“Can we at least continue this conversation inside?” Dexter asked. “I doubt the residents of Croxleigh Green wish to hear our grievances.”
“Of course,” she sneered. “We must maintain appearances. It matters not what’s said or done, as long as it’s behind closed doors. Come in, though I doubt my cottage is grand enough for you and your wife. But the sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I can disappoint you and send you on your way.”
He took Meggie’s hand and followed his sister inside.
The parlor was neat and tidy, with a homely feel. Bright coverings adorned the furniture with matching curtains. Several children’s drawings lined the walls. Meggie sat in a chair and took in her surroundings, her mouth curving into a smile as she looked at the pictures.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Farrow,” she said.
“My apologies, it’s not what you’re used to,” Daisy replied.
Dexter rolled his eyes—why did his sister have to be so bloody prickly?
Meggie gave a nervous smile. “Where I grew up, we had no parlor,” she said. “My home consisted of two rooms, which I shared with three others.”
“You never told me that, Margaret,” Dexter said.
“You never asked,” she replied. “When I was moved to Blackwood Heath, we had a small parlor, but it wasn’t as comforting as your sister’s.”
“Why has Dexter brought you here?” Daisy asked. “Does he want to show you how far he’s risen in the world?”
“You’ve hardly fallen, Daisy,” he said. “John’s a businessman, as am I. Therefore, we are equals.”
“Equals!” she scoffed. “All you do is send money with impersonal little notes as if I were a dirty secret. Admit it, Dexter—you’re ashamed of me, and you always have been. Which is why you strove to marry a woman like her.”
She gestured toward Meggie. “How much did you get for this one?” she asked. “You once said you’d take no woman for less than thirty thousand and a title. A perfect heiress for my perfect brother—not like the sister who disgraced the family.” She turned to Meggie. “I trust you were worth it, Mrs. Hart, for your sake. I know better than anyone what it’s like to suffer Dexter’s disappointment.”
Dexter jumped to his feet.
“For heaven’s sake!” he roared. “Say what you like about me, but I’ll not let you insult my wife! If you must know, Margaret has no fortune, no title, and was brought up in disgrace. I was duped into marrying her in a game of cards! Does that give you satisfaction?”
Daisy folded her arms. Some of the fight had gone from her eyes.
“You’ve insulted your wife more than I,” she said. “No woman wishes to be told that she was wagered in a game of cards, or that her husband was tricked into marrying her.”
He glanced at Meggie, whose cheeks were flaming.
Christ! Why had he been so foolish! But Daisy always had the ability to get under his skin and drive him to act on impulse.
“Does my brother speak the truth?” Daisy asked.
Meggie nodded and gave a rueful smile. “I’ve learned enough of your brother to know that he always speaks the truth, often to the detriment of himself and everyone else.”
The corner of Daisy’s mouth twitched into a smile, and Dexter caught a glimpse of the sister he had lost.
“Then let me apologize on his behalf,” she said.
Meggie returned the smile. “There’s no need. There’s something refreshing in brutal honesty. I have learned that your brother’s rather…” she gave Dexter a saucy glance, “…savage exterior, conceals a good heart.” She lowered her voice. “Of course, it’s not a discovery I’m inclined to share with the rest of the world.”
Daisy flicked her gaze from Meggie to Dexter. “Ha!” she cried, smiling. “I believe you may have met your match, Dex. Are you happy with her?”
“Very,” Dexter replied. “I trust you’re as happy as I am. How is John? Is he well?”
“He is,” Daisy said, “but he misses his best friend.”
“Oh!” Meggie cried. “The baker! So that’s why you’re so proficient at making bread.”
Daisy folded her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re employed in your kitchen, brother.”
Footsteps approached, and a man’s face appeared at the door.
“I thought I heard voices.” His eyes widened as he recognized Dexter.
“Good God!” he cried. “Dex!” He rushed forward, arms outstretched. Dexter rose to his feet, and his old friend drew him into an embrace and clapped him on the back.
“It’s been too long, Dexter,” he said. “Far too bloody long.”
“Aye,” Dexter said. John Farrow—the most loyal man on earth, and the only man worthy of Daisy. How he’d missed his old friend!
John released him and wiped his hands. “Begging your pardon,” he said, glancing at Meggie. “Dex, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“John, this is my wife, Margaret,” Dexter said. “Meggie, my dear, this is my old friend.”
John bowed before Meggie and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“Margaret,” Meggie said, shyly. “You must both call me Margaret. After all, I’m your sister, aren’t I?”
John and Daisy exchanged glances, then he nodded.
“Will you stay for supper?” he asked. “I’m sure we have enough to stretch.”
Daisy colored and looked away. Dexter recognized the shame of a woman struggling to make ends meet.
As usual, his compassionate little wife took the helm.
“How about we all dine at the Croxleigh Arms?” Meggie suggested.
“I don’t know…” Daisy began, but Dexter interrupted her.
“Please, Daisy,” he said. “Just one meal. Then, if you wish it, we won’t impose on you again. My wife wanted so much to meet you, and I…I find I miss you.”
“Very well,” she said crossly. “I’ll have to ask Mrs. Weatherby to keep an eye on Rosie, but I dare say she won’t mind. But don’t expect me to dress up in finery, brother. I cannot afford to indulge in silk.”
Her words might be harsh, but her voice had softened. Perhaps, in time, he may find the sister he’d lost.
***
Dexter stretched out on his back and studied the ceiling. The Croxleigh Arms dated back to Tudor times. He considered the beams which crossed the ceiling, following the uneven, parallel lines.
The bed shifted, and his wife stretched and yawned. He captured her arms and pulled her on top of him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her little buds peaked against his skin.
She squirmed and parted her thighs until he felt her warm, sweet flesh against him.
“Meggie, you’re a temptress,” he said. “I vowed not to ravish you here, but, by God, woman, you’re enough to tempt any man to sin.”
She grinned and squeezed her thighs against him.
“Witch!” he hissed. “Do you want them to hear you scream my name?”
She pouted, and he thrust his hips upward. She squealed with laughter, and he rolled onto his side, taking her with him. She snuggled into him and placed her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed.