“I will,” Thomas said, and bowed his head. Rory patted him on the shoulder. Meggie kissed the little boy one more time and handed him back to their father.
Her ribs sore from so many hugs, Thomas’s hand firm in the small of her back, Meggie was lifted into the carriage. She leaned out the window, waving, smiling until she was sure her mouth would break.
Glenclose-on Rowan was gone from her view in the next minute because Thomas had turned her around to face him, pulled her to him, and kissed her.
He released her even before she’d had a chance to think about that kiss and what she should do. She said, staring at his mouth, her fingertips on her lower lip, “You didn’t open your mouth. You didn’t give me time to do anything at all. Perhaps I would have liked to open my mouth a bit.”
“I never wish to begin something that I would be unable to finish.”
“I suppose you’re talking about lovemaking.” He didn’t smile at her, just untied the bow beneath her jaw and pulled off her stylish bonnet. He laid it carefully on the opposite seat. “You have lovely hair, Meggie.”
“Thank you. So do you, Thomas, all dark as ancient sins, nearly as black as your eyes. At least they look black in this dim light. You and I are very different, Thomas, and I like it very much. I will thank God every day for fashioning you just as you are. Now, will you please tell me where we are going on our wedding trip?”
“No, not yet. You will see. All right, a small bit of a hint. I am taking you to one of my homes.”
She was nearly speechless with excitement. “We are sailing to Italy?”
“No. Not this time. You will see. Don’t fret. It will be dark soon. We will spend the night in Exeter.”
“We are traveling west.”
“Yes.”
She poked him very gently in his belly. He obligingly grunted for her. “I am your wife, sir. It isn’t healthy for you to keep secrets from me.”
He said nothing to that, and she leaned back as he pulled up the window against the chill evening air. “Are we going to Cornwall?”
“Yes, but it is not our final destination.”
“I saw you speaking to Uncle Ryder. Do you approve of him now?”
“I believe him an estimable man. I have also determined that it is wrong to listen to gossip, to lap it up as fast as a racing kitten with a bowl of milk.”
“That was well said.” Meggie took one of his hands between hers. “You are my husband now, Thomas. Isn’t that amazing?”
“I wanted you,” he said simply. “And now you are mine.”
“You make that sound like I was a prize that you somehow managed to win.”
“Yes. I would say that a wife is a prize.”
“Bosh. You also make it sound like I’m now some sort of possession. I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
“You are chattel, though the word doesn’t bring particularly pleasant things to mind. Chattel is owned and so is a wife.”
She laughed, full rich, that laugh of hers, and he felt the tug of it. “That sounds just a bit like something Jeremy—the Jeremy who was the obnoxious superior one—would say. I pray you, Thomas, never treat me like I have a hollow room between my ears.”
He gave her a look that, she thought, was far too serious and said slowly, “I’ve never believed that.”
“Good. I’m sorry that William was unable to come. I
promised myself that I would try to be polite to him even though I would have probably smacked him in the head.”
“I asked him not to come. It would have been awkward, particularly with the Winters family there. I did not wish to have today marred.”
“I am glad my father told them the truth.”
“I suppose it had to be done, else Mr. Winters might have shot me during our wedding.”
“Mr. Winters is a very fine shot.”
“Then your father saved my life.”
Meggie laughed. “Will I meet William soon? You know, since your mother and father didn’t live together, how was William conceived? He is five years younger than you?”