Candice Hern (75 page)

He had been so sure she was willing to accept his kiss—and oh, how he had wanted to kiss her. He could not believe he had misread the look in her eye. She had wanted him. He was sure of it.

But she had pulled away. Why?

Sedge was forced to relinquish Meg's arm in the long run, as he found it easier to use the banister and one crutch to best negotiate the stairs. Once they had reached the bottom, Meg retrieved the second crutch and helped him onto it. He looked up at the sound of vigorous scraping to see Pargeter sanding the stain at the top of the stairs, an irritated scowl on his face.

Sedge hobbled along in Meg's wake as she led the way to the breakfast room.

Meg insisted that Sedge remain seated while she served him. He did not argue. The notion of being served by Meg quite appealed to him. He watched her graceful movements as she moved from serving dish to serving dish, her blue muslin skirts alternately swinging and clinging. At last, she laid a plate in front of him piled with a bit of everything from the sideboard. She also served him a cup of coffee before seating herself opposite him with a plate laden as high as his own.

"And so, my lord," she said as she reached for the jam pot, "you have cheated death once again."

"What's that?" Sedge was thoroughly distracted by the crossed blue ribbons over the bodice of her muslin dress. He could almost still feel the imprint of her breasts crushed against his back while she had held him close.

"In the short time I have known you, Sedge"—oh, good, she had finally dropped 'my lord' and was back to 'Sedge'— "you have had three close encounters with death. You must feel very powerful, indeed. Or very righteous."

"Three times, you say?" Sedge speared a piece of ham and brought it to his mouth as he watched her drop a large dollop of blackberry jam onto her plate.

"The carriage accident," Meg said as she slathered a piece of toast with the jam, "Gram's monkshood, and now the stairs. Are you like the proverbial cat, with six lives remaining?"

"Good Lord, I hope so!"

"Have you always been so... so accident-prone?"

Sedge laughed and then took a long swallow of coffee. "Not that I can recall, my dear. Seems to be a recent phenomenon."

"How recent?"

Sedge gave her a quizzical look. What was she getting at? Finally, he shrugged and said, "The curricle accident was the first time I have so much as fallen off a horse since I was a boy. But such things do happen. No one is to blame, Meg."

"I know that, Sedge. It is just that—"

"Surely, you would not accuse your own grandmother of deliberately trying to poison me?"

"Of course not!" She began to chew on her full lower lip, and Sedge tried not to think of what those lips might have felt like beneath his own.

"And you cannot possibly mean to accuse poor Pargeter of intentionally spilling the oil?" he said. "The man was white as a sheet when he saw what had almost happened."

"No, no." Meg shook her head, but her brows were still furrowed. "I do not blame Pargeter for a moment of carelessness."

"And there you have it, then. All accidents. No one to blame. And no harm done." He punctuated this last with stabs of his fork in the air. "Just a patch of bad luck, that is all."

"If you say so."

"I do say so." Sedge wrenched his eyes from the creamy white skin of her throat and took a few bites of egg. He then turned his attention to the sausages.

"By the way," Meg said, "Pargeter seems a very resourceful man. That blacking receipt was fascinating."

Sedge laughed around a mouthful of sausage. "Yes, I am quite pleased with him. Despite what you may have thought this morning, he is generally an excellent valet. Don't know what I ever did without him."

"How long has he been with you?" she asked as she diced a piece of ham into small bits and mixed them with her eggs.

"Only about six months."

Meg's head jerked up. "Six months?"

"Yes," he said. "My former valet, Bassett, had been with me for donkey's years. Suddenly one day, he announced that some relative had left him a small inheritance. Said he had an eye on a farm in Sussex. A farm! Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Had no idea the man dreamed of farming. Seems he had been saving for it all along, but the inheritance meant that he had enough money to buy the thing now. Gave his notice, married one of the housemaids, and took off to plow fields in Sussex."

Sedge shook his head in fond recollection of Bassett. He must remember to write to him and see how he was doing.

"And so that is when you hired Pargeter?" Meg asked.

"Not right away, no. You see, Bassett had been with me since my school days. I was at sixes and sevens without him. Had no idea how to replace him. Used a footman for a time, while I made inquiries."

