Ann Lethbridge (10 page)

Chapter Eight

J
enna paced the library. Her tea tray, which the butler had delivered a few minutes before, sat untouched on the table beside a letter she had dashed off to Mr Hughes telling him to expect her very soon.

She stopped pacing and glanced out of the window in hopes of glimpsing a messenger from Wick. It was far too soon to expect word. Mr Gilvry hadn’t been gone more than an hour. Still, she couldn’t help hoping. She kept imagining poor Mr Murray lying injured at the base of a cliff with no one to help him and she wanted to murder Mr McBane all over again. And to think she’d actually preferred the man to the others.

The door opened behind her.

She spun around. Mr Gilvry. Alone. ‘Is he with you?’

‘No. He left on the tide this morning in a boat he hired from one of the fisherman. Him and a boy.’

Her heart sank to her feet. ‘And he hasn’t returned?’

His expression was grim. ‘The tide won’t fill the harbour for a good hour or more, but I found a man who has a boat anchored in deep water. He’s going to search for him, first to the north, where we believe he went, and then south. He and his crew know these waters well. They will find him.’

‘You didn’t think you should go with them?’

‘No. They know what they are about. I would only be in the way. I thought you would like to know what I discovered.’

‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’ She looked at him standing there so tall and confident and tried to feel better. ‘I will never forgive myself if anything happens to him. Never.’

‘It is more my fault than yours. If I had not told you about the contest, it would never have entered anyone’s head to do anything so foolish.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Let us put blame where it is due. McBane set all this in motion quite deliberately.’

A small smile curved his lips, making him look more boyish, less stern. ‘I agree. The man’s a blasted troublemaker.’

‘And I am well rid of him. Would you like tea? You look as if you could use something to lift your spirits, and it is fresh. Unless you would prefer whisky?’

‘Tea would be welcome. Thank you.’

She sat down, gesturing for him to take a seat. She poured tea into a cup. ‘I suppose there is nothing more we can do.’ She handed him his cup and poured her own.

‘No. Mr Murray is a good sailor according to the man who hired out his boat. The boy he took with him knows the coast well and the seas are quite calm. He will either sail back on his own, or he will be found.’

She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Thank you for offering such comfort.’

He sipped at his tea. ‘It is no more than the truth.’

‘I think you are not a man to prevaricate.’

He set the cup in the saucer with a sharp clink of china. He pressed his lips together as he stared at the cup and saucer, so dainty in his large hands. ‘I did not speak the truth when I told you about the contest.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

He looked at her. ‘Oh, there was a contest, all right. And my brothers looked forward to it every year.’ He set the cup down on the table. ‘I did not. I hated it. The cliffs around Dunross are verra high, Lady Jenna.’ He inhaled a deep breath through his nose, the lines around his mouth deepening. ‘It was the height of them, no the birds, that sent me climbing at night.’

‘It worked, did it not?’ she said brightly, not understanding the grimness in his voice.

‘Aye, it worked. That once.’

‘But you still don’t like heights.’

He looked away as if ashamed to meet her gaze. ‘I doubt Murray is so cowardly.’

He thought he was a coward. ‘I don’t think Mr Murray has the sense to be afraid of anything.’ The words were out before she had thought about them. She’d only meant to comfort but, heavens help her, the words were probably true. She gave an uncomfortable laugh.

‘And you will marry him?’

Was that regret she heard in his voice, or were her own feelings colouring her judgement? Her own longings that perhaps if things had been different... But they weren’t. If Braemuir was to be saved, she needed to marry a man of wealth. She folded her hands in her lap. ‘If he asks, I will say yes.’

‘He’d be a fool if he didn’t.’ The resignation in his voice seemed at odds with the compliment.

She clasped her hands tighter. ‘I will never forgive myself if he has come to harm.’

‘Aye. Waiting is hard. It was the same when we were waiting for news of my brother, Drew. We were always hoping for the best, for my mother’s sake, but in his case we feared the worst.’

The change of topic seemed welcome to both of them and so she followed his lead. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He went to America on family business. He went off on some adventure—so typical of Drew—and then we heard reports of his death. There was never any proof, but after a year with no word, it was clear he wasn’t coming back.’

‘How dreadful for your family.’

