by Cheryl Bolen
Chewing, Gregor nodded. “Aye. Even the Fergusons, my step-cousins, are as close as if they were my own flesh and blood.” He aimed his fork toward the main room. “I want ye to see the surprise I have for ye.” Impatient as a lad, he wiped his mouth. He stood and extended his hand.
Sarah stared at it for a moment. Ever so slowly, she fit hers into his great paw. His calloused palm swallowed her hand in a warm, comforting grip. Her logical side cautioned against imprudence. The woman who was increasingly taken with Gregor ignored wisdom. Leaving the dishes for later, she permitted him to urge her and Chris to sit upon the sofa.
Immediately upon spying her, Cat hopped from the windowsill and sauntered over. Giving Gregor a disdainful look, he twitched his whiskers and jumped into her lap.
“I believe ye’ve replaced me in his affections.” Pleasure rather than envy tinged his observation.
Feeling only slightly guilty, for she enjoyed having a pet around, Sarah scratched Cat’s ears. At once, his rumbling purr filled the room.
Chris ran a hand down Cat’s side. He proceeded to make horse sounds as he rolled his toy along the sofa’s arm.
Gregor handed her a package, requiring her to move Cat to the side to lay it atop her thighs.
White whiskers twitching, he gave her a haughty look, his green-yellow eyes narrowed peevishly.
His face animated with anticipation, Chris fidgeted beside Sarah.
“Here ye are, lad.” Gregor passed him the smaller of the two bundles. “Let me ken if ye need help with the string.”
One more thing to raise Gregor in her estimation. He offered to assist Chris, but always encouraged her brother to try everything on his own.
After a bit of fumbling, Chris managed to untie the string. He flipped the package over and unfolded the paper. Eyes wide with delight, he lifted a hunter green tailcoat trimmed in black velvet. A charcoal, jade green, and silver-striped waistcoat complimented the coat and black pantaloons. Stockings, a shiny new pair of shoes, along with a pristine white cravat, and new underthings lay beneath the suit.
Her brother ran his fingers over the fabric, his expression awed. “For me?”
“Aye, laddie.” Gregor gave him a tender smile and ruffled his hair.
Chris sniffed and swiped the moisture from his face with his forearm, and Sarah thought her heart would burst from gratitude.
“What do you say, Chris?”
His eyes glistening, he gave Gregor one of his winning sideways smiles. “Thank you, Gregor.”
“Ye’re welcome, son. Now should yer sister open hers?”
Chris gave an eager nod, his wavy hair brushing his ratty collar. His hair needed trimming. Perhaps later today, she’d ask Gregor if he had a pair of scissors she could borrow.
Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Sarah untied her package. She couldn’t suppress the gasp of pleasure upon turning the brown paper back to reveal a stunning gold and crimson gown—by far the loveliest she ever seen. Beneath the gown lay matching slippers, gloves, stockings, a fan, chemise, and short stays.
A blush heated her cheeks that he’d selected something so intimate for her.
“Ye might need to make alterations.” He flicked a big hand over the garments. “I guessed on yer sizes based on what ye’re wearin’ now.”
She glanced down at the apron covering her simple dress. The clothes he’d fetched from the donation barrel were every bit as appreciated as these lovely gifts, though in an entirely different way. It seemed his thoughtfulness knew no bounds.
As far as alterations went, Sarah possessed talent with a needle. “I’ve been remaking our clothes from cast-offs…” She faltered as humiliation brought a flush to her face. “What I mean to say is, I can easily manage any alterations required.”
“I assumed as much.” A smile bent his mouth revealing the straight row of his teeth as something more than appreciation kindled in his eyes. “I haven’t thanked ye for mendin’ my clothes.”
Delicious heat bathed her and to hide her consternation, she ran her palm over the gown. “Gregor, this is lovely, just gorgeous.” It truly was. “But wherever will I wear such a creation?” Her gaze questioning, she met Gregor’s eyes. Pride and affection? shone there. She quailed to think how much the garments had cost. A warehouse supervisor didn’t earn wages enough to be able to afford luxurious clothes such as these.
