Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  The groom fell back, red liquid dribbling from his nose, then collapsed on the floor.

  “That was for insulting your mistress.” Dexter pulled off his necktie and bound the unconscious man’s wrists, then secured him to a chair to be on the safe side.

  He held his hand out to Margaret. “Come here, my dear.”

  She took his hand, and he led her outside.

  “Did he touch you?” he asked.

  “N-no.” She touched her cheek and winced.

  “We’ll need to get Mrs. Wells to see to that,” he said.

  “Are you angry?” she asked, her voice wavering.

  “Of course I’m bloody angry!” he said. “I should have known what was going on.”

  “You think I encouraged him?”

  “Dear God, no, Margaret,” he said. “I only mean that he saw you as easy prey. It’s not your fault that you were naïve enough to mistake his advances for friendship.” He sighed. “It’s my fault. It was too much to expect you to become a lady overnight.”

  She turned away and approached her mount.

  “No, Meggie,” he said softly. “You’ll ride with me. I’ll send Billings to deal with the horses and…” he hesitated, “…that young man. Rest assured, you’ll never have to see him again.”

  He pulled her into his arms, and her body shook. Brave little soul, she was fighting back the tears.

  “My sweet, Meggie,” he said. “I’ll do anything I can to make up for what’s happened. I should never have sent you here alone and friendless. But you’re not alone now.”

  He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her onto his horse. Then he mounted behind her and set off for the house.

  ***

  “Oh, mistress—your face!”

  “That’s enough of that, Sarah,” Mrs. Wells scolded. “Use the poultice.”

  Meggie winced as Sarah placed a cloth on her face, which carried the aroma of lavender.

  “Shh…” the housekeeper soothed. “Stay still. It’ll help with the bruising.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Milly rushed in. “What’s happened? I heard the master attacked Ralph.”

  “Hush your nonsense, girl!” Mrs. Wells admonished. “Look at what your precious Ralph did to the mistress?”

  Milly’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she said. “He wouldn’t…”

  “Foolish child!” the housekeeper said. “If you’ve nothing useful to say, then return to your duties. Or do you want to be dismissed also?”

  “Ralph…” Milly whispered.

  “I always thought he was a bad lot,” Mrs. Wells said, “but you were so sweet on him, you wouldn’t listen to reason. He fooled you, just like he fooled the mistress.”

  She turned to Meggie. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, you weren’t to blame, but he always did think too highly of himself. If you want my opinion, he deserves everything the master intends to do to him.”

  “What does my husband intend to do?” Meggie asked.

  Shortly after returning to the house, he’d carried her to the kitchen, roaring for Mrs. Wells to tend to her. The feel of his strong arms around her gave her a sense of safety and security she’d never experienced before—almost as if he genuinely cared for her. He’d set her down on a chair, placed a delicate hand on her shoulder, and told her to remain there while he dealt with everything.

  “You’re in no fit state to worry about what the master intends to do,” the housekeeper said. “I always said he’d asked too much of you to take over the mantle of the lady of the manor when you have so little experience.”

  Why did they—her husband, Mrs. Wells, the rest of the staff—all think her so incapable?

  What better chance did she have than now, to prove that she could weather her position?

  “Where’s my husband, Mrs. Wells?” she asked.

  “He’s in the study, but he won’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” Meggie rose to her feet and made her way to her husband’s study. Raised voices came from within, and she pushed open the door.

  Two men stood facing the large mahogany desk—Ralph, and Mr. Billings, the steward. Ralph had a pathetic air about him. Shoulders slumped, face swollen where Dexter had struck him, he looked every part the defeated bully.

  Dexter’s eyes widened as she entered. “I told you not to leave the kitchen.”

  “I wish to voice an opinion in respect of the groom’s punishment,” she said.

  His mouth twitched into a smile, and she crossed the floor to join him at his desk. He rose from his chair and motioned to her to sit.

  “Very well,” he said. “Give us your counsel.”

  “You’re not going to let this woman dictate my fate?” Ralph sneered.

  “I’ll thank you to show my wife more respect,” Dexter growled.

  Meggie placed a hand on her husband’s arm.

  “Let us not distress ourselves any more over the groom’s behavior,” she said. She looked up and met Ralph’s gaze, conquering her fear. At length, he colored and looked away.

  “I would have you leave this establishment, never to return,” she said. “Mr. Billings can pay your wages up to today. I would not have you accuse us of being uncharitable.”

  “And where would I go, mistress?”

  “I care not,” she said, “as long as poor Milly nor I set eyes on you again.”

  Ralph’s eyes flared with a final burst of defiance.

  “Your wife has you fooled, sir,” he said to Dexter. “She’s been mooning over me ever since she arrived and couldn’t wait to spread her legs.”

  “That’s enough!” Dexter snapped.

  “Mark my words, she’ll betray you,” Ralph continued. “I can see it in your eyes—you don’t trust her.”

  Dexter addressed the steward. “Billings, get him out of my sight. Do not pay him—he doesn’t deserve my wife’s generosity. Instruct the gamekeeper to shoot him if he’s seen within ten miles of this estate. Then send Mrs. Wells here when you’re done.”

