Martha Schroeder (13 page)

There were no surprises waiting for her in the library. She knew that, as Hedgemere was hers, in effect it would become James’s upon their marriage. She was not in a mood to regard that bit of English law with complaisance. “I understand that I lose whatever rights I have in my land when I marry,” she said through tight lips. “Pray do not go over it yet again, Mr. Quigley. I am more than put out about that now. Do not make it worse.”

Mr. Quigley was unmoved. “We have discussed it before, Lady Margaret You do not lose your rights. The land is yours to dispose of by will. Your husband will have the right to use and dispose of it during your joint lifetimes.” He saw his client’s stormy hazel eyes light with the fire of battle, and he hastened to add, “And I am aware of your opinion as to the wisdom of English common law with respect to women and property. Now, however, we should discuss the provisions both of you should make for any issue of your union.”

Issue of her union? Meg almost laughed out loud. No one could talk straightforwardly about children and marriage, it seemed. Certainly not lawyers. But then, she thought, lawyers could not talk straightforwardly about anything!

“Yes, well, I assume we both want to leave our worldly goods to our—issue.” Meg swallowed a smile. “Do you not think so, James?”

But James frowned at her. His back was as stiff as if he were awaiting the First Lord of the Admiralty. “I will be only too happy to sign whatever papers Mr. Quigley can write that will keep your family property in your family. I have no wish to undertake responsibilities that are repugnant to you, my lady.”

What was he talking about?

“Captain Sheridan, I am certain that Lady Margaret did not mean to cast aspersions on your—

“Lady Margaret is perfectly capable of telling me herself what she thinks,” James said, biting off every word. “And, indeed, she just did, I believe.”

“What are you two talking about? What did I make clear? Nothing at all is clear to me, so I wish someone would explain to me just what you think I meant.”

“You seem to feel that the law has erred in giving Captain Sheridan control over your property while he lives, my lady.” Josiah Quigley said carefully. “At least, that is the impression you conveyed.”

“Well, and so I do.” Meg could see no reason for the captain to poker up and look as if he would like to take a cat-o’-nine-tails to her. “After all, the law does not give me control over his property. I mean, fair is fair, is it not?” She looked around as if waiting for James to acknowledge the justice of her complaint.

But James wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he walked over to the window and studied the view out onto the lawn.

Mr. Quigley glanced from one to the other and appeared to decide that retreat was called for. “If you will excuse me, I shall return in a few minutes.”

James whirled around. “Where do you think you are going, Quigley?” he barked.

“Well, I—I mean I thought—I have a few things to see to,” the little solicitor said, and slipped through the door.

“What a coward!” James said, disgust in his voice.

“Well, can you blame him?” Meg said. She was beginning to see the humor in the situation. “He had one client who was angry at the entire English legal system and another who was just angry. I think Mr. Quigley decided that discretion was the better part of valor.”

A small smile played at the corners of James’s mouth. “You are very likely right. I myself confess to being a bit fearful when you launched into your impersonation of Mary Wollstonecraft.”

“Ah, you are familiar with her writings on women’s—”

“Meg, I think we should discuss what is really troubling you—apart from the general state of women in this country and the need for reform of—” He paused a moment and smiled at her. “You do not want me to control your land. I confess, I do not perceive what difference a document will make. I have set up a fund of twenty thousand pounds for your sole use. That is apart from the expenditures I can see need to be made in the house and the tenants’ cottages.”

He walked over to stand in front of her, his thighs brushing her skirt. She could feel the heat of his body warming hers.

“Do we really have to quarrel, Meg?” His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and his blue eyes, warm now and smiling, told her he understood but did not share her fears.

“You are not afraid of losing your—your—?”

“My what, Meg? My money? No, not at all. I have every faith that you will spend it wisely. My independence? I think that it is safe with you. Can you not feel some confidence in me?” He reached out and stroked her cheek with one long brown forefinger.