Had someone else paid for them?
Who?
Looking entirely too self-satisfied, he joined her on the couch and bold as brass took her hand in his and squeezed it. “That, jo, is part of the surprise. Ye ken those letters?”
The ones he’d just shown her a few minutes ago? Had he read them already?
“Yes,” she agreed cautiously, setting the bundle on her lap aside.
“The Duchess of Harcourt is hostin’ a Christmastide soirée in just under three weeks, and yer grandmother is invited. Trust me, given the Harcourts’ influence and social standin’, the dowager viscountess will attend. Her grace will see to it.”
Proud as a peacock, he was. She almost expected him to puff out his chest. A dance and musicale? Sarah closed her eyes. Lord help her.
“Gregor, you must know, I’ve never spent so much as a minute in the company of an aristocrat. I shall embarrass us all, to be sure.”
“Och, no’ a bit of it. Ye’ll be fine. They are kind people, Sarah,” he assured her soothingly.
Hmph. There were degrees of kindness, and a gauche usurper plodding about their elegant homes with no knowledge of which spoon or fork ought to be used for what, surely wouldn’t endear them to her pitiful cause.
“I have no voice nor can I play an instrument,” she murmured, twisting her hands in her apron. How she hated this inferior feeling.
“I’ll make sure ye aren’t called upon to do either.”
But she would be expected to dance. A lady of refinement might be excused the former for lack of talent or opportunity, but dancing? No. She was doomed. She flopped back against the sofa. “Gregor, I don’t know how to dance.”
Chapter 8
“Och, lass, I’ll teach ye.” Gregor grasped Sarah’s hand, and before she could object, pulled her to her feet.
A blush tinted her cheeks, but she didn’t resist his urging.
“Now what would ye like to learn first? A Scottish Reel? A cotillion?” He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “The deliciously wicked waltz?”
Her pretty hazel eyes wide, she blinked up at him. “I honestly have no idea.”
He most definitely preferred the waltz. It gave him an excuse to hold her in his arms, but wisdom decreed he take a slower pace. “Let’s start with somethin’ simple then. The Hole in the Wall, I think. No’ too difficult, even if we do require another couple to do it properly.” His attention shifted to Chris. “Would ye care to learn, laddie?”
“Och, nae.” Chris’s vehement denial as well as his attempt at Scottish sent Sarah and Gregor into peals of mirth.
“It’s to be just ye and me then.” Gregor bent into a formal bow. “Madam.”
Laughing, a bit self-consciously, she dipped into a less than graceful curtsy.
A minute frown pulled his eyebrows together. She’d no experience with dancing or curtsying? Because there was no opportunity, or because her parents didn’t participate in social functions? What he knew about Jamaica’s societal hierarchy wouldn’t fill a salt spoon.
Several minutes passed as he hummed and counted, teaching her the steps and movements. An adept pupil, she soon caught on. The intense concentration pursing her mouth and crinkling her eyes gave way to pleasure as they circled and crossed the floor.
“This is fun,” she exclaimed, as she stepped away with regal grace.
When was the last time she’d enjoyed herself? She hadn’t done much of that these past few years, he suspected.
He chuckled to himself, drawing her attention.
A fine golden eyebrow arched, and she skewed her mouth sideways. “Am I really so inept?”
“I think it the noblest of gestures.” She made an elegant turn, and passed him in the middle. “Although I must tell you, the idea of facing my grandmother when she’s rejected every attempt to contact her sends a chill up my spine.”
“Ye’ve nae need to fret, Sarah. For I am confident between all those ladies I mentioned and their husbands, we can contrive a solution to yer dilemma.”
Her skeptical countenance suggested she wasn’t so sure.