  “Very good.” The steward grabbed Ralph by the arm and marched him out of the room.

  Dexter reached for the decanter on his desk and half-filled a beveled glass with brown liquid. Then he pushed it into Meggie’s hand.

  “Drink this.”

  She tipped the glass up and swallowed a mouthful of liquid. Fire burst on her tongue, and she spluttered as the liquid burned in her throat.

  Her arm shook as she set the glass down, and he covered her hand with his.

  “May I ask you a question, Margaret?”

  “I-I didn’t offer myself to him.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “I know,” he said. “No, I want to ask you to do something for me.”

  Her heart fluttered. It had taken all her courage to face the man who’d tried to violate her. What else must she do?

  He squeezed her hand. “Would you oblige me by moving your belongings to the lady’s chamber?”

  “For propriety?”

  “No, my dear,” he said. “For me.”

  He patted her hand. “I confess I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Wells to arrange it—but don’t take that as an assumption on my part. The decision is yours.”

  He lifted his brows, and she saw the plea in his eyes.

  “You’d accept if I refused?” she asked.

  “I would.” He lifted the glass to her lips. “Finish it,” he said. “The brandy will settle your nerves. Then you must rest. You’ve had an ordeal.”

  “What about our guests?”

  “I think you deserve a reprieve from the Alderleys. I’ll tell them you’re indisposed.”

  “I can face them,” she said.

  “I wish to spare you their company, nevertheless,” he said. “I would not have you any more distressed.” He hesitated, then swallowed, as if steeling himself.

  “I’m not a man of tender words, Margaret,” he said. “But I pledged to honor, cherish, and keep y
ou. However reluctant I was at the time, I meant every word. You can trust me to abide by my vows.”

  He lifted his hand to her face, his eyes narrowing as if he felt her pain. “It would please me very much if you were to grant my request.”

  Someone knocked on the door, and he called out.

  “Come in!”

  Mrs. Wells entered the room.

  “Ah, good lady,” he said. “Please escort my wife to…” he focused his gaze on Meggie, hope in his eyes.

  “To the lady’s chamber, please, Mrs. Wells,” she said. He smiled at her again, and the tenderness in his deep blue eyes touched her heart.

  This brooding, enigmatic man she’d been forced to marry—he concealed a heart beneath the hard, outer shell. And she was in great danger of falling in love.

  As she reached the door, she turned to face him

  “Dexter?”

  His eyes widened at the familiar address, then he smiled.

  “Why didn’t you believe him…” she hesitated. “…Ralph?”

  “Because you’re my wife.”

  “It’s more than that,” she said. “You’re a man of reason, not emotion. Blind faith alone wouldn’t convince you. What was it?”

  “If you must know, it was the look on his face,” he said. “I recognized it from years ago—from when a fortune-hunter seduced my sister.”

  “Your sister?

  “My sister Daisy.”

  “What happened to her?”

  He cast a glance at Mrs. Wells, who looked away as if averting her eyes and her ears.

  “She was seduced,” he said. “She believed herself in love and paid the price. The bastard who ruined her thought he could coerce me into giving him a thousand guineas.”

  “A thousand!” she cried. “Who was he?”

  “One of Alderley’s servants,” he said. “I confronted Alderley about it, and it earned me this.” He fingered the scar across his chin.

  His gaze seemed to cloud over. Then he blinked and focused on Meggie once more. “He threatened to spread rumors about Daisy being a light skirt if I didn’t pay him. My fortunes were increasing, and he saw me as a source of income.”

  “And you agreed?”

  “No,” he said, his mouth set firm. “I didn’t. A man who succumbs to blackmail is a fool. He shows himself to be weak-minded for not facing the consequences of his sins. I am not such a man.”

  “What about Daisy?” Meggie asked.

  Hurt rippled across his expression. “She wouldn’t have been happy in a coerced marriage, however much she wanted it.”

  “A marriage like ours?”

  He sighed. “The circumstances that brought us together were different,” he said. “And Daisy is happier now than she would have been, had I yielded to her seducer.”

  “How so?”

  “An old friend of mine offered for her. I believe they are fond of each other.”

  “You believe? Don’t you see them?”

  The tenderness in his eyes disappeared. “I should see to our guests,” he said, “lest they feel neglected.”

  His reluctance to continue the conversation was understandable. But she had to know one thing—to determine whether she could, as he claimed, trust him completely.

  “Dexter?”

  “What is it?”

  “When your sister was ruined…” His jaw gave a tic, and he narrowed his eyes. Summoning her courage, she continued. “Was she with child?”

  “No,” he said. “Thank the Almighty I was spared that indignation. Her husband’s a good man, but even he has his limits. No man should suffer the indignation of having a wife who bore another man’s bastard.”

  He drew out his pocket watch and opened it. “Now, run along, my dear. I have much to do, and I want you well-rested before you face our guests again. Mrs. Wells, I trust you’ll be able to conceal the mark on my wife’s face before she joins us for supper.”

  “Of course, sir,” the housekeeper said. “Come, mistress, let’s get you settled upstairs.”

  Meggie let herself be led away, her heart aching in the knowledge that she’d never be able to trust her husband completely.

