Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,26

cook handed him a loaf wrapped in a cloth. “Mind you bring back that cloth,” she said. “I won’t have you using it to polish your boots like the last time.”

He put his arm round the cook’s shoulders and drew her close.

“Where would I be without you, Mrs. Brown?” he laughed. He placed a deep kiss on her cheek, and though she squealed in protest, her eyes shone with merriment. She pushed him away with a laugh.

“With your leave, ma’am, I’ll retire,” he said. “But my offer still stands. I’d be honored to teach you how to ride, then we can explore the grounds properly. The estate is beautiful.”

“I’d like that,” Meggie said.

“And, if I may be so bold,” he continued, “the master is not only fortunate to have such a fine estate, but also in his choice of wife.”

“Ralph!” the cook admonished.

“Begging your pardon,” he said. “Mrs. Brown, I’ll see you tomorrow. I trust there will be a bit of bacon awaiting me as usual.”

“And a clip round the ear, if you’re not careful.”

He bowed once more, then exited the kitchen, whistling a merry tune.

“He’s a charmer, that one,” the cook said.

“And he’s offered for Milly?” Meggie asked.

“We all expect him to,” came the reply. “It’s not fair to keep the lass waiting. Perhaps when the estate’s fully staffed and young Ralph isn’t so busy with the horses, he’ll find time for courting.”

“I could help,” Meggie said.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it wouldn’t do to get too friendly with the staff,” Mrs. Brown said. “Ralph will offer for Milly when he’s good and ready. Let him teach you to ride, by all means, but as mistress and servant. You can never be friends.”

Mrs. Brown was right, of course. But the thought of a lifetime of loneliness in this gloomy house was more than Meggie could bear. A little companionship from the souls living on the estate was not too much to ask, surely? And if her husband had wanted her to learn how to be a good wife and mistress of the house, then he should have accompanied her himself rather than abandon her here, alone.

Meggie rose to her feet and pushed her soup bowl aside. “It’s time I retired.”

She left the kitchen and found Milly, who led her to a small guest chamber at the back of the house. She dismissed the maidservant, then undressed and slipped into the bed. She had much to look forward to—the countryside to explore, picnics, and the prospect of learning to ride. She’d been fond of the horses at the Rose and Crown and had often helped Mr. Clayton with them when he needed extra hands. But she’d never believed she might get to ride one.

Perhaps life at Molineux Manor wouldn’t be so bleak after all.

Chapter Twelve

Dexter waved at the carriage as it disappeared round the corner. His sister Delilah—now Duchess Molineux—was on her way to a new life in Scotland. Away from him.

Though Dexter had wanted a large wedding for her, Lilah’s husband had insisted on a quiet affair. It was probably for the best, given how close Lilah was to her confinement. And it meant that he was spared the good wishes of guests he neither liked nor cared about. Why should he be congenial when he felt far from it? Weddings presented an opportunity to display marital bliss—not only that of the happy couple but of the guests who stood proudly together in perfectly formed pairs.

And the last thing Dexter needed was a reminder of the marital bliss he was never going to have.

Not that he’d envisaged such a state—at least not with Elizabeth.

But with Margaret…

Beneath the rather shabby exterior of the woman he’d been tricked into marrying lay a sweet girl with kind eyes.

And a delectable little body which had responded to his caresses as if she’d been made for him. Though he was skilled enough to elicit moans of pleasure in all manner of women, the cries of passion in his quiet little wife had taken him unawares. Like the finest wines, they had ruined his taste for any other woman.

It wasn’t only honor that prevented him from seeking relief in the arms of others. It was her.

He missed her.

His breeches tightened at the memory of her, splayed before him on the bed, thighs parted.

A hand touched his arm, and he jumped.

“You seem out of sorts, brother.”

Dorothea looked at him, her brow creased into a frown.

“Aren’t you happy for Delilah?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“And you should be.” She