Jo Beverley Read online

  What now? Meg turned to make sure her brothers and sisters weren’t upset by this mayhem. Laura rolled her eyes, but with a grin. The twins were somewhat nervously attempting a friendship with the snarling dog. Jeremy was studying a Greek statue in an alcove. None of them seemed as disturbed as she.

  Of course, none of them would be sharing a bed with this strange man tonight. Why, oh why, had she not left him to hunt as he pleased? She could probably have avoided the trap for weeks, perhaps months!

  He gave some instruction to the servant, then shepherded them all into a moderately sized dining room. Meg was pleased to see the dog stay outside. She supposed it was to the earl’s credit that the creature was well trained.

  A gleaming table set for seven was laden with dishes.

  She heard Rachel whisper to Richard, “Look. Gold!”

  And there were indeed two gold platters in the center holding fruit and nuts. It was all going to be too much.

  She glanced at the excited twins. “Richard and Rachel don’t usually . . .”

  “Eat with the adults? But this is a special day. Sit, everyone!”

  Meg took a seat at his right-hand side, but kept a nervous eye on the young pair. They were eyeing the extravagant display of food as if it might disappear if they blinked. They’d end up sick, she was sure of it.

  Then servants entered and put dishes of ice cream in front of everyone.

  “My lord, we can’t eat this first!”

  “Why not?” He picked up his spoon and dug in. “They didn’t have much ice left to pack it in, and we were delayed. It will melt.”

  “It’s cold enough outside to hold it.”

  “Birds will eat it.”

  “My lord—”

  He raised his spoon to her lips. “Come, Minerva. Live decadently for once.”

  Commanded by his vivid eyes, she closed her lips around the spoon. At the delicious burst of sweetness and vanilla, she knew she’d taken the first step on a very slippery slope.

  With a smile, he gave her the spoon and took hers, then proceeded to eat his ice cream with relish. Meg had to admit to enjoying hers, too, even though it seemed thoroughly wicked to eat such luxury before the nourishing food.

  It wasn’t wicked though, just a minor folly. She watched her siblings enjoy the treat and relaxed. This was part of what she wanted for them, wasn’t it? Good food with occasional luxuries.

  The room was still decorated for Christmas, with evergreens, bright ribbons, gilded nuts, and kissing boughs—all the things the twins had missed. This wasn’t a Christmas dinner, but it was close enough. There was ham on the table, and nuts and oranges in bowls. There were still six days of Christmas left, and her family wouldn’t miss all of it, thanks to this man.

  Once the ices were finished, servants brought hot dishes, and served wine to the adults, lemonade to the younger ones.

  Owain stood and raised his glass. “To Lady Saxonhurst, the gracious lady who has made us all so very happy.”

  Meg blushed as everyone said, “Hear, hear!”, the twins particularly loudly. Then Richard and Rachel gulped their lemonade as if they lived in a desert.

  The earl rose. “On behalf of my wife, I thank you, and I thank her, too, for the charming family she brings as dowry. To Minerva.” He raised his wineglass to Meg, and looked at her as he drank.

  For a moment, she felt quite dizzy. Despite everything, the look in his eyes seemed sincerely affectionate and appreciative, making her feel that the air was suddenly thin. It was hard to remember the cold man of the confrontation. Instead, she was almost engulfed in charm.

  But then she remembered the hunt.

  It had seemed so clever at the time—to prevent seduction by getting through the business more brusquely. Now, however, her bold words sounded as clever as a rabbit leaping into the fox’s jaws to avoid being chased!

  “I’m studying your tastes.”

  The earl’s voice made Meg aware that she’d been so busy eating and keeping an eye on the twins that she’d neglected conversation. “My tastes, my lord?”

  “Saxonhurst,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, Saxonhurst. Why are you studying my tastes?”

  “So I will know how to please you.”

  “I am not hard to please.” But then her mouth dried and she took a gulp of wine to ease it. “You mean, you are studying how best to hunt me.”

  “Didn’t you promised to come gently into my snare? Tonight.”

