"She has a poppet; I take it that's your work?" Merivel asked, noting the way Margaret happily dragged the toy with her.
"The sacrifice of a few stockings and some ink is well worth it," Miriam agreed. "Every little girl should have at least one dolly to her name." She moved closer and turned to watch Margaret herself, smiling faintly. "She's a handful, but charming just the same."
"That she is," he agreed readily. "I take credit for the handful part but not the charm." Merivel sighed, "Margaret, no—" and moved to pry a handful of grass from his daughter's small fingers.
Fortunately no fuss followed as the child merely blinked and rubbed one eye. Merivel dropped himself onto the lawn beside her, groaning a little as sore parts of him landed more heavily than he intended. He looked up at Miriam and gave a sigh of relief. "You've no idea, none, how exceedingly glad I am that t'is you that the king has sent. All the way here I had visions of . . . well, it matters not. At least you have a jot of common sense."
"And how do you know I have common sense?" Miriam countered, settling herself down on the other side of Margaret, who was now working determinedly to pull off one of her own little shoes. "We've scarcely seen each other but a handful of times, sir, and I could be as full of frippery as any maid of the court."
He arched an eyebrow at Miriam that spoke volumes even as he fished Margaret's shoe away from the baby girl. "And every time we have met, you have been doing something practical, unlike others I have seen. And been," Merivel added.
"True," Miriam murmured, "I cannot argue with that. Margaret, sweet, are you sleepy?"
The little girl had stretched out on the grass, kicking at the sky periodically, one shoe and one socked foot waving. Merivel cocked his head looking at her with soft eyes. "She grows so fast. It seems but yesterday my girl was barely standing and now . . ."
"And now she's racing on the green," Miriam snickered. "She is giving Mistress White a difficult time of it in the chase, which is why I offered to bring her out here on the lawns. What say you to a leash for her?"
"Is she really so fleet?" Merivel frowned. "How fast can a toddler be, after all? In three strides any grown person might overtake her easily."
"Skirts," Miriam pointed out. "Men have far more freedom to run, Merivel, and even though Margaret has a skirt, it doesn't sweep the ground. She's a quick little thing."
The quick little thing was now sleeping soundly, splayed on the grass, and Merivel plucked a blade of grass to tickle her nose. Miriam gave him a slightly disapproving look that he ignored. "She's not very quick at the moment," he observed cheekily.
"Which leaves us with a moment to speak freely sir," Miriam sighed. "Let us be frank. I am here because I am both a potential embarrassment to, and a facile reciprocation for, his Highness. You did not request me, nor did I offer to come to Bidnold, so given these circumstances it would be natural to be resented."
"I hardly think I will resent you," Merivel murmured, his gaze still on Margaret.
"Not you, but your household shall," Miriam replied calmly. "While the staff at Bidnold may be used to visitors and guests, having me arrive to take charge of your heir is bound to ruffle a few feathers."
"Will's very accepting."
"That he is, and Biddy White too, for the most part," Miriam agreed, saying nothing more. Merivel picked up on the silence and finally looked up thoughtfully.
"She has been with me since before Margaret was born; there is bound to be a certain amount of . . . protectiveness and affection in Mistress White's heart," Merivel nodded. "That cannot be forsaken."
"I agree."
"If you agree, then where lies the problem?" Merivel demanded, confused. "She is Margaret's nurse and you are her teacher for certainly she shall need both."
"Your daughter is still a babe, sir—my services as a teacher will not be needed for a few years yet," Miriam sighed, "and until then, I am . . . superfluous."
"Nonsense," Merivel assured her. "The competent are never superfluous. And as you yourself have pointed out, my daughter may be more than Mistress White can chase after at times."
Miriam pursed her mouth and spoke with more hesitation after a moment. "Merivel, I am in an awkward roost. I am a guest, not a member of the staff, nor am I in any position of influence save my birthright as cousin to the queen. I am neither your wife nor sister; in short, I have no . . . authority, and as such feel . . . useless."
"Do you need some sort of authority?" he asked, cocking his head.
Miriam laughed at this naivety. "A little, at least. It would assuredly help me put myself to work where best my talents lie, sir. At court I was free to come and go as I pleased; I had the run of the palace and the freedom to speak and direct and learn from anyone I chose, from the maids to the master of the hounds. Here, I am under your hospitality—a mere guest and although the king has made it clear I am to attend your daughter, the difficulty lies in the fact that you are not always here at Bidnold. I know that Will Gates runs your manor and staff and does an excellent job of it in your absence, but I fear friction if I speak my mind on anything other than Margaret's education." More quietly she added, "And you will be absent much of the time, I know that already."
Merivel heard the frustration in her voice and gave a slow nod, recognizing the uniquely problematic aspect of her residency. He thrust his chin out and looked towards the house, where the sight of a curious face or two at a window made him blink.
"I should make you my mistress," Merivel laughed shortly. "That would certainly provide you with all the permission you need in running my household with Will's help."
"Your mistress . . ." Miriam echoed, her voice faint and dry. "Yes, of course. A romance for the ages, no doubt."
"You have hit the heart of it, Lady Miriam. It would be in name only of course; a situation I've some familiarity with," he pointed out wryly, "but having learnt my lesson now, I assure you that I would be true to my word in this case."
"A paper second wife," she scoffed, but the faint hint of a smile touched the corner of her mouth. "I thought you were done with court intrigues, Merivel."
