Martha Schroeder

LADY MEG’S GAMBLE

Martha Schroeder

Chapter One

“Gerald, either the Parisian nightlife or the pastries in Vienna have addled your brain!” Lady Margaret Enfield stared at her old friend in bewilderment. “You can’t be serious!”

“Of course I am serious. When have I ever not been serious?” Gerald Mattingly smiled. “Except when I offered you my slightly aged hand in marriage. I was half funning then.”

“So now, in order to save you from that fate worse than death, you have decided I should marry a man I have never met.” Meg’s clear hazel eyes glinted with laughter.

“Well, that is one reason, but there are others.” Gerald began to pace the length of the meagerly furnished drawing room at Hedgemere, the most beautiful of the family estates of the Earl of Blyden.

“And they would be?” Meg prompted.

“They would be money. Pounds. Shillings. Pence.” Gerald might be a diplomat, but he was plainspoken this morning. He had to make Meg see the merits of his plan. It was the only way he could think of to save her from penury. “James Sheridan has pots of money, and no one to spend it on. No family, no bad, expensive habits. He wants the home he’s never really had.”

“I don’t mean to sound unkind, Gerald. I know you mean well”—Meg clenched her hands at her sides—“but I am not for sale to Captain Sheridan or anyone else. Annis and I will do perfectly well in Harrowgate. A nice, old-fashioned watering place will be perfect for us. Not too modish but—”

“Oh, cut line, Meg,” Gerald said impatiently. “You and Annis Fairchild have no more idea of how to run a business than you have of—of—”

“Running a war? A world?” Meg couldn’t help laughing at Gerald when he became pompous. He might be one of Foreign Secretary Castlereagh’s best diplomats but to her he was still just Gerald, and she did not regard his advice as sacrosanct.

“Laugh at me if you must, but think, for God’s sake.” Gerald tugged at his mouse-brown hair. “You have no money; you’ll be prey to any bounder who comes along and buys up the land under your shop. Women simply cannot be allowed to go about the world on their own. You must know that, Meg.”

“I know you keep telling me that, but I also know I do not believe you. My father never came here. I have run Hedgemere since I was sixteen. All he wanted was that I remit the rents to our man of business in London.” Meg put aside her embroidery, which was, as always, a sorry tangle, and rose to face Gerald.

“Meg, I know,” he said, his voice urgent. “That’s just it. The very reason why marriage to James is such a brilliant idea. You can still run Hedgemere. You can stay here and make improvements. Your father’s dead, my dear, and James will spend the estate’s income here, not gambling in London.” Gerald seized her hands. “Just meet him, then decide. Please, Meg.”

She looked into his eyes and saw only concern for her. Gerald was a true friend, even if he had just come up with the most harebrained scheme she had ever heard.

“All right, Gerald. Bring the gallant captain around to call tomorrow. That much I’d do for any friend of yours. Particularly one who rescued you from the French and returned you safely to us.”

“Good girl! You will not regret it.” Gerald stood. Having gained his point, he was too wise to stay and risk his victory,

“I already regret it,” Meg said ruefully. Gerald grinned and quickly left the room before she could change her mind.

                      * * * * * *

“Lord, Gerald, what are you thinking of?” The tall, light-haired man turned a face of stunned surprise to his host.

The two were seated in deep armchairs on either side of a cozy fire in the Mattingly library, a comfortable, somewhat shabby room.

“You told Lady Margaret about me? And actually said you thought she should marry me?” James Sheridan, late of His Majesty’s Navy, was both amazed and amused. Sailors were blunt, but none he had ever met would consider for a moment proposing what Sir Gerald Mattingly had to a gently-bred female, apparently without turning a hair.

“Yes, of course I did,” Gerald replied. “I told her what I told you. It is the best—indeed, the only—solution to both your problems.” Gerald looked at his house guest and smiled at James’s frown.

“I can see why you might think that she could solve my problem,” James said, “but how in the world could you persuade her to believe that marriage to me would do anything but damn her in the eyes of the polite world?”

