My Highland Rogue Page 17

  The girl she’d been, sweet and perhaps naive, would have retreated to her room with hurt feelings. However, she’d had five years of experience to fall back on. Gordon had come back into her life. She wasn’t going to let him walk out of it again. If he had any issues with her, if he was angry or annoyed, he was simply going to have to tell her what was wrong. She was not going to accept either silence or his absence again. He was too important to her happiness.

  For the next hour she saw to her hostess duties, all the while hoping that Gordon would reappear. She didn’t get her wish, but at least the guests at this gathering were replete with food, stories, and enough whiskey to make them wish that they hadn’t raised their glass for another toast.

  She escaped for a few moments to check on Lauren. Mrs. Farmer had told her—at excruciating length—that a gentlewoman, especially a countess, did not leave her bedroom after giving birth for at least two weeks.

  She didn’t tell the midwife that her mother hadn’t followed such an arbitrary rule. She’d heard stories of how Mary had arrived back at Adaire Hall carrying her. A combination of bad weather, a ruined road, and a broken wheel had kept her parents stranded at a friend’s house. Instead of being born at the Hall, Jennifer had been born near London. However, her mother had always told her that it didn’t make her any less of a Scot.

  Mrs. Farmer was, unfortunately, still as jealous a guardian as she had been before Mary’s birth. Jennifer had been given strict instructions that she wasn’t to disturb the countess with any distressing news. Nor was she to ask any intrusive questions. She was to treat Lauren as if she were a delicate flower, easily bruised.

  From what she’d seen, Jennifer didn’t think that a delicate flower could survive childbirth, but she was careful not to say that to Mrs. Farmer.

  She made her way to Lauren’s bed, and despite the midwife’s frown, sat on the edge of the mattress. Lauren had insisted that Mary’s cradle be beside her, and Mrs. Farmer had grudgingly allowed such an arrangement. Lauren had also insisted on nursing her own child. Jennifer couldn’t quite tell if Mrs. Farmer agreed or disagreed with such a decision. The woman’s face underwent a series of expressions each time she lifted Mary out of her cradle and delivered her to Lauren.

  “You’ve come at the perfect time,” Lauren said with a smile. “Mary’s just gone down for a nap. Her tummy is full and her nappy isn’t.”

  Lauren had always been a pretty girl, but giving birth had bestowed on her something, a quality Jennifer found difficult to describe. Perhaps it was radiance.

  “I think she must’ve gained a great deal of weight already.”

  Tradition dictated that a baby was never weighed before her first birthday, so it would be a mystery until then. The baby did look extraordinarily healthy with a boisterous set of lungs.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Lauren smiled. “I’m always hungry lately,” she said.

  Jennifer went to the door, opened it, and waved two maids inside. She had prepared a tray for not only Lauren, but Mrs. Farmer. She’d also provided a selection of beverages. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Mrs. Farmer chose whiskey and Lauren opted for ale.

  “Thank you for thinking of us,” Lauren said.

  The midwife unbent enough to add her thanks to Lauren’s.

  “Have you seen Harrison today?”

  Lauren’s face changed, ever so slightly, but it was enough to tell Jennifer what she needed to know. The baby hadn’t changed Harrison’s character. It was one thing to ignore an infant. Mary wouldn’t know of her father’s desertion—but Lauren?

  “He’s in the Clan Hall,” Jennifer said, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Farmer.

  Regardless of how Harrison behaved, Lauren would be a good mother, and Jennifer would be a good aunt. The newest Adaire wouldn’t notice for a while that her father didn’t seem to care for her.

  Who did Harrison care about, besides himself?

  Jennifer spent a while in conversation with Lauren and Mrs. Farmer before returning to the celebration in the Clan Hall.

  Her brother was still in the corner, playing laird to a nonexistent clan. It suited him, just as it did to dress up in the Adaire tartan from time to time, as if to remind everyone exactly who he was.

  “Where’s the bereaved son?” he asked her, surveying the crowd.

  She estimated that there were still at least a hundred people in the Clan Hall, even though it had been hours since the men had returned from the churchyard.

  “He isn’t here. Why, do you want to cause a scene with him?”

  “I want him gone, Jennifer.”

  She deserved some say in what happened at the Hall. She’d served as its factor, steward, and chatelaine for the past five years without recognition or thanks. When she said as much to her brother, he sent her a quick look.

  “Bored, Jennifer? Prefer to have your lover in residence? Don’t worry. We have some new stable boys who might interest you.”

  She took a deep breath and told herself not to respond. Harrison’s coarseness had always been a goad. Conversation with him was often a blood sport.

  “What? No rejoinder? Have you already sampled them?”

  “Must you be so horrible, Harrison? On this occasion?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jennifer, but this is my home. Not yours. You live here on sufferance.”

  She always had, a comment she didn’t bother to make.

  Did he never give any thought to who would do the quarterly allowances if she didn’t? Who would do the accounts? Who would ensure that the repairs to the Hall were made so that the bricks didn’t fall down around their heads? Who would perform the inventory, instruct the housekeeper, meet with the majordomo and the stable master?