  Now might be a good time to announce a change of plans, but she hated to back down. Anyway, she could hardly get into such a matter at the table. She realized that after the ice, the earl had eaten lightly. He wasn’t eating now, but just sipping from his wine, relaxed back in his chair.

  She, on the other hand, had been as gluttonous as the twins. Embarrassed, she put down her knife and fork, even though that left half a shrimp tart uneaten.

  He raised a finger and a footman hurried forward to refill her wineglass. Meg wasn’t sure it was wise to drink more, but it was a very fine wine, and she needed something to do with her hands.

  “I am studying your tastes,” he said again. “You like shrimp, but you do not seem to care for whiting. You chose artichokes, but not parsnip.”

  “Perhaps there is just too much choice. I am used to living simply.”

  “But you have left part of your shrimp tart. That puzzles me, since it is your second. Is something wrong with it?”

  She blushed. “Truth to tell, I was merely trying to be genteel. To eat as little as you.” She picked up her knife and fork. “I can’t let it go to waste, though.”

  He laughed, and the effect was enough to deprive her of her wits entirely. She concentrated on the puff pastry and shrimp.

  “I have a very healthy appetite, I assure you. Very healthy.” He let that wind around her for a moment, then added, “But I ate a large breakfast. I’m sure I’ll be hungry. Later.”

  Oh dear.

  “What would please you this evening?”

  Meg almost choked.

  “In the way of entertainment.”

  She stared at him.

  “Family entertainment,” he added, a distinct twinkle in his eye. The wretch.

  “We normally read, my lord, if there’s light enough. Or do needlework.” Trying to cover embarrassment, Meg gabbled on. “Play games, perhaps. Usually, we go early to bed. . . .”

  No, no. That wasn’t wise.

  “How delightful.” Eyes positively glittering with wicked amusement, he sipped his wine again. It seemed to focus her attention on his lips. They were very well-shaped, neither too thin nor too plump. Perfect, in fact, and she could remember how they had felt against hers—

  “But tonight, perhaps we could be a little more adventurous. More daring? For my birthday.”

  She stared, feeling very like a rabbit waiting for the snap of the fox’s jaws.

  “It is New Year’s Eve, too, and the theaters are presenting special fare.”

  Meg broke the spell of his eyes and sipped her own wine. “In truth, my lord, we would probably enjoy Astley’s, if they still do their equestrian shows. My parents took us years ago, but the twins were too young.”

  Little pitchers have big ears. “Astley’s?” Richard exclaimed, deplorably around a mouthful of food.

  “Really?” Rachel asked.

  The earl laughed. “Astley’s it is. Owain?”

  The secretary turned to the hovering Monkey, who hurried out.

  Meg must have looked puzzled, for the earl said, “I let Owain make all these arrangements. He can keep track of them so much better than I. Besides, he needs employment. The devil finds work for idle hands.” Mr. Chancellor snorted. “Monk will buy us good tickets—footmen know about that sort of thing. You must feel free to ask Owain whenever you need things arranged.”

  “I do have business matters to discuss. With you, my lord.” Meg hated to raise money matters so soon, but her debts hung over her like a sodden, dark cloth likely at any moment
to smother her.

  “Then we will attend to them after the meal. Another cream or jelly?”

  “No, thank you. I have already eaten far too much.”

  “I think you all need filling out. Anyone else?”

  Laura and Jeremy declined, but Meg saw temptation in the twins’ eyes, even though they must be stuffed. “No more,” she said to them firmly. “You can have something later if you find yourselves hungry.”

  She knew it would take a little time for them to grow confident that good food would appear at regular intervals. Just as it would take time for her to accept that they had all more or less fallen on their feet.

  And they had, despite the earl’s erratic behavior, and the rapidly approaching marriage bed. Everything, it appeared, was now theirs at the snap of the fingers.

  They all left the table, and on the earl’s suggestion, Mr. Chancellor took her siblings to inspect the rooms set aside for them. He called after them, “Be sure to ask for any changes you want!”