“Oh, you mean”—Gerald paused, as if searching for a diplomatic word—”that.”

“Yes. That.”

“Well...”

James gave him a shrewd look. “You did not tell her, did you?”

Gerald shrugged. “No. Not yet.”

James laughed, a cynical sound. “When you do mention that small detail, I am sure the lady and I will find ourselves in perfect agreement. We will both conclude that you must have windmills in your head. Such a scheme is absurd.”

“If she knew and then agreed,” Gerald said, steepling his hands and leaning forward in his chair, “would you?”

James said nothing for a moment. How could he answer? If he looked at marriage as they did in the world in which he had been brought up, he would not hesitate. The lady was young, the daughter of a peer—and impoverished, so his prize money would be more than welcome. She had an estate that, so far as he could tell from a quick ride along its boundaries, needed only money and hard work to put right. He should jump at the chance. No woman of birth and breeding who was anything but desperate for money would even think of wedding him. If Lady Margaret would agree, why should he hesitate?

He was old enough to have lost the few illusions he had ever cherished. He no longer believed in one true love that would last forever. Indeed, he did not believe in love at all. Why not marry Lady Margaret Enfield and claim her lands as his own? He could try to claim her social position as well, though he knew that a married woman acquired her husband’s social status, not the reverse.

To marry a woman who was unaware of the social ostracism that could result was unfair and unbecoming a gentleman. The thought made him smile. James Sheridan, gentleman. Not likely.

“I will not marry any woman who does not know how ineligible I am and why.” James was adamant.

“I am not going to set myself up as your Pandarus, my dear Troilus,” said Gerald. “You must do your own wooing. We’ve been invited to call tomorrow, after which I wash my hands of you both. You decide whether you wish to pursue the acquaintance.” He rose. “Let’s break open a bottle of that claret you’re so fond of. Dinner is bound to be ready before we’ve drunk the half of it.”

* * * *

She had meant to be back at the house in plenty of time to bathe and dress in something suitable for tea with Gerald and his rich naval friend. She truly had. But Meg was the bailiff as well as the doctor on the estate. And it was hardly her fault Goldenrod, Hedgemere’s prize Guernsey milk cow, had been a long time delivering her calf.

Surely, Meg thought as she hurried to the door, hoping to escape to her room before her guests arrived and saw her, Gerald would understand how much Goldenrod’s calf outweighed his naval friend in the scheme of things. The thought made Meg smile.

She pushed the old felt hat back from her forehead. Annis, dear, lovely Annis, had told her over and over that she must not wear her hat outside the barn lest someone see her, but Meg blithely said that since visitors never came to the barn, she could wear her hat without worry.

But this time she was wrong.

“Meg!” Annis Fairchild’s voice was anguished. “We were beginning to worry about you.” Annis went to stand next to her employer and friend.

“Good lord, Meg,” Gerald said, sounding horrified. “What have you been doing? Rolling about in the mud and—is that blood on your dress?”

“You were in Brussels after Waterloo, Gerald. You’ve seen blood before.” Meg was annoyed but not embarrassed. She was a countrywoman. Blood was an inescapable part of life. “Goldenrod was delivered of a calf just twenty minutes ago. A beautiful heifer.” She looked at the tall man who stood beside Gerald. The afternoon sun turned his fair hair to dazzling gold. His shoulders were broad, and he carried himself with the confidence born of command.

Gerald followed her gaze. “Meg, may I present Captain James Sheridan, late of His Majesty’s Navy? James, Lady Margaret Enfield, daughter of the late Earl of Blyden.” 

“And herself also late.” Meg smiled and James found himself grinning back at her. There was an irresistible gaiety in her expression.

He bowed and studied Lady Margaret Enfield. She removed her hat to reveal hair that was light brown and glinted with gold and bronze lights. It sprang into a halo of short, disordered curls.

“Lady Margaret,” he said in his deep, level voice. “Thank you for welcoming me. But I think perhaps we should come back another day.”