“I think ye’ve mastered this one. Let’s try a quadrille, shall we? It’s a wee bit more complicated.” He held up a hand. “Take my hand.” Sarah did so, and he said, “There are four couples for the set.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’m trying to picture you as a young man learning these steps. I’d be bound, at the time you’d rather have been climbing trees and such.”
She had the right of it.
He’d complained often about learning the niceties required of Polite Society even in Scotland. Now though, as he swept an arm around her waist, leading her in a circle, he could kiss his mother for insisting he do so.
“Have ye ever given thought to visitin’ Scotland?” His casual tone belied the question’s importance.
What he truly wanted to know was if Sarah were offered a safe haven in the Highlands, would she go? And if she did, would he stay here in London? The Highlands had called to him more and more of late. His stint in London would soon come to an end. He could feel it in his pores. And if he and Sarah were both in Scotland…
Far too soon to be harboring those types of musings.
Wasn’t it?
Instead of answering, her gaze confused yet hopeful, she stared up at him. Her work-worn hand clasped in his, he was unable to break eye contact. As he searched her eyes, seeing himself reflected in the blue and gold flecks, he couldn’t identify what transpired, but in that moment, his life changed forever.
I swear leannan, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep ye and yer brother safe.
To see them off London’s streets and settled someplace comfortably, as well. Mayhap…explore this ever-growing fascination.
“Sister, can’t we go for a walk. Please?” Chris pulled a face and gazed longingly toward the window.
Poor lad. He needed exercise and fresh air.
“I think that’s enough dancing lessons for today.” Sarah withdrew her hand and stepped away, her eyes lowered. Caution had replaced her earlier enthusiasm.
She’d felt the connection too, and given the cool politesse that settled upon her, it frightened her. Sitting beside her brother, she fondly tussled his hair, several shades darker than hers. “No, darling, not right now. It’s still not safe, and it’s much too cold. Soon, though. I promise.”
She glanced at Gregor for confirmation, and he hitched a shoulder, giving her an I’m-nae-sure-when-look. He’d be bound, given the pinkish glint to the sky, snow would soon cover London.
Had it snowed while she’d been in England other than a light blanketing?
He determined to take the boy’s mind off his forced seclusion. “Tell me, lad. What’s yer favorite part of Christmastide?”
Chris grinned, his face animated. “The food. Mama made gingerbread and plum pudding.”
“I’ve never eaten either,” Gregor admitted. “Although, I’m fond of black bun and clootie dumplin’, which I’m told is verra similar to plum puddin’.”
“Black bun?” Sarah asked. “Is that a sort of bread?
“Nae, it’s a fruitcake covered with pastry, usually served for Hogmanay.” He closed his eyes, the image blooming behind his eyelids of the trestle table in Craiglocky’s great hall sagging under the succulent feast.
“That’s your New Year’s celebration?”
“Aye.”
“Gregor, you obviously miss Scotland a great deal.” Sarah stood a couple of Chris’s toy soldiers on their feet. “Why do you stay here?”
“A man likes to be in charge of his own destiny. I will never have that at Craiglocky.” Yet, he contemplated returning. In a different role. Not cousin to the laird and son to Ewan’s second-in-command.
He settled in one of the chairs before the fire, and after a moment, Sarah sank into the other and tucked her feet beneath her. “If you could do anything at all, Gregor, what would it be?” She probed his gaze, her interest genuine.
“Become a doctor, but it’s too late at my age.”
“No. It’s not.” She gave a vehement shake of her head. “If it’s your passion, you should pursue it.”
Rather than argue, he asked her the same question. “What about ye, lass?”
“If I had the means, I’d open a school for those less fortunate.” She sent her brother a fond look. “Perhaps an orphanage and a hospital, supported by wealthy and powerful patrons. There’s little help for those afflicted with…challenges.”
Often no help at all. If they were lucky enough to be born into a family of means, they were shuttled off to the country, hidden away their entire lives.
She closed her eyes and rested her head in the corner of the chair. “Just imagine. A school for children like Chris and a hospital too. Why, you could treat patients there.” Slowly, her lashes fluttered open, and he could almost grasp her dream.
