by Karen Ranney
His eyes were bloodshot, his face puffy. He looked twenty years older than his age. Even his blond strands were thinning and hinting at baldness in the not-too-distant future.
He was a perfect picture of a man who lived a dissolute lifestyle.
Gordon stood as Harrison entered the room followed by a woman he vaguely recognized. It took him a moment before he placed her. Mrs. Thornton, Jennifer’s godmother. They’d never been introduced, but he’d seen her before. He’d always disliked watching her arrive because it meant that she was going to take Jennifer away for weeks at a time.
“McDonnell. The gardener’s boy,” Harrison said.
“The same,” Gordon said, nodding to Mrs. Thornton.
Jennifer stood. “Where have you been?” She glanced at her godmother. “Are you responsible for bringing him home?” Before Mrs. Thornton could answer, Jennifer turned to her brother again. “Is that the only reason you’re here? I think you should care less about who my guest is and more about how your wife is faring.”
“She’s having the baby. That’s how she’s faring.”
“Go and see her. Now. We’ll talk later, but for now you need to see your wife.”
Harrison sent a fulminating glance toward him, then turned and left the room without another word.
The kitten had tamed the bear.
“I’m not entirely certain Mrs. Farmer will let him in, earl or no earl,” Jennifer said. She turned back to her godmother. “Ellen, I’d like you to meet Gordon McDonnell. Gordon, my godmother, Mrs. Thornton.”
Mrs. Thornton looked somewhat bemused. “Pleasure,” she murmured.
“Mrs. Thornton,” he said, inclining his head slightly.
“Would you like to join us?” Jennifer asked.
Gordon pulled out a chair between them. Ellen smiled as she took it, removing her gloves and hat.
“Indeed I should. I’m famished. I wanted to get here as quickly as possible, so we rarely stopped. Has Lauren had her baby?”
Jennifer rang the bell on the sideboard. Before the servants arrived, they spent the next few minutes in a conversation that Gordon would have avoided if he could. It consisted of talk about labor pains, the travails of women, and the mechanics of birth, none of which he wanted to know.
A few moments later Jennifer glanced at him.
“I think we’re scaring Gordon,” she said with a smile.
He wasn’t frightened, but he didn’t want to be privy to this particular conversation. Thankfully, Jennifer took pity on him and changed the subject.
They talked of London, the journey to Scotland accomplished by train as well as carriage, anything but childbirth.
It turned out that Ellen owned a home in London not far from his own town house. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had acquaintances in common as well.
“Are you related to the Adaire family?” he asked Ellen.
She thanked the maid for delivering her soup, then glanced at him.
“You and Jennifer have the same green eyes.”
“How odd. I was just thinking that you reminded me of Alex, but perhaps it’s just coloring.”
“How were you able to convince Harrison to come home?” Jennifer asked.
“It wasn’t me at all, I’m afraid,” Ellen responded. “But the woman who manages Harrison’s favorite club. She was instrumental in convincing him it was time to return home. I think she might’ve threatened him, actually. I’m not exactly sure how she accomplished it, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.”
He shared a glance with Jennifer before asking Ellen, “Are you talking about the Mayfair Club, Mrs. Thornton?”
“That’s it, exactly. How did you know?”
Jennifer looked at him again. “Gordon owns the Mayfair Club.”
Ellen looked startled. “Does he? How very strange. Talk about coincidence.”
Maggie had evidently cut Harrison off, which meant that he had no ready money with which to gamble. Gordon didn’t blame her for the decision. He would have done the same if Ellen had come to him.
“However it was accomplished,” Jennifer said, “I’m grateful, too. He should have been back a week ago.”
“London is a lure for men like Harrison,” Ellen said. “They’re young, titled, and wealthy.”
“He’s also married and has responsibilities. Do those simply vanish because he wants to spend his time gambling and even worse?”
Thank God for men who liked to gamble. Without them he wouldn’t be as wealthy as he was. However, there were actually few men as irresponsible as Harrison in his coterie of customers. Most men recalled their duties and performed them without being reminded.
The rest of the dinner conversation centered on people that Ellen and Jennifer knew in Edinburgh. When dinner was over, he excused himself, leaving the two women alone to discuss birth and Harrison’s peccadilloes.
Since it was late, Gordon decided not to go back to the cottage for fear of waking Sean. Instead, he stopped in front of the library, recalling the countess the moment he opened the door.
The myth of Adaire Hall was that it was a place of enchanted happiness. He’d known that was false when he was ten years old and realized how desperately unhappy the Countess of Burfield was. No one else seemed to realize how much she still missed her husband. Either that or she cloaked it well in front of everyone else.
She’d always been honest with him, and he’d reciprocated with telling her how he’d learned the basics of mathematics by playing cards with the footmen. He’d attended the village school, but only until he was nine. The education he’d received there had been considered adequate for his station in life. It was the countess who’d expanded his boundaries.
