it was too bad of Great-Aunt Elvina to mention it.”
Godric snorted. “And yet you take this harridan into your bosom.”
“Someone has to.” Megs took a deep breath and peeked up at his face. It had lightened … a bit. She decided to grasp what encouragement she could. “I had hoped to use this trip to get to know you better, G-Godric.”
Try as she might, the first use of his Christian name still stuttered on her lips.
His glance was sardonic. “An admirable goal, Margaret, but I think we’ve muddled along together well enough until now.”
“We haven’t done anything together,” Megs muttered as they made the main floor. She caught herself and remembered what she was trying to do. She began stroking his forearm with one finger. “We’ve lived entirely separate lives. And please. Call me Megs.”
He stared down at her finger, now drawing circles on the sleeve of his coat. “I was under the impression that you were happy.”
He hadn’t used her name.
“I was happy. Or at least content.” Megs wrinkled her nose. Why was he making this so hard? “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t change things, even make them better. I’m sure if we tried, we could find something … enjoyable to do together.”
His dark brows drew together over his eyes, and she had the distinct impression that he didn’t at all agree with her.
But they’d reached the small receiving room adjacent to the dining room now, and Sarah and Great-Aunt Elvina were already waiting for them.
“We’ve received word that we’ll have a real dinner tonight,” Sarah said at the sight of them.
Godric raised his brows, glancing at Megs as they joined the others. “Then you succeeded in hiring a new cook?”
“No, actually, we have someone much better.” Megs smiled up at him, despite his solemn expression. “Apparently, I’ve hired London’s most accomplished housekeeper, Mrs. Crumb.”
Behind them came a snort. Megs turned to see a transformed Moulder. His wig was freshly powdered, his shoes were shined, and his coat looked sponged and pressed. “That woman is a termagant, she is.”
“Moulder.” Was that a flash of amusement on Godric’s face? “You’re looking quite … butlerly.”
Moulder grunted and held open the door to the dining room. They entered and Megs was glad to note the transformation from last night. Gone were the spiderwebs overhead. The hearth had been swept and a fire crackled there now. The big table in the center of the room had been polished with beeswax until it gleamed.
Godric stopped short, his eyebrows raised. “Your housekeeper is indeed a gem to have changed this room in such little time.”
“Let’s hope her promise of dinner is equally as impressive,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed.
As it turned out, Mrs. Crumb was simply a paragon of housekeeperly virtue. A beaming Oliver and Johnny soon laid the dinner before them, and Megs was eagerly cutting her portion of goose.
She sighed with contentment over the mouthful of juicy meat and glanced up just in time to meet her husband’s enigmatic gaze.
Hastily she swallowed and tried to appear more ladylike and less like a starving urchin. “It’s quite good, isn’t it?”
He peered down at his plate dispassionately. “Yes, if you like goose.”
“I do.” Her heart sank. “Don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I find goose greasy.”
“Grisly?” Great-Aunt Elvina asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Greasy,” Godric repeated, louder. “The goose is greasy.”
“Goose is supposed to be greasy,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed. “Keeps it from being dry.” She picked up a piece from her plate and fed it to Her Grace without bothering to hide the motion.
Megs smiled. “If you don’t like goose, what do you like?”
Her husband shrugged. “Whatever you see fit to serve will do well enough.”
Megs tried very, very hard to keep her smile in place. “But I want to know what you like to eat.”
“And I have told you that it does not matter.”
Her cheeks were beginning to ache. “Gammon? Beef? Fish?”
“Margaret—”
“Eel?” Her eyes narrowed. “Tripe? Brains?”
“Not brains,” he snapped, his voice so low it sounded as if it were scraping gravel.
She beamed. “Not brains! I shall make a note of it.”
Sarah coughed into her napkin.
Great-Aunt Elvina fed Her Grace another scrap as she murmured, “I like brains fried in butter.”
Godric cleared his throat and took a sip of wine before setting the wineglass down precisely. “I have a fondness for pigeon pie.”
“Do you?” Megs leaned forward eagerly. She felt as excited as if she’d won a prize at a fair. “I’ll be sure and ask Mrs. Crumb to tell the new cook.”