Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  “I suppose…” Milly hesitated.

  “Don’t worry about Ralph,” Meggie said. “I am by no means discouraged. The head groom needs a wife—he shouldn’t live alone in that cottage. And you’re perfect for him.”

  “Do you think so?” Milly asked, rummaging in the basket. She pulled out a stoneware bottle. “Ooh—Mrs. Brown’s lemonade!”

  “Then let us enjoy our picnic,” Meggie said, “and, for the moment, think no more of men.”

  By the time they’d finished eating, the air had grown even warmer. Meggie lay back, drinking in the sound of the babbling waterfall.

  Where else could she come so close to paradise? With a haven such as this at her disposal, she could weather any storm her father’s visit might bring.

  Milly tidied away the picnic items, then yawned and stretched. “When I get an afternoon off, I pray for good weather. There’s so much to do here!”

  “Such as?”

  “I love to swim in the lake,” Milly replied, “though Sarah’s too scared of the water. It’s warm enough today—why don’t you try it?” Almost as soon as she spoke, she blushed and lowered her gaze. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I forgot my place. I shouldn’t be speaking as if you’re my friend. Mrs. Wells has already warned me against it.”

  Was this what Meggie’s newfound status had done? Alienated her from people she’d typically choose as friends?

  “Nonsense, Milly,” she said. “I don’t see why we can’t be friends—out here, at least, where it doesn’t matter what a few stuffy old lords and ladies think.”

  “Then you’ll come for a swim?” Milly asked. “I can help you undress.”

  “You mean we should remove our clothes?”

  “We can swim in our undergarments,” Milly said. “They’ll dry quick enough if we lay them out on the rock. I’ve done it before.”

  The water did look inviting—clear and deep in the center—and Meggie had fond memories of swimming in the river at Blackwood Heath.

  But she hesitated. What would her husband think?

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t,” she said. “It’s not what the mistress of the house should do.”

  “Oh, ma’am!” Milly cried. “Don’t you think it’ll cheer you up? Everyone says I’m a feather-brained fool, but I can see you’re not entirely happy. A little swim doesn’t do nobody any harm.”

  “I suppose not…”

  “We’ll be out and dry in no time. Nobody will be any the wiser. It can be our little secret. Ralph has gone, and the master isn’t here.”

  Meggie couldn’t resist the eager expression on the young maid’s face. Milly had been so disappointed by Ralph’s rebuff that Meggie didn’t have the heart to refuse her invitation.

  “Oh, very well,” she said. “Let’s see who makes it into the water first.”

  While Meggie fumbled with her gown's laces, she heard a splash as Milly beat her into the water. Stripped to her undergarments, she picked her way across the rocks to the waterfall. Then, taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and launched herself off the rocks.

  The water hit her body like a knife, the cold giving a sharp contrast to the warm spring air. She opened her eyes and thrust out her arms to propel her body toward the bottom of the lake, relishing the feel of the water pulling through her hair. Then, with a kick of her legs, she swam toward the surface where the sunlight shone through the water.

  She surfaced and saw Millie’s head bobbing a few feet away.

  “You swim so well!” the maid cried. “Can you teach me to dive like that?”

  She flicked water at Meggie, and, laughing, Meggie splashed back. The two of them continued, splashing each other and squealing with laughter. It was as if Meggie was, once more, the carefree child she had once been before she’d been forced to grow up.

  Milly moved to splash her again.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Meggie laughed and dived underwater. This time, she was going to make it to the bottom and collect one of the stones as a trophy. She kicked out with her legs and brushed her hands over the bed of the lake until she found a small, round stone that fitted her palm perfectly. Curling her fingers round it, she swam back up.

  She heard a scream, muffled through the water, and kicked out harder until she resurfaced.

  “Milly! Are you all right?”

  “Oh, ma’am! I’m so sorry!”

  Meggie caught sight of the maid, shivering at the water’s edge, her face pale with terror.

  “What’s wrong?” She swam forward until her feet got a purchase on the rocks, then she stood up, the water reaching her waist.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” a deep male voice roared.

  Meggie looked up and saw two men beside the lake. Ralph stood, arms folded, his eyes on her, a hungry expression in his gaze.

  His companion stood half a head taller. Body ramrod straight, hands curled into fists, his face was pale with anger, his brow furrowed, eyes dark.

  His expression was one of pure fury—as if he was ready to commit murder.

  It was her husband.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Where the devil is my wife?”

  The journey to Hampshire had only served to darken Dexter’s mood. Two days cooped up in a box, with the prospect of that bastard Alderley’s company for a week, was enough to turn even the sunniest disposition sour.

  The steward scraped a bow. “I don’t know, sir.” The woman standing next to him—Mrs. Wells, if Dexter recalled the name correctly—seemed to possess a little more backbone. Though she dipped into a curtsey, she looked Dexter square in the eye.

  “The mistress is taking a walk,” she said.

  “On her own?”

  “Milly’s attending her.”

  “Good,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to have her roaming about the place alone.”

