper into a ball and tossed it on the floor. He picked up a clean sheaf and scribbled a few words.
Dear Sister,
Herewith I enclose two pounds.
Yours,
Dexter
Soulless and practical, but money was all he had to give her. He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out two notes, and folded them together with the letter. After scribbling the directions on an envelope, he set it aside and rang the bell.
Soon after, Charles appeared.
“Post this for me, please,” he said.
“Very good, sir.”
“Are there any letters?”
“Just the one.” The footman handed Dexter an envelope, then bowed and left.
The hand which had penned the directions was unfamiliar—a neat, cursive style, devoid of unnecessary flourishes. He traced the shape of the words, then tore open the envelope.
The letter was from his wife. Her penmanship was remarkable, considering her background.
He gave a little sigh. His origins weren’t that different to hers, save for the fact that he’d been born on the right side of the blanket. Surely, he wasn’t turning into a snob?
He read the first paragraph.
“Damn!”
The curse slipped out before he could prevent it.
She had invited Alderley to stay and was demanding Dexter join her in the country as soon as possible. He slammed the paper on the desk.
She was her father’s pawn after all, and this must be his first move.
But what game was he playing?
***
“You seem out of sorts, Hart,” Oliver Peyton said as a footman arrived, brandishing a tray and two glasses.
Dexter plucked a glass off the tray. Before he’d taken a sip, Peyton drained half his glass and nodded to the footman to fetch another.
“I hope I won’t have to carry you home,” Dexter said.
“Am I not permitted a celebration?” Peyton asked. “I’ve secured us the Westbury account. That family’s banked with Coutts for over fifty years.”
The Westbury account was a boon, and it increased the chances of other notable families moving their accounts to the Hart Bank. Oliver Peyton excelled at the personal side of banking—maintaining relationships with the account holders and wooing clients. And Dexter would be the first person to admit that he lacked Peyton’s congeniality.
“You don’t seem too thrilled,” Peyton said. “Anything the matter?”
“I have been summoned to the country,” Dexter said.
“Who by?”
“My wife wrote the letter,” Dexter replied, “but I suspect it was dictated by another.”
“What do you mean?”
“She writes to tell me that Lord Alderley will be visiting ‘in order to further family relations’—whatever the hell that means.”
“It means your father-in-law is in need of cash,” Peyton said.
Dexter snorted. “There’s hope for you yet, Peyton, if you’re capable of such healthy cynicism.”
“Is he bringing Elizabeth with him?” Peyton asked.
“It would appear so,” Dexter said. “Having moved his pawn to my end of the board, he’s bringing his queen into play.”
The footman reappeared with another glass, and Peyton took it.
“Are you having another, Hart?”
Dexter shook his head. “I need a clear head. I leave at dawn.”
“You’re going?”
“I must engage with Alderley at some point,” Dexter said. “Where better than on my territory? Alderley may believe he has the upper hand, but a player can overestimate the effectiveness of his pieces.”
“And you think he intends to use both daughters against you?”
“He’ll fail,” Dexter replied. “Alderley may think he has control of the board, but I can just as easily use his pieces against him.”
“How long will you be away?” Peyton asked.
“A fortnight.”
“And you trust me not to run the bank into the ground while you’re battling your father-in-law?”
“You can view this as a test of your prowess, Peyton,” Dexter said, “and I want you to join me in a week to report on activities.”
“Naturally,” Peyton said, grinning. “You could never relinquish control for too long. Is there anything, in particular, you wish me to report on?”
“Keep an eye on the MacGregor account,” Dexter said.
“Your brother-in-law’s whisky business?”
“The very same. The next installment on the loan is due in a few days. Just because I’m related to the fellow, I’ve no intention of showing leniency if the payment is late.”
“Of course not,” Peyton said. “I know enough about you to understand that family loyalty won’t rank above a contractual obligation.”
A tall gentleman hailed them on his way out of the clubroom.
“Peyton!” he said. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Good to see you,” Peyton said. He turned to Dexter. “Hart, you know Mr. Young, don’t you? Founding member of the Mayfair Gentlemen’s Chess Club.”
Dexter nodded.
“Are you playing at Durrants tonight, Peyton?” the gentleman asked. “Simpkins has a new opening gambit he wants to try out on you. He says it guarantees checkmate in six moves.”
