“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.”