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For a moment there was silence as they all contemplated the mystery of Tilly’s baby’s paternity.
Then Godric cleared his throat. “How long, exactly, were you planning on staying in London, Margaret?”
Megs smiled brilliantly, even though she’d never really liked her full name—especially when it was drawled in a gravelly voice that seemed somehow ominous—for she really didn’t want to answer the question. “Oh, I don’t like to make plans. It’s so much more fun to simply let matters take their own course, don’t you think?”
“Actually I don’t—”
Good Lord, the man was persistent! She turned hastily to Moulder. “Then you’ve been managing the house all by yourself?”
Moulder’s great shaggy brows knit, causing a myriad of wrinkles to form in his forehead and around his hangdog eyes. He was the very picture of martyrdom. “I have, m’lady. You have no idea the work—the terrible job ’tis!—to keep up a house such as this. Why, me health is much the worse for it.”
Godric muttered something, the only words of which Megs caught were “laying it on thick.”
She ignored her husband. “I really must thank you, Moulder, for taking care of Mr. St. John so loyally, despite the toil involved.”
Moulder blushed. “Aw, it weren’t nothin’, m’lady.”
Godric snorted loudly.
Megs hastily said, “Yes, well, I’m sure now that I’m in residence, we’ll have the house in order in no time.”
“And exactly how long will it take to—” Godric began.
“Oh, look at the time!” Megs said, squinting at a small clock on the fireplace mantel. It was hard to tell if it still ran, but no matter. “We must be going or we’ll be late to the meeting of the Ladies’ Syndicate for the Benefit of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.”
Sarah looked interested. “At the orphanage in St. Giles you told us about?”
Megs nodded.
Great-Aunt Elvina glanced up from trying to tempt Her Grace with a bit of toast. “What is it?”
“The Ladies’ Syndicate meeting at the orphanage,” Megs said in a sort of muted shout. “It’s time we go there.”
“Good,” Great-Aunt Elvina pronounced, stooping to pick up Her Grace. “With any luck, they’ll have some tea and refreshments at the meeting.”
“That’s settled, then.”
Megs finally turned to look at her husband. His face was rather stern and she was suddenly aware that he’d been watching her.
He glanced away now, though. “I suppose you’ll all return for supper, then.”
His tone was lifeless, nearly bored.
Something inside her rebelled. He’d taken her invasion into his home and their plans to hire new servants and clean up his ratty old house without turning a hair.
She wanted to see him turn a hair.
And, more importantly, she reminded herself: baby. “Oh, no,” she purred, “I expect you’ll see us again in ten minutes.”
He turned slowly back to her, his eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
She opened her eyes wide. “You are coming with us, aren’t you?”
“I believe it’s a ladies’ syndicate,” he said, but there was a whisper of uncertainty in his tone.
“I’d like your company.” She let the tip of her tongue nudge the corner of her mouth.
And there—finally!—she saw it. His gaze flickered oh so briefly to her mouth.
