by Cheryl Bolen
In truth, she ought to be thanking them profusely for coming at all.
“Sarah, this is Her Grace, Alexandra, Duchess of Harcourt.” Gregor motioned to an exotic black-haired beauty wearing violet gown and spencer trimmed with ebony lace and velvet. “Adaira, Countess of Clarendon.” He indicated the extremely petite woman, resplendent in a pale blue traveling suit. “And, Isobel, Countess of Ramsbury.”
The latter, attired in a soft plum and cream striped redingote was possibly the most beautiful woman Sarah had ever seen. Even she couldn’t help but stare.
Practically beaming, Gregor completed the introductions. “Your Grace, my ladies, may I present Sarah Paine and her brother, Christopher?”
“Mums.” Chris attempted a courtier’s bow, earning him delighted cries and claps from the ladies.
Where had he learned to do that?
Ah, the other day when Gregor had bowed to her.
A credit to their kindness, none of the ladies mentioned his incorrect form of address. Likely Gregor had explained Chris’s special needs as well as the complete lack of interaction the Paines had ever had with aristocrats.
“I am honored, Your Grace, your ladyships. I regret you’ve been discomposed on my behalf.” Sarah curtsied, and as she rose in one lithe movement, couldn’t prevent sending Gregor a triumphant smile.
Yes, she’d been practicing too.
He gave the subtlest wink of approval, and that lovely, addicting heat, like sweetened warm chocolate, spiraled outward from her middle.
The duchess made a shooing motion, her astute gaze inspecting Sarah from her braided hair to her scuffed shoes and saggy stockings, clearly visible beneath the too-short gown “You must call me Alexa. Any friend of Gregor’s is a friend of mine.”
He had told them she was his friend?
Sarah wasn’t certain that was a good thing, given the acute curiosity the ladies’ genial smiles and friendly greetings couldn’t quite hide. Surely they didn’t think…? Oh God. Did they believe she was a special friend to him? One of a less than reputable nature? No. No, she reassured herself. They wouldn’t be here if they did. So how, precisely, had Gregor explained their relationship? She tossed him a considering look.
“Yes, please do call me, Addy,” the Countess of Clarendon insisted, scrunching her nose in a winsome fashion. “I’m seldom addressed as Adaira.”
“Aye, ’tis true and generally only when she’s been embroiled in mischief of some sort,” Gregor said, grinning, his tone light and teasing like a beloved sibling. “For instance, abductin’ a laird of the realm. A certain earl renowned for his rigid adherence to decorum.”
“Never say you did?” Sarah reassessed the small woman. Wasn’t she the one who raised prize horses too? She might well have to rethink everything she’d previously believed about nobility.
Addy’s wink was nothing short of vixenish. “I did, but it was a colossal misunderstanding. And in the end, Clarendon fell madly in love with me.” She rolled a dainty shoulder. “So all’s well that ends well.”
Her sister, the Countess of Ramsbury, studied Sarah, her intelligent gaze contemplative. “Sarah, what Alexa says is true. Gregor’s word is enough for us. You’ve no need to worry in that regard, and do call me Isobel.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. Ladies didn’t go about giving permission for commoners to address them by their first names. Mayhap she’d underestimated Gregor’s position. Lord, had she insulted him by doing so? Her mind raced to recall any incident when she’d been less than respectful. Dash it all. Since the moment she plowed into his office, she’d treated him as her equal. He’d never indicated she should do otherwise.
The duchess glided forward and clasped Sarah’s hand. “My dear, we are going to be the greatest of friends. I know it. Now, gather your things. We are going shopping.”
The countesses bobbed their bonneted heads in agreement, eyes alight with excitement, and looking quite proud of themselves. Why, they were enjoying this intrigue.
Sarah sought Gregor’s gaze. “Isn’t that dangerous? For me to go out, I mean?”
The Countess of Clarendon—Addy—wandered to the window and peered at the dock below. “We alighted from a carriage out front, but we’ll leave in one of the two waiting behind the building.”
The duchess grinned, a twinkle in her eyes. “We need you suitably dressed for your first foray into society. I’m delighted to say, your grandmother has accepted an invitation to tea Monday next.”