He held her gaze with a pair of the most incredibly blue eyes Meg had ever seen. They were set in a darkly tanned face that was all planes and angles, as if it had been carved out of teak. “I am very sorry to be so remiss, Captain,” she said. “Sometimes one simply cannot stick to a schedule. Weather, animals”—she shrugged slender shoulders under the old, disreputable linsey-woolsey dress— “everything conspires to embarrass me!”

“If you will come with me, gentlemen, I will be happy to pour your tea,” Annis said. A dimple played in her rosy cheek.

“Yes, please do go,” Meg said. “I absolutely refuse to let Goldenrod chase you from Hedgemere without refreshment. Mrs. Meadows has made seed cake just for you.” She saw that the captain was about to refuse. “Please stay.”

To
James’s chagrin, Gerald agreed. James assumed that a gently reared lady would at least pretend to be overset at witnessing a birth. His father’s wife would have drifted into a swoon as a matter of course. Yet Lady Margaret apparently felt no need to pretend to such feelings. On their way into the house, she chatted with Gerald, just as if she weren’t wearing an old pair of boots and a stained and blood-soaked dress that was both too short and too loose to be seemly. James might not be invited to the homes of the gentry, but he knew from a childhood spent on the fringes of his father’s exalted household how ladies behaved. And they did not behave like Lady Margaret Enfield,

He was better prepared to believe that Miss Fairchild, who Sir Gerald had told him had been Lady Margaret’s governess and was now her companion and friend, was the lady and Margaret Enfield the maid.

James saw no reason to change that opinion when she returned a scant quarter hour later, miraculously transformed. Her face was clean, her curls brushed smooth, and her neat figure showed to advantage in a dress of green sprigged muslin. James was used to a clear distinction between officers and rank and file, civilians and military, men and women. Lady Margaret, with her freckle-dusted nose, her infectious smile, her battered hat, and calving Guernsey, confused him, and he did not like it.

Meg could read Captain Sheridan’s expression very clearly. It was one she had seen often on the faces of ladies in the area. She decided to take the bull by the horns. “Would you care to ride around the estate with me, Captain?” she said. “I believe I will be free tomorrow, if that is agreeable. Gerald, would you care to accompany the captain and me?”

James heard the challenge in her voice.
Disapprove of me if you dare, Captain Nobody!
His jaw hardened, and he looked at her out of narrowed eyes. “I would enjoy that very much, Lady Margaret,” he said, not waiting for his host to answer for him.

“I, too, would enjoy touring Hedgemere again, Meg,” Gerald added, a smile lurking in his eyes. “Would you honor us by coming as well, Miss Fairchild?” He turned to Meg’s companion, a tall, slim young woman whose natural air of reticence made her seem mysterious. Gerald disliked mysteries, but he liked Miss Annis Fairchild.

Annis’s cheeks were stained bright pink for a moment. She looked about, as if seeking the quickest way to leave the room. “I—I don’t ride very often, Sir Gerald. I might make your progress intolerably slow.”

Gerald would hear none of that. “I have just the horse for you, Miss Fairchild, and we will be going slowly so as to see the property, so I won’t take no for an answer.”

“We will expect you here at about eleven, then?” Meg said, rising to indicate it was time for the gentlemen to leave,

“Thank you, Lady Margaret,” James said, taking her hand in his large callused one. “I shall look forward to tomorrow.”

Meg nodded, suddenly embarrassed by what she was doing.
I’ve seen horse trading done with more emotion,
she thought. She curtsied to Gerald, the evil genius behind all her discomfort. Gerald held her hand in his for a moment and grinned down at her.

“You’ve taken the first jumps with plenty of heart,” he murmured.

“Tomorrow I go up on the block, I suppose,” Meg replied in a low and acid tone. “Go away, Gerald, before I repent of my folly!”

Chapter Two

Hedgemere looked its best the next morning. The sun shone, and a slight breeze carried the scent of clover. Meg was proud to show its beauty to the captain. Her smallish gray mare, Princess, kept pace with the rawboned black gelding Gerald had lent Captain Sheridan. Meg noticed that the captain had a good seat and seemed to be at his ease on the large, spirited beast.