by Karen Ranney
He leaned up against the wall, folded his arms, and studied her. He’d never before considered that running a house, especially one the size of Adaire Hall, could be a full-time occupation.
“Do you have a chart?” he asked. “One that tells you what you need to do at a certain time?”
“I do,” she said, nodding. “It’s my annual journal.”
He kept a calendar himself, one for each of his establishments. There were things that he needed to do regarding maintenance and upkeep of the properties. It was the only way he could oversee everything.
“Did you take on all this when Lauren couldn’t?”
She shook her head. “No, earlier than that. After you left.”
The words hung in the air.
“Both our lives changed, then,” he said.
She nodded. “When I wasn’t in Edinburgh, being paraded through the marriage mart. My godmother married late, but she was still determined to find me a husband.”
“No likely candidates?” he asked, smiling.
She shook her head. “Besides, they weren’t you.”
“For which I’m eternally grateful.”
She didn’t say anything, merely tilted her head slightly.
“Did you expect me to be an idiot and say that I’m sorry you couldn’t find a husband? I’m not that much of a hypocrite.”
“Are you being a dog in the manger, Gordon McDonnell? You didn’t want me yourself, but you didn’t want anyone else to have me—is that it?”
“Who said I didn’t want you, Jennifer Adaire?”
He smiled at her and stood aside so that she could enter the linen room. She didn’t get a chance to say anything further because Mrs. Thompson and one of the maids were standing there waiting for her.
It was truly unfair. He couldn’t say something to her like that when she couldn’t respond. Jennifer frowned at him, but that didn’t stop Gordon from smiling.
Who said I didn’t want you?
“Miss Jennifer?”
She could feel her cheeks warming as she looked at the housekeeper.
“Yes, Mrs. Thompson,” she said briskly. “Shall we get on?”
The annual inspection of the linens wasn’t a complicated task, but it was time-consuming. They had to open each folded sheet and inspect its condition. If it needed mending, it would go in one pile to be given to the seamstress and her assistants. If a sheet was deemed too damaged it went into another stack. They were either sent to be used in the servants’ quarters or torn into rags.
Gordon didn’t stay with her, but left to write a letter to one of his managers and then to check on his driver. He’d always been solicitous of other people and evidently that hadn’t changed over the years.
Mrs. Thompson asked her about two sets of French linens, one of which predated her grandmother. They had faded to an ecru color, were worn to the point that they were almost threadbare in certain places, but they were festooned with a four-inch band of beautifully crafted lace at the top.
“Set those aside for my chamber, Mrs. Thompson. It’s a shame to get rid of them just yet.”
The rest of the inventory took nearly two hours. At the end of it she was heartily tired of unfolding and folding sheets, but they wouldn’t need to do this task again until next year.
By that time Gordon had joined her again. He took her hand and walked with her to the main staircase. “What do you have to do now? Inspect the dairy? Oversee the delivery of a litter of piglets? Shoe a horse?”
She laughed. “Not quite all of that.”
Gordon pulled her into the alcove beneath the bend of the stairs and kissed her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and gave in to the feeling. Passion flowed through her, caressing her like velvet, dancing a pattern on her skin.
When he murmured her name against her lips, she gripped him even tighter.
Finally, he pulled back, leaving her standing there, her breath ragged, hands still clasped around his neck.
“I need to go see Sean,” he said.
She nodded, grateful that she didn’t need to talk right at the moment. She didn’t think she could.
A moment later she dropped her arms. “I need to go see Lauren. I’ll see you at dinner.”
When she went to check on Lauren, she found her sister-in-law in some discomfort.
“I don’t know why, Jennifer, but I’m not feeling well.”
“That’s nature’s way of announcing that your baby will be born soon,” Mrs. Farmer said.
“I’ll send a tray up for you,” Jennifer said.
Lauren shook her head. “I don’t think I could eat. I haven’t an appetite and I feel odd, Jennifer.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?”
She wanted to be with Gordon, but Lauren needed her right now.
“Could you?” Lauren stretched out her hand. Jennifer covered it with her own.
“Of course I can.”
She would send word to Gordon. That would mean that he would eat alone. Or perhaps he would prefer a tray in his room as well. Or, he might still be with Sean.
She left to manage dinner. She returned a few minutes later to find Mrs. Farmer sitting in the corner, occupied with a book. When Jennifer offered to sit with Lauren while she went to eat her own meal, the midwife considered the matter for a moment before nodding.
“I’ll be gone only a short while, Lady Jennifer. I believe that the birth of the countess’s child is imminent.”
Poor Lauren looked terrified.
Jennifer stayed with her sister-in-law long enough for Mrs. Farmer to eat her dinner. Mrs. Thompson sent two trays up to the suite, one for Lauren and one for Jennifer. Unlike Lauren, she had an appetite.
She offered to read a book Lauren had begun, thinking that it might take her sister-in-law’s mind from the impending birth. She kept reading for two hours until Lauren fell asleep.
Jennifer finally tiptoed out of the room, waving to Mrs. Farmer. The midwife barely returned a nod.