“It probably does,” Peyton replied, “but only if his opponent is either i
n his cups or has sustained a blow to the head. I suppose I could use it as a reference for my book. I could have a chapter at the end entitled ‘checkmate for dimwits’ and dedicate it to Simpkins.”
The gentleman laughed and took his leave. Peyton finished his drink and glanced at the longcase clock by the door.
“I’d better be going.”
“You’re writing a book?” Dexter asked.
“On chess strategy,” Peyton replied. “I want to focus on the mid-part of the game. Too many books cover the opening gambits and the endgame. But the real skill is in bringing your pieces together after the first few moves, once you’ve begun to understand your opponent’s style, and in preparation for the final stages of the game.”
“I wish you luck.”
Peyton laughed. “You’ll need more luck than I, dealing with your in-laws.”
“Luck won’t come into it,” Dexter said. “Alderley is a weak opponent. His weakness lies in his transparency. He might have fooled me once, but I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You might enjoy your visit,” Peyton said. “You’re paying enough to rent the place, so you should reap the benefit and live there.”
Peyton set his glass down and followed in Mr. Young’s wake.
Dexter lifted his glass to his lips. The prospect of a week in Alderley’s company—not to mention Elizabeth’s, would drive most men to drink. But a small part of him whispered that there was one element of his forthcoming visit he did not regret. And that was seeing his wife again.
More than anything, he wanted to see her smile.
Chapter Sixteen
A cloud of dust rose up as two footmen lifted the sheets off the drawing room furniture. Meggie couldn’t contain the tickle in her nose, and she let out a sneeze.
The housekeeper rushed to her side. “Perhaps you should wait elsewhere, ma’am,” she said. “You’ve been working nonstop since the master’s letter arrived, and it’s high time you took a break.”
“But there’s so much to do,” Meggie protested.
“Mr. Billings has already engaged four members of staff, and your father doesn’t arrive until Saturday.”
“You need help here,” Meggie said.
“It wouldn’t do for the master to return home to find his wife has a cough,” the housekeeper said. She placed a gentle hand on Meggie’s arm. “My dear, nobody will think any less of you for wanting to rest. The lady of the manor shouldn’t be expected to work harder than her staff. Why not take a turn outside? Some fresh air would bring that lovely bloom back to your cheeks.”
Another puff of dust flew up as a footman uncovered a chair, and Meggie exited the drawing room and made her way to the breakfast room where Milly and Sarah were polishing a large, round table.
“You’re doing well,” Meggie said. “I’ve never seen so much dust in my life!”
“The house hasn’t been tended to for years, ma’am,” Milly said. “But, we’ll have it bright and clean in no time.”
Sarah frowned at Milly. “There’s the windows to do next,” she said. “They’ll take hours.”
“I can help,” Meggie said. “But for now, Sarah, Mrs. Wells wants you in the drawing room.”
Sarah dropped her dust cloth, bobbed a curtsey, and left.
At that moment, Meggie heard a gurgling sound, and Milly blushed, clutching her midriff. “Pardon my stomach.”
“Haven’t you eaten yet?” Meggie asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then we must do something about that,” Meggie said. “It’s a beautiful day, and I fancy taking my luncheon outside.”
“I was just about to suggest that myself,” a male voice said.
Ralph stood in the doorway, holding a posy of wildflowers. “I found these and thought they’d brighten the place up,” he said.
Milly squealed with delight and rushed toward him. He frowned, then relinquished the bouquet.
“Ralph, how lovely!” she cried. “Shall we see if Mrs. Brown has something to eat in the kitchen if the mistress will permit me to take my break now?”
“No, I should return to the horses,” he said.
“Oh, very well.”
Meggie’s heart tightened at the disappointment in Milly’s expression.
“Perhaps we could take luncheon together, outside, Milly?” she suggested. “I’d appreciate the company. We could have a picnic if you’re up for a walk. I’m sure Mrs. Wells would give you the afternoon off.”
“Oh, thank you!” Milly said. “I’d like that. It’s perfect weather for a picnic, and I know just the spot.”
“Ralph, will you join us?” Meggie asked. This was a perfect opportunity to bring the two young people together, for the groom could hardly resist a request from his mistress.
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” he said.
Milly’s face lit up with joy.
“Milly, go and ask Mrs. Brown to make up a basket for us while I fetch my bonnet,” Meggie said. “Ralph, can you find something for us to sit on?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He bowed and exited the room, followed closely by the lovestruck young maid. Meggie’s heart leapt for joy at the thought of bringing two young lovers together.
