Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,68

in concentration. “Ah, yes! December the fourth 1822. Your lip twitched a little. I believe it was reported in the Times.” He grinned. “Then there was the momentous occasion in the Spring of 1823. An unconfirmed report of both corners of your mouth lifting. That report, I believe, made it as far as the Dundee Courier.”

“That’s enough, Pelham,” Dexter said.

His friend laughed. “I jest because it pleases me to see your content. I rather suspect you’ve discovered the secret which few are party to?”

“Which is?”

“That a man can fall in love with his wife.”

“I want her to be happy here,” Dexter said. “She has no friends to speak of.”

“She’s found one friend at least. My Anne seems quite taken with her,” Pelham said. “There’s your sisters, also, and of course, she’ll have children to occupy herself with.”

“Children?”

Pelham grinned. “You have the look of a well-served husband, and she, the satisfied wife. I’ll wager you’ll soon be announcing a new arrival. As it is…” he lowered his voice, “…Anne informed me this morning that I’m to be a father again. And take it from me, there’s nothing more glorious than a woman with child.”

“Congratulations,” Dexter said.

“I look forward to the day when I can rename my business Pelham and Sons. Perhaps the same will happen to you.”

Hart and Sons…

Dexter watched his wife, taking in her delicate curves concealed beneath her skirts. Might she be carrying his son, even now? At that moment, she turned her head and laughed at something Anne Pelham said, her face illuminated with mirth. How might she look when she gave him a child?

The two women seemed as thick as thieves, and it was more than Dexter could have hoped for. He found himself regretting his estrangement from Daisy. Of all his sisters, she was the most like his wife in temperament.

As Pelham rattled on, Dexter watched his wife. All of a sudden, she stiffened. Hardly noticeable, but he’d learned to spot the signs of distress. He quickened the pace and caught up with her. Anne Pelham was describing her lapdog, most likely in an attempt to foist one of the smelly, yappy little creatures onto Meggie. But though Meggie nodded and responded, her attention was diverted. She was staring across the Serpentine.

A solitary man stood on the bank opposite, leaning against a tree, hands thrust into his pockets. He stared across the water toward the two women. His features were concealed in the shadow of the brim of his hat, but Dexter could make out a sly smile on his lips.

“Mrs. Pelham, I trust you’ll not bully my wife into taking one of your dogs,” he said.

Meggie jumped at his voice, and her gaze darted from Dexter to the man opposite the river.

“My dear?” he prompted.

“N-no, of course not,” she said.

“Mr. Hart, I must protest,” Mrs. Pelham said. “A lady needs a companion when her husband is absent, and who better than a dog? He is, after all, a better proposition for maintaining a happy marriage than a lover. Besides, I’ve already issued an invitation to take tea with me tomorrow and meet Lady Guinevere’s litter. You wouldn’t have me be so ungracious as to rescind my invitation, would you?”

Margaret colored and fixed her gaze on the ground.

“My dear,” Dexter said, “I have no objection if you’d like a dog or if you wished to visit Mrs. Pelham tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She glanced across the water, then smiled, relief in her eyes. Dexter followed her gaze.

The man had gone.

Who was he, and why had he discomposed her so?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After spending the afternoon with Mrs. Pelham, who insisted she call her Anne, Meggie returned with a small bundle of fur in her arms. One puppy had stood out from the rest of the litter. Smaller and more subdued than its siblings, the little creature had lifted its gaze to her, a silent plea in its soft brown eyes.

And her heart was lost.

“Welcome home, ma’am,” the footman said, taking her shawl.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“We have a visitor,” he continued. “I took the liberty of placing him in the parlor.”

Him…

Her chest tightened, and she almost dropped the puppy as a wave of apprehension rippled through her.

“Here, ma’am, let me help you.” The footman reached for the dog. “Shall I find a basket for him while you see to your guest? I’m sure Mrs. Draper will be able to find a blanket or two.”

“My guest?” she squeaked, panic rising.

“I told him the master was not at home, ma’am, and he said he