Chapter Thirteen
Jennifer entered her suite and lit one of the lamps in her sitting room. She walked to the windows and stood there a moment. Here, the view overlooked where the north wing had once been, the expanse of open area and the rolling hills. Tonight, she barely saw it as she stood there.
For several moments she thought about what she was considering. Her mother wouldn’t approve. Neither would Ellen. The world would label her as some kind of fallen woman, but wasn’t she considered a spinster now? Someone who was unloved and unwanted? What did it matter what other people thought?
She wanted and needed to be with Gordon more than decorum or morality or decency or any word that someone might use to condemn her.
She bathed, put on perfume, then donned her loveliest nightgown and peignoir, a gift from Ellen on her last birthday. The pale yellow silk floated like a cloud over her body, almost feeling like Gordon’s fingers on her skin.
Her body hummed and her skin felt hot. Even the delicate silk felt like too much covering.
After donning a cotton wrapper and her slippers, she left her rooms. Adaire Hall seemed even larger as she descended one staircase and ascended another to get to the main wing.
Jennifer was almost at Gordon’s room when a footman stepped out of the shadows and bowed to her. She stifled a yelp and grabbed the neck of her wrapper with one hand.
“Good evening, Lady Jennifer.”
After what had happened to the north wing, her father had put precautions into place. Consequently, a half dozen footmen were stationed throughout Adaire Hall, their primary duty to ensure that fire wasn’t an ever-present danger.
Evidently, this footman had decided to lurk around the guest chambers.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Jennifer?”
For a fleeting second she debated what she would say, then reasoned that she didn’t need to offer him any excuses for being here past midnight. In the next moment she changed her mind, kno
wing that gossip flowed through Adaire Hall like whiskey at a clan gathering.
She was trying, desperately, to come up with some excuse when one of the double doors to the earl’s suite opened to reveal Lauren.
“Jennifer? Is everything all right?”
“Everything is fine. Are you feeling better?” Jennifer asked, walking toward her sister-in-law.
“I am. Mrs. Farmer says that what I felt was false labor. It’s very common, evidently.”
For a moment she wondered if Lauren would question her presence in the corridor. Instead, Lauren looked beyond her to where the footman stood, then glanced at the end of the hall where the Blue Suite was located. There was no doubt in her mind that her sister-in-law knew exactly where she’d been headed. The footman probably knew as well.
She was torn between disappointment, irritation, and acute embarrassment. It was one thing to decide to be a fallen woman without an audience. Quite another to have to come up with an explanation for her presence in the hallway wearing her bedclothes.
When Lauren turned and walked back through the open door, Jennifer followed her.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Farmer isn’t here,” Lauren said, passing through the sitting room and heading for her bed. “She’s gone to bed.” She climbed the three steps up to the mattress, then sat heavily on the edge, patting the spot next to her.
“It’s not that I’m afraid of her exactly,” she continued. “It’s just that she’s very domineering.”
“I’m quite in awe of her myself,” Jennifer said as she went to sit next to her sister-in-law. “She has a presence about her.”
Lauren glanced at her, then away. “Nothing would dare go wrong with Mrs. Farmer around.”
“Nothing’s going to go wrong. You will have a healthy, happy baby. I can’t wait to become an aunt.”
“You should be a mother yourself, Jennifer. I don’t know of anyone who would be a better mother.”
She’d heard that comment before, but it had always been coupled with a recommendation for a husband. Lauren knew a great many people since her father was so wealthy. She was all for marrying Jennifer off and wasn’t the least bit shy about her intentions.
“Tell me about Gordon.”
“Gordon?”
“Yes, Gordon. The exceedingly handsome man whose room you were going to. The same man who’s made you starry-eyed.”
Jennifer didn’t know whether to faint, claim a sudden unbearable sickness, or pretend a blinding headache. None of those maladies, however, would be sufficient to keep Lauren from satisfying her curiosity.
“There isn’t much to tell,” Jennifer said. “He used to live here. We knew each other as children.”
“No, Jennifer. You forget. We’re friends. I’ve lived at Adaire Hall for a year now. During that time I’ve gotten to know you. I’ve always wondered why a woman as lovely and personable as you was unmarried. Is Gordon the answer?”
Jennifer slid off the bed and walked to one of the bedroom windows, parting the heavy velvet curtains. This room was almost oppressive in the richness of its furnishings. Everything was crimson. The curtains were crimson. The bedspread, even the skirt on the vanity was the same bloodred color.
Any other shade would have made the large room with its inlaid panels and ornate ceiling seem more welcoming.
To her surprise, however, Lauren loved the color, claiming that it was her favorite. She’d also been under the impression that Harrison liked it. To the best of Jennifer’s knowledge Harrison didn’t care what color Lauren had redecorated their suite, as long as he didn’t have to spend much time in it.
“Yes. Gordon’s the reason.”
“You love him.”
She glanced at Lauren. Her sister-in-law wasn’t smiling any longer. Instead, there was an expression on her face that was oddly poignant, as if she understood in that moment. Maybe she did. Maybe Lauren realized that Harrison didn’t feel the same about her, that she was simply a wife, a life change that needed to happen.
