Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(15)

“Thank you.” Megs had always thought Lady Caire a bit austere, but it seemed she could be kind as well. And Megs was very grateful. In one swoop she already had a housekeeper and maids for Saint House.

Lady Caire inclined her head. “I’ll send her around this evening if that suits you?”

“Oh, yes.” Megs felt a touch at her knee and looked down.

Annalise had one hand braced on her lap as she squatted to look under the chair Megs sat on. From beneath came a faint whine.

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.

BUT 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.