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He placed the letter back in the drawer, closed, and locked it.
He’d promised to give her that baby, and he would.
No matter the cost to himself.
MEGS WOKE TO the sound of Daniels rustling in her armoire. She squinted at the window, realizing it was rather late in the morning, and as she stretched, she made her second realization. Her thighs were sticky.
Godric had made love to her last night.
She knew her face was heating. She could feel the ache of the muscles between her legs, a twinge she hadn’t felt in years, and she wished that she could’ve woken alone so that she might assimilate the changes to her life.
To her.
Fortunately, Daniels’s mind was on other matters. “We have visitors, my lady.”
Megs blinked. It couldn’t be that late. Besides, they hadn’t had any callers since coming to London. She wasn’t even sure the sitting room had been cleaned yet. “We do?”
“Yes, my lady.” Daniels frowned at a yellow brocade gown and placed it back in the armoire. “Three ladies.”
“What?” Megs sat up hurriedly. “Who are they?”
“Relations of Mr. St. John, I believe.”
“Good Lord.” Megs scrambled from the bed, feeling a bit irritated. Why hadn’t Godric told her that he’d expected family to visit? But then, knowing the state of Saint House when they’d arrived, she had the sudden idea that maybe he hadn’t known.
Good Lord, indeed.
Megs made a hasty wash while Daniels’s back was discreetly turned, using the warm water already brought up. Then she stood obediently as Daniels and one of the little maids from the home dressed her in a pink and black figured gown. It was several years old and Megs made a mental note—again—that she really needed to call upon a modiste while in London.
Daniels tutted despairingly as she dressed Megs’s hair. Usually her lady’s maid needed a good forty-five minutes to tame the springy locks. Today she was making do with ten.
“That’s enough,” Megs said, keeping her voice calm even though she wanted to run down the stairs before these relatives of Godric left in high dungeon at the state of the house. Good lady’s maids were hard to find—particularly ones who would work in the country. “Thank you, Daniels.”
Daniels sniffed and stood back, and Megs walked quickly out of her room.
The first floor was very quiet and Megs bit her lip as she descended. Had they left?
But as she made the lower level, she was greeted by Mrs. Crumb, looking as perfectly put together as always. “Good morning, my lady. You have guests waiting in the primrose sitting room.”
Megs nearly gaped. Saint House had a primrose sitting room? “Er … which room might that be?”
“The third on the left, just past the library,” Mrs. Crumb said sedately.
Megs’s eyes widened. “The one with the ball of cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling?”
Mrs. Crumb’s left eyebrow twitched. “The very same.”
“Er …” Megs bit her lip, staring at the formidable housekeeper. “It doesn’t still—”
Mrs. Crumb’s left eyebrow slowly arched.
“No. No, of course not.” Megs smiled in relief.
The housekeeper nodded solemnly. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering tea and biscuits from Cook.”
Megs nearly gaped again. “We have a cook?”
“Indeed, my lady. Since this morning at six.”
