The champagne was quite delicious. Rory, who’d never left the study, and who hadn’t really cared that he would gain his first and only brother-in-law, was allowed a small sip.
Tysen drank the champagne, smiled, said all the right things, but worried. He worried that he didn’t know a damned thing about Thomas Malcombe. He worried that Meggie was marrying the first acceptable man to ask her when she still loved Jeremy Stanton-Greville, something he wasn’t about to tell Mary Rose.
As for Thomas Malcombe, Tysen would find out everything about the damned man—down to his birthmark—before he allowed his precious daughter to walk to the altar. But Meggie was smiling, grinning like a fool, actually. She’d always had excellent instincts. He’d always trusted her, but this was for life, no reprieves if the man turned out to be a gambler or a womanizer. And what about her feelings for Jeremy? Had he put the nail in her feelings before he’d left? Were they gone now? Was this a sign of it? He wished he knew.
When he thought about it later, Tysen knew he would be very surprised if indeed he found a skeleton lurking in the back of one of Lord Lancaster’s closets. He was an excellent young man.
Still, he would look.
* * *
Chapter 11
WHEN TYSEN FINALLY managed to snag his daughter away from the rest of the family, particularly Alec, who wanted to show her a new racing cat training technique that involved a bucket, he led her through the vicarage garden, to the gate, and down the path to the cemetery, where few parishioners chose to spend any time when not absolutely necessary. He needed privacy. He unlatched the very old black wrought-iron gate, slowly pulling it open for her to step onto the path that led into the depths of the cemetery.
The air was different here. Still and soft, as quiet as fingers stroking a racing cat’s back. Meggie stopped, breathed in deeply, and said over her shoulder, “You come here when you wish to think, Papa. I remember you sitting on that one particular bench from my youngest years. I used to wonder why you so admired Sir Vincent D’Egle, a medieval warrior who likely wasn’t an overly religious man. I picture him in battle, yelling and swinging his sword and finally being cleaved in two himself at far too young an age.”
“Cleaved in two? Actually, I also rather fancy that might have happened to him. However, no matter how he died, there is something about his grave that draws me back,” he said, smiling down at her as he took her hand. “I don’t know why this should be so, but I know that when I sit there, and I hear Mr. Peters ring the church bells, I feel peace and calm seep into my very bones. You still bring flowers to his grave.”
Meggie nodded, and said, “It will rain soon. Can you feel how heavy the air has suddenly become? How it is already wrapping itself about your head, wanting to soak you? I’ve decided that it rains too much in England. Everyone is so tired of feeling damp to their toes and—”
“Meggie, I must speak to you.”
“I know, Papa. You’re being very gentle with me. When you do that, I know there is something you’re dreading to tell me. I can take it. Has Leo done something awful at Oxford? Will I need to go there and fix things? Try to teach him what’s what?”
“I devoutly hope not. No, it’s something else, Meggie.”
She looked at him steadily. “This is about me, isn’t it? And about Thomas.”
“Oh Meggie, my sweet girl, let’s sit here beside Sir Vincent on his bench. Yes, this is about Thomas. I am your father and you know down to your bones that I will always want what is the very best for you.”
She didn’t say a word, just looked at him and waited for the ax to fall.
He realized in that moment that she just wasn’t ready to be blighted. He was willing to wait, and when he paused, she quickly said, her hand lightly closing over one of his, all forced smiles and enthusiasm, “I was listening to Mary Rose read Rory the story of Renard the Fox.”