"I know how it is to become attached to family retainers," Meg said. "Mrs. Dillard, for example, has been at Thornhill since before I was born. I cannot imagine life without her."

"Fact is," Sedge said, "we take them for granted. Don't appreciate them enough. Learned that with Bassett."

"And how did you find Pargeter, then?"

"Oh, he was recommended to me by a friend," Sedge replied after taking another sip of coffee. "Lord Digby. Pargeter had apparently been with Digby's brother for some years before the young man was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. Digby put it about that if anyone had use for a valet, he knew of a good one. I said I'd give Pargeter a try, and I have been pleased so far. Plan to keep him."

"Lord Digby?" Meg said. "The name is familiar, but I cannot place him. Perhaps he is an acquaintance of Terrence."

"Speak of the devil," Sedge said as Sir Terrence walked into the breakfast room, looking, in fact, like the very devil. He was unshaven, his hair tousled, and dark circles hung beneath his eyes. It was obvious the man had had no sleep.

"Terrence!" Meg exclaimed, her face lighting up. "How is Zenobia? Did she foal?"

"Yes, Meggie, she did. Finally." Terrence poured himself a cup of coffee and took a long swallow before sinking into a chair. He sighed deeply, then turned to an anxious Meg. A slow, lazy smile creased his face. "A beautiful little filly."

Chapter 12

Sedge stood beside Bertie in the stable courtyard and knew the young man was right. He just wished he could turn away from his cousin's advice and ignore it.

"You know I am right, Sedge."

"I wish you would stop doing that, Bertie."

"Doing what?"

"Reading my mind. You echo my own thoughts more often than is entirely comfortable."

Albert laughed. "Shared blood, and all that, I suppose." He walked next to Sedge along the gravel path leading from the central courtyard of the stables back to the main house, slowing his pace to match his cousin's awkward hobble. "But I am glad you agree," he continued. "I know it is pleasant here—for a variety of reasons." He slanted a significant look at Sedge. "But it is past time that we took our leave."

Sedge nodded his agreement, but said nothing. The stable path met the main drive, and as they approached the house, he gazed up at the eccentric structure he was so loath to abandon. Though of relatively modest size, Thomhill's irregular gray stone facade showed additions and renovations from every period over the last four hundred years. What could have been a hodgepodge of disparate styles, however, somehow blended into a single harmonious whole.

The oldest section, as Meg had proudly pointed out, was the medieval crenellated tower and great hall. Flanking those were gabled Elizabethan and Jacobean wings. To the south, marching toward the brewhouse, was the newest wing, from the middle of the last century. It was all very unique and wonderful, and Sedge would miss it.

Of course, the charming house had nothing at all to do with his reluctance to leave.

"I do not believe it is necessary to remain at Thornhill until your splint can be removed," Albert said. "That would be stretching the bounds of hospitality, would it not? You can hobble along in your own house just as well, and have your own doctor look after your leg."

"I am sure you are right," Sedge said in an irritated tone. He had heard all this sound reasoning time and again.

"Might be a good idea, in any case," Albert continued. "This Garthwaite fellow could be a country quack, for all we know."

"He seems exceedingly competent to me."

"As well he may be," Albert said. "But that is neither here nor there. The point is—"

"The point is that it is time to leave. Yes, Bertie. I know. I know."

The two men did not speak as they continued along the drive, with only the crunch of gravel beneath their feet to break the silence. Sedge's mood blackened as he considered his cousin's words. Albert was right. It was time to leave Thornhill. His peaceful countryside idyll had come to an end.

But what was he to do about Meg?

They approached the front of the house with its rows of large stone urns flanking the entrance, each sporting bursts of early spring flowers. Sedge paused before the entry stairs and cleared his throat.

His cousin turned around and raised his brows in question.

"All right, Bertie," Sedge said. "We shall leave as soon as it can be arranged."

Albert's face broke into a smile and he clapped Sedge on the back. "I will accompany you, of course," he said. "Just to make certain that you arrive home in one piece, you understand."

"Thank you, Bertie."