Watching the cavorting flames, he idly rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “I ken a number of people willin’ to support such a cause, includin’ Yvette McTavish.”
Sarah perked up. “Truly?”
He nodded, and shifted his attention to her. “I forgot to tell ye. Yvette and Ewan should arrive in London within the week.” He slapped his knees. “I say we propose such a venture to them.”
The next afternoon, just as Sarah finished sewing a button onto Gregor’s greatcoat, the bell ringing below revealed clients had entered Stapleton Shipping and Supplies. As she had the past three days, she checked that the bolt securing the door was in place, and on silent feet, rushed to keep Chris quiet.
“Shh.” She shook her head, one finger to her lips as her heart beat a hard, staccato rhythm. “You cannot play with your toys right now, Chris.”
“’Cause we’re hiding from Satan and the bad men still?”
“That’s right, darling.” She squatted beside him.
“Sister, why do they want to hurt us?” A bewildered scowl pulled his mouth down.
“I don’t know.” She had an inkling why, though.
Gregor’s voice echoed in the stairwell, his deep brogue, now quite familiar and always welcome. He knocked softly two times rapidly followed by a single rap—the signal that all was well.
Giving her brother a reassuring smile, she patted her hair and ran her rough hands down the front of her gown. Until now—until Gregor—she hadn’t cared all that much about her appearance. Her clothing and hairstyle had been practical, serviceable, and kept her gender hidden.
That was what had been important. What had kept them alive.
But now…
She couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted to appear pretty, but without pins she could do little with her hair but plait it. And while the gown she wore was a vast improvement over her shoddy boy’s attire, it fell far short of attractive, and the fit was dismal at best.
Chris resumed playing with his toy soldiers, his tongue caught between his lower teeth as he hummed to himself. What would become of him if she couldn’t retrieve the chest and her grandmother didn’t come ’round?
Cat, regally perched nearby, observed Chris’s every move. The furry imp reached his paw out and batted a soldier over. Then another. He looked at Chris, blinked his big green eyes, and knocked over a third soldier.
Chris burst out laughing, and a gratified smile swept Sarah’s mouth upward. It had been so long since he’d been this happy.
The door swung open, and Grego
r stepped through, a look on his face she’d come to recognize meant he had another surprise. He quite liked surprises.
Behind him, filed in three of the most elegant women Sarah had ever laid eyes upon.
“Blimey,” Chris breathed, his jaw practically banging his chest.
Cat on the other hand, appeared entirely unimpressed. After one bored, superior glance, he lifted a paw to his mouth—the same paw used to attack the soldiers—and begin grooming.
Chris’s awed gaze flicked from lady to lady to lady then returned to Sarah. He stood and tried to smooth his thick, newly trimmed hair. “Coo, I ain’t never seen the like afore, sister.”
Trying not to wince at the slang he’d picked up whilst in London, Sarah corrected his grammar. “You haven’t ever seen the like, Chris.”
“That’s what I just said. They’re prettier than angels straight from heaven, aren’t they?” As if he’d a notion of what angels looked like.
Gregor chuckled, and for some illogical reason, Sarah stifled the urge to tell him to hush. If she’d felt inferior a few moments ago, compared to these polished diamonds, she felt like a ragged beggarwoman now.
Not a hair out of place, their ensembles resembling garments straight from an Ackermann fashion plate, they whisked into the room, their friendly smiles only partially putting Sarah at ease.
“Allow me to introduce ye,” Gregor said, pride shining in his eyes the color the sky before a storm.
Chapter 9
Sarah permitted Gregor to draw her forward, kindness and understanding softening his face.
For the first time in her life, she wished the floor might swallow her up. Mustering every ounce of fortitude she possessed, she forced her mouth into a polite smile. It wasn’t these lovely women’s fault she lacked confidence or felt entirely out of her element. She mightn’t be able to do a thing about her attire, but rag-mannered she’d not be.
