“Yes, although I did want that sky-blue moiré.”
Charlotte cast a disgruntled glance at Jane across the table. The sisters had nearly come to blows over the gorgeous fabric before Mrs. St. John had hushed them with the simple threat that no one would get the sky-blue moiré if the matter wasn’t decided in the next second. Charlotte and Jane had looked at each other silently and Charlotte had huffed and conceded the silk to Jane. Ten minutes later, they were enjoying ices, elbows linked, bright blond heads together, and one would never have known the sisters had fought so adamantly just moments before.
Which didn’t mean that Charlotte had entirely forgiven her sister, of course.
“You did get that lovely turquoise brocade,” Megs reminded her diplomatically.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, brightening, “and those delicious lace mitts.” She sighed happily before turning to Megs. “That peachy-pink silk is going to look so pretty with your dark hair. I’m sure Godric will be smitten.”
Megs smiled, but she couldn’t help her gaze sliding away from her sister-in-law’s. Did she want Godric smitten? She glanced up and saw that he was watching her now, his gray eyes heavily lidded, his long, elegant fingers still playing with the stem of his wineglass.
Twirling. Twirling. Twirling.
Her face heated for some reason and she looked hastily away again, taking a sip of her wine to calm herself.
“Megs?” Charlotte asked hesitantly.
Megs focused her attention on her sister-in-law. “Yes?”
Charlotte was pushing together a mound of creamed potatoes and parsnips, pressing the tines into the fluffy vegetables to make small, parallel furrows. She leaned close to Megs, her voice lowering. “Do you think Godric will ever …” She cleared her throat as if searching for the word, her forehead compressing into furrows that matched the ones on her plate. “Do you think he’ll ever want to be close to us?”
“I don’t know,” Megs said honestly. Having heard Godric’s recollections of his youth, she knew now the broad gulf between him and the rest of his family had started long before Clara’s death had made him a near hermit. They were so very far apart. Could anything bridge a gap widened by both time and distance?
Megs bit her lip and sat back as the footmen cleared their plates and brought in individual glasses of syllabub.
“It’s just …” Charlotte was still frowning, peering now at her dish of syllabub. She picked up her spoon and poked the quivering mass, then sighed and set her spoon down again. “I remember when I was very young. He seemed so tall and strong then. I thought he was a god, my elder brother. Mama says I used to follow him about like a chick when he visited, though that wasn’t often. He must’ve found it very boring to be tagged by a girl child still in the nursery.”
Megs rather wanted to hurl her own spoon at her husband at that moment.
“I doubt very much that he was bored by you,” she said gently. “It’s just that your mother married your father when Godric was at a difficult age for a boy. And, too, he’d lost his own mother. …” She trailed off, feeling inadequate. The fact was that Godric might’ve been hurt as a lad, but he was a man now. There was no reason for him to hold himself apart from his sisters.
“He’s my brother,” Charlotte whispered so low that Megs nearly didn’t catch the words. “My only brother.”
And even the delicious syllabub didn’t make up for the sinking of Megs’s heart at those words. She had to find a way to make Godric see that his sisters and stepmother were important. This might be his only chance. Once they were married and had families of their own, they’d have far less incentive to want to bring him into their fold.
He’d end up entirely alone.
Megs slowly lowered her spoon to her empty dish at the thought. She’d promised to leave London—leave Godric—once she was with child. She’d have the baby and all her friends and relations in the country. She lived a full and happy life there—one that wanted only a child of her own. But Godric …
Well, who did Godric have, really?
There was his friend, Lord Caire. But Lord Caire had his own family—one that would no doubt grow and demand more of his time. She had a vision of Godric, old and alone, surrounded by his books and little else. Someday he’d have to give up being the Ghost of St. Giles—always assuming he didn’t die doing it—and then he’d have … nothing.
The thought was distressing. Megs looked over at Godric, who was now bending down to listen to something Lavinia was saying. She might not love him, but he was her husband. Her responsibility. How had she not seen before that she couldn’t leave him alone?
The gentlemen suddenly rose and Megs realized that she’d missed Hero inviting the ladies to the sitting room for tea. The duke held Mrs. St. John’s chair for her and then Megs’s—putting age before rank, and quite properly in Megs’s opinion.
Mrs. St. John linked arms with Megs on one side and Charlotte on the other. “And what were you two whispering about so seriously during the dessert?”
“Godric.” Charlotte sighed, and Mrs. St. John merely nodded because there wasn’t much to say to that, was there?
In the sitting room, Hero was already serving tea while Sarah sat at the harpsichord, experimentally plunking the keys.
“Oh, do sing, girls,” Mrs. St. John said as she took a cup of tea. “That old ballad you learned the other day.”
So Jane and Charlotte linked arms and sang to Sarah’s accompaniment, for as it turned out the ballad was to a tune Sarah already knew.
“Lovely, quite lovely,” Great-Aunt Elvina murmured, tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair in time to the song.
Megs leaned back and listened with enjoyment. Her own voice would startle a crow, but she did like to hear others sing and the St. John girls, while not the most polished voices she’d ever heard, were very pleasant. If they stopped now and again to giggle and retry a phrasing, Megs didn’t mind. They were singing to family, and she was rather pleased that they had become comfortable enough with Hero and Lavinia to include them in that designation.
After an hour, the gentlemen joined them and Megs saw the moment the St. John girls instinctively stiffened. She sighed. It was hard to be relaxed with either Thomas or the duke about. But Griffin was here now and she was determined to talk to him.
So she sidled up to her brother and in a low tone suggested he show her his new house—after all, she hadn’t been given a proper tour before.