He looked at her then, sorrow on his face. ‘He was our mother’s favourite. She still blames my older brother, Ian, for his death. For sending him abroad. But I blame myself, too.’

‘How could it be your fault?’

His mouth tightened. ‘I put a foolish idea in his head.’ He stood up. ‘Full of ideas, I am. None of them good. Thank you for the tea, my lady. I think I will attend to some duties in the office while we wait for news.’

She wanted to ask him to stay but she could see that their conversation had brought back unpleasant memories. They all had those. Things they would sooner not recall. Which was why she was so anxious to return to Braemuir. She had let the memories of her father’s sudden demise keep her away. It was time to face her ghosts. To return to the house she had loved as a child. Her home. Her true place in the world.

‘You will let me know as soon as there is any news?’

‘I will.’

The sound of a cart on the cobblestones in the courtyard below caused him to lift his head and listen.

Jenna ran to the window and looked down. ‘Oh, it seems we will not have to wait after all.’

‘Is it Murray?’ he asked from where he was standing.

And she understood his reluctance to come to the window and look down. ‘I believe it is. Please, stay. I asked the butler to bring him up here the moment he returned.’

Niall agreed with a nod and went to the hearth, leaning one elbow on the mantel as she returned to her seat. They were not required to wait long before a windblown and dishevelled Mr Murray was ushered in. His coat was torn, his neckcloth gone and there was a hole at the knee of his buckskins.

He gave a doleful sniffle as he bowed. ‘Lady Jenna. Excuse my appearance.’ He made straight for the fire, held out his hands to it for a moment, then turned his back on it. He sneezed and swiped at his nose with what looked like the remains of his neckcloth.

‘Thank you for sending a boat to fetch me off,’ he said. ‘I holed the boat, bringing her in to the cove. On rocks below the surface.’ His expression darkened. ‘The lad I hired as a guide lied when he said he knew that part of the coast well.’

She rose and went to Mr Murray with a smile that felt a little too bright, a little too stiff. ‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you safe and well, Mr Murray.’

He took her hand in his. His fingers were freezing. ‘Thank you, Lady Jenna. Sadly, it seems I failed. I caught nothing but a cold.’

Her heart gave a little thump of hope she did not quite understand as he stuffed a hand in his pocket, pulled out a soggy mess of cloth and held it out.

Disappointment filled his face. ‘Your egg, my lady. I’m afraid it broke when the man Gilvry sent pitched me headfirst into the boat.’

She looked down at the sticky mess of shell and broken egg in what had once been a fine lawn handkerchief, then darted a glance at Mr Gilvry whose mouth was set in a straight line.

Her heart gave a painful twist. Regret. Sadness. Longing. A handful of painful feelings.

Somehow she managed to smile at the dejected man before her. ‘The quest was to bring back an egg,’ she said. ‘There was no mention of it being whole, as I recall.’

Mr Murray looked as if he didn’t quite believe her, then his face broke out in a charmingly boyish smile. ‘You mean I won?’

‘You completed the quest, Mr Murray.’

He glanced down at himself and back at her. ‘I did, didn’t I? Capital.’ He took her hands in his. He went down on one knee. ‘Lady Jenna, will—?’

Mr Gilvry made a sound of protest and turned his back. ‘Do you not think you should wait until you are private, man?’

Mr Murray ignored him. ‘Lady Jenna, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’ He sneezed.

She snatched her hands back, looking down at his earnest expression, his reddened nose. For one mad moment she almost said no. She closed her eyes briefly. Swallowed and managed a smile. ‘Thank you for the honour you do me, Mr Murray. Yes. I will.’

Once more he sneezed.

‘I think a hot bath would be in order and a tisane,’ Jenna said. ‘Right away. Before you take a terrible chill.’

Mr Murray shuddered. ‘Good Lord, yes.’ He got to his feet and bowed. ‘Thank you, Lady Jenna. You don’t know how happy you have made me.’ On those words he hurried to the door. ‘We will talk, later. When I feel more the thing.’

‘A mustard plaster sometimes works wonders,’ she said as he disappeared.

There was an emptiness inside her. A coldness. She found she couldn’t look at Niall, not with the way the coldness seemed to rise in her throat and threaten to choke her. She went to the desk and picked up the letter she had penned earlier. ‘I wonder if you would mind delivering this note to the gypsy in the market, Mr Gilvry.’ Her voice sounded as cold as she felt. ‘I have a few words to add and it will be ready.’

