Pendragon

Chapter 21

HE SAID, VERY carefully, unable to help himself, "What do you mean, 'after Jeremy'?"

"Forget Jeremy. He's just an almost dratted cousin, nothing more. The fact is that I'm pitiful, Thomas, and I never realized it until now. No, truth be told, I'm not worth anywhere near that many groats. I think you got a pig in a poke."

"No," he said, "I got a Sherbrooke with beautiful blue eyes that she'll pass along to our children."

"Yes, I will try. I'm sorry, Thomas."

Thomas stopped, looked at her, an eyebrow arched up. "Whyever are you sorry?"

"I'm very sorry if you were poor after your father divorced your mother."

"Never hunger or real want, Meggie. My uncle was at low ebb the last twenty years of his life, but he took my mother and me in, and he did it gladly, generously. He was a fine man. I will tell you something though. It's a sorry thing when there are people depending on you and you have to think and scheme and dicker with all sorts of very distasteful men to get together enough money to see to their needs. That was true for me until two years ago. That was when my first ship arrived back in Genoa from China." He took her arm and they continued up the stairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. There was a threadworn Turkish carpet tacked down to the steps. Ancient, by the looks of it. "I wonder how many feet have walked on this rug?"

That got his attention. "I've wondered that myself. I think when I was about thirteen years old I decided that several armies had stayed here, bringing the feet up to at least five thousand."

"That sounds about right. Two armies?"

"Cromwell came twice. The first time he failed, but not the second time."

"Oh. I didn't tell you that my aunt Sinjun was an heiress. Actually she was one of the premiere heiresses in all of England. She married a Scottish earl who was so poor his castle was near to falling down about his ears. She saved him. Do you think perhaps that I am saving you just a bit? You could consider me another one of your ships sailing into port, all loaded with wonderful goods?"

"You're more than one ship, Meggie. When I think of your goods, my toes curl." He gave her the wickedest grin imaginable.

"I like the sound of that. Now, about your goods-"

He kissed her hard and fast, then straightened. "Also, my father was very well off, Meggie. Together, you have made me rich indeed. Generations to come will bless your dowry."

Down at the very end of a long, dim, very wide corridor that echoed and another threadbare Turkish carpet over oak planks that creaked, lay the master bedchamber. Actually, it was a suite of rooms, she heard Thomas say from behind her. The master bedchamber, she saw, was so dismal that she had to swallow and seam her lips together to keep back a moan of disappointment. She shouldn't have been surprised after that drawing room. But still, she was. The large room was filled with heavy old furniture, tattered draperies, miles and miles of bare oak plank floor leading to a mammoth bed that sat on a three-foot dais. If anything, it was more depressing than the drawing room. She said finally, her arms crossed over her chest,

"It is certainly a very big room, Thomas. There is an extraordinary amount of floor."

"There is a dressing room in there with a nice big copper tub, then another bedchamber beyond, which would be your bedchamber, I suppose."

The dressing room was small and dark and smelled of camphor balls. The bedchamber beyond surprised her. When she opened the door, she had to blink because the sun was flooding in so brightly. Where had the storm gone? She would have sworn it was still battering the area, given the darkness of every other room she'd seen in Pendragon, but not this room. It was white, pure white, no other color, and it made you want to fling your arms out and whirl about.

She walked to the middle of the room, standing on a thick white carpet that covered nearly all the floor in this airy room. "Oh my," she said.

"You weren't expecting this. It's called, originally enough, the White Room."

"No. I like it very much, Thomas." She paused a moment, not knowing exactly how one spoke of this, and Thomas said, "Just spit it out, Meggie."

"My father and Mary Rose share a bedchamber. So do my uncles and their wives. I've seen Uncle Colin carry Aunt Sinjun into his bedchamber over his shoulder. I've always believed that was the way things were done. Do you think we could do that as well?"

"You wish to share a bedchamber with me?" he asked slowly, and knew he was stupid to feel the leap of hope.

"Well, yes. How can I improve upon you if I don't have you with me?"

"It would be well nigh impossible. I need improvement?"

"Oh yes, but I will say that I truly believe in ten years you will become the perfect man."

"Only ten years?"

"I've always been an optimist."

He walked to her and cupped her face in his palm. "Yes, I knew you were the moment I met you."

Meggie went up on her tiptoes and looked right at his mouth.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," she said, nuzzling his chin. "If you have to ask me that, then I'm afraid that it will constitute an additional improvement. We're perhaps talking more than ten years here, Thomas."

He ducked his head down and kissed her. Her mouth was so bloody warm and soft, just like the rest of her-both inside and out-and that included her loyal heart, damn her. He lifted his head and continued to cup her cheek. "Your face is very expressive, Meggie. You hate my bedchamber, don't you?"

"It could be improved upon-"

"Just like me."

"No, I expect you'll be much easier. I propose that we use this lovely white bedchamber until I have managed to make the larger one more inhabitable."

He said even more slowly, his fingers lightly stroking her jaw, "I have never heard of husbands and wives sharing a bedchamber unless they were forced to. Certainly it is difficult for me to imagine that my father and mother ever shared the same bed. I mean, certain husbands and wives share a bed long enough to, well, perform intimacies, but not the entire night. Are you certain that all your male relatives share with their wives?"

"Oh yes."

He said slowly, "I think I need to think about this, Meggie."

"I don't think I snore," she said. "You do, though, at least you did that first night. However, that first night was undoubtedly a strain on you, so I should not be too swift with a conclusion here."

He dropped his hand from her face. "Perhaps snoring is one reason husbands and wives don't sleep together the entire night."

"I think Mary Rose just shoves my father over on his side when he snores. I heard her speaking of it once to him."

"I will think about it, Meggie."

Well, Thomas hadn't mentioned love, but still, she thought, two people who were not only married but also enjoyed the other's company, as she and Thomas did, except for their debacle of a wedding night, should surely wish to sleep together. She gave him a long thoughtful look, and said only, "Do that," and walked to the huge white-painted armoire. When she opened the doors, she saw a row of gowns. Shoes of all sorts lined the bottom of the armoire. Slowly she pulled out one of the dresses. It was high-waisted and looked to be rather old. She turned, holding the dress, her head cocked to the side in question.

"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."