My Highland Rogue Page 8

“We should go,” he said reluctantly sometime later.

  “Must we?”

  He’d pulled her onto his lap and that’s where she was now, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

  He didn’t want her to move. Nor did he want to stand and walk back to the Hall. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted.

  However, it was past dawn. The Hall was waking up. No doubt most of the servants were awake.

  When he said as much, she answered with a sigh, “I have been exceedingly proper for five years, Gordon. I now want to be exceedingly improper.”

  Gordon stood, bent, and kissed her, then held Jennifer in his arms. “I don’t want to leave, either, but I have to go see Sean.”

  “And I have a list of tasks to be accomplished,” she said, wrapping one arm around his waist.

  He bent to kiss her again, then resolutely headed back. At the fork in the path they separated, him for the gardener’s cottage, and Jennifer for the Hall, just like they’d done for years.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gordon would go and do his duty to his father, however much Sean wouldn’t appreciate it. He might even take his carriage into the village and visit the church. He’d take some of the late blooming flowers and place them on Betty’s grave. He could say a few words of regret. Not that he hadn’t been the son she wanted, but that she hadn’t seen anything good about her life.

  The day was a cold one with a wind blowing through the strath and into his bones. When he was a child, autumn was his favorite season. Now it was spring. Autumn seemed to him to be a slow dying of the earth, the withering of leaves, the chill in the air until breathing was nearly unbearable, and the crunch of ice on the grass in the mornings. Spring was rebirth, the reemergence of life in the form of the foxes from the burrows and the plants from the soil. Spring was a promise that however much it seemed the earth had died in winter, it came back again and would continue to do so for eons.

  A mist flirted with the ground, climbed to his knees, then subsided as he walked. In time the morning sun would burn off the mist, and maybe they’d see a blue sky. Either that or the gloom of the dawn would continue.

  On days like today he always occupied himself with as many tasks as he could. That was always the best way to prevent the weather from having an impact on his mood. Today, however, there were no tasks he could set himself, other than sitting vigil at Sean’s bedside.

  When he opened the door, Sally was already bustling around the cottage. A teapot was sitting in the middle of the square table beneath the window. She smiled brightly at him when she said good morning, then pointed to the teapot.

  “Have yourself a cuppa,” she said. “Sean’s already had his first and is tucking into his breakfast.”

  “How is he feeling this morning?”

  Her smile was brighter than the shy sun.

  “I think your being here has made a world of difference, Gordon. He’s better than I’ve seen him in weeks. In fact, he wants to get out of his bed again and come sit in the front room.”

  Instead of making himself a cup of tea, he entered Sean’s room, standing at the doorway. Sean was propped up in bed with two pillows behind his back. In front of him was a tray of plates filled with food. Sally was right, Sean had a great deal of interest in his breakfast and it took a few moments for him to look up.

  “I hear you’re feeling better today. That’s great news.”

  “Aye, that I am.”

  “And the pain?”

  “Better, but not gone.”

  Gordon wasn’t fool enough to think that the improvement would be permanent. Nor did he believe that it had much to do with his appearance. If anything, it was probably that Sean had been given a distraction to take his mind off his condition.

  “We could play cards today, if you’ve a mind to.”

  Sean tilted his head a little and studied him. “It’s cards that got you in trouble with McBain as I recall.”

  “I didn’t take anyone’s money, Da. They gambled and lost. I won.”

  “McBain always said you cheated. Is that true?”

  “Never. Not once. I had no need to cheat. I was just better than they were.”

  He returned his father’s look, then said, “Besides, that’s not what got me into trouble with McBain. You and I both know it. It was Jennifer.”

  Sean nodded. “But you don’t still have that foolishness in you.”

  He wasn’t going to discuss Jennifer with his father.

  “I’m going to return to the Hall and have my own breakfast. I’ll come back afterward.”

  “Do as you wish.”

  He nodded, wondering what had soured Sean’s disposition in a matter of moments. Or maybe it was his fault, seeing an earlier warmth that hadn’t really been there.

  Ellen thanked God all the way out of London that she was not Harrison Adaire’s godmother. Thankfully, Mary had chosen another one of her close friends for that dubious honor. Ellen spared a thought for the poor dear woman, now dead.

  Mary had been an exemplary mother to both her children. Although the last part of her life had not been easy, Ellen couldn’t be grateful for her friend’s death. There were too many times that she’d said to herself, “Oh, I must tell Mary this.” Or: “I must write Mary about this immediately.” Only to be brought up short as she remembered that Mary was no longer alive.

  They’d been sisters, of a sort. They’d embarked on their season together. Ellen’s father had been wealthy enough to give his daughter a certain cachet. The same had been true for Mary’s family. Neither one of them were at the height of the matrimonial market that year. They were neither heiresses nor raving beauties. Mary had gone on to fall in love with an earl and become a countess, while Ellen had a less positive outcome to her failed social season.

  Her parents had become involved with the Church of Scotland to a fanatical degree in their later years. What had been normal they now considered sinful. Therefore, she was withdrawn from any further social events, her wardrobe changed for anything dark brown and dull looking, and her friends told her that she could no longer associate with them. Within a month or two she was a pariah to everyone. Of course, she’d rebelled, but only secretly.

