Chapter 18
Graeme
left his coach and driver behind in Edinburgh. He could travel faster alone. He rode like the hounds of hell were after him, spurred on by the anger he directed at himself. After the first few hours, though, common sense sank in. The number of inns where he could change horses between Edinburgh and Leventhal House was limited, and a worn-down mount would leave them both stranded.
Still, he kept the pace as brisk as he dared
. His wife was more than beautiful. She was spirited and strong-willed. She’d lived through something no woman, no
human
, should ever experience. What was the chance she’d take being discarded by her husband lying down? What if she’d decided to take herself right back to London, where she’d come from? Where her family might smother her, but at least they hadn’t
abandoned
her? Would his staff have written to him, or even known how to reach him, if she had?
Damn
.
Now he knew why she’d been so desperate to explain—and so afraid. He’d been too stubborn to listen. Too convinced that what he’d seen would damn their fledgling marriage. He’d sworn to love and protect, then failed at both. His nights on the road were wasted. He stopped at inns for the purpose of safety—hazards on the road were hard to see at night. As a lone rider, one misstep of his horse could be a disaster. Not to mention making himself an easy target for those who traveled outside the law. But the hours of darkness were wasted. Sleep refused to come.
By the third day, he had a good idea how Charity must feel sometimes
. He rode up to Leventhal feeling haggard and spent. Looking it, too, if the expressions on his normally-stoic staff were any indication.
He handed the reins of his weary mount to
the head groom, a man everyone called “Red” after his bright, bushy beard. “Give this one some extra oats and a good rubdown, would you?”
“Sure thing, milord.”
“Everything secure on the homefront?” he asked casually. Red was an observant man. If aught was amiss, he’d be among the first to know.
“All is well
. Something worryin’ ye, milord?”
He thought fast
. “The last inn I stayed at mentioned there’d been a couple undesirable sorts on the road in recent weeks. Just wanted to make sure no one had been bothered here.”
The
groom shook his head. “Nay, milord. Saw the remains of a campfire down by the burn a week or so ago, but whoever it was never came up to the house. Probably one of the crofters out looking for a new fishing hole.”
“Probably
. Just keep an eye on things.”
“Aye, milord
.”
He turned toward the house
. He’d had a rather silly fantasy that Charity would see him and come running to greet him, but that didn’t happen.
“Lord Maxwell
. Welcome home.” Mr. and Mrs. Saxonberry greeted him next. A raised brow from the butler sent the remainder of the staff scurrying back to their work. “You must be exhausted. Is aught amiss with the carriage?”
He shook his head
. “Nay. It should be along in a day or so. Where is she?”
Please don’t let her be gone
.
“My lord?”
“My wife. Lady Charity.” Wasn’t it obvious? “Where is she?”
“I believe she went out walking, my lord,” the housekeeper replied
. “Shall I have a meal made up for you? Or a bath?”
At least she wasn’t back in London
. Thank God. “Walking?”
“She does so, my lord, quite often.”
“Where? Is anyone with her?” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended.
“I couldn’t say, my lord
. Perhaps Miss Boyd.”
He closed his eyes
. There was no reason to worry. Grantown on Spey, after all, was hardly a hotbed of criminal activity. Nothing of interest ever happened on Maxwell lands, unless it be a too-adventurous lad getting himself stuck in the quarry.
Still
. What if she got lost, or turned an ankle? She shouldn’t be alone. What if
she
explored the quarry? Knowing Charity’s sense of adventure, he wouldn’t put it past her.
“Is she usually gone long
?” He could go after her. Run about, searching wildly. He’d look as mad as he’d accused her of being. The irony did not escape him.
The butler made a gesture that, were it anyone else, would have meant “how am I supposed to know?”
“She did not ask for a picnic basket, so I would think not terribly long, my lord.”
“If you see her return, please send her to me.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And Nathan
? Where is he?”
The housekeeper bobbed, pleased with a question she could answer to his satisfaction
. “Upstairs in the nursery, my lord. The new governess ye sent seems to be working out right nicely, my lord. Well educated, she is. Been teaching him reading, numbers, and nature. You should hear him rattle on about his lessons.”
At least he’d gotten one thing right.
Graeme went up to greet his nephew, who did indeed regale him with tales. That is, after throwing himself into Graeme’s arms for a good, long hug. Guilt pinched him again. Charity wasn’t the only one he’d treated poorly. It was time he stopped trying to perfect everything, and everyone around him, and just became the father and husband they needed.
Nathan’s enthusiasm almost took his mind off the woman he’d missed like
the very breathe that fed his lungs.
Almost
.
When he heard her footsteps outside the nursery—he recognized her
footsteps
for God’s sake—he quickly stood, eager as a schoolboy. He dimly registered the disappointment on Nathan’s face. “I’m home to stay, now, lad,” he promised. “You wouldn’t want me to ignore your Aunt Charity, would you?”
Nathan shook his head
. “I like her. She brought me Mac.”
He ruffled the boy’s hair, and slipped out the door just as Charity was about to knock.
He closed the door softly behind him. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do.
Lady Charity Maxwell, his wife of a few short weeks but the woman he would surely love forever, stood before him
. He stopped, as did she, her lips slightly parted. The two of them stood in the corridor, unmoving. He just stared at her. She stared back.
