“There you go, m’dear,” the squire told his daughter bluffly as Venetia led her from the room. “Thank you, Miss—ah? I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
Venetia had started to reply when something about Gregor made her shoot him a look. He returned her regard grimly, his eyes shimmering with anger. The look took her aback, and she had to compose herself before she replied. “I am Miss West, and this”—she gestured to Ravenscroft, who’d leapt up to hold the door—“is my brother, Mr. West.”
“Nice to know you,” the squire said, bowing briefly. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter. Elizabeth, you go with the nice lady, and none of your shenanigans, do you hear?”
Miss Higganbotham sent her parent a glare from her fine blue eyes and chattered out, “I w-w-will st-st-stay here, but only until I f-f-feel better. Then I w-w-will leave!”
The squire’s bushy brows lowered. “Stop being dramatic. Now, off to bed with you, and not another word!”
Miss Higganbotham lifted her chin, which still quivered piteously. “D-d-do as you wish, Father. M-m-my happiness has already been d-d-destroyed.”
Venetia raised her brows. “Heavens! I wouldn’t say that. The inn’s nice and warm, and your tremors are already receding.”
“It’s not the cold, it’s my circumstances,” the young woman said. “I am n-n-not here willingly; I am b-b-being abducted!”
Miss Platt’s mouth dropped open.
Mrs. Bloom uttered, “Well! I never!”
Ravenscroft’s fists clenched as if he yearned to fight whoever had perpetrated the evil deed.
Gregor glanced at Venetia to see if she’d witnessed her paramour’s reaction but found her slipping a sympathetic arm around the girl. “Oh, my dear! Who abducted you?”
“H-h-he has!” Miss Higganbotham proclaimed, pointing a trembling finger at the squire.
Venetia’s brows rose. “Your own father?”
“Yes. I told him I will not g-g-go to London, e-e-even if I have to kill myself!”
Chapter 8
I dinna think ’tis romantic when a man says he’s willin’ t’ give his life fer the woman he loves. Give me instead a man who’d fight to keep us both alive and kickin’! There’s naught romantic about a dead man, beau or no.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
V enetia made the squire’s daughter comfortable in her room, helping the poor girl to bed while her maid hovered nearby and Miss Platt clucked her concern.
“There, there,” Miss Platt said, holding Miss Higganbotham’s hand. “You’ll be warmed soon.”
“I hope so!” the girl said. “Though it w-would serve my father right if I d-d-died!”
“What a horrid thing to say!” Venetia said cheerfully, hanging Miss Higganbotham’s cloak over the chair to dry.
“Yes,” Miss Platt agreed. “Mrs. Bloom always says one should look for the positive.”
Venetia turned a look toward Miss Platt. The homily didn’t sound like the Mrs. Bloom they all knew and avoided.
“What p-positive?” Miss Higganbotham asked, her lips quivering.
The door opened then, and Mrs. Treadwell entered.
“Look!” Miss Platt said, smiling. “Mrs. Treadwell has brought an extra blanket and a warmed brick. That’s two things to be thankful for!”
Mrs. Treadwell set the brick on the windowsill with the tongs nearby. “The brick’s too hot for now, but the blanket can be used right away.”
Venetia took the blanket and spread it over Miss Higganbotham. “There. While you’re warming, you can tell us all about your travails.”
Miss Higganbotham needed no more invitation to pour out her troubles. She explained how her father had wished her to go to London and be “sold upon the marriage mart” to bring a title into the family. She had originally agreed, for who wouldn’t wish to go to London for a season or two? But then she had met Henry, the son of the vicar. It was love at first sight, and a secret courtship had begun. Elizabeth knew her father had his sights set higher than Henry. She’d pressed her beau to elope, but Henry refused. He believed he could win the squire over if he talked to the old man and explained things.
Elizabeth refused to agree to this, fearful that her father would whisk her away where Henry would never find her. Before she and Henry could find a solution to their dilemma, the squire had happened upon one of the servants delivering a secret missive from the insistent Henry. The squire had exploded in fury and done exactly as Elizabeth had feared. Despite the raging snowstorm, he had packed up his daughter and headed for London, far away from Henry.