"If it serves a purpose," he sighed, and looked at her again. "Lady Miriam, let me be frank. I'm no great judge of women; my mistakes with them are . . . legendary. But in the time I have known you, I find you to be above all else, a practical woman. This is an undersung virtue in my estimation, and should in fact be far more prized than it is. If you desire work, then let me give you the keys to Bidnold and make you mistress here in exchange for a pledge that you will do all you can to keep it a safe haven for Margaret and a welcoming home for my returns."
Miriam looked around the gardens, and said nothing, but the soft admiration in her gaze spoke for her as she finally brought her glance back to Merivel's. "That is far more than I want, sir. All I ask is to be part of the house, not mistress over it."
"Guest or mistress," Merivel replied quietly. "For a well-born lady such as you, t'is the only choice I can offer, Miriam."
She said nothing; the truth of his comment hung between them, and finally Miriam drew in a quick breath. "Give me a few nights to sleep on your bargain then. Are you certain you have no other lady you might wish to bring to Bidnold?"
"Hundreds," he flippantly replied, and then cocked his head at her with a sad little smile. "At the moment, my days are too full for much courtship, and I find I prefer it that way."
"And you want nothing for yourself in such an arrangement?" Miriam asked softly. "Forgive my cynical turn of mind; I have been at court a long time, sir."
"I want a steady and happy household," Merivel replied firmly. "I want Bidnold to be the same sweet haven when I arrive and when I depart. Give me that, and I'll be pleased. All else is naught."
"A housekeeper," Miriam mused. "A . . . chatelaine for your castle then, although the title probably belongs to Will already. You want me to undertake all the duties of a wife with none of the obligations."
Merviel nodded. "Indeed; that seems to fit the need at hand. Is this agreeable to you?"
"I'll not be pushed," Miriam reminded him. "Give me a little time to weigh your offer. And now . . ." she rose up and bent to pick up Margaret, but Merivel was quicker, and carefully scooped his daughter up, shifting her boneless weight to his shoulder. " . . . she needs a nap and probably a good hand washing."
"Spoken like a nanny," He murmured with approval and a hint of impishness.
*** *** ***
Merivel decided that dinner was definitely entertaining. Normally he ate alone, or with Margaret at a little table just off the kitchen, but with Miriam as a guest, they all sat at the dining room table together. Margaret was willing to sit in her father's lap as long as he kept feeding her spoonfuls of applesauce between his own bites of his dinner, which consisted of braised eel and potatoes.
He managed quite well; mostly because Margaret was hungry, and he wasn't, but when she began to spit out her applesauce, Merivel wiped her face with his napkin and set her down on the floor. Immediately the puppy came over to help with the cleaning, making Margaret giggle. Across the table, Miriam said nothing, but the corner of her mouth went up fractionally, and Merivel decided that was a good sign. He rang the bell on the table and immediately one of the serving girls—Lizzie, the tall one with the faint mustache—came and got Margaret.
"I'll take her to Mistress White, then, sir," the girl murmured, dutifully hoisting Margaret up to rest on her hip.
"We'll be along shortly, after we've managed a few bites here in peace," Merivel agreed. When Lizzie and Margaret left, he turned his gaze back to Miriam. "More wine?"
"I need no more," Miriam assured him quietly. She dabbed her lips with her napkin, looking down at her half-empty plate and gave a sigh. "They're not like the ones at home."
"The eels?" Merivel asked, confused, but Miriam shook her head.
"The wines. There are sangrias that the queen imports that . . ." Miriam waved her hands and gave an apologetic smile, "They make the tongue sing, even when one doesn't say a word."
"They sound intriguing," he encouraged.
Miriam nodded quietly. "My mother's family had wineries, all through the hills east of Vila Viçosa, and I remember running along rows of vines under the summer sun. They would let us have small sips of pressings, and sometimes they'd sweeten it with honey from the hives . . ."
Merivel nodded for her to continue, and shyly, Miriam did, recounting carefree days when she ran barefoot with a pack of children in and out of the ducal castle and along the surrounding parks of her family's holdings. From the sound of it, Miriam had been a ringleader, and Merivel could easily picture her as a bossy, skinny girl directing her cousins and brothers in mock battles and games.
There was wistfulness to her recollections, and Merivel realized Miriam was a little homesick. To lift her spirits, he murmured, "You should start a vineyard here."
She shot him a startled glance. "You jest, sir."
"Certainly not," Merivel replied in good humor. "There is land aplenty, and more than enough in Bidnold's annual income from other stuffs to launch a small enterprise for you if you wish. While I cannot claim to know much about winemaking, it seems to me that you do, and if that would please you . . ."
Miriam stared at him uncertainly again, and this time when she spoke, her words held a hesitation very unlike her usual blunt self. "T'is a generous offer Sir Robert, and one that bespeaks well of your kind heart, but . . ."
"But?"
"But I cannot help to wonder what you will gain from the venture," she admitted. "My gratitude seems but a paltry return for the kindness."
Merivel laughed a little awkwardly. "Perhaps a barrel or two?"
Miriam snorted. "A bottle or two is far likelier if that at all, since England's weather is not nearly as dry or warm. This is the second enticement you have offered me in a day, and I find myself unused to such considerations, so I will say goodnight to Margaret and take my leave. Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Robert."