  “No, sir, it wouldn’t.” Her voice held a note of a disappointed nanny. “Had the mistress known the exact time of your arrival, I’m sure she’d have been waiting to greet you.”

  The housekeeper was right. Even if his wife had known the time of his arrival, was it any wonder she wasn’t eagerly waiting for him with a smile? What had he done to deserve it?

  “Perhaps young Ralph knows where she is,” Mrs. Wells said.

  Jealousy flared within him. “Who the devil is Ralph?”

  “The groom, sir.” the steward said. Dexter glared at him, and he seemed to shrink further. “He’s young but very talented.”

  Talented?

  That’s what Dexter was afraid of.

  “With the horses,” the steward continued. “He was ostler at the Queen’s Head. I trust I did no wrong in hiring him.”

  “Fetch him at once.”

  “But sir, you’ve had a long journey. Wouldn’t you want to…”

  “Do as I bid, Mr. Billings,” Dexter said, “or this will be your last day in my employ.”

  “Of course.” The steward scuttled off. The staff lacked discipline if they deemed it acceptable to question his orders. Perhaps it was as well that he’d come now before they acquired too many bad habits.

  “May we return to our duties inside?” the housekeeper asked. “There’s much to do before Lord Alderley arrives.”

  “Yes, yes.” Dexter waved dismissively at her, and she slipped back inside, followed by the rest of the staff.

  Shortly after, the steward returned, accompanied by a strikingly handsome young man with blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the kind of face that some women might describe as dangerous. Were he rich or titled, he’d have presented Dexter with some pretty stiff competition for the attention of London’s courtesans.

  But his looks came with an air of arrogance. No doubt, he could claim responsibility for several broken hearts.

  The steward nudged him, and he dipped into a bow.

  “Ralph, is it?” Dexter asked.

  The youth nodded.

  “I believe you know where my wife is?”r />
  “She’s taking a walk. She’ll be back soon if you’d care to wait—she usually returns about this time.”

  Who was this young jackanapes that he knew so much about her habits?

  “Take me to her,” Dexter said.

  “I don’t know if that would be…”

  “Did I ask for your advice or give you an order?” Dexter barked. “Lead the way.”

  The groom hesitated, and the steward prodded him again.

  “Very good, sir,” he said, his smile slipping. He pointed to a line of trees. “It’s this way.”

  ***

  Dexter had to admit that the grounds of the Molineux estate were remarkably pretty—if one liked that sort of thing. Save for the ornamental garden, much of the grounds had been left to the care of Mother Nature. An uneducated country girl such as his wife would find much to like here compared to the harsh lines of London.

  He heard a shriek, and his stomach tightened. Almost immediately, it was followed by splashing and high-pitched female laughter.

  The path widened out into a clearing, with a lake in the center. On the opposite side, by the water’s edge, a picnic had been set out beside a large, flat rock, with what appeared to be a lady’s gown draped over it.

  A young woman stood by the edge of the water, bent double with laughter. She turned and caught sight of him and screamed.

  Then a vision emerged from the surface of the lake.

  A goddess covered in water glistened in the sunlight. Though clothed, she might as well have been naked. White, lacy undergarments clung to her skin, leaving little to the imagination—a body ripe with curves, ready for the taking—soft, round breasts, made to fit his hands. The water had rendered the material translucent to reveal two peaks.

  “Bloody hell!”

  The groom stood transfixed. Dexter could swear he saw a bulge in the man’s breeches.

  Dexter’s manhood had hardened the moment she’d risen from the water, and now it strained against his breeches. She raised her arms, and the action lifted her breasts into a deliciously full shape, as if in offering.

  A low growl from the groom brought Dexter to his senses.

  His wife was romping around, practically naked to be ogled at by the servants!

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” he roared.

  She screamed and covered her breasts with her arms.

  “H-husband!” she cried. “I didn’t think you’d arrive today.”

  “That much is obvious,” he said. “Get out of the water at once! I’ll not have you parading around like a bloody slattern. I ought to have you horsewhipped for this!”

  The groom stood still.

  “Ralph, take the girl back. I’ll deal with my wife,” Dexter said. “Quickly!” he added when the young man hesitated. “The sooner you’re gone, the better.”

  His wife shivered.

  “Is that your dress over there?” He pointed toward the garment on the rock.

  She nodded.

  “Then, for goodness sake, take those wet clothes off and put the fucking thing on!” He gestured with his cane, and she shrank back, her eyes widening in fear.

  Ye gods, did she think he was going to hit her? He lowered his arm and softened his voice. “Do as I say, please, Margaret.”

  She stepped out of the water and approached the dress.

  “Well?” he demanded, “what are you waiting for?”

  “Shall I remove my undergarments while you watch?” she asked.

  Good lord no—that was not a good idea, not when that groom looked like he was about to spend at any moment.

  It was a small spark of defiance and spirit, but it flickered out as he moved toward her.

  “Use the blankets,” he said. “For pity’s sake, cover yourself up! Ralph, see to it that the rest of the mess is cleared up. But for now, we need to get my wife home before she catches a chill.”