“Miss West,” Miss Higganbotham said, reaching for Venetia’s hand, “Father has indeed abducted me. He says I am to go to London, but I would rather die!”
“Aye,” said Miss Higganbotham’s maid, who hadn’t stopped smiling once. “Miss Elizabeth is determined, she is. She’ll not marry other than her Henry.”
“How old are you, Miss Higganbotham?” Venetia asked.
Miss Higganbotham wiped her tears. “Sixteen.”
That explained a good deal. Venetia helped Mrs. Treadwell place the wrapped brick under the covers near the girl’s feet, then tucked the blanket back in place. “It sounds as if you have had a difficult time of it. For now, let’s get you warmed up, and then, after you’ve rested, we’ll see what’s to be done.”
“Yes,” Miss Platt said, patting Miss Higganbotham’s hand. “Miss West is a godsend. If anyone can help you, she can.”
Venetia wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or worried by such unalloyed praise.
Mrs. Treadwell nodded. “Put your feet against that warm brick, my dear. I wrapped it in cloth so it won’t burn, but oh, how toasty it will be!”
Miss Higganbotham’s chattering stopped almost immediately. She sighed, snuggling beneath the covers, her eyes sliding shut. “Oh, how nice!” She forced her eyes open to smile at Venetia. “Thank you for making Father stay here, Miss West. I could not have gone another foot. Tomorrow, perhaps, you can find a way to assist my poor Henry and me.” With that, her eyes slid shut, and she was asleep in a trice.
“I thought as much,” Mrs. Treadwell said, picking up the tongs she’d used to carry the hot brick. “’Tis nerves, is all.”
The maid nodded brightly. “She has plenty of those, she do!”
“So we see,” Mrs. Treadwell replied. “She’ll be better for a nap. Do ye need anything, Miss West?”
“No, indeed. As usual, you have taken care of everything.”
The innkeeper’s wife beamed. “Oh, ’twas nothing. I may warm another brick and take it up to Elsie’s room. She’s had a bit of a headache, ye know, and asked to lie down a bit. Could be the very thing to set her to rights.”
“I am certain it will,” Venetia said.
“Let me know if ye need anything else.” With a brisk nod, Mrs. Treadwell left, softly closing the door behind her.
Miss Platt hung the girl’s wet clothes over the back of the chair. “I hope those will dry before she wakes.”
“From the look of that thick wool and the amount of trim on her cloak, I don’t believe Miss Higganbotham suffers from a lack of wardrobe,” Venetia replied.
The maid nodded. “Oh, la! She has four trunks full, as the squire got her the best of everything. ’Tis why young Henry refused to run off with Miss Higganbotham. He said she was used to having nice things, and he’d be hanged if she’d ever go without because of him.”
Venetia thought young Henry sounded like quite a gentleman. “Would you mind finding Miss Higganbotham’s trunks and fetching some dry clothing?”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and went to the door, saying over her shoulder as she left, “I’ll bring up enough for the week. With this weather, she might need it.”
A week! Venetia hoped not.
Miss Platt ran a hand over Miss Higganbotham’s fine cloak. “It’s a beautiful cloak, isn’t it?”
Venetia nodded.
“The squire appears to have done well in life. Unfortunately, he seems overly aware of that fact.”
“He was a bit full of himself, wasn’t he?”
“Very. I daresay that is why he decided that his daughter was marrying to disoblige him. I almost feel sorry for the man she has fixed upon.”
“I daresay her beau is a fine gentleman in spite of what the squire thinks,” Miss Pratt said, her chin jutting out. “I don’t usually take people into dislike, but he was so pompous! It quite makes me feel for poor Miss Higganbotham.”
Venetia thought so, too. The poor child, dragged away from the man she loved, only to be subjected to a terrifying accident and left bruised and freezing cold. Worse, when she and her father had finally found shelter, Gregor had received them with all the warmth of the snow bank that had caused the accident.