Today was going to be a good day.
***
The once-bare trees showed spots of green as new shoots came to life all about her. Before long, the woodland floor would be a blaze of color, and the air would carry the sweet scent of spring flowers.
Beside the path ran a stream, where crystal-clear water danced over rocks and stones, forming soft music.
This was her home. For the rest of her life, she’d be free to wander through these woods any time she chose and lie among the carpet of bluebells.
And indulge in delights such as the treats Mrs. Brown provided. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of the freshly baked rolls in her basket.
“Let me carry that for you, Mrs. Hart.”
Ralph reached for Meggie’s basket, but she shook her head. “You’ve enough to carry as it is.”
She gestured to the young woman who walked ahead of them through the trees. “Why don’t you help Milly? Her basket’s heavier than mine, and she’d enjoy your company. I should like her to be happy today.”
“Whereas you wish to be miserable?”
Meggie laughed. “I am content by myself,” she said. “I’d like today to be special for Milly. There’s a lot of work for her to do—even more, when my husband arrives.”
“And for you, Mrs. Hart.”
“Ah, but today’s excursion is not about me, Ralph. It’s about Milly.” Meggie met his gaze. “She’s a pretty girl, is she not?”
“I suppose she’s prettier than old Mrs. Brown.”
“Ralph!” she chided. “I may not be a lady, but even I know that’s a very ungallant thing to say to the young woman you intend to court.”
He frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, an excited cry rose up ahead.
“We’re here! Look!”
Meggie caught a glimpse of a larger expanse of water, and she heard a rushing, thundering sound. Sparkles of light reflected the sun, dancing on the surface. She picked up the pace, and the trees thinned out into a clearing.
The stream widened out to form a lake. Light shimmered across the surface as the water rippled and moved with the current. Beyond, she glimpsed the source of the sound. A waterfall plunged into the lake. Droplets of water filled the air, catching the sunlight to form a rainbow.
“It’s beautiful!” Meggie cried. “What a perfect spot for a picnic.”
“The best place is over there,” Milly said, pointing to a large, flat rock near the water’s edge. “It’ll give us a good view of the waterfall, but is far enough away that you don’t get caught by the spray.”
“Then we’ll eat there,” Meggie said. “Ralph, would you set out the blankets?”
“Of course.” He sounded sullen but did as she asked, then they unpacked the baske
ts.
“Ooh look!” Milly cried. “Mrs. Brown’s included some of her rock cakes. They’re my favorite! Did you ask her to bake some, Ralph?”
“I know you like them,” he said.
She picked one up. “I’m so hungry. I could eat it whole.”
“Don’t eat too many, or you’ll be plumper than Mrs. Brown,” Ralph said. “I think she models her rock cakes on her own shape!”
“Nonsense!” Meggie said as Milly blushed. “Milly’s in no danger of that, are you, Milly? And it wouldn’t matter if she was.”
“No, ma’am,” Ralph said.
Meggie frowned at him. He gave her a smile, then nudged Milly affectionately. “Forgive me, Mills,” he said. “You know you’re the prettiest girl hereabouts, don’t you?”
“Ralph, why don’t you eat with Milly?” Meggie asked. “I’m not hungry yet, and I’d like to explore the woods before I eat.”
“You should join us,” he said.
“No, I’ll eat later,” Meggie replied. “After all, Milly’s the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”
Ralph scrambled to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Milly asked.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve remembered I have to do something for Mr. Billings.”
“Can’t it wait?” Meggie asked. “We’ve walked all this way.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Billings was most insistent, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him. I’m anxious to please him—to show I’m capable of the responsibility of head groom.”
Milly’s disappointment showed on her face, but Meggie couldn’t argue with Ralph’s reasoning.
“Perhaps another time?” she suggested.
“Once I’ve completed my duties, I shall be at your disposal any time you wish,” he said. “Enjoy your picnic, and don’t worry about carrying the baskets back. Leave them here, and I can fetch them later.”
He bowed and disappeared through the trees.
Milly let out a sigh. “Why does he always do that?”
“Perhaps I pushed him a little too hard,” Meggie said. “But, we can still enjoy our picnic.”
“I should go back,” the maid said. “Mrs. Wells will be expecting me.”
“Nonsense!” Meggie said. “I say you can have the afternoon off.”