Meg stared up at him, looking as if she were hanging on his every word. “Yes, I trust you, or at least I think I do. But, you see, I have not had much reason to trust men. My father was the least trustworthy person I ever met. He would pay his gambling debts and the purchase of a horse or a carriage from a friend. But he let his tradesmen’s bills pile up until his creditors applied to a magistrate for a writ. Then he would come here and demand money. He went to his other estates, too, but the bailiffs there knew better than to give him any. I was the only one he could force. Money that should have gone to buy animals or mend fences or—for a thousand things—went into his hand from mine. I should have held out against him, but I could not.”

James looked down at her. She was so small and so stalwart. How much she asked of herself! She had refused her father money, stood up to him although he was not only older and stronger but had complete control over her life. Yet Meg was convinced she should have done more.

“I think you are the most intrepid person I have ever met,” he said at last. “And I know you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Besides which, soon we will be able to do everything that needs to be done for Hedgemere.”

Meg dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. She was going to cry, she just knew it, and then her humiliation would be complete. Not only had she behaved like an idiot, she had been unkind to James, accusing him of wanting to take Hedgemere away from her.

“James, I am sure that I will be very fortunate to have you as my husband. I hope that you can bear with my—my uncertain temper. I do try to stay as calm and unruffled as Annis, but there are times when I simply cannot. I am sorry I said what I did. Pray forgive me.”

She stood with her eyes cast down like a penitent child, and James would have forgiven her anything in that moment. “Meg. My dear.” He tilted her chin up, and before she could say anything more, his lips closed over hers and anything she might have said flew out of her head.

Chapter Thirteen

The sun shone that Sunday when the banns were first read. Meg took it to be a good omen. A soft rain had fallen during the night, freshening the air and making the leaves glisten when the sun at last came out. Several people who had not been at the Headleys’ dance came up to the captain and Meg after the service to congratulate them.

She and James walked slowly back to Hedgemere, taking the opportunity to talk without the press of other people around them to divert them from each other.

“We have to decide upon a wedding date,” Meg announced. “What would you think of a month from Saturday?”

“Do we have to wait that long?” James said, taking her hand in his. He found he was looking forward to his marriage with curiosity and enthusiasm—two emotions he hadn’t associated with the wedded state. Not until Meg.

Everything seemed possible with Meg.

“Well, we have to wait two more Sundays so the banns can be read again. I thought the following Saturday—” Meg gave him a surprised glance.

“I know. I seem to be rushing you. It isn’t that I want to cheat you out of a ceremony and a breakfast afterward with all your friends. I’m just eager to begin.” He smiled down at her. Something warm and a little disturbing gleamed in the depths of his blue eyes.

“You are?” Meg refused to deal with the implications of that intimate glance. “I have to confess I will enjoy setting about to mend the tenants’ cottages. It has been dreadful to pass them by in the winter and see rags stuffed in the windows and know that my father had gambled away what could have served to keep our people in comfort.”

“You are far more high-minded than I,” James said dryly.

Meg gave him a puzzled look. “I am? Do you not want to see the cottages mended and the gardens weeded and new hay ricks?”

“I do, my dear. Of course I do.”

Why was he chuckling? Meg frowned, her lower lip stuck out in what some might characterize as a mulish expression.

“I am always glad to make you smile,” she said primly. “I would, however, be happy to be informed as to what in particular about improving my—our—property is humorous.”

James schooled his expression to one of serious consideration. How to explain that he was delighted by everything about her, particularly her complete refusal to simper or blush or do anything else that might be construed as flirting?

“None of your plans is humorous. I did not intend to mock you, Meg. On the contrary, I think your concern for your land and the people on it is one of your most admirable qualities.”

Meg looked at him a little uncertainly, as if trying to see if he was teasing her. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I’m glad you think I have admirable qualities.”

“Yes, of course I do. You are courageous and honest as well as caring. You have many admirable qualities.”