One day he’d confessed to her that he’d stolen into this library once, just to see all the books. He’d taken one, bound in burgundy leather, and sat with it between his hands, opening it to random pages and wondering at all the words. He hadn’t known many of them. To his surprise she asked him to fetch that same book one day. From then on, she spent at least an hour each day teaching him some of those words. He would say the letters aloud for her, and she would say the word, then they would practice sounding it out and spelling it.
“You need to know about men who’ve dreamed great things,” she told him once. “Philosophers and mathematicians, among others.”
Because of her, he’d started reading the books in the library. She’d given him one a week and expected him to finish it in that time. When Sean said something about the time he spent reading, Gordon had responded that the countess wanted him to do it. Neither Sean nor Betty commented after that.
Now all of those memories coalesced. He could almost see Mary Adaire sitting there in her chair, holding a book with her fingers trailing over the spine, her palm flat against a page, almost as if she were willing herself to read the words through her fingers.
She’d never complained to him, but he felt that losing the ability to read was something she regretted the most.
He and Jennifer had taken turns reading to her. He’d always felt embarrassed when it came to poetry, but he had kept on, for fear that one of them would consider him a coward for not continuing.
He headed for that section now, daring himself. One book especially seemed to have been her favorite. He pulled it from the shelf, smiling as he opened it.
“What the hell are you doing back here?”
He carefully placed the volume back on the shelf before turning to face Harrison.
“Wasn’t the money my mother left you enough? Are you thinking you’ll get some more from my sister? She may be a fool, McDonnell, but she’s not your fool.”
As a boy he’d handled the problem of Harrison by pushing his face into the dirt. He was sorely tempted to do the same right now.
There were several places in the Mayfair Club where he could see the members without them being aware that they were being watched. He’d observed Harrison often. The man was a bully. One who’d supposedly been taught manners, but
who remembered them only when it was personally convenient.
“Does it make you feel better to insult your sister?”
“What the hell are you doing back?”
Gordon folded his arms and wondered how far this conversation would go. He didn’t resort to violence unless it was absolutely necessary. Neither was he physically afraid of Harrison. He was his match in height, plus he’d taken boxing lessons in the past year. In a fair match he’d beat Harrison, he was sure. However, Harrison wasn’t above bending the rules.
“My father is dying,” he said.
That silenced Harrison, but only for a moment.
“You aren’t wanted here, McDonnell.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
The current situation could be altered with only a few words. All he had to do was tell Harrison that he owned the Mayfair Club, that the markers that may well bankrupt Adaire Hall were in his possession. It wouldn’t alter Harrison’s contempt for him, but it might well shut him up.
He knew when to use an advantage, and tonight was not the time.
“Get out,” Harrison said.
“Your sister has invited me to stay. I believe your wife seconded that invitation.”
“I don’t care. Get out.”
He could argue with the man, or he could simply get his belongings and take them to the gardener’s cottage.
Gordon strode toward the door, anticipating that Harrison would do something. He wasn’t disappointed when the other man’s arm reached out. Before Harrison could strike a blow, Gordon struck first, hitting Harrison in the chin with his left. He stumbled, which was enough for Gordon.
“Anytime you want a fair fight,” Gordon said, “let me know.”
Harrison rubbed his chin and glared at him. “The sooner you leave Adaire Hall, the better, and don’t return.”
“I doubt I’ll have any reason to do so, Harrison.”
Unless he owned Adaire Hall, which he could do with a flick of a wrist.
He’d wanted to return triumphant and in a way he had. He had a noose around Harrison’s neck, and the idiot didn’t even recognize his hangman.
Chapter Eighteen
Gordon knocked softly on the door to the cottage.
Moira opened it. “Here you are with the manners of a duke, I’m thinking. Knocking on the door of your own home.”
The cottage had never felt like home to him. However, since he was carrying his valises and needed a place to stay, it seemed a foolish thing to say.
“Your father’s having a bad night,” she said, her eyes filled with concern. “I’ve had to give him a second dose of laudanum, but it doesn’t seem to help.”
“I thought he was doing better.”
“He was, but that’s how it sometimes goes. The better they do one day is how much worse they are later.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Hot pads,” she said. “They’re the only thing that seems to help even a little.”
He put his valises in the empty second bedroom. The only furniture there was the cot he had used as a boy. He returned to the kitchen area, where Moira showed him how to dunk rags in boiling water and then wring them out using two sticks.
“Take care that you don’t burn yourself,” she said. “I’m not wanting another patient tonight.”
He promised with a smile, then realized that he shouldn’t have been so quick to reassure her. Getting the rags wet wasn’t a problem. Retrieving them from the boiling water and then manipulating the two sticks proved to be a challenging task. By the time he finished with one, Moira was returning to his side with rags that had already cooled.
Sean’s moans kept him working. Finally, several hours later, Sean fell into a drug-induced sleep. Moira sat at the table and placed her head on her arms. Gordon let her rest while he removed the pot of boiling water from the stove and dumped it out. Once that was done, he wrung out the rags and hung them on the line beside the window.