  Then he escorted Meg to another room, and the dog rose to accompany them.

  Meg was relieved to find herself in a kind of study with a large desk and bookcases. A safe sort of room. And cozy. The dog settled itself in front of the glowing fire.

  Meg realized that every room here seemed to have an extravagant fire. Even the hall had been tolerably warm. Perhaps some of her heat at the moment, however, was from awkwardness and embarrassment, not just coals. She was truly alone with her husband for the first time, and was going to have to discuss money.

  Saxonhurst directed her to the sofa which sat near the fireplace. She looked longingly at the two chairs, a decorous yard or two apart, but she perched at one end of the sofa. “This is where you conduct business, my lord?”

  “Owain does everything—he has his own rooms—so I lounge around here in idleness just to keep up appearances.” He suited action to the words by lounging at the other end of the sofa, arms draped along back and side. The Earl of Saxonhurst had an irritating way of taking up all the available space. “Now, what business matters do you wish to discuss?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Chancellor should be present.” She was genuinely curious about how he arranged his life, but much more anxious for a chaperon. His arm along the carved top of the sofa placed his hand perilously close to her shoulder.

  “I’ll give him the work to do, but your personal affairs are best discussed in private.”

  He was right about that. Meg had become so used to struggling alone that it was difficult to lay her problems before even one other, even if he was her husband. She particularly hated the fact that she was going to have to ask for money.

  “So,” he prompted, “what concerns you?”

  “I have debts,” she said bluntly, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I know this wasn’t mentioned, and I’m sure you are not obliged to pay them—”

  “There you are wrong, my dear. A husband assumes his wife’s debts.”

  “Oh.” She frowned at him. “Weren’t you a little foolish not to ask about them, then, my lord?”

  “Minerva, I would be astonished—more than that, even—if you have liabilities that can make even a dent in my fortune. I needed to marry and was willing to pay the costs. So, what debts?”

  When she continued to frown at him, trying to phrase a suggestion that he be more cautious, he added, “Don’t. Stronger arms than yours have tried to change me. What debts, Minerva?”

  She surrendered, for the moment. Despite his words, however, she resolved to try to eventually teach him to be more sensible.

  “The local tradespeople have been kind in extending our credit. I’ve paid what I can, but much is still outstanding. I would like to see them get their money, for they are all hardworking people. . . .” Oh, she hated this. “If you planned to give me any kind of pin money, my lord—”

  His firm grip on her shoulder silenced her. She’d been staring into space, she realized, desperately embarrassed.

  “Minerva, there’s no reason to sound as if you are confessing to sins. Of course, you have bills you have not been able to pay. And of course, I will pay them. I certainly won’t consider taking it out of your pin money. Will two hundred do?”

  “Two hundred will pay them all!”

  “That’s all you owe?”

  Her cheeks heated at his astonishment, as if it were shameful to owe such a paltry amount. An amount that was a year’s wages for some, and that could have cast her family into disaster.

  “Consider them gone,” he said. “When I mentioned two hundred, that’s for your quarterly pin money.”

  “Two hundred pounds!”

  “Guineas.”

  “It’s far too much.”

  “You’ll find it’s not.” She realized that his hand still rested on her shoulder. It no longer gripped. Now, it almost burned. “I’ll pay your modiste’s bills and such, but there’ll be any number of smaller items you’ll want to buy. In addition, as Countess of Saxonhurst, you’ll be expected to support charities and other worthy causes. And there’ll be social gaming. I will expect you to cover such expenses from your own money.”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  His smile flickered. “I think you gambled today.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes. But your life has changed. It would be foolish to deny it. You will live in a different way. My grandmother was right in saying it will challenge you, but I doubt it will be beyond you.”

  She felt as if she’d been given an award. “Thank you.”

  “Unless you take to deep gambling—and be sure I would curb you—money is of no concern. I’ll have my solicitor in to settle all these details, and settle money on your brothers and sisters, too.” He smiled. “Laura is going to break hearts, soon. She must have the dignity of an adequate portion.”