Admirable qualities were surely a good thing. Why did they sound so stuffy and boring? She found herself wishing he would think of her as enticing, amusing, beautiful. Now, where had that come from? Surely virtue was more to be sought after than beauty or charm. It might be so, but Meg was honest enough to admit that she didn’t care a rap at this precise moment for any qualities except those that would ensnare Captain James Sheridan.

She wanted him to care about her. He did like her. Most of the time she was sure of that. The way he had smiled at her when he had taught her to waltz . . . surely that smile meant he felt something for her. Something positive. If only she’d had a Season in London or even in Bath, Meg was sure she would have learned to recognize a man’s feelings by the way he talked and smiled.

And kissed.

That
must indicate some … liking, mustn’t it?

No, you ninny,
she told herself in disgust.
It only means he s agreed to marry you so he can have a home and a family that will be better than the arrogant snobs who made his childhood so miserable. Men kiss their wives so, of course, he has to practice. You would know that’s all it was if you knew anything about men or marriage. Which, of course, you do not!

Determined not to persist in this fruitless line of thought, Meg smiled at James and said, “We were deciding on our wedding date, were we not? I still think the Saturday after the third reading of the banns would be best.”

“And I think the Monday after would be better.” James took her hand. “Why should we wait an entire week? Do you need all that time to sew . .. whatever it is you ladies sew?”

Again, Meg felt that current of attraction running between them. It was exciting and, she felt, a little forbidden. At any rate, she’d never experienced anything like it before, and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.

She managed to remember his question and answer it: “I do not know. Annis has insisted on doing all the sewing, and I have not the least notion what she is sewing or how she is doing it. She and Lady Mattingly are planning the event.”

“Not too large an event, is it? Are you planning on making a real festival of it?” James seemed uneasy at the thought, and for some reason that made Meg feel even closer to him. Maybe he wasn’t such a forbidding stranger. Maybe he had his doubts about this unknown path they were preparing to tread together.

“No, I think just the Mattinglys and the Grandbys and Annis for the actual ceremony. That would make it more….” She searched for a word.

“You mean, not as many people would have to see you marry the ineligible bastard.” James’s voice had that taut, angry sound that she had learned to dread. She gazed at the harsh look his eyes always betrayed when he thought his birth had set him apart from other men.

“James, you must stop this! You know I did not mean anything of the kind. I am just having a little difficulty explaining what I do mean.” Meg was almost angry at him. Surely by now she had proved how highly she regarded him! If he still reacted with this prickly anger every time she said something he could possibly take the wrong way, how were they ever to reach the smooth accommodation she hoped for?

“Very well. I am sorry I jumped to conclusions about your feelings. Perhaps if you could explain, I would understand.”

“I want only those people who know and care for us to see us married. Our closest friends. That’s what I meant. If you have someone from the navy that you would like to have attend, please let me know and I will write to invite them.”

James grimaced. “I have made a fool of myself again, have I not?”

“No.” Meg laid a hand on his arm. “We are not mind readers, after all. How could you know what I meant if I couldn’t explain it?”

Relieved, James smiled. He seemed unable to break the habit of searching whatever was said to him for a hidden insult or slight, even with Meg, who never dealt in innuendo or sarcasm. If she was ashamed of him, he would know. If the circumstances of his birth made her uncomfortable, she could not have responded to Madam Headley the way she had. Long-held habits were hard to break, so it was said, and he seemed to be having more trouble than most.

“Thank you, Meg. If you would prefer to wait another week until we can be married on Saturday, that would be agreeable to me.”

She chuckled, a fat, rich sound he couldn’t remember hearing before.

“And I was about to say that Monday would be agreeable to me. We had better be careful, Captain, or we may both be so accommodating that we will get nothing whatsoever agreed upon.”

He took her hand, running a finger across the calluses on her palm. He must see to it that she had no more reason to work like a field hand after they were married. He looked forward to Meg’s hands being as white and well cared for as a lady’s should be. “Very well. I insist on Monday. And if your trousseau has not as yet been sewn, you will simply have to do without until after the wedding.”