She scowled. She could not believe Gregor would be so uncharitable.
“Miss West?”
Venetia turned to find Miss Platt standing beside her. “Yes?”
The thin woman clasped her hands, a glowing look in her eyes. “I must thank you!”
“Whatever for?”
“For suggesting that perhaps there were other avenues open to me. After poor Bertrand’s situation, I had given up hope. But today, at breakfast, Mr. Ravenscroft—” Miss Platt broke off, a round spot of color on each cheek. “I never would have noticed him except for what you said to me before breakfast. I want to thank you for helping me see that there is more to life than fetching things for Mrs. Bloom.”
Venetia hugged her. “I am just glad to see you smile.”
“Thank you. I wish I could stay and help here, but I need to attend Mrs. Bloom, as there’s a bit of sewing to be done this morning.”
Venetia wondered how many stitches Miss Platt would have to make before Mrs. Bloom considered their debt canceled.
Miss Platt patted Venetia’s shoulder, then left, her head held high, a smile in her eyes.
Miss Higganbotham stirred at the sound of the door closing, turning to one side. As she did so, her mouth opened, and she emitted a huge snore. Venetia held her breath and waited, but the snoring did not abate.
She grimaced. Though the girl looked angelic with her golden curls and long lashes, she snored like an old bull—which didn’t augur well for peaceful sleep tonight.
Imagining Gregor’s expression if he heard the delicate Miss Higganbotham’s snores, Venetia had to grin. Gregor had the same appreciation for the ridiculous as she did; it was one of the many things they shared.
It was good to remember that, she thought. Lately, she and Gregor had been at such loggerheads.
She sighed a bit at the thought. A deep restlessness stirred her, and she realized that she hadn’t been outside all day. No wonder she was feeling out of sorts.
Glancing at the snoring girl in her bed, Venetia changed from her slippers to her half-boots, collected her pelisse, and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Downstairs, she heard the squire and Ravenscroft speaking in the common room. She felt sorry that Ravenscroft was forced to listen to the squire’s pedantry, but not enough to become a victim herself. She buttoned her pelisse to her throat, pulling the collar up about her ears, then stepped outside.
The snow sparkled fresh and clean, and the air was still frosty, though not as cold as the day they’d arrived. She lifted her skirts to clear the top of the snow and made her way to the stables on the snow-packed path, smiling in the crisp air.
The stables were housed in a large barn that held ten stalls and a decent tack room in the back, all heated with a surprisingly efficient woodstove that was tucked safely away from the stores of hay. Gregor’s man, Chambers, was there, as was Mr. Treadwell’s groom. Venetia visited each animal, Chambers narrating its ills and treatments. He’d already cleaned most of the injuries and applied an effective poultice to those in need.
After making certain the grooms had the supplies they needed to continue their work, she stepped back outside. Smiling a little, she lifted her face to the bright sunlight and closed her eyes, letting the quiet fill her with peace.
“Don’t stand there.”
Her peace fled. She opened her eyes and found Gregor standing before her. He was dressed in his multicaped coat, a red muffler around his neck, his hat casting a shadow over his eyes.
“Why shouldn’t I stand here?”
He took her hand and pulled her forward, his lips curved into a smile. “Look down.”
In a line under the deep eaves around the stables was a graveyard of icicles, each one stabbed deep into the snow, a line of wetness connecting them. “Oh.”
“They’ve been falling off all morning.” He glanced up. “There aren’t many left, but I wouldn’t stand beneath the overhang for long.”
“I shall pay more attention,” she said lightly, noting how the bright sun made his green eyes lighter. He truly had beautiful eyes, with long lashes that hid his expression even as they emphasized it.
Just before he’d kissed her last night, his eyes had darkened in color. A shiver traced through her, and suddenly, every moment of the kiss flashed through her mind, including the way her body had heated and—
Goodness! What was wrong with her? She curled her gloved fingers into the palms of her hands to force the thoughts away.
A puzzled look crossed Gregor’s face. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “I was merely thinking about the dangerous icicles and glad you were here to warn me.”
