“What’s wrong, Thomas?”
“I came to get you for tea, Meggie. My mother, Libby, and Lord Kipper are in the drawing room. Cook has already brought the tea and cakes. You’re the only one missing.”
“And William.”
“Undoubtedly Barnacle will nab him.”
“I see. All right,” Meggie said, then looked over to see Barnacle grimacing toward them, his face contorted in awful agony.
She just looked at him, an eyebrow arched. “You’re supposed to nab William.”
“I’ll nab him all right, but this is more important. It’s vital to set things in their proper order and his lordship—our lordship, that is, my lady—is the most important thing hereabouts in any order. He has told me to tell you that he wishes to see you at your convenience in the estate room. And here he is telling you all by himself—and here I am doing the telling as well, but no matter. Two times is better than a chance on none doing the telling.”
“I am very afraid, Barnacle,” Thomas said, “that I understood you.”
Barnacle beamed at him before he remembered, and reset his face into a fearful grimace.
Meggie gave the old man a smile and a very light pat on the back. “Yes, he has told me himself, Barnacle, and now so have you. I surely haven’t a chance of forgetting now. Thank you.” When he hobbled out, moaning with each stiff step, Meggie turned again to her husband. “You said tea. Barnacle said you wanted to see me in the estate room. What’s going on, Thomas?”
“I just wanted to tell you that there is another package from your family.” He paused a moment, examined his fingernails, and said easily, “Perhaps it’s another gift from your almost cousin.”
“Jeremy? Another gift? Probably not.”
Then Meggie paused. There’d been something different in his voice when he’d said that, something just out of her reach.
“Tea or the package first, my lord?”
“That would depend on how excited you are about receiving another present from your almost cousin.”
This time it smacked her in the nose. Jeremy, he was jealous of Jeremy. Had he heard something? No, surely neither her father nor Mary Rose would have said anything. Goodness, Mary Rose didn’t even know. She was shaking her head even as she knew that he couldn’t know, just couldn’t. Then what was going on?
“His name is Jeremy Stanton-Greville,” she said. “You met him at our wedding. He is five years older than you. He is married, his wife expecting a child. It is no more likely to be a present from him than from any other cousin or uncle or aunt or brother.”
“I see,” he said, and she wanted to hit him for that snide tone.
“I must go now and straighten myself before presenting myself in the drawing room with your blessed mother. I will look at my package later.”
“Take care, Meggie. Five minutes, no more. Otherwise I will send someone for you.”
“I doubt someone will try to bash me on the head on my way to my bedchamber.”
“Five minutes.”
She merely nodded and stalked out of the room. How could he possibly be jealous of Jeremy? It made no sense at all. But his voice had been different. She sighed. She just didn’t know, had no idea, and she’d thought and thought about what she could have done to alienate him so very much. All she could figure out was that her husband had gotten himself in a snit because Jeremy sent her a carving of Mr. Cork. It was ridiculous.
She nearly knocked over her mother-in-law she was so deeply immersed in her own thoughts.
“Watch your direction, Missy!”
“What? Oh, ma’am, sorry I nearly plowed you down. It would surely be different if I’d meant to, but I didn’t.”
“You are entirely too smart for your own good. Just look at that dreadful chandelier overhead with all that raw-looking rope holding it up. My ancestors are thumping in their graves.”
“You don’t have any ancestors to thump here, ma’am. It’s the Kavanaughs, don’t you remember?”
“A low lot, the Kavanaughs,” Madeleine said, staring at that rope, “so low they don’t deserve to have ancestors here. No matter. Now, as for you, Missy—”