That really made Meggie feel low as a chunk of dirt. / smile too much? Meggie wiped the smile off her face and walked stiff as a soldier at attention to the center of the horrible drawing room and looked first to her husband, then to her mother-in-law, and finally to the plump Libby with her fat blond braids and very pretty smile.
“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?”
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.”
No one said a word. Meggie was the only one who watched Barnacle totter out of the drawing room. The two women were arguing again, but low now, and Meggie couldn’t make out what they were saying.
This was surely the strangest household Meggie had ever visited. No, not visited. She lived here. Blessed hell. Then she remembered Glenda Strapthorpe, who’d gone to great lengths to try to trap Meggie’s father into marriage, and knew she’d have to think about this before making a judgment. Perhaps every household was strange in its own way. She thought of her grandmother Lydia and sighed. She kept her eyes on her teacup.
Not many minutes later Barnacle was standing again in the open doorway to the drawing room. He said in a very formal voice to Thomas, “Lord Kipper is here, my lord. Since ye are now an earl and he is only a baron, he isn’t worthy enough to be shown into the drawing room unless ye expressly wish him to.”
“You’re right. He is only a baron. What do you think we should do with him?”
“Lock him in a bedchamber with a half dozen maids and see if he emerges alive.”
“Hmmm. A creative idea, but just think of the maids, Barnacle. Bring him in and we will pretend he is worthy enough to be in my presence.”