Sarah’s heart stuttered. She believed she had until Christmas—almost three weeks—to prepare to meet her grandmother. But next Monday?
Ten short—very short—days?
Another unwelcome thought brought her up short. Just how much was this going to cost? Too much. She’d never been a gambler, and she wasn’t certain spending money she couldn’t spare on garments to impress Lady Rolandson was a wager she would win.
Adaira crossed to Chris. “I should very much like you to meet my children, Chris. My boys would be delighted for the company. You are of an age, I believe.”
“May I, Sister?” Chris’s countenance glowed from excitement. He’d never had a friend. Not even at Bellewood House.
Her gaze warm and welcoming, Adaira came to stand before Sarah. Several inches shorter, her height in no way diminished her presence. “We’ve discussed it.” Her vibrant eyes, took in Gregor, Alexa, and Isobel. “If you’re in agreement, Gregor will escort Chris to my house to play with my children while you, Alexa, and Isobel go shopping. Afterward, my husband and I would be honored if you and your brother would agree to stay with us until things are settled with Lady Rolandson. In the event that becomes a lengthy process, we’d be delighted to celebrate Christmas and Twelfth Night with you too. My husband and I host an annual Yuletide Ball, and I vow, no one makes a better plum pudding than Cook.”
Mama had always made plum pudding on Stir-Up Sunday. She’d even gathered local greenery and made a sort of tropical kissing bough.
A tiny spark of discomfit gave Sarah pause. Or perchance, others taking control of her life was what disconcerted her most. She must entrust herself and her brother to women she’d just met on the advice of a man she scarcely knew any better. It wasn’t easy to let go. To put her faith in strangers when she’d relied solely on herself for so long.
Isobel must’ve noticed her hesitation. “We only want to help, Sarah, and you needn’t concern yourself with the cost. Consider the purchase our Christmastide gift to someone we would like to bless as we’ve been blessed.”
Sarah swallowed against the tightness constricting her throat. Kindness such as this had been rare these past few years. Though it bordered on impudent, she must have an answer. “You don’t know me; why would you extend such generosity?”
“Because Gregor asked us to.” The Duchess of Harcourt lifted a hand toward the Scot solemnly observing the exchange. “And we have absolute trust in him and his judgment.”
That said much about Gregor, that these women loved and respected him.
I could too.
She firmly tamped down the unbidden thought. This may be the chance that she had prayed for. Mayhap her only chance. Neither pride nor fear would prevent her from accepting their benevolence.
Yes, she’d go to the fittings. She’d allow the ladies to purchase her clothing, and pray that her grandmother would reimburse their expenses. If the Dowager Viscountess Rolandson still refused to acknowledge her grandchildren—
Well, Sarah wouldn’t deny Chris one last, wonderful Yuletide.
Beyond that, she couldn’t contemplate. The near future gleamed brightly, and what lay beyond that glow, she’d fret about when she must.
She stepped nearer to Adaira, and after a swift glance toward Chris, assuring he’d returned to his toys and wouldn’t hear her, lowered her voice. “No doubt you’ve noticed Chris has some challenges. Are you certain you’re comfortable taking him?”
Such an incredulous expression swept the countess’s face Sarah was
at once ashamed.
“I understand and admire your concern for your brother, Sarah. That makes you a caring sister. But I promise you, Chris will be treated with the utmost respect and gentleness. Gregor mentioned Chris’s love of horses too. I have the gentlest pony that my sons ride. With your permission, I’d like to teach Chris to ride as well.”
Chris might never be adept at the sport, but at least he’d be given an opportunity to try. He wasn’t supposed to be able to walk either, but his tenacity proved the doctor wrong. Given the opportunity, who knew what he could do?
Once again, Sarah must rely on her woman’s instinct, and though she admitted to being anxious, no alarm tunneled through her veins. Her nape hair didn’t stand on end, nor did her stomach wobble in fear. Giving a slight nod, she acquiesced. “Very well. Thank you, and Chris would love to learn to ride.”