From what he’d witnessed during the past few hours, he suspected that the end was probably near. Perhaps it might even be a blessing.
He stood in the doorway of Sean’s room for a few minutes, looking at the drawn and pale face of his sleeping father. The soft knock on the door made him turn his head. Jennifer entered and talked with Moira for a moment before approaching him. Her hand reached out and grabbed his arm in wordless comfort.
“I didn’t know what Harrison had done, Gordon. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry. It was best that I was here anyway.”
Together they entered Sean’s room. Jennifer sat as Gordon picked up the second chair beneath the window and moved it to the other side of the bed. He covered Sean’s work-worn, gnarled hand with his own, grateful that the Adaire family had cared for his father when he hadn’t.
A moment later he looked over at Jennifer. “Tonight has taught me something. How fleeting life can be. Marry me. Marry me, Jennifer. Be my wife. Be my partner. Be my sounding board and my most trusted ally. Be my friend and my lover.”
She stared at him wide-eyed.
“We would have to live in London, but hopefully that isn’t a problem. If it is, I can make other arrangements. I have a few managers I trust implicitly.”
“London?”
He nodded. “I’ll give you the world. Whatever you want, Jennifer. You won’t suffer for anything. I promise.”
He was babbling. If it had been anyone but Jennifer, he would’ve stopped himself before now. It sounded as if he was begging, and he probably was. Yet he didn’t have any pride when it came to her, not when she looked at him with such radiance in her eyes.
She had to say yes.
“Marry me,” he said again. “I promise you we’ll be happy. As happy as we were all those years ago. Happier, perhaps.”
“Oh, Gordon, don’t you know how much I love you? You don’t even need to ask. You could simply take my hand and lead me to a carriage, and I’d go anywhere with you. These last five years without you have been miserable.”
“You’ll marry me?” He wanted the exact words. He wanted her to say it in such a way that there was no question.
She squeezed his hand. “Yes. A thousand times yes. A thousand times a thousand times. Yes, I’ll marry you. Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of being your wife?”
Sean blinked open his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, then seemed to realize where he was.
“I’ve something to say,” he said, his voice raspy.
“Don’t tire yourself,” Jennifer said, smoothing the sheets over Sean’s chest.
He turned his head at her voice, then closed his eyes, sighed, and remained silent.
“What is it, Da?”
“Naught,” Sean said. “Naught at all.”
They remained there long enough to be assured that Sean had no intention of speaking. He fell into an uneasy sleep, his hands occasionally twitching on the sheet.
Finally, they stood and left the room, leaving Sean to rest.
“You look as tired as I feel,” she said, smiling up at him.
“It’s been a long night.”
“Will you meet me later?” she asked. “At the loch? I’ll bring a lunch for us.”
He nodded.
She turned to leave him, her hand brushing his. He wanted to reach out and grab it, pull her to him, and hold her. Just that, to hold her for a few minutes, to allow himself the luxury of being with the one person in the world he loved unconditionally.
When the door closed behind her, he turned to Moira. “I’m going to sleep for a bit. If I’m needed, please come and get me.”
“Aye, that I will, but for now you go and get some rest. There’s time enough for worry later.”
When he woke, he would see if Sean felt like talking and find out what he wanted to say but couldn’t in front of Jennifer.
Lauren’s daughter was born in the wee hours of the morning which, according to Mrs. Farmer, was not unusual. The baby was healthy, already expressing h
er displeasure about having to wait a moment to be fed, and was instantly adored by her mother and her aunt.
Jennifer said a fervent prayer of thanks. She’d known that first births were long, but she’d never thought that it would take this many hours. The baby was perfect, however, even if she was loud. The two of them, Lauren and her daughter, were a picture she would not shortly forget.
She was careful not to compliment her niece. Doing so would summon all sorts of bad luck including being forespoken. To prevent such a thing from happening, the infant was passed through the nightgown that Lauren had been wearing at the time of her birth three times. Then Mrs. Farmer washed the baby in ice-cold water. Great care was taken so that the water didn’t touch the baby’s palms. Otherwise, any luck the child might have in acquiring worldly goods as an adult would be washed away. Finally, the infant was wrapped in her father’s shirt before being turned over to the nurse Jennifer had hired a week ago. Alice was barely older than a child herself, but she was bright, eager to please, and was well thought of in the village.
Harrison would be invited to visit his wife and their daughter as soon as Lauren was dressed in a clean gown and the linens changed once more.
Jennifer went in search of her brother now, knowing that despite the early hour Harrison was probably awake.
He was in the library, the first place she looked, his feet propped up on the desk that had been commissioned by their great-grandfather, a snifter of brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other.
She stood in front of the desk until he looked up, saw her, and nodded. Evidently, that was the only recognition she was going to get.
“You have a beautiful baby girl, Harrison.”
He took a sip of his brandy, then waved his cigar in her direction.
“Not an heir, then. Pity.”
She understood his need for an heir, but at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation. Lauren had been in labor a day and a half and he could at least come and visit her.