"We can use my traveling carriage. The good doctor would have apoplexy if you were to set foot in a curricle just yet. I haven't detached the driver's box, as you know how I hate postillions, so you will not have the forward view you are accustomed to. But, even though it is only a small chariot, it will be more comfortable for you than the curricle. Less likely to jar your leg so much."

"I appreciate that, cousin." Sedge smiled at Albert's cheerful enthusiasm. He really was a very good sort of fellow. "You know, Sir Terrence's men did a fine job of repairing my poor curricle. Looks like new. Perhaps he will lend me a groom to drive it home for me."

"I am sure he will oblige."

"You mean he will be that anxious for our departure?"

Albert laughed. "No, nothing of the kind. I just meant that he is a most accommodating chap, and all that. Good fellow. Pleased to have made his acquaintance."

"Yes," Sedge said, "so am I. In fact, I shall miss the whole family."

"Anyone in particular?" Albert asked, flashing a wicked grin.

"Let us make plans to leave in the morning," Sedge said, ignoring his cousin's jibe. "I will have a messenger send word to Mount Street so that Mrs. Verney can prepare for my return. Can you be ready by tomorrow?"

"Of course," Albert replied. "I will let my coachman know. In fact, I should probably return to the stables and speak to him at once. Do you mind if I abandon you here? Can you manage the stairs on your own?"

"Yes, I can manage, thank you. Oh, and, Bertie?" he called out as his cousin had begun to walk away. Albert turned and looked at Sedge. "Thank you for making me face the fact that it is time to go. I should hate to overstay my welcome, which surely would have happened without you to give me a bit of a push."

Albert grinned and gave a jaunty salute, then went on his way back down the gravel path.

Sedge hopped up the short flight of stairs to the simple, large wooden door. After readjusting his balance, he rang the bell. While he waited, his gaze took in the medieval stonework surrounding the door and the small mullioned window above. Everything he saw at Thornhill reminded him of Meg and her spirited chatter as she had been first to show it all to him. She was so proud of the history of the house, which had been in her family for over four hundred years. This area was apparently the only remnant of the original grim medieval structure. Sedge remembered Meg telling him of the ancestor who had built it. While she spoke, she had run her hand lovingly over the old stonework just here. Sedge reached out to touch the spot she had caressed so gently.

What was he going to do about Meg?

The door opened and Sedge quickly drew his hand away from the wall. A footman held the door while Sedge hobbled into the Great Hall. Despite its name, the hall was not terribly great in size, especially compared to the Great Hall in his own home at Witham Abbey. But this was Meg's home, the home she loved, and he suddenly felt the need to memorize every aspect of it as he prepared to leave it, as if it were a part of Meg herself.

Though the exterior walls were medieval, the interior of the hall was distinctly Elizabethan. Handsome oak paneling climbed the walls to about the level of Sedge's eyes. The remaining third of the walls, as well as the ceiling, were covered with elaborate plasterwork. Sunlight streaming in from the mullioned windows glistened off pieces of armor hung over the huge fireplace, and several sets of antlers graced the woodwork on either side.

Sedge paused a moment to admire the armor. He smiled as he recalled Meg's proud tale of her father discovering it in an old storage room in the tower. It was from the days of the Civil War, during which the Ashburtons, along with most of East Anglia, had been staunchly Royalist. Young Meg and her mother had spent weeks polishing and shining the breastplates and helmets, restoring them to their original luster and then hanging them in this place of honor, for all the world to admire. If a footman had not been hovering nearby. Sedge might have run his hands along their smooth surfaces, just as he had been drawn to do at the entrance—to touch the things Meg had touched, the things Meg loved.

Sedge made his awkward way upstairs to his bedchamber and rang for Pargeter. He would want to begin packing right away. He dragged a chair to the alcove made by the deep window embrasure, tossed his crutches aside, and fell rather ungracefully into the chair.

His thoughts were still full of Meg. Ever since he had capitulated to Albert's insistence on leaving Thornhill, he had been trying to decide what to do about her. The notion of never seeing her again made him feel empty and hollow with loneliness. He had never before felt that way about a woman. For Sedge, parting with a woman had seldom been anything more than a moment of regret—if that—for there had always been others ready and eager to take her place. Those brief moments of regret had never caused the almost physical ache he now felt at the prospect of parting with Meg.