  Mary had stood firm against her parents. By that time, she was a countess with some influence. She’d possessed the type of loyalty that’s spoken about in war dispatches. For that reason, Ellen couldn’t turn her back on Harrison now, no matter how irritating, annoying, and bothersome the man was being.

  Ellen had sent Abigail directly home from London because her maid never enjoyed the visits to Adaire Hall. It was simply easier to send her back to Edinburgh by train to pout by herself.

  As for Harrison, she recognized a fellow traveler on the road to self-destruction. She’d traveled that thoroughfare herself, resulting in disastrous consequences. Mary had saved her there, too.

  For most of the journey Harrison had sat slumped in the corner of the carriage, his hat pulled low over his face. For all she knew he was leveling disgusted looks in her direction. He had already told her exactly what he felt.

  “I don’t know what you did, Ellen, but I would appreciate it if you would refrain from interfering in my life.”

  “I wouldn’t have to, if you remembered certain salient facts about that life, Harrison. Namely, that you’re a husband and soon to be a father. Your presence in that role is required.”

  “Why? I can’t birth the babe.”

  She closed her eyes and prayed for patience, deciding then and there that there was no point trying to engage Harrison in any semblance of adult conversation. Nor in talking to him until he was sober. The man was disagreeable, surly, and was behaving like a twelve-year-old.

  Ellen had stayed at the Hall for weeks in order to help Mary when Harrison was only two weeks old. In that terrible time, they hadn’t even known if she would survive. Alex was distracted by his wife’s fight for life, leaving Harrison in the care of a wet nurse.

  She hadn’t known anything abou
t infants at the time. All Ellen had done was cuddle the baby after he’d been fed and consulted the doctor who came nearly every day to care for Mary.

  She vividly remembered the day that Mary was finally well enough to sit up in her bed. Ellen had taken her child to her, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding Harrison close so that Mary could touch him. The burns on her friend’s face and arms had been terrible, stripping Ellen of her composure. She’d sat there with Harrison in her arms, tears flowing down her face, grateful that Mary couldn’t see her. Alex had had to step out of the room. She’d watched him leave, thinking that women were stronger, sometimes, than men.

  Mary had survived, although she never regained most of her sight. The burns had faded somewhat over the years, making her arms and face look almost like dough when it was being kneaded.

  Ellen had never told Harrison that she’d cared for him when he was only a few weeks old. Nor had she ever confided in him that his mother was, to her, the bravest and most inspirational person she’d ever known.

  Now she glanced at him and wondered why he’d become the antithesis of everything Mary had been. Was it his father’s heritage? Alexander Adaire had always appeared to be a strong man. Perhaps too strong in many instances, but he was dependable, honorable, and decent, to both his family and those who relied on him. When he died after being thrown from a horse, Harrison was only five. Hardly old enough to assume the mantle of responsibility becoming the Earl of Burfield had thrust on him.

  He was not up to the task even now.

  Harrison hadn’t taken much from either of his parents. He was a dilettante, on his way to becoming a sot, a gambler, an adulterer, and a wastrel, for all that he was the sixth Earl of Burfield. She didn’t respect him one jot. Nor did she like him, but he was still Mary’s son, and for that reason she would ensure that he did his duty. At least she would get him home so that he would be there when his child was born.

  Chapter Twelve

  A little before noon, Jennifer headed for the cottage.

  She wished the day didn’t hint at sorrow. Or winter. Too many wintry days were like this one, gray and dull without a hint of the sun. She wanted the world to explode into color, the yellows, reds, and oranges of a typical Highland dawn. She wanted to see a blue sky, clear of clouds or hints of rain. Most of all she wanted to hear the birds, now strangely silent as if they waited for something precipitous to happen.

  When she got to Sean’s home, she could see Gordon through the window, talking to a smiling Sally. Her heart eased a little. Sally wouldn’t be smiling if Sean was worse or had spent a bad night.

  Her palms were damp even though the morning was cold. She tucked her hands underneath her arms for a moment, grateful that she’d worn her cloak.

  When the cottage door opened, she stepped forward, chastising herself for her shyness. As a girl she’d been braver. She’d pushed her boundaries just as Gordon had shoved against his. They’d been rebels together, but never with each other. They’d constructed a bubble around the two of them, a protective shield that no one could penetrate.

  She’d missed him those five years, so desperately that the ache of it lingered even now.

  He looked up, his attention no longer on the path.

  “Jennifer?”

  She smiled. “Gordon.”

  “Did you come in search of me?”

  “I did.”

  He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers beneath his coat. Plain clothing, but he’d never looked as handsome.

  She didn’t move as he came even closer. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his shirt. She couldn’t help smiling at him. The world was suddenly a beautiful place. Who cared about the weather?

  She wanted to throw herself into his arms and hug him as she had so many times. Once he would have embraced her, then they would have kissed. After this morning, however, she knew that once she started kissing him, she wouldn’t want to stop.

  He didn’t move. Nor did she. Finally, she stepped back, sending him a tremulous smile.

  “Are you ready for lunch?”

