Lord of Darkness (7 page)

Her Grace had been discovered.

Annalise chortled and for a moment glanced up at Megs, tiny, perfect teeth showing in a delighted grin. And Megs’s breath froze in her throat.
This
. This was what she wanted with all her soul, all her heart. A baby of her own.

Last night her courage had failed her, but she wouldn’t let that happen tonight.

Tonight she would seduce her husband.

B
UT HOW, EXACTLY
, did one go about seducing a husband one hardly knew? That was the question Megs pondered all that afternoon and evening as she set about ordering Saint House. This morning’s efforts had been … less than successful. Perhaps she should alert him somehow? Send a note perhaps?
Dear sir, I would be much obliged if you would consent to consummate our marriage. Yours very truly, your wife.

“If that would agree with you, my lady?”

Megs started, looking up into the serious dark eyes of her new housekeeper, Mrs. Crumb. They were in the dining room, which, apparently, was one of the few rooms in
Saint House that Mrs. Crumb considered habitable at the moment. “Er, yes? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that last bit.”

Mrs. Crumb was too well trained—nearly terrifyingly so—to indicate in any way that she was repeating herself. “If it agrees with you, my lady, I shall take the responsibility of finding and hiring a new cook. I’ve found in the past that great care should be taken with the employment of cooks. Staff run so much better when well fed.”

Mrs. Crumb gazed at Megs with a deferential yet determined air. She was something of a surprise. Not that Megs doubted in any way that Mrs. Crumb was an exceptional housekeeper—within minutes of entering Saint House, she’d set the girls from the orphanage to cleaning, sweeping, and ordering, and she’d so cowed Mr. Moulder that he’d not even questioned the housekeeper when she’d instructed him to throw out any edibles still left in what, apparently, was a quite filthy kitchen. Tall for a woman and with a bearing that would have done a general proud, Mrs. Crumb had black hair neatly tucked beneath a white cap and dark eyes that seemed to compel obedience in both little girls and grown footmen. But—and here was the surprising part—the woman couldn’t be over the age of five and twenty. Megs would love to ask her how, exactly, she’d risen to such prominence in her profession as to bear golden references from the powerful Lady Caire at such a young age, but truthfully, her new housekeeper intimidated her.

Just a little.

“Yes.” Megs nodded. “That will be quite satisfactory.”

“Just so, my lady.” Mrs. Crumb inclined her head. “I’ve taken the liberty of sending ’round to the Bird in Hand inn for a roast
goose, bread, a half-dozen pies, and assorted boiled vegetables for supper, as well as provisions for the servants.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Megs smiled at this efficiency. She hadn’t been looking forward to a supper of boiled eggs—assuming there were any eggs left—and roast goose was one of her favorites. But was it one of Godric’s favorites? She simply hadn’t any idea—he’d never mentioned food in his letters, and from the paucity of his kitchen, what he ate obviously wasn’t high on his list of important needs. Well, that was just silly. A pleasant meal made everything so much more enjoyable. She’d have to find out what he liked as soon as she could.

If Mrs. Crumb noticed her distraction, she gave no sign. “With your permission, my lady, supper will be served in here at eight of the clock.”

Megs glanced at the clock over the mantel and saw that it was already half past seven. “Then I suppose I ought to go freshen myself.”

Mrs. Crumb curtsied. “Yes, my lady. I’ll go see that everything is ready.”

And she marched from the room.

Megs blew out her breath and hurried to her bedroom. Normally she didn’t bother dressing for dinner at home, but tonight was special.

“The scarlet silk, please, Daniels,” she instructed her little lady’s maid and then stood impatiently as she was dressed.

The scarlet was over four years old—from before her retirement to the country. What social events she’d attended in Upper Hornsfield had been far less formal than London. It’d seemed a waste to have new dresses made when what she had already outshone the local gentry.

Megs winced
now as her bodice was drawn perilously tight over her bosom. Abundant country meals seemed to have led to growth in that portion of her figure. She made a mental note to visit a London modiste as soon as possible.

Still, the scarlet set off her dark hair and creamy pale complexion quite well. Megs leaned toward the cloudy mirror over the ancient dresser in her room and shoved a lock of hair back in place. She ought to have Daniels take the whole thing down and start over, but she hadn’t the time—it was already five past eight.