Relief softened the corners of Gregor’s eyes. Had he really thought she’d put up a fuss? Something like sorrow also deepened his eyes to slate blue. Was he saddened as much as she to part?
She’d miss him. Much more than she ought to after a mere three-day acquaintance. But Mama swore she’d known she’d loved Papa after their third meeting.
Love?
Was it possible to fall in love so quickly? Affection and interest—those were feasible. Even physical desire. But love?
No.
What about Mama and Papa?
They’d been devoted to each other, and if Mama ever regretted leaving her privileged lifestyle for that of the ship captain’s wife, she never breathed a hint. It mattered not whether her parents had been in love. Sarah didn’t have time for such distractions. Everything she did was to ensure Chris’s future.
In short order, her few possessions, along with Chris and his toys, had been bundled into one of the waiting coaches accompanied by the lovely Countess of Clarendon.
Sarah couldn’t contain her surprise at how readily her brother had accepted Adaira’s hand and after a fond kiss on his forehead had been led from Gregor’s apartment.
“I’ll ride with the lad to Clarendons’, just in case he needs a familiar face.” Gregor draped a cloak around Sarah’s shoulders. Likely another castoff from the charity bin. He handed her a plain straw poke bonnet.
“We’ll wait for you in the carriage, Sarah.” Alexa exchanged a telling look with Isobel.
Had they detected the undercurrent of attraction between her and Gregor?
Of course, it was only natural she felt gratitude toward him, and perhaps it had become infatuation as well. She’d been most careful to hide her interest, and she believed she’d done a satisfactory job.
Now wasn’t the time for flirtations or romantic entanglements.
Would there ever be a time?
She’d faced that disconcerting truth some time ago. It would take a very special man to win her heart. Because he must accept that Chris would always be a part of their lives. Few men—none that she knew aside from Papa—would willingly take on such a burden.
Except for Gregor jesting about accepting a kiss in repayment, he’d been the perfect gentleman. She’d been the one who agreed to the terms and could not fault him in that regard.
“Thank you, Gregor. For everything.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. His voice slightly husky and his brogue a trace thicker he said, “It’s been my pleasure, lass.”
More emotional about their inevitable separation than she would’ve anticipated, Sarah struggled against tears. Eyes lowered, she managed a short nod.
“Nae tears, jo.”
No tears, she silently chastised herself.
He lifted her chin, and swept a thumb across her damp cheek. “I promise ye, I’m no’ desertin’ ye. I vowed to see ye safely settled, and I am goin’ to keep my oath.” He flashed his charming grin. “Besides, Adaira invited me to dinner tonight.”
Sarah smiled wide, uncaring he might guess why. “You’ve already done so much for us. I truly don’t expect any more—”
“The truth is, I’ve enjoyed yer company, and I’ll miss ye. Promise ye’ll let me take ye on an outin’ to Hyde Park tomorrow.”
“All right.” How could she say no?
He raised her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and a jolt of sensation streaked to her elbow then skittered up her shoulder.
This was a man she could care for. A man she’d risk much for. But there was Chris to consider.
Gregor pivoted her toward the door. “Now go, before they parade back up here to see what the delay is.”
“I owe ye a kiss.” On impulse, she stood on her toes, laid a palm against the broad plane of his chest, and touched her lips to his.
At first, he remained rigid and unmoving. Then with a groan deep in his chest, he urged her close and kissed her like a man long-starved. Breathing heavily, he angled away and growled, “Go. Now. Before I canna let ye.”
With a last glance over her shoulder and a small wave, she turned her back, feeling almost as desolate as she had when fleeing Jamaica. Fighting tears and struggling to compose herself, she slipped into the coach.
The Duchess patted the seat beside her. “Sit here, my dear.”
Sarah sank onto the plush bird’s egg-blue seat, and Alexa wrapped her kid gloved fingers ’round Sarah’s.
Isobel fished a delicate lace handkerchief from her reticule and passed the square across the carriage. She met Alexa’s eyes as she settled into the squabs and put a finger to her chin. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Gregor so entranced.”
Sarah raised a startled glance. “I beg your pardon?”
“Leave it to us.” Alexa patted her hand. “We’ll have him coming ’round in no time.”