  Harrison had no concept of how things ran. He probably thought that elves came out of the woodwork or brownies worked after midnight to polish the silver and clean the floors.

  “Have you seen your wife today? Or your daughter?”

  “Calling me to account, are you? A clever way to deflect from the point of this conversation, sister. However, I won’t be questioned by you. See that he’s gone. I would hate to have to escalate the issue.”

  Harrison was capable of doing anything. He believed himself to be a prince and Adaire Hall his kingdom.

  “You really don’t have any humanity, do you?”

  “For McDonnell? Why should I? He’s been spoiled, Jennifer. Someone should have pointed out to him exactly who he was. The gardener’s boy. That’s it. Nothing more.”

  “I would worry about your own behavior, brother. You haven’t seen Lauren today, have you? Have you even seen your daughter? Or do you intend to ignore them completely?”

  “I should like to know the answer to that question myself.”

  They both turned to see Hamish Campbell standing behind them, flanked by his two bespectacled secretaries, young men who rarely smiled but were assiduous in their note-taking.

  Jennifer had only seen the man a few times, the first at Harrison’s wedding. She didn’t doubt that he would have been here more often if he hadn’t been in America. The minute he’d heard that his daughter was about to become a mother, however, he’d changed his plans and booked passage home.

  If nothing else, Hamish should be an example to her brother.

  Mr. Campbell was short, stocky, and possessed a face that regrettably reminded Jennifer of an English bulldog. Yet what he lacked in physical charisma, he made up in genuine charm. She, herself, had been the object of his interest at the wedding dinner. She had the feeling that he’d wanted to assure himself that she was sufficiently proper company for his daughter.

  “How is Lauren?” he asked, turning from Harrison to Jennifer. “She wrote me, Lady Jennifer, and said that you were instrumental in her happiness. I thank you for that.”

  Jennifer felt a little odd. “Lauren is a friend of mine. We do what we can to help our friends.”

  He nodded. “That we do, Lady Jennifer. That we do
.”

  He’d insisted on calling her Lady Jennifer despite the fact that she had urged him to dispense with the honorific.

  “If you will tell me where my daughter is, I will leave you to your celebrations,” he said.

  Jennifer stepped forward and placed her hand on Mr. Campbell’s arm. “I’m afraid it’s not a celebration, sir, but a funeral supper.”

  “My apologies, then.”

  Jennifer told him about Sean as they walked up the stairs to the earl’s suite. She glanced behind her to find that Harrison hadn’t followed them. What was her brother thinking? Didn’t he realize that Mr. Campbell was teetering on the edge of full-blooded anger?

  She almost wanted to warn him, but then thought about what he had said. Perhaps it was time for people to stop protecting Harrison from himself. It was time he reaped what he sowed, and if that was Mr. Campbell’s anger, then so be it.

  Mr. Campbell, as a successful industrialist, was no doubt a financial genius. However, he didn’t have as tight a rein on his temper as he did his empire, especially where Lauren was concerned. Over the past several months, Jennifer had exchanged several letters with Mr. Campbell, all of them centered on his daughter’s welfare. She’d hurried to assure him that Lauren was healthy and that Mrs. Farmer had made several visits to Adaire Hall to assure herself of that fact as well.

  After entering the earl’s suite, Jennifer witnessed a reunion that brought tears to her eyes. It was evident that Hamish Campbell was overwhelmed with love, not just for his daughter, but his new grandchild.

  That little girl was not going to lack for anything, at least if her grandfather could provide it. Hopefully, that would make up for her father’s indifference.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What’s the bastard doing here?”

  Jennifer looked up at Harrison, shocked. He rarely showed up for breakfast, but he’d evidently made an effort because of Mr. Campbell. Not much of an effort at that, because he looked as if he’d slept in his clothes and hadn’t yet shaved. He employed a valet, but he’d probably left the man in London. Or else Ellen had refused to bring him in her carriage. She wouldn’t put that past her godmother. Ellen was exceedingly determined when she wished to be.

  Jennifer nodded to one of the maids and the girl rushed to put another place setting on the table. Thankfully, Mr. Campbell had already eaten and she’d had a tray taken to Lauren.

  “Are you referring to your father-in-law?”

  “Unless there’s some other bastard who’s arrived unannounced. Adaire Hall is getting as crowded as King’s Cross station.”

  “He’s Lauren’s father. I should think that it would be perfectly understandable for him to be here, Harrison. Lauren is his daughter and Mary is his granddaughter.”

  “That’s not why he’s here,” Harrison said, kicking out a chair. He sat heavily, propping his elbows on the table. He looked as if he had continued drinking after the funeral supper for Sean had ended. “He’s here to check on me. To ensure than I’m being a dutiful husband. The bastard thinks he has the right to dictate my life.”

  “Does he know how much time you spend in London? If that’s the case, perhaps he does.”

  “You always were a disloyal bitch, Jennifer.”

  She bit back her irritation. “I’m only stating the truth, Harrison. You can’t ignore your wife for eight months and have anyone think that’s acceptable behavior.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Why do you always have to be nasty when someone calls you out on your behavior, Harrison?”

  “Because I’m tired of people telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do. Especially you, Jennifer. You’ve turned into a scold.”