  “I am,” he said. “Let me get my coat.” A moment later he held out his arm for her and she took it. Together, they headed back to the Hall.

  Jennifer pulled him into the kitchen to introduce him to the new cook. Then she gave her the ingredients for a treat they’d devised as children, a cross between tablet and shortbread.

  “Could you make that for us, Doris?”

  “Aye, I could, Miss Jennifer. Is it something you’ll be wanting for today?”

  “Most definitely for today,” Jennifer said. “Isn’t it the most marvelous, glorious day, Doris?”

  The cook smiled at them. It seemed to him that everyone was smiling in their direction. He took it as a sign that Fate itself recognized that a terrible wrong had been righted.

  They ate their lunch together, the meal punctuated by laughter.

  Jennifer sat next to him, her chin propped on her hand, her breakfast forgotten as he told her about his rise in London. She hadn’t looked away since he began his story.

  “I didn’t want to waste your mother’s bequest,” he said. “It had to count for something, so I considered it my principal. I always repaid it so that it didn’t get smaller.”

  She reached over and grabbed his hand as if she wanted to ease his circumstances all these years later.

  He told her his plans for the future on land he’d already purchased. His newest music hall, currently being designed by an architect, would rival the Alhambra. He employed over three hundred people. The responsibility to ensure their salaries continued uninterrupted was a constant pressure, yet he seemed to thrive on it.

  Jennifer stood and walked to the sideboard. She took a plate from the stack, then replaced it, picked up a cup then put it back. He watched her, wondering if he’d said something to disturb her.

  “Look what you’ve accomplished in only five years, Gordon. No one knowing you would be amazed. My mother certainly wouldn’t be. She’d say something like, ‘I always expected it of Gordon.’”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “Of course not, but in comparison I’ve done absolutely nothing. You’ve built an empire while my life has remained the same. No, if anything it’s gotten smaller. I think my life has been incredibly dull compared to yours.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because I did nothing,” she said. “Other than a few trips to Edinburgh I haven’t ventured far from Adaire Hall. I’ve been its chatelaine when there was no one else, and since Lauren has been indisposed. I have no grand adventures to recall. Nothing about which I’m proud. At the very least I should have something to be ashamed about.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve kept the Hall running when Harrison was off playing in London for most of the year. I’d be willing to wager that you’re the single most important person at Adaire Hall.”

  “How did you know about Harrison staying away so often?”

  He wasn’t about to start lying to her now. “Harrison frequents the Mayfair Club. Not to mention that he has rooms there. He’s known to be voluble when he drinks.”

  “Does he talk about Adaire Hall with you?”

  He shook his head. “I only visit the club on Monday mornings. To go over the accounts. But I hear about him from my staff.”

  There was another part of that he needed to tell her.

  “I’ve been careful not to let Harrison know who owns the Mayfair, Jennifer. Nor has he figured it out.”

  “My brother is foolish, but he isn’t stupid, Gordon.”

  Harrison cared more about himself than anyone else. The man’s single-minded pursuit of pleasure blinded him to most truths.

  “Let’s just say that Harrison doesn’t care who owns the Mayfair Club. All he cares about is whiskey, cards, and women, not necessarily in that order.”

  She returned to the table and sat.

  They spent the rest of t
he day together. For the first time in years Gordon had no obligations, no duties, no responsibilities other than assisting Jennifer. Since Sean was feeling better, he didn’t feel any guilt for leaving his father alone for a time. Besides, the longer they were together, the more they clashed. That hadn’t changed in five years.

  Jennifer was rarely left alone. Everyone came to her for answers, from Robbie Stewart in the stable inquiring about the winter feed to a milkmaid who reported a problem with one of the cows. There was the secondary storeroom to unlock for Mrs. Thompson and the instructions to be given to the upper maids about removing some excess furniture and storing it in the attic. The main cistern had to be inspected because there was ceiling damage in one of the third-floor rooms and suspicion that the lead cistern had sprung a leak.

  The only place she seemed to be without someone tugging on her had been at the loch. When he mentioned that to her, she got a curious look on her face.

  “I think it’s probably because whenever anyone found me there, I was crying. So, I think the word went out not to bother me if I’d gone there.”

  He didn’t ask the reason for her tears, because he was all too afraid he was the cause. How could he ever make those years up to her? Perhaps simply by refusing to leave her again.

  In the afternoon she had to inspect the linens.

  “We have so many guest rooms. Granted, they aren’t used much now, but they once were.”

  “And you have to do this why?”

  “Because it’s good stewardship. Just like moving the sheep from one glen to another. You don’t use the same set of sheets all the time, for fear of wearing them out. Some of them were purchased from France and were very expensive.”

  “Do you have to do it? Why can’t Mrs. Thompson? Isn’t that her responsibility?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “But Mrs. Thompson can’t make decisions about what should be retired or what should be mended. In actuality, it isn’t my task at all, but Lauren’s. Nor is it something we do often, only once a year. But it’s scheduled for today, and if I don’t do it today, then that means I will have to wait until tomorrow, which means that I might not finish the inspection of the larder. We could be low on foodstuffs of a certain type. That wouldn’t please Doris.”