Chapter 10
Three days later, Gregor handed his hat to Ramsbury’s majordomo.
Today, he’d been invited to a proper English tea. Hadn’t he become the simpering fop? He brushed a cat hair off his buff coat. He reserved it, and the cherry and shimmering gold waistcoat he wore, for special occasions. What could be more special than seeing Sarah Paine again?
The three days since they’d parted felt like three interminable months. He’d thought of her constantly, had written to her daily, and his apartment was unbearably quiet and lonely now.
Cat even wandered around meowing plaintively.
The much-anticipated outing with her to Hyde Park had not manifested. After dinner at the Clarendon’s, he’d returned home to find his living quarters ransacked. It hadn’t taken a good deal of thought to figure out who was behind the break-in.
Yesterday, he’d interrogated Mrs. Smith, and the housekeeper tearfully confessed she’d seen a toy soldier beneath the couch when she last cleaned Gregor’s quarters. A little more probing, and she admitted to accepting a few coins for sharing that tidbit with a scruffy, bearded man.
Yeates.
Mrs. Smith didn’t think sharing that morsel would hurt anything, for she’d seen no other evidence of anything out of the ordinary. Her poor choice had earned her a dismissal, but Gregor had conceded to provide her with a reference and a purse to hold her over until she found another position.
A locksmith had been retained, and not only did Stapleton Shipping and Supplies now have new locks throughout, he’d hired two former soldiers to patrol the perimeter.
Thank God, Sarah and Chris had already left. He shuddered to think what would’ve happened had they been discovered.
Voices and laughter filtered from the drawing room. Having been here a few times before, he motioned for the butler to answer the new knock sounding at the door.
“I ken the way.”
“Very good, sir.”
Gregor lingered in the drawing room entrance, taking a few moments to savor his friends, family, and most of all, Sarah enjoying themselves. Previous visits had taught him that this room, as well as the rest of the house, would be decked out in holiday gaiety come Christmas Eve. Likely a few days beforehand since Isobel adored the holiday.
> Wearing a lavender gown, a delicate lace fichu tucked into the bodice—unfortunately hiding the creamy bounty within—and amethyst and pearl earrings dangling from her dainty earlobes, Sarah looked every bit the lady of refinement. Her hair twisted into an intricate knot, she held a yellow chintz-patterned teacup as she smiled and made polite conversation.
A queer sensation kicked behind his ribs. Gude, he’d missed her. Missed her laugh and ready smile. Missed the gentle interaction with her brother. Missed her keen intellect, droll retorts, and the way her eyes rounded in wonder. He even missed the way her nose crinkled when he said something in Scots or Gaelic she didn’t understand but was too polite to say so.
How had she and Chris wiggled their ways into his heart so quickly?
Ewan vowed he loved Yvette the minute he danced with her, but it had been two years before they met again.
Isobel spied him, and glided to the door. She looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and drew him forward. “I had begun to think you weren’t coming, and that I’d misread your fascination with our dear Sarah.”
Just what did she mean by that? He gave her a shrewd assessment, but she’d already turned away, leading him straight to Sarah.
Had he been that bloody obvious? Pointing his gaze ceilingward, he stifled unfamiliar chagrin. By God, he hadn’t moped about like a moon-eyed milksop. He’d not even hinted his interest, so how did Isobel and the others know?
Women seemed to have an extra sense about these matters.
He knew the instant Sarah realized he stood beside her, though she hadn’t glanced in his direction.
The faintest flush pinkened her cheeks, and she carefully set her teacup upon the table, before turning a radiant smile upon him. “Hello, Mr. McTavish.”
How odd to have her address him so formally, but she’d not want to give rise to tattle. “Always a pleasure, Miss Paine.” He inclined his head.
Lord and Lady Warrick entered the drawing room, and Isobel floated away to greet them.
Gregor eyed the dainty chair, the only remaining vacant seat near Sarah. He could either perch like an oversized bird upon its edge, or remain standing. For he hadn’t a doubt that if he applied his full weight to the flimsy thing, the legs would give way, and he’d land on his arse.