Rushing from her room, Megs nearly cannoned into the back—the rather broad back, now that she looked at it—of her husband.

“Oh!”

He turned around at her involuntary exclamation, and she had to tilt her head back to see his eyes. He was close, his chest nearly brushing her bodice.

He glanced down swiftly, almost imperceptibly, at her bosom, and then up at her face. His expression didn’t change at all. He might’ve just glanced at a side of beef.

“Your pardon, my lady.”

“Not at all.” She
wasn’t
a side of beef, damn it! Inhaling, she smiled sweetly up at him and slipped her hand through his arm. “You’re just in time to escort me down to dinner.”

He inclined his head politely enough, but she felt him stiffen just a bit against her.

Well, she’d never been a quitter. She might’ve had to retire to the country for a bit to recover from the loss of Roger and their baby, but that didn’t mean she was going to lie down without a fight now.

She wanted a baby.

So Megs
pressed close to Godric, ignoring his rigid posture, and linked her hands, effectively tethering him to her. “We quite missed you today.”

He’d left the ladies to organizing Saint House immediately after they’d all returned from St. Giles. Presumably he’d spent the day in some type of male pursuit.

His swift glance down at her was incredulous.

Megs cleared her throat. “Sarah and I did come to London to visit.”

“I was under the impression that it was shopping you and my sister were after.” His tone was as dry as the dust the maids had battled all day. “That and upending my house. You travel with a veritable village.”

She felt the heat rise up her neck. “Sarah is your sister and a good friend and we need all the servants.”

“Including the gardener?” Despite his remote countenance, he was careful to match his stride to hers.

“I’m sure your garden will need renovation,” she said earnestly, “if the state I found your country grounds in two years ago is any indication.”

“Hmm. And Great-Aunt Elvina? She rarely seems pleased with anything—including you.”

They were descending the stairs now to the dining room and Megs lowered her voice. Great-Aunt Elvina had proved on more than one occasion that her hearing could sometimes miraculously return. “She’s a bit starchy, but underneath she’s as soft as pudding, really.”

He only looked down at her and arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

Megs sighed. “She does get very lonely. I didn’t want to leave her by herself at Laurelwood.”

“She lives with you?”

“Yes.” Megs
bit her lip. “Actually, Great-Aunt Elvina has made the rounds of all my relatives.”

His mouth quirked. “Ah. And you’re the last resort, I’m guessing.”

“Well, yes. It’s just that she has a tendency to speak her mind rather bluntly, I’m afraid.” She winced. “She told my second cousin Arabella that her baby daughter had the nose of a pig, which she does, unfortunately, but really it was too bad of Great-Aunt Elvina to mention it.”

Godric snorted. “And yet you take this harridan into your bosom.”

“Someone has to.” Megs took a deep breath and peeked up at his face. It had lightened … a bit. She decided to grasp what encouragement she could. “I had hoped to use this trip to get to know you better, G-Godric.”

Try as she might, the first use of his Christian name still stuttered on her lips.

His glance was sardonic. “An admirable goal, Margaret, but I think we’ve muddled along together well enough until now.”

“
We
haven’t done
anything
together,” Megs muttered as they made the main floor. She caught herself and remembered what she was trying to do. She began stroking his forearm with one finger. “We’ve lived entirely separate lives. And please. Call me Megs.”

He stared down at her finger, now drawing circles on the sleeve of his coat. “I was under the impression that you were happy.”

He hadn’t used her name.

“I was happy. Or at least content.” Megs wrinkled her nose. Why was he making this so hard? “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t change things, even make them better. I’m
sure if we tried, we could find something …
enjoyable
to do together.”

His dark brows drew together over his eyes, and she had the distinct impression that he didn’t at all agree with her.

But they’d reached the small receiving room adjacent to the dining room now, and Sarah and Great-Aunt Elvina were already waiting for them.

“We’ve received word that we’ll have a real dinner tonight,” Sarah said at the sight of them.

Godric raised his brows, glancing at Megs as they joined the others. “Then you succeeded in hiring a new cook?”