He half smiled. “I have come to the belated conclusion that the only danger you need to be warned about is yourself.” He glanced past her to the stables. “How are the horses?”
“Better than I had hoped. Your man, Chambers, is excellent.”
“He ought to be, for what I pay him.”
“Oh? How much do you pay him?”
Gregor raised his brows. “Thinking of stealing him?” “Perhaps,” she said mischievously. It was an old joke of theirs, to be forever threatening to steal each other’s servants. Venetia had never managed to lure any of Gregor’s capable grooms or footmen away, but she’d tried, more to tease him than anything else.
His gaze lingered on her lips. “I am glad to see you’re getting back to normal.”
“I was never gone,” she retorted sharply.
Something flickered behind his gaze, and he turned to glance at the barn. “I didn’t think you’d be able to stay away from the horses for long.”
“I yearn to ride,” she said wistfully. The snow-covered woods around the inn seemed to beckon.
“Why don’t we?”
She sighed. “I didn’t pack my habit. I thought Mother was ill, and I didn’t expect to have time to ride.”
Gregor reached for her arm, tucking it into the crook of his. “Come, Venetia. Walk with me a bit. You weren’t made to be locked inside for days on end.”
She had to admit that it was beautiful outside. Plus her fur-lined pelisse and boots were keeping her snugly warm. “Very well, but not for long. Miss Higganbotham is likely to awaken in an hour or so.” Venetia planned on having a talk with the young woman to discover what she could about that Henry fellow.
Gregor led her around the stables to a winding trail path that disappeared into the woods. “This goes to the river and then back to the main road. It’s a picturesque path.”
“You’ve already been here?”
“I took one of the horses out this morning to see how the roads look.” Gregor stopped walking, his expression suddenly serious. “Venetia, you do realize what the arrival of the squire and his daughter means for us?”
“I shall definitely get less sleep. Miss Higganbotham snores even worse than Ravenscroft.”
He choked back a laugh. “That little thing snores?” “Terribly. Whoever marries her is in for a horrid surprise.”
“I daresay.” Gregor pushed a branch out of the way and stepped back, allowing Venetia to precede him. “Walk carefully,” he ordered. “Some places are
slick.”
Venetia wondered if Gregor had always been so peremptory in his manner and she simply had not noticed, or if it was something new. It was entirely possible that he’d always been so and she’d ignored it. Perhaps it was time she paid more attention.
When a large drift of snow fell from a tree and landed on the path before them, Gregor took her elbow and helped her step over the mound. “If it continues to warm like this, we may be able to leave soon.”
“Providing, of course, that you don’t lose your temper again.”
He gave her a mock scowl. “If you would stop crossing me, I wouldn’t lose anything, much less my temper.”
“I haven’t crossed you.”
“Oh? What about an hour ago?” At her blank look, he added, “In the common room, with the squire.”
“Oh, that. You made me quite angry.”
“I made you angry?” Gregor appeared astonished. The trees overhead drooped heavily, the snow outlining each limb. “You were so ungracious. I could hardly turn that poor girl away; she was almost frozen to death!”
He sighed. “I was trying to protect you. Squire Higganbotham is the godson of the Duke of Richmond.”
“I met the duchess once. She struck me as a horrid scandalmonger.”
“The worst, and the squire is not the sort of man to understand the word discretion. I spoke with him this morning, and he plans on going straight to London. It is entirely possible you will meet him at some future function.”
Venetia moaned. “Where he will discover that I am not Miss West and that Ravenscroft is not my brother.”
Gregor’s expression was grim.
Her heart sank. “There will be no explaining it away.” “No,” Gregor said shortly. “Now you see why I attempted to turn them away. I thought if they only saw you a moment, we could dismiss any future recognition.”
He was right. She fiddled with a button on the front of her pelisse, knowing she should say something apologetic but unable to find the words.
“I was not being coldhearted.”
She kept her head down. “I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it. I saw it in your eyes.”
To Scotland, With Love Page 11