Every young man married, especially a titled one. He had an obligation to bring an heir into the world and his wife was with child. After that requirement was satisfied, there would be no place for Lauren in his life.
For the first time she suspected that her sister-in-law recognized the truth only too well.
Lauren looked down at her feet, now bare of slippers. “Does he love you? I mean, really love you, not simply tell you that he does? If he has, how do you know? How does anyone know?”
“Yes.” Jennifer walked back to the bed, stepped up, and sat on the edge of the mattress again. “I think you have to believe, don’t you? I don’t know what it’s like not to love Gordon. I’ve loved him ever since I was a child.”
For a moment Lauren didn’t say anything. Jennifer didn’t know if she should interject a comment or say something calming about Harrison. What could she say about her brother that would explain his behavior? He’d treated Lauren abominably.
“Sometimes, you can fool yourself,” Lauren finally said. “It doesn’t matter what your mind says. Your heart will do as it wishes.”
They had never discussed Harrison before, even in such opaque terms.
“Sometimes,” Lauren continued. “Most of the time, in fact. My heart refuses to listen to anything else other than how it feels.”
Implicit in that comment was a request, one that Jennifer heard and understood. Please don’t tell me the truth. Don’t tell her that Harrison was probably not capable of caring for anyone other than himself.
The truth would not be Lauren’s friend in this instance.
“Gordon is a very personable man. I found him exceedingly charming.”
Jennifer smiled. “That is not a word I have ever heard anyone use about Gordon. Except for my mother. She found him charming, too.”
“But he wasn’t the same toward you?”
Jennifer stared at the opposite wall. “He was just himself. He was angry sometimes. And funny. He could do the best impressions of people, including our tutor. He had a wonderful sense of humor. He was also passionate about a great many things. I don’t find it odd that he’s made a success of himself. I always knew he would.”
“Tutor?”
“My mother insisted that he be educated along with Harrison and me. Harrison was sent away to school, but he didn’t do well there. His guardian decided that a tutor would be good enough for him. My mother was the one who insisted on me being educated as well.”
“My father would have approved, but then he’s an egalitarian. How did you feel about it?”
Jennifer smiled again. “I was thrilled, but then I had been Gordon’s friend for a long time by that point. We studied together often. He was always determined to do better on a test than I did. Or Harrison.”
Harrison fussed. He complained. He insulted Gordon at every opportunity. He made jokes about his education being wasted on a gardener’s boy. She doubted that Mr. McBain was in favor of the arrangement, either, but he deferred to Jennifer’s mother. After all, she was still the Countess of Burfield, a woman beloved and considered a heroine by most people.
“Both Gordon and Harrison were determined to show the other one up. At least until Harrison went away to school again. This time he stayed.”
“What happened then?”
“Plans were made for me to have a season, even though I didn’t want one.”
She’d known exactly what she wanted in life, to be Gordon’s wife. To live with him where they’d have the freedom to love each other.
One day she’d said as much to her mother. She couldn’t remember the reason for the comment, only that Mary Adaire hadn’t said anything for some time.
When she’d finally spoken, Jennifer wasn’t surprised by what she said.
“My dear, darling girl, you might change your mind. You’re young and that happens.”
“Did you? Did you change your mind about Father?”
Her mother’s lips had turned up on one corner, the only kind of
smile Mary could express with the terrible burns on her face.
“No, I didn’t change my mind.”
That had been that. They’d never spoken of Gordon after that day. The strangest thing was that her mother had never told her that he wasn’t good enough for her, or that she was foolish for loving the gardener’s boy. Instead, when she spoke of Gordon it was with admiration for his achievements in the schoolroom.
She had a feeling that her mother would have been proud of Gordon’s other accomplishments as well.
“But he left you,” Lauren said.
“Yes, he left me, but he returned.”
Nor was she going to let him leave her again.
“It’s time for bed,” she said. “Sweet dreams, Lauren.”
Lauren reached out and placed her hand against Jennifer’s cheek. “Don’t be foolish, Jennifer.”
Jennifer only nodded. There wasn’t much she could say. If she went to Gordon’s room now, everyone would know about it in the morning.
Reluctantly, she left the earl’s suite, nodded to the footman, then headed back to her rooms.
Chapter Fourteen
Jennifer had taken care with her appearance, wearing a dark red dress the same color as a thread in the Adaire tartan. She hadn’t put up her hair, but instead kept it down like she’d worn it all those years ago.
Before she left to find Gordon, Jennifer knocked on Lauren’s door.
Lauren was in bed, and the minute Jennifer entered the room, her sister-in-law held out her hand.
“It’s time, Jennifer. This time it really is.”
Mrs. Farmer was bustling about, telling the maid where to put the stack of linens and preparing to help Lauren out of bed.
When Jennifer questioned the midwife, Mrs. Farmer turned an irritated look on her.
“This is the ancestral bed, Lady Jennifer. Would you have us ruin the mattress with blood?”
Jennifer looked at Lauren, who returned her glance with wide eyes.