  Meg’s resolve to make him careful warred with the temptation of his generosity. “It would be wrong . . .”

  “The idea of broken male hearts distresses you? I thought ladies loved that sort of thing.”

  “I mean your providing for her.”

  “Wasn’t that our arrangement?”

  “I meant only that you give her a suitable home. . . .”

  “But then we’d have her on our hands forever.” He took any offense out of it with a smile. “Anyway, I quite look forward to seeing my friends make cakes of themselves over her.”

  Remembering Sir Arthur, Meg felt a stab of alarm. “She’s only fifteen!”

  “That won’t stop them. And next year, if you approve, she can make her curtsy and begin to wreak true havoc.”

  “I don’t know. . . .” But making her curtsy sounded decorous and safe, besides implying . . .

  “Presentation at Court?” she whispered, staring at him. “Surely not.”

  “Surely yes. You must be presented as my wife, and soon. That’s essential. And your brothers and sisters in due course.”

  “Oh . . .” Meg felt stuffed on sugar and cream, a not entirely pleasant sensation. It was all too much. And yet, she wasn’t strong enough to deny her siblings these advantages.

  Somehow, the earl had come closer, and now he took her hands. Startling contact, skin to skin. “Don’t worry so much, my dear. I’m sure it’s been a hard time, but now you can toss your burdens onto me. They will be feathers, particularly as I’ll toss them onto Owain. Give him a complete list of your debts, and he’ll settle them. Do you have other matters fretting you?”

  If only she could rely on him always being this earl, and never being the wild one.

  “I don’t think so, my lord. Oh, we do need to collect our possessions from the house. In fact, we owe rent! I forgot because Sir Arthur said we need not pay.”

  “Sir Arthur?”

  She almost spilled out the whole truth, but thank heavens she managed to control herself. She couldn’t imagine what the earl would do if he knew the truth, but it would doubtless be something extreme. “Sir Arthur Jakes. He was a friend of my father�
�s and rented my parents the house.”

  “And he, too, extended your credit. Good of him. Certainly he should be paid.”

  Meg wanted him paid to make sure there was no lingering connection, absolutely no danger to Laura.

  “Now,” he said, leaping up and pulling her to her feet, “come and inspect your rooms.”

  Meg went with him up the stairs—he gave her little choice—but halfway up the gleaming, elegant curve, she froze. Rooms surely included bedrooms.

  When he looked at her in surprise, she said, “We need to go back to our house soon. To collect our clothes and such.”

  “We’ll go shortly.” He tugged her onward, and down a lushly carpeted corridor hung carelessly with art.

  He flung open a door and guided her into a handsome room—a boudoir. Not, thank heavens, the bedroom. It was a somewhat heavy chamber, paneled in dark wood and furnished in greens and browns. Of course, it was warmed by a roaring fire.

  “It’s decades out of style.” He strode to tug the bellpull. “Will you need a cart, or will a carriage do?” He gestured around. “What do you think?”

  After a moment, Meg realized he was asking about the room, not the transportation. Feeling like a whirligig in a gale, she answered with a trite, “It’s lovely.”

  “No, it’s not.” He flicked the faded olive brocade hangings. “This color is positively bilious. But it’ll do until you refurbish it.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  A footman entered.

  “Clarence. Arrange for carriages to take us all to Lady Saxonhurst’s home to collect belongings.”

  “Certainly, milord. Us? And how many carriages, milord?”

  “Myself, Mr. Chancellor, my new family, and as many servants as necessary. Work it out.” He waved the man off, and Meg noticed that the man dragged a twisted right foot as he went.

  “Shouldn’t the poor man be allowed to rest?”

  “It’s permanent. Carriage rolled over him years ago.” He swept her into another room, and this time it was the bedchamber, ruled by a grand tester swathed in more olive-green brocade draperies with gold plumed finials on top of every post.

  “Oh my.”

  “It’s a heavy sort of style, but I assure you it’s all dusted and aired out. Do you know how many carriages or carts’ll be needed for your belongings?”