Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,34

silver salver.

“You have a letter, ma’am.”

Hope rose within her as she grasped the envelope.

He’d written! Her husband hadn’t forgotten her, after all.

What might he say? Would he ask after her health? Whether she was happy? Perhaps he’d written to say he was on his way to see her.

She tore open the envelope, and her joy faded.

The cold, soulless words, written in a spidery hand, were those of Lord Alderley.

In three short sentences—as if he wished to waste as little paper and ink on her as possible—he informed Meggie that he and Elizabeth intended to visit Molineux Manor, ‘in order to discuss a business matter and further family relations.’

Did he think her a simpleton? He’d made it plain on her wedding day that he despised her and loathed her husband.

Mrs. Wells entered the room.

“Was that a letter from the master?” she asked. “Is he coming?”

“It was from my father,” Meggie said. “He’ll be staying for a few days.”

“When?”

Meggie picked up the letter and reread the words as if she could will them to say something else.

“He arrives in a fortnight.”

“Then we’d best get the place ready, Mrs. Hart,” the housekeeper said, “and you must write to the master as soon as you can. He’ll want to be with you when they arrive, won’t he?”

Meggie set the letter aside.

Three sentences on a piece of paper. That was all it took to shatter the illusion that Meggie could feel as if she could be happy here.

She would have to endure the company of the man she thought she’d never have to see again—the man who had sold her to his enemy. And she’d have to play hostess to the woman who looked down on her—the woman who’d boasted, with such relish, of her conquests, past, and future, of Meggie’s husband.

In one aspect, Mrs. Wells was right. Meggie’s husband would want to be here.

But not for her.

Chapter Fifteen

Dexter turned the letter over in his hand and read the bland, soulless words on the page.

But did he expect any different from Daisy? She might be happier than she would have been had that wastrel not abandoned her, but by refusing to pay the man, Dexter had brought about that abandonment.

And she still blamed him.

He fingered the scar on his chin. A mere echo of the marks on his back, but administered by the same hand, albeit some ten years later. It served to remind him how he’d let Daisy down.

He picked up his pen and held it over a blank sheaf of paper. What could he say to her? He wasn’t a man of feeling. Any expression of regret penned by his hand, she’d view as insincere. And the last time they’d spoken, Daisy had made it clear she never wished to set eyes on him again. The shame of her situation had been too much, and she’d imposed herself in exile until she had been saved—by a better man than her brother.

If he delved into the deepest recesses of his heart, he might discover that he was capable of love. But love—even for a sister—was a weakness that could be exploited.

Something compelled him, this time, to write a few words of affection. Perhaps an inquiry after her health. He wrote a sentence, then almost immediately scrunched the paper into a ball and tossed it on the floor. He picked up a clean sheaf and scribbled a few words.

Dear Sister,

Herewith I enclose two pounds.

Yours,

Dexter

Soulless and practical, but money was all he had to give her. He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out two notes, and folded them together with the letter. After scribbling the directions on an envelope, he set it aside and rang the bell.

Soon after, Charles appeared.

“Post this for me, please,” he said.

“Very good, sir.”

“Are there any letters?”

“Just the one.” The footman handed Dexter an envelope, then bowed and left.

The hand which had penned the directions was unfamiliar—a neat, cursive style, devoid of unnecessary flourishes. He traced the shape of the words, then tore open the envelope.

The letter was from his wife. Her penmanship was remarkable, considering her background.

He gave a little sigh. His origins weren’t that different to hers, save for the fact that he’d been born on the right side of the blanket. Surely, he wasn’t turning into a snob?

He read the first paragraph.

“Damn!”

The curse slipped out before he could prevent it.

She had invited Alderley to stay and was demanding Dexter join her in the country as soon as possible. He slammed the paper on the desk.

She was her