  Not with the truth about her past.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Meggie woke, she didn’t recognize her surroundings, and a wave of panic rose within her.

  She was in an enormous bed with a thick, carved wooden post at each corner and a vast canopy overhead. The only familiar object she could see was the vase of wildflowers she’d picked the day before, next to a silver tray bearing an empty glass.

  Of course!

  Mrs. Wells had moved her belongings to the lady’s chamber.

  She stretched and looked about her. The room wasn’t as imposing as it had been the first time she’d seen it. Someone had replaced the dark furnishings with warmer, sunnier colors, and the remnants of a fire glowed in the fireplace.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, her feet sinking into the thick pile of the rug, then padded over to the window.

  The garden stretched before her. Neatly clipped shrubs formed a regimental line, alongside a hedge of purple flowers. Beyond, a lake rippled in the sunlight, a myriad of colors dancing along the water’s surface.

  It all seemed smaller, less imposing than before. Had so much changed in so little time?

  Or was it she who’d changed?

  The sun was low on the horizon, casting long, silent shadows. How long had she slept?

  She returned to the bed and brushed her fingertips over the flowers in the vase. Then she picked up the glass from the tray and sniffed it.

  Laudanum.

  Mrs. Wells had insisted she take a drink of milk before her rest as if she were an ailing child—and she’d slipped a spoonful of the sleeping draught in it. When Meggie had protested, the housekeeper responded, saying it was the master’s orders.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. There were at least four hours until dinner. The laudanum hadn’t completely worn off. If she closed her eyes, she’d fall asleep again. But she wanted her wits about her before she faced the Alderleys again, and the most effective remedy for an addled mind was fresh air.

  She’d noticed a large, ornate armoire through the dressing room door when Mrs. Wells had helped her into her shift. Sure enough, her clothes had been moved there—presumably on Dexter’s orders. She ought to have been annoyed at her husband taking control of her belongings, but it stemmed from a wish to care for her.

  And she’d never felt genuinely cared for in her life, until now.

  What would he do when their guests left? Would he stay with her so they could become better acquainted? Or would he abandon her for London? Though solitude brought peace, Meggie found the idea of not having her husband by her side increasingly unappealing. Even when silent, he radiated strength. And his solidity fueled her courage.

  In short, she would miss him.

  Perhaps she could persuade him to stay a little longer. Not cajole him as the fawning ladies of London undoubtedly did—but by showing him how useful she could be as a wife, and mistress of the house, might he consider her company worth keeping?

  She selected a gown and slipped it on. The first step might be to employ a lady’s maid. It would make dressing much easier, and she could resolve her conscience knowing she’d be giving a young woman employment. And though Meggie was loath to act upon any suggestion of Elizabeth’s, a French maid would help improve her command of the language.

  She slipped out of the chamber with, for the first time, a sense of hope.

  As she wandered through the main part of the house, she caught sight of Alderley languishing in the morning room, his nose in a brandy glass. She stepped back and watched him through a crack in the door. Decorum might dictate that she attend him as hostess, but she had no wish to spend any more time alone with her father.

  Or her sister.

  As if she read Meggie’s mind, Elizabeth’s sharp tones sliced through the silence.
Alderley must have heard the voice, too, for he rolled his eyes, then drained his glass.

  Meggie smiled to herself. At least she didn’t have to live with the woman. Alderley resented the expenses he’d incurred paying for Meggie’s upkeep, but they would have paled in insignificance compared to Elizabeth’s extravagances.

  Perhaps he should be thanking Meggie for her status. Bastards should be applauded for being cheaper to maintain than legitimate offspring.

  She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, then shrank back as Alderley rose from his seat. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered spying on him. He approached the door and pushed it shut, no doubt to muffle Elizabeth’s caustic tones.

  Meggie drew her shawl around her and made her way to the main doors, smiling at the waiting footman who bowed as she approached him.

  She stopped as she heard another voice—her husband’s voice.

  “Hush, Elizabeth! Your father will hear us, not to mention my wife.”

  “I thought you said she was asleep,” Elizabeth’s voice said, “and safely out of the way.”

  Heat rose in Meggie’s cheeks.

  The footman opened the main doors, and Meggie shook her head. “Thank you, no,” she said. She glanced in the direction of the voices. “It’s time you had your tea.”

  “I’m not to be relieved for another five minutes, ma’am.”

  “The door will be no worse for being unattended for a minute or two,” she said. “Go to the kitchen, and tell Mrs. Brown I said you could have an extra slice of her shortbread.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” With a bow, he left.

  The voices came from the direction of Dexter’s study—the very room in which he’d promised she could trust him.

  “Do you want your father to overhear, Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, Papa!” Elizabeth scoffed. “He always does what I tell him.”

  “Then he’s not a real man.”

  “That he’s not.” Elizabeth’s voice lowered to a seductive purr. “Not like you. Perhaps that’s why I find you so attractive, Dexter darling. You’re all man—every single part of you. Including…”

  “Stop it!”

  “Oh, come on, Dexter!” Elizabeth scoffed. “You never protested before. In fact, you pursued me.”

  “Those days are gone.”