Myriad expressions flickered across her face
. He couldn’t read them. Couldn’t even begin to guess. Maybe if he’d been here, where he belonged, instead of traversing the countryside while jumping to his own damned conclusions, he’d know her better. He’d understand what she would think at a time like this. Of course, if he hadn’t done those things, there wouldn’t
be
a time like this.
If he’d thought this would be easy, he’d been mistaken
. Charity did not rush to his arms, proclaiming how terribly she’d missed him. Of course she didn’t. Instead, she eyed him warily.
He cleared his throat
. “You’ve been out walking?”
She nodded slowly
. “Most every day. I’ve begun to understand the appeal of Scotland.”
“You like it here?” he asked, unable to suppress the eagerness in his tone
. The fact that she’d not only stayed, but found his homeland appealing…he wasn’t sure what it said, but it said
something
. Didn’t it?
“I do
. I like the freedom of it, the chance to explore.”
The very thing he’d been about
to take from her. His first instinct had been to make her promise never to go out again without either himself or a guard present. Did she have no regard for her own safety? He bit his tongue, literally, knowing she would not appreciate the protective gesture no matter how heartfelt it was.
Unaware of the direction his thoughts were going, Charity went on
. “I never had that in London. Not really. Sometimes we would visit relatives in the country, when I was a child, and we would run off to play for hours on end. But the older we got, it was important to my mother that we stay in London, so my sister and I could see and be seen.”
“Not an uncommon preoccupation for a mother
.” This was not at all the conversation he’d expected.
“Perhaps,” she allowed
. “Everything was properly scheduled, and I was never without a proper escort.” A hint of amusement crinkled her eyes. “Well, except the one night I dressed in the costume of an Indian princess and snuck out the side door.”
“A fortuitous move, as it turned out
.” That was better. He could hear her flirtatious spirit coming back to her.
“Was it?” she asked, the teasing gone.
He hated that she had to ask. He closed the distance between them, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms, just above her elbows, as he willed her to meet his gaze. “Of course it was.”
Instead of looking up, she lowered her gaze as she nodded
, a tiny frown marring her perfect features. “But Scotland, your home, is different.”
What was
going on? He wanted to crush her against him, but he could feel that, no matter how close he held her, a vast gulf of emotional difference separated them. She should be crying, or shouting, accusing him of all his transgressions against her and against their marriage. Instead, she spoke in a detached, carefully modulated tone, about the differences between here and London. He would have rather she yelled at him.
Then it struck him
. She probably thought
he
still thought she was mad. If she yelled, she’d only be proving it. Bloody hell, what a mess. He could just tell her what he knew. But that seemed disrespectful, especially when she was trying so hard to prove she was normal. An invisible fist clenched his heart. He wasn’t good at this, guessing at her emotions.
A scuffle behind the nursery door alerted them to Nate’s continued presence.
Graeme hid his smile. “Perhaps you would walk with me, now?” He didn’t need his nephew overhearing their conversation, even if it was, so far, eerily mundane.
She flicked a glance toward the crack at the bottom of the nursery door
. “Certainly, my lord.”
He took one of her arms and tucked it firmly at his side, then
led her downstairs and toward the door to the gardens. “You were saying…you like it here?”
It was a weighted question
. He could see that she chose her words carefully in answering. “Yes, there is a certain charm to the land. Only…I do miss my sister.”
“Of course you do
. Perhaps we could ask her to visit.”
Since she’d be here in two weeks anyway, invited or not
.
Her eyes lit
. “I’d like that, very much.”
They passed into the kitchen garden and down the path, the herbs giving way to nonedible plants and flowers.
If she knew Elizabeth was coming, would she present everything was fine just to put on a good face? He wanted to reconnect for real, first.
Not that he’d managed to do that just yet
. They were still dancing around more important things. But she was here, and at least she was talking to him. It was a start. “We’ll write to her, straight away. Tell me what else you’ve learned about Scotland.”
“The people are different.”
“We are?”
She nodded
. They’d stopped at the edge of the cultivated garden. She stared out at the grassy hills beyond. “The people here are just…people. Less worried about putting on airs.”
He had to smile at that
. “Just wait until you get to know them better. They may not place as much importance on formalities as the
ton
, but I’ll warrant the villagers can rival any London miss for gossip.”
She looked dismayed
. “But they’ve been quite welcoming.”
“Ach, lass, don’t get me wrong
. Of course they welcome you. They want you to be happy here. They want you to stay. But don’t think for a minute that your arrival here wasn’t whispered about, speculated upon, and analyzed up, down, and sideways.”
“Most likely the same could be said of your ab
sence, so soon after my arrival,” she retorted, the veneer of civility finally cracking. She turned slightly away, pulling her arm from his as she folded both of hers across her body. “I suppose you think that, since you chose to abandon me here, rather than packing me off to Bedlam, I should be grateful?” The lightness of her tone could not hide the snarl beneath.
Ouch
. Her words cut deep. More so because she was right. At least they were finally getting to the heart of things. “A grave misunderstanding on my part—one for which I owe you my deepest apology. You needn’t worry overmuch about the gossips, though. They would have had nothing but empty speculation to go on. I told no one of my reasons for going, save Miss Boyd.”
He ached to reach
for her, to just erase the past weeks. Physical passion had come so easily to them right from the start. Maybe if he rekindled that connection, the others would follow? But, no. The protective stance of her body, her arms folded as though to hug herself, to keep herself upright, told him he would need to do more to earn back her trust.