He said even more slowly, his fingers lightly stroking her jaw, 'I have never heard of husbands and wives sharing a bedchamber unless they were forced to. Certainly it is difficult for me to imagine that my father and mother ever shared the same bed. I mean, certain husbands and wives share a bed long enough to, well, perform intimacies, but not the entire night. Are you certain that all your male relatives share with their wives?'
'Oh yes.'
He said slowly, 'I think I need to think about this, Meggie.'
'I don't think I snore,' she said. 'You do, though, at least you did that first night. However, that first night was undoubtedly a strain on you, so I should not be too swift with a conclusion here.'
He dropped his hand from her face. 'Perhaps snoring is one reason husbands and wives don't sleep together the entire night.'
'I think Mary Rose just shoves my father over on his side when he snores. I heard her speaking of it once to him.'
'I will think about it, Meggie.'
Well, Thomas hadn't mentioned love, but still, she thought, two people who were not only married but also enjoyed the other's company, as she and Thomas did, except for their debacle of a wedding night, should surely wish to sleep together. She gave him a long thoughtful look, and said only, 'Do that,' and walked to the huge white-painted armoire. When she opened the doors, she saw a row of gowns. Shoes of all sorts lined the bottom of the armoire. Slowly she pulled out one of the dresses. It was high-waisted and looked to be rather old. She turned, holding the dress, her head cocked to the side in question.
'I suppose the gowns belonged to my uncle's wife, Aunt Sarah. She died back in 1810, in the winter. She was always cold, didn't matter if it was deep summer. My uncle painted this room white and built more windows so when there was bright sun, as there is now, she would feel it on her face and be warm.'
'When did your uncle die?'
'Two years ago. I was living in Italy at the time, in Genoa, immersing myself in shipping. At least before he died, he knew that I was making enough money to assure that Pendragon would be revitalized, that all his dependents would be taken care of.'
'Then your father died six months ago. You were in Italy at that time as well?'
'Yes. I'm in business with the earl of Clare, a man I much admire. His boys are your age and a bit younger.'
'How many does he have?'
'Six.'
Meggie's eyes widened at that. 'Six boys? Goodness, Thomas, his poor wife.'
'Lady Rayna rules all of them with an iron fist. He is also in business with his brother-in-law, Kamal, who is half European and half Muslim. He was at one time the Bey of Oran-a king in his own right, loaded down with a palace and a harem, master of all he surveyed. He married Arabella Welles, the earl's sister. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.'
'Does she have six daughters?'
'No, two girls and two boys. All of them come to England once a year, in the early fall. You will meet them.'
'And will we travel to Italy?'
Ah, she wanted to, he saw it on her face, heard it in her voice. It was something he could give her that Jeremy couldn't. 'I don't see why not. It's quite beautiful in the early fall. Now, I will tell Ennis to put my valises in the master bedchamber for the time being. You may have this room. I can see that it pleases you.'
'It pleases me,' Meggie said in a perfectly pleasant voice, 'because it isn't dark and dank and dismal, like that big room just yon that you really should let me fix before you move in there for just one day.'
'I will think about it,' he said yet again and left her standing there, staring at the empty doorway to the dressing room. He knew all the way to the soles of his big feet that if she were to whisper Jeremy's name in her dreams, and he was there beside her to hear it, he would be worth nothing much at all after that.
Thirty minutes later Meggie found her way back down the huge oak staircase, pausing a moment to admire the carving on the newel post on the top of the banister. She also wanted to admire the plastered ceiling, but it was dirty, in bad need of painting. She walked to the drawing room. She paused when she heard raised voices-the loudest one belonging to her mother-in-law. It was probably about her, since she was the only new specimen about. Meggie practiced her smile. Getting that smile all the way to her eyes, however, was another matter.
When she walked into the drawing room, it was to see not only her husband and her mother-in-law, but also another lady of indeterminate years, sitting on a faded brocade sofa opposite her mother-in-law. This lady was as plump as Thomas's mother was thin. Her hair, probably once richly blond, was now faded, threads of silver weaving in and out of the fat braids that sat atop her head, unlike Thomas's mother, whose hair was very dark, heavily laced with snowy white strands of hair. This lady was very fair, her skin as pale as a new snowfall, her eyes light blue, deep dimples in her cheeks. She was really quite pretty, and she was also yelling. 'By God, Madeleine, this is nonsense! Tell me you do not mean that!'
So her mother-in-law's name was Madeleine. That was very pretty.
'I mean it all right, Libby, so you may shut your trap. I tell you, he's-Ah, here's my new daughter-in-law with her blue eyes, nice eyes, if one considers the size of her dowry. However, she smiles too much.'
That really made Meggie feel low as a chunk of dirt. /
'Hello,' she said, then turned to her husband and nodded. 'My lord.'
Thomas said, 'I would like a cup of tea, Meggie. Just a bit of lemon for me. Mother? Would you like Meggie to pour for you? Aunt Libby?'
Madeleine puffed up, no other way to put it. She swelled inside her dark blue gown, pushed out her cheeks. 'You want her to pour, Thomas? I am your mother. I was the first person ever to pour tea down your little gullet.'
'Meggie is now the countess of Lancaster, Mother, and the mistress of Pendragon. It is her responsibility to pour the tea down both your gullets and now mine as well. Sit back and ease yourself into the cushions and let her serve you.'
'She isn't smiling now, showing off all those white teeth of hers, so I suppose it would be all right.' She gave a regal nod to Meggie. 'I like sugar and milk.'
Meggie merely nodded, not smiling, but looking as serious as Mary Rose when she was trying to outdo Max with a new Latin aphorism. She said toward Libby, 'And you, ma'am? Would you like tea?'
'Certainly not. I wish to have sherry, as Madeleine knows very well. Thomas, fetch me sherry. I will pour it down my own gullet, thank you.'
Thomas, looking immensely patient, walked to the sideboard and poured Aunt Libby a large dose of sherry.
Meggie poured and distributed the tea.
'It isn't sweet enough,' said Madeleine after taking one tiny sip.
Meggie added another spoonful of sugar to the cup and watched her mother-in-law stir it until surely the tea was cold.
This wasn't at all promising. Meggie sipped her own tea, looking toward her husband, who was standing beside the fireplace, his back against the wall. He'd set his teacup on the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest.
Barnacle tottered into the drawing room, looking to be in agony, and gasped out, 'Ennis has delivered yer luggage to yer rooms, my lord. He didn't do it well, even though I instructed him thoroughly all along the way. My lady, I will be ready for yer ministrations in an hour.'
'Her what, Barnacle?' Libby asked, and poured the rest of her sherry down, holding out her empty glass even as she thrust it toward Thomas.
'Her ladyship, the one wot's married to our new lordship here,' said Barnacle, screwing up his face into even more agony, 'is going to walk on my back, since both ye and the dowager countess are too heavy and would surely break me in two.'