‘Certainly, my lady.’

There was something wrong with her vision. A blurring. She didn’t understand it. Everything was just as she had desired. A wealthy bridegroom safely netted. A man she could manage quite easily, she thought. A wedding in the offing. She blinked the tears away and signed the note informing the vicar that she would soon be returning with a new lord of Braemuir. She folded the paper and pressed it with the seal provided. It would have looked more important with her father’s seal, but that had been left at home, waiting for its new master.

She should be rejoicing that she had at last kept her promise to her father, instead of feeling like the egg in Mr Murray’s handkerchief. Crushed. Annihilated.

She held out the letter. Heard his heavy tread as he crossed the room to take it, the creak of floorboards, the stomp of his boot heels.

‘Lady Jenna,’ he said quietly, ‘Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?’

She schooled her face into indifference and looked at him. ‘Oh, no, Mr Gilvry. I think you have done everything possible.’ She just wished there wasn’t such a cold hard lump on her chest.

‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said in a low voice filled with pain.

And when she looked at his face she saw the same pain in his eyes. The pain of regret. Regret for the wild emotions that had flared between them that must not be? Something neither of them had wanted? It did not do to dwell on such a thought. ‘Mr Murray is safely returned,’ she said around the ache in her chest. ‘And for that you will always have my gratitude.’

‘You are welcome, my lady.’ He bowed and took the letter.

* * *

The gypsy was in the process of packing up his goods when Niall arrived. ‘Do you go back to Braemuir?’ he asked.

‘I do,’ the gypsy said, his expression guarded.

Niall handed over the letter. ‘Please give this to the vicar.’ While the gipsy tucked the note into a pocket inside his coat, Niall idly poked through an assortment of hatpins on the table. ‘And where do you go after that?’ he asked.

The gypsy shrugged. ‘Where the mood takes me.’

Surprising. He’d imagined him going from one market town to the next on a regular schedule. ‘Your band is camped nearby?’

The gypsy stilled, his dark eyes unfathomable. ‘Nearby. Yes.’

Gypsies. Always suspicious. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked. Some instinct told him this man travelled alone, which was highly unusual for his race. Not that it mattered. He’d been making conversation as a way to take his mind off Jenna’s coldness. And off the regret like a lump of lead in his gut. He had no reason to feel regretful. He had done his duty. The fact that he thought Murray an idiot was immaterial. Lady Jenna had made her choice.

At least the man had acted with honour, which was more than could be said of the other two.

He picked up a silver pin that seemed to catch the light. At its head was a circle with the figure of a fairy enclosed. A pretty little thing. It reminded him of Jenna.

‘A pound,’ the gypsy said, shifting closer than was comfortable. ‘Good silver, see?’ He nipped it from Niall’s grasp and scraped it with the tip of a knife that materialised in his hand. The scratch revealed nothing but silver beneath.

But what would she want with a paltry gift from him when she was marrying a man who could give her gold and jewels?

He pulled out a handful of coins. ‘A shilling.’

‘Two,’ the gypsy said and exchanged the pin for the money.

It was probably made of brass and worth no more than a farthing or two. Niall stuck the pin into the lining of his coat and headed back to Carrick. Perhaps he would give the pin to her on her wedding day. Likely, he would not.

* * *

Niall! Thump. Thump.

Niall rolled on to his back and pressed a hand to his temple, seeking to ease the pounding in his head. But there was no ache. The yelling and the thumping must have been part of a dream. A dream that Lady Jenna was calling him. Hardly likely.

‘Mr Gilvry. Niall.’ More thumps on his door.

He shot up in bed, awake and alert. ‘Jenna?’

‘Open the door. I need your help.’

‘All right. I’m coming. Give me a moment.’ He fumbled around in the dark, found his pantaloons and pulled them on and then his shirt. He opened the door, blinking into the candle held in front of his face.

Lady Jenna stood before him fully dressed with a cloak over her arm and looking worried.

He watched her gaze take in his state of undress, the open collar of his shirt, his bare feet. The way she licked her lips and swallowed as if her mouth was dry gave him an intense feeling of satisfaction. What? Did she think he went to bed fully clothed?