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Finally, he sighed. “A gin still.”
“What?”
Her mouth fell open. Of all the things for her brother—the son of a marquess—to be doing, running an illegal—and immoral—gin still was the last thing she’d guess. Why would he? Griffin had skirted the edge of impropriety before his marriage, had had rather a terrible reputation as a rake, but she knew him. Deep down he was a good man, a man who wouldn’t be doing such a horrible thing unless he were truly hard up for money, and why would he be? Their family was landed, had plenty of funds—
Her thoughts abruptly ran aground because she realized that she didn’t actually know the state of her family’s finances. She was a lady. Ladies didn’t inquire about such things—it was considered vulgar. When she’d wanted a dress, when she’d come out and needed an entirely new wardrobe, she’d never asked if they could afford it, because they could.
Couldn’t they?
Except now she remembered small things. The time Mama had suggested the less expensive striped silk rather than the embroidered. Megs had liked the color of the stripe better anyway—a lovely rose—so she hadn’t thought much about it at the time. And then there had been the time the modiste had become quite snippy, insisting she hadn’t been paid yet. Mama had said it was a mistake, but what if it hadn’t been?
What if her family had been in financial straits—secret financial straits—and she’d never even known enough to ask?
“Does he still have that business in St. Giles?” she asked Godric in a very small voice.
“No.” He shook his head at once. “He closed it—actually it burned just before he married Lady Hero.”
She nodded, feeling deflated. “I’m glad. But if he needed money, how does he make it now?”
“I don’t know,” Godric said gently. “We haven’t been exactly on speaking terms the last couple of years. However, I’m sure Lady Hero’s dowry was more than adequate to see to their needs.”
A sudden, horrible thought crossed Megs’s mind. “And my dowry? Was it adequate?”
“Your brother didn’t offer one.”
Her eyes widened. “But—”
“It’s all right.” He held out his hands, forestalling her protest. “I have more than enough money. I never needed your dowry, Megs.”
Well, she supposed she should be glad of that at least. Megs poked at the apple tree rather irritably before heaving a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t know of this before. You must’ve been terribly angry when my brother made his demand.”
She peeked at him from under her eyelashes.
He shrugged, his face gentle. “I’ve already told you: I was angry at him, yes, but never at you. It wasn’t such a hardship to marry you, after all.”
Faint praise was better than none, she supposed. Or at least she told herself that as she pressed a fingernail into the bark of the tree. “I still don’t understand. Why did he never tell me what straits we were in?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I expect he was protecting you.”
Megs had rather dark thoughts about gentlemen who believed it best to protect ladies by leaving them in ignorance. At least Godric had told her the truth about her brother and his still.
She sighed and pushed away from the tree. “I suppose I ought to go now and inquire of Daniels if my new gowns will be ready in time for the theater.”
But as she made to walk past him, he forestalled her by the simple expedient of grasping her hand.
His fingers were cool as they wrapped around hers, and she froze, looking at him before he dropped her hand again as if her warmth had burned him.
He licked his lips, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say that Godric was nervous. “I actually came out here to tell you something.”
She tilted her head in inquiry. “Yes?”
“I’ve decided”—he focused those clear gray eyes on her face—“I’d like to consummate our marriage tonight.”
SHE’D GOTTEN WHAT she’d wanted: Godric’s agreement to come to her bed. Why, then, was she so nervous at the prospect?
A wave of laughter rose from the theater audience, and Megs focused on the stage where a pretty actress dressed as a young man was strutting about. The actress turned and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder as she made some quip, and the audience roared again. Next to Megs, Hero was giggling and even Griffin wore a grin, but Godric wasn’t even smiling.
Perhaps he was as nervous as she about tonight.
