Meggie leaned against her father, felt his hands lightly stroking her back, up and down, and it felt so very comforting, and she whispered against his neck, “Please, Papa, I want to go home.”
He loosed his hold and held her in the circle of his arms. “You met a man who did not return your affections. I’m very sorry about that.” That was all he said, nothing more, and Meggie wondered how he could know. She prayed he wouldn’t ever find out which man she’d wanted who didn’t want her.
“Perhaps so,” she said. “Papa, I want to go home.”
“All right, love. Let us show Mary Rose some of the sights, just a week—she loves the theatre, you know—and then we will go home.”
On June second the Sherbrookes returned to Glenclose-on-Rowan to the vicarage.
In October every Sherbrooke in England traveled to Eagle’s Chase, in Somerset, the Beresfords’ country estate, to attend the wedding of Charlotte Beresford and Jeremy Stanton-Greville.
It was carried off in grand style. Every Beloved One was there, and to everyone’s amusement, all fifteen of the children applauded when the vicar said Jeremy could kiss his bride.
5
March 1824
Glenclose-on-Rowen
MEGGIE SHERBROOKE WALKED out of the church in the wake of her stepmother, Mary Rose Sherbrooke, Alec on her left side and Rory on her right side, holding her hand. She pulled him back so they could take their place in the vicar’s receiving line. Rory’s little arm was dry, his face flushed with joy and health, thank God. Just his hands were sticky.
It was a difficult time for the town. Three children had died of a fever during the past week, the cause unknown, and all three funerals had taken place at the same time, three days before. Tysen had spent a great deal of his time with the grieving parents. And today, Sunday morning, every parent was worried sick. They’d all come to church today because they needed reassurance. Her father’s sermon had been both moving and practical, which had brought every parent in the congregation a measure of peace and a sense of control, which was desperately needed.
He’d said in his deep, reaching voice, “I know that all of you are afraid that your own children will be struck down. I know that I look at my own boys and pray devoutly that God will spare them. Then I realized that I am not helpless in this, that God has given me a brain and good measure of common sense and the determination to face what I must. Naturally I, as well as you, want to guard my children as best I can. I have spoken at length with Dr. Dreyfus. He believes that we must all be vigilant, that the fever could strike again. He wants us all to keep our children at home during this next week, keep them warm and calm and quiet. They will probably grow bored and you will want to strangle them, but you must endure.” He smiled as there was a bit of laughter from his congregation. “I would only add that we must pray to God that it will be enough.
“God has given us all the strength, the fortitude, the ability to face illness, to face death, when need be. None of us are alone in this. Dr. Dreyfus will be visiting each family beginning this afternoon, to examine each child. As a congregation, as a town, we will survive this.”
His closing prayer had made Meggie’s heart ache and gave her a measure of hope.
The congregation spoke in low voices as they passed the vicar and his family, who stood in a line, shaking everyone’s hand as they passed, and patted each child.
Leo was home for several days, down from Oxford to visit with his family for the first time in over two months. He was still horse mad and he had plans to join his cousin Jeremy Stanton-Greville at his racing stud in Fowey, to learn the business, which, Jeremy had written, put them in a somewhat unusual situation, since he was still learning the business as well. Leo had also told them that Jeremy’s wife, Charlotte, was expecting Jeremy’s heir.
Meggie had said nothing upon hearing that. Nor did she say anything about her brother’s plans, not that Leo had asked her for her opinion.
As for Max Sherbrooke, their Latin scholar, who had finally surpassed his stepmother in his knowledge of everyday Latin, he’d announced that he planned to become a man of the cloth, like his father. There was, Tysen said, and blessedly so, a very big difference between father and son—Max brought laughter into the room with him, just like his uncle Ryder, and laughter was a wonderful thing, only discovered by Tysen after he’d met Mary Rose. Tysen was very pleased, knowing his son would bring joy to his future congregation from his very first sermon.
Meggie looked up at the sound of a stranger’s voice, a man’s voice that she’d never before heard, and she saw that indeed, she had never seen him before either. He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and he was tall, taller than her father, possibly as tall as Uncle Douglas, and he was dark as a bandit on a midnight raid, dark hair, dark eyes, his complexion swarthy. There was no question that he’d spent a lot of his recent time at sea.
He was also taller and darker than Jeremy, whose wife was going to have a baby. No, no, put away that lump full of pain.
Rory tugged on her skirt. She looked down to see him holding the remains of a stick of candy Mary Rose had given him to keep him quiet during his father’s sermon in his left hand, no longer in his right, as was always the instruction from his mother. His left hand was now as sticky as his right hand and now so was the skirt of her beautiful new gown.
“Oh, no. Rory, just look at my skirt. How could you?”
Rory shook his head, big eyes ready to weep. He whispered that he didn’t know how he could have done that. He began frantically sucking his fingers, saying between his fingers and licks, “I’m sorry, Meggie,” then he gripped her skirt and brought it to his mouth. He began sucking hard on the sticky material.
Meggie couldn’t help herself. Her irritation with him evaporated. She burst into laughter, swung Rory up in her arms, and said, “You little sweetheart, how can I ever be upset with you when you are so cute?”
“I wonder,” the man said slowly, his voice pensive, looking at her directly now, “if my mother ever held me like that and told me I was a sweetheart and cute. Somehow, I doubt it.”
Meggie turned, still laughing, and said, “I’m not his mother and that, I believe, saves his adorable self from a hiding.”
Tysen said easily, “Lord Lancaster, this is my daughter, Meggie, and one of my sons, Rory. The candy does work to keep him quiet during the service, but occasionally he forgets, and this is the result. Meggie, my dear, this is Lord Lancaster. He has just returned to England to assume his responsibilities and see to his property.”
“Oh,” Meggie said, “Lord Lancaster—how odd that sounds. Your father was an old man, you see, and quite deaf toward the end of his life. I am sorry that your father died, my lord.” She paused a moment, and added as she hugged Rory closer, “However, he died some seven months ago, and you weren’t here then.”
“No, I was not.”