  “Are…are we in trouble?” the maid asked.

  “Yes,” Dexter said through his teeth. “You’re in a lot of trouble. What the devil do you think you were doing?”

  “I saw no harm in it,” his wife said.

  “That’s not helping your case, Margaret.”

  “It was my idea!” the maid cried.

  “And what possessed you to encourage your mistress to behave like a slut?” Dexter demanded.

  “I-I thought it would make her happy. She needed cheering up.”

  The reply pricked at his conscience. But whatever the reason, there was no excuse for such behavior. What would the servants think of their mistress if she carried on like this? Not to mention Alderley.

  That spiteful man was coming tomorrow, together with his snob of a daughter. They’d tear Margaret to pieces. She must learn—quickly—that it was not acceptable to mingle with the servants.

  And given how little time he had to teach her before Alderley’s arrival, she’d have to learn the hard way.

  ***

  As soon as they reached the main house, Meggie’s husband ordered Ralph to take Milly inside. Then he grasped Meggie’s arm and pulled her close.

  “Get yourself changed,” he hissed, “then wait in your chamber. I’ll deal with the servant first.”

  “What do you mean—deal with her?” she asked, her stomach tightening in fear.

  “You can’t expect such a deed to go unpunished.”

  “But it wasn’t her fault!” she cried. “I was the one in the water.

  “At her suggestion, if I recall her confession correctly.”

  “Her confession?” she asked. “Am I on trial?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “After all, as my wife and mistress of this house, you must abide by certain rules, many of which you broke today.”

  Who was he—her jailer? Did he think he could order her about within minutes of returning?

  “Pardon me for not knowing all the rules,” she said.

  His mouth twitched, almost as if he were going to smile before his lips thinned again.

  “My dear,” he said, “a woman of even your level of intelligence should understand that the mistress of the house shouldn’t go swimming naked with the scullery maid! Do not insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance.”

  How many insults could he throw at her in a single sentence?

  “If I’m the one who broke the rules, punish me instead,” Meggie said. “Milly doesn’t deserve it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not so simple.”

  “What are you going to do with her?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said, “but it should serve as a reminder not to do it again. One or two strokes should suffice.”

  Meggie’s blood chilled. “You mean to have her thrashed?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She grasped his hand. “Please!” she cried. “You cannot! She meant no harm, and it’s not her fault if I didn’t behave as you expect me to. You can’t punish her for that.”

  “I can,” he said. “And I will. She should know both her place and yours.”

  “No!” she cried. “Dexter, please!”

  At her mention of his name, his eyes narrowed, then he looked away.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, my mind is made up.”

  “Why must you be so cruel?”

  “It’s not out of cruelty,” he said, “but of necessity. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “You’re the mistress of the house,” he said. The anger had gone from his voice, and now he sounded as if he were at Mrs. Preston’s school, explaining the laws of mathematics. “You cannot form friendships with the staff. They’re your subordinates, not your equals, and the distinction must be maintained, so they respect you as their mistress. If you don’t have their respect, the estate cannot be run properly. They won’t look to you to rule them when the need arises, and the estate will descend into chaos.”

  “What if I have no wish to rule them?”

  “It’
s the world we live in, my dear,” he said. “Sometimes, we must do what is required, even if it’s not to our liking. Therein lies our strength of character. As master and mistress of the house, our responsibility is to tend to the people here. To do that, we must maintain the distinction of rank.”

  “What about kindness?” she asked.

  “We can rule with kindness, but the boundaries of propriety must always be observed. Transgressions, however minor, must be dealt with swiftly and efficiently, to ensure that order is restored.”

  He squeezed her hand and spoke more softly. “It will give me no pleasure to administer the girl’s punishment, but it must be done.”

  “Then punish me instead,” she said. “If I am to be mistress and tend to the people here, then let me do this for Milly.”

  He shook his head. “I cannot agree with that. Besides, I believe a worse punishment awaits you.”

  Meggie’s stomach plummeted as if she’d swallowed a stone. “W-what do you mean?”

  “Your punishment will be to know what happened to another because of your transgression.” He lifted his hand as if to caress her face, then lowered it again, and curled it into a fist.

  “I shan’t force you to watch,” he said. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  “Hiding it behind closed doors doesn’t mean it’s not happening,” she said.

  He sighed. “Let us say no more on the matter. There is much you need to learn about life, Margaret.”

  “And there’s much you have to learn about compassion, husband.”

  He frowned at her address, then sighed. “Do not believe that where compassion—or love—is not displayed, it’s because it does not exist. Perhaps one day, you’ll realize that.” He released her arm. “Go and find Mrs. Wells, and ask her to tend to you,” he said. “Whatever you think of me, I have no wish to see you catch a chill. You’ve endured enough.”

  Clutching the blanket round her, she retreated inside the house, turning at the door to look back at him. He stood still, hands clenched, watching her, regret in his eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dexter stared at his reflection while his valet selected a jacket and held it up.

  “This one, sir?”