Resisting the urge to follow her, Harry raised his eyes from the cavorting kittens to Aline’s face.
“Garrow seems an odd friend for Calvert,” he observed.
“Why?” Aline sounded amused. “There’s nothing wrong with Garrow’s birth. Is this your polite way of saying I am not a fit friend for the family?”
“It depends why you pursue the friendship—to the extent of being the first guest here.”
“Joint first with yourself, Captain,” she pointed out. “And surely it is quite obvious that the friendship of the Calverts provides me with excellent standing.”
“You wish to live down the taint of the blacksmith’s forge.”
She paused with her hand halfway to the curl blowing across her eye. “I told you that? I must have drunk too much wine. Or lied.”
“For myself, I don’t consider the blacksmith parent—”
“Grandparent,” she objected gently. “My mother was the blacksmith’s daughter, my father, a nobleman of the highest birth and lowest morals.”
“Does Garrow know?”
“Why should he?” She met his gaze. “Is your discretion included in our agreement?”
“In so far as doesn’t hurt my friends.”
She smiled. “Are you warning me off, Captain?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly, and she laughed, leaning forward to touch his hand.
“Calm yourself, my hero. I have no interest in your friends.”
It was conceivable she was tired of adventuring, was here only to indulge in a little social climbing for her own and her husband’s comfort. But Harry was not convinced.
Those well-groomed highwaymen had appeared very pat after their meeting at the inn. He did not believe in coincidence. However, she betrayed no connection to them, and he decided not to make his suspicions known. He wanted to see how they played out.
As a result, when Calvert invited him to stay longer than the one night he had originally intended, he agreed. Calvert had caught him just before dinner, beckoning him into a rather masculine room that smelled faintly of brandy and tobacco. It contained leather armchairs, a display of dueling pistols, and a broken fowling-piece waiting to be cleaned.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you, old fellow,” Calvert said, waving him to a seat and pouring two glasses of sherry, “but I would count it a great favor if you would stay on here, at least until I return from London. Just to keep an eye out for Meg.”
Harry accepted the glass with raised brows. “Are you worried?”
“I’m asking a lot of her, and she can be a scatterbrained little chit.”
“Scatterbrained?” Harry said, unreasonably irritated by the description. “Even at seventeen, I’ve seen her juggle several wayward balls and bring them all safely back to earth.”
“Perhaps,” Calvert said doubtfully. “But I would be happy with another gentleman in the house playing host in my absence, which should only be for one night. Meg trusts you. So does Martha.”
“I’m honored,” Harry said skeptically, “and of course, I shall remain until Lady Calvert’s return. But won’t people find it a bit odd, my staying here when you are absent?”
“Oh, the friendship between your families is famous. The world knows you are as siblings. Look after her like a brother, de Vere, and I shall be in your debt.”
“It was always my intention,” Harry said without strict regard for the truth. It was a long time since his feelings for Meg had been brotherly, but he would, at least, look after her. He took a sip of sherry and regarded his host over the rim. “Tell me, is your concern based on the imminent arrival of Captain Garrow? When he recovers from his indisposition.”
Calvert’s smile was crooked. “Partly,” he admitted. “I’m sure the fellow will toe the line when his wife is present, but I had not planned to be from home.”
“If you trust him so little, why the devil did you invite him?” Harry demanded.
“Good question. I believe he amused me at White’s, and I asked Martha to send them a card. At least his wife can be company for Meg.”
“Difficult company when Mrs. Garrow already knows her, and you are asking Meg to play both sisters.”
“She does it very well,” Calvert said comfortably. “So does Martha.”
“I know,” Harry said. “They always did.” He set down his empty glass. “If you’ll excuse me, I should at least brush myself down before dinner.”
Chapter Seven
Meg woke to the knowledge that there was someone in her bedchamber. Martha’s bedchamber. Mathews, presumably, which was familiar enough to be comforting, so for a few moments, she lay, feeling the warmth of the early morning sun and enjoying the happy song of the birds.
Until the mattress sank under someone’s weight, and she knew without a doubt that Mathews would never commit such a sin. Her eyes flew open to see Lord Calvert, fully dressed, and sitting on the edge of her bed. Well, Martha’s bed.
“Calvert, go away!” she uttered and pushed him so hard with her feet that he was forced to stand back up. He looked comically surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I always visit Martha in the mornings. Everyone would be surprised if I did not. Besides, I am off to London and wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she said, glaring at him.
He cast her a rueful smile and turned away, murmuring, “I should be back tomorrow evening with Martha, and we shall all be clear of this nonsense.”
Meg struggled into a sitting position and dragged the covers up to her chin. “Selwyn?”
He turned back.
“I don’t think she wants anyone to go after her. I don’t think she is in London.”
Frowning, he searched her face. “I hope you’re wrong. But either way, I have to look.”
“I know.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Meg sighed, staring blindly after him. Why had Martha just vanished at this time? To punish her husband? Theirs was not, Meg knew, the happiest of marriages, but after her initial disillusion, Martha had seemed to accept her lot. What had changed?
After a few moments, Mathews came in with coffee on a tray and a brisk “good morning” on her lips.
“Good morning,” Meg returned, receiving the coffee with gratitude. “Mathews, I think I had better be Meg this morning since I imagine Martha still doesn’t rise much before midday.”
“That is true.”
“Also, I have to ask you this,” Meg said abruptly. “How has my sister been recently? Has she quarreled with his lordship?”
“Well, she’s a lady of spirit,” Mathews said excusingly. “The odd quarrel is inevitable. But it seemed to me she was more content.”
“She had…reached a better understanding with his lordship?” Meg said with delicacy.
“Or he with her,” Mathews said.
Meaning he had stopped straying? “But they quarreled before she left,” Meg pointed out.
“That is true.” Mathews sighed. “Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”