“No, actually, we have someone much better.” Megs smiled up at him, despite his solemn expression. “Apparently, I’ve hired London’s most accomplished housekeeper, Mrs. Crumb.”

Behind them came a snort. Megs turned to see a transformed Moulder. His wig was freshly powdered, his shoes were shined, and his coat looked sponged and pressed. “That woman is a termagant, she is.”

“Moulder.” Was that a flash of amusement on Godric’s face? “You’re looking quite … butlerly.”

Moulder grunted and held open the door to the dining room. They entered and Megs was glad to note the transformation from last night. Gone were the spiderwebs overhead. The hearth had been swept and a fire crackled there now. The big table in the center of the room had been polished with beeswax until it gleamed.

Godric stopped short, his eyebrows raised. “Your housekeeper is indeed a gem to have changed this room in such little time.”

“Let’s hope
her promise of dinner is equally as impressive,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed.

As it turned out, Mrs. Crumb was simply a paragon of housekeeperly virtue. A beaming Oliver and Johnny soon laid the dinner before them, and Megs was eagerly cutting her portion of goose.

She sighed with contentment over the mouthful of juicy meat and glanced up just in time to meet her husband’s enigmatic gaze.

Hastily she swallowed and tried to appear more ladylike and less like a starving urchin. “It’s quite good, isn’t it?”

He peered down at his plate dispassionately. “Yes, if you like goose.”

“I do.” Her heart sank. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I find goose greasy.”

“Grisly?” Great-Aunt Elvina asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Greasy,” Godric repeated, louder. “The goose is greasy.”

“Goose is supposed to be greasy,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed. “Keeps it from being dry.” She picked up a piece from her plate and fed it to Her Grace without bothering to hide the motion.

Megs smiled. “If you don’t like goose, what do you like?”

Her husband shrugged. “Whatever you see fit to serve will do well enough.”

Megs tried very, very hard to keep her smile in place. “But I want to know what you like to eat.”

“And I have told you that it does not matter.”

Her cheeks were beginning to ache. “Gammon? Beef? Fish?”

“Margaret—”

“Eel?” Her
eyes narrowed. “Tripe? Brains?”

“
Not
brains,” he snapped, his voice so low it sounded as if it were scraping gravel.

She beamed. “Not brains! I shall make a note of it.”

Sarah coughed into her napkin.

Great-Aunt Elvina fed Her Grace another scrap as she murmured, “
I
like brains fried in butter.”

Godric cleared his throat and took a sip of wine before setting the wineglass down precisely. “I have a fondness for pigeon pie.”

“Do you?” Megs leaned forward eagerly. She felt as excited as if she’d won a prize at a fair. “I’ll be sure and ask Mrs. Crumb to tell the new cook.”

He inclined his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Thank you.”

She caught a fond smile on Sarah’s face as her sister-in-law looked between the two of them. Megs felt the heat rise in her face. “What did you do today while we worked on the house?”

Godric’s gaze slid away as he took a sip of wine—almost as if he were avoiding her question. “I usually frequent Basham’s Coffeehouse.”

Great-Aunt Elvina frowned and Megs had an awful premonition—her aunt held quite strong opinions. “Nasty things, coffeehouses. Full of scandal sheets, women of low repute, and tobacco.”

“As well as coffee, of course,” Godric said with an entirely straight face.

“Well, naturally coffee, but—” Great-Aunt Elvina began.

“How is Her Grace feeling this evening?” Megs cut in hastily. From across the table, her husband shot her an ironic look
that she chose to ignore. “I notice she seems to be eating well.”

“Her Grace spent the entire day abed, panting quite dreadfully. That child overexerted her, chasing Her Grace about.” Great-Aunt Elvina stabbed her fork meditatively into a carrot. “Babies are adorable, naturally, but so messy. Perhaps if there was a way of containing them, especially around sensitive creatures such as Her Grace …”

“Like a small cage, you mean?” Sarah asked innocently.

“Or a tether, set into the ground,” Godric said.

Everyone looked at him.

Sarah’s lips were trembling. “But what about indoors?”

He raised his brows, his expression grave. “Ill-advised, I’m afraid. Best to keep them outside in the fresh air. But if one did bring a baby indoors, I think a hook set into the wall with ties made to fit under the child’s arms would suit.”