  She sat back against the chair, took another sip of her tea, and tried to compose herself. Every conversation with Harrison devolved into an argument.

  “Spend a little more time home and less in London. Or gambling. Then Mr. Campbell won’t have any grounds for criticism.”

  Yes, perhaps she was a scold, but she knew what her brother was doing to Adaire Hall. The Adaire fortune he’d inherited wasn’t going to last forever, especially at the rate Harrison was going through it.

  “Why do I need Campbell criticizing me when I have you, Jennifer? You don’t know anything about my life in London.”

  She put down her cup, clasped her hands in front of her, and prayed for patience. “I know what I read, Harrison. You’re in the papers more than you should be. If Lauren and I can read about your exploits, so can Mr. Campbell.”

  She stood and put her napkin beside her plate. She hadn’t finished with her breakfast, but she wasn’t going to sit there and argue with Harrison.

  “Who do you want me to act like, Jennifer? Your precious Gordon?”

  He got up from the table and advanced on her. She wisely took a few steps toward the door. She’d seen Harrison’s temper up close, and she had no intention of being a victim of it again.

  She’d always considered her brother a handsome man, but not this version of him. It was as if all of his insecurities, all of the hatred and envy and rage he’d ever felt was compressed into the look on his face now.

  “First Gordon and now Mr. Campbell. You don’t like anyone showing up at Adaire Hall, do you?”

  “Not if they think they can dictate my movements.”

  “God forbid someone tells you what to do. You’re so much better than the rest of us, aren’t you?”

  Harrison had struck her before, when he was inebriated. At least that’s the excuse he’d given her the next day when he apologized. He’d claimed that she’d been in the wrong by goading him. The only thing she said was that he needed to watch his expenditures in London.

  Now she stood where she was and folded her arms, looking up at him and praying for courage.

  “What are you going to do, Harrison? Hit me for daring to question you? Would that make you feel better? It seems to me that it would be a hollow victory to hurt someone weaker than you.”

  He raised his fist and for a moment she thought he was going to carry through with the threat. A second later he turned on his heel and walked out of the dining room.

  Only then did she take a deep breath.

  For the first time she was grateful her mother was dead. At least she didn’t have to witness what a bully her son had turned out to be.

  Because of her actions the night of the fire in helping to save the countess, Margaret McBride had been treated as a heroine. For thirty years she’d worked directly for the countess until such time as age crept up on her and made accomplishing her duties more difficult. Since she’d been promised a place to live until the day she died, she essentially retired at Adaire Hall.

  He remembered her as a tall, thin woman with graying hair, a sharp nose, and suspicious eyes.

  He made his way to the third floor and, thanks to a friendly maid, found Margaret’s room.

  The woman sitting by the window in an overstuffed chair had aged a great deal in the past five years. Her hair, now almost entirely white, was worn in a tight bun. Her face had folded in on itself, a network of lines on top of lines. Her eyes, brown and still suspicious, focused on him.

  “Miss McBride?”

  She nodded, still studying him.

  For a moment he wondered if she could see, then if she could see well enough to recognize him. It seemed as if she could, because she glanced away from him, then back again, and then finally fixed her gaze on the view outside her third-floor window.

  “May I speak with you?”

  “You’re speaking, aren’t you?”

  Her voice was thin, as if the effort to talk took too much of her breath.

  “I’m Gordon McDonnell,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I used to live here a number of years ago.”

  She buried her trembling hands beneath the yarn in her lap.

  “Do you remember me?”

  “If I do or if I don’t, what does it matter?”

/>   She didn’t look at him. Instead, her attention was on a tree not far from the window. A squirrel ran up the branch closest to the sill, almost as if he wanted to come and visit before thinking better of the idea.

  Gordon came and sat on the edge of her neatly made bed.

  “I heard a story, Miss McBride, about something that happened after the fire. I understand that you helped save the countess and her son.”

  She didn’t respond to his comment. Nor did it look like she was paying any attention to what he was saying. Had age addled her wits?

  “Do you remember the fire?”

  She finally turned to look at him. “Of course I remember the fire. How could I forget it, Gordon McDonnell? A body doesn’t forget something like that.”

  “I imagine it was a terrible time, but you were very brave.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He could be charming when he wished, but he doubted if Miss McBride would succumb to blandishments. Perhaps the best approach was to be direct and honest with her.

  “There were two babies at Adaire Hall back then, weren’t there? The countess’s child and one born to Betty McDonnell, the wife of the head gardener.”

  “What if there were? Are you thinking that it’s unusual for babies to be born?”

  “Sean died a few days ago, Miss McBride.”

  She simply stared at him. She didn’t offer any condolences. Was the woman as cold and withdrawn as she appeared?

  Or had he frightened her?

  “He told me a story before he died. I’m trying to discover if it was the truth or not. Can you help me with that?”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m tired. Go away, Gordon McDonnell.”

  He wasn’t going to leave until he got the answers he needed.

  “You cared for the countess’s son, did you not? You were one of the few people who knew what the baby looked like, Miss McBride.”

  “I’m an old woman and all I want now is a little peace. If you were a decent man, you’d leave now.”