by Karen Ranney
“Not safe? If it’s not safe for me, why is it safe for you?”
“I never said it was safe for me,” Douglas said.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “You never said anything about it being a hazardous process, Douglas.”
“We actually didn’t discuss the process in detail, Sarah.”
Well, that was certainly true. She’d barely discovered what it was her father was willing to bargain her for, let alone discussed the matter. Still, she was a little annoyed by his reticence. Was she supposed simply to ignore the fact that he might be in danger?
“Is there a reason why you’re here, Sarah?” he asked.
She should definitely resent that tone of voice. Or the careful look in his eyes. And she should most assuredly not take notice that his white shirt was open at the throat, and his hair just a little bit mussed as if he’d threaded his fingers through it.
However many times Sarah saw him, however many times she told herself he was her husband—nothing prepared her for the shock she felt in the presence of his sheer physical perfection.
“Sarah?”
Startled, she stared up at him. What did she want? She blurted out the news.
“I have to go to Scotland,” she said.
The words seemed to hang in the air between them until she wanted to prompt him to speak. For the longest time, he didn’t say anything, merely propped his hand against the frame of the open door and regarded her the way he might one of the components of his dangerous process: with a great deal of care.
“Why do you have to go to Scotland? When I first met you, you were arguing against traveling to Scotland, I believe.”
“My grandfather lives in Scotland. My mother’s father. I have to tell him about my mother, and I cannot simply send word to him in a letter, Douglas. Besides, I’ve never met him.”
His brows drew together. “Do you think now is an opportune moment to do so?”
“My mother and her father were estranged, and I know it always saddened my mother. Now, at least, I should make the effort to heal that rift. Besides, I cannot, in all good conscience, write that poor man and tell him the news that his daughter is dead in a letter. How cold and cruel would that be?”
“You couldn’t be cruel, Sarah. You worry too much for those in your care.”
She tucked that comment away to study later. For now, she needed his…consent? Surely not. No, she needed his company.
“Can you spare the time?” she asked.
“So you want me to go to Scotland with you?”
“Of course I do. You’re my husband.”
“And I’m Scottish,” he said.
She stared at him in surprise. “You’re not.”
“Never tell a Scot he’s not a Scot,” he cautioned.
“You never said. Nor do you sound like one.”
“I’ve lived all over the world since I was fourteen. I speak a number of languages. I haven’t been home in some years.”
“There,” she announced. “All the better reason why you should return. I couldn’t imagine being away from Chavensworth all that time.”
He ignored that comment for a question. “Where does this unknown grandfather of yours live?”
“Outside of Perth.”
He stared at her. “Perth, is it? That’s a bit of a coincidence.”
She frowned at him.
“I was born in Perth,” he said.
Actually, she had no knowledge of Scotland, other than it was a rugged, mountainous land, peopled—according to her father—with barbarians. She’d dismissed that opinion since her mother was Scots and certainly not a savage.
He glanced back into the interior of the observatory, then back at her. “How soon are you set on leaving?”
“A day? Two days,” she decided.
He nodded. “I’ll need a week,” he said.
“A week?” She thought of protesting, then kept silent.
“A week,” he said. “Are you very sure this is something you’re set on doing?”
“Very sure,” she said. “How many days do you think it will take to reach Kilmarin?”
“Kilmarin?”
“My grandfather’s home,” she said.
For the first time since she had met him, Douglas seemed truly out of sorts. Not irritated exactly, as much as discomfited. If she didn’t know better, she would think she’d given him a shock.
“Do you know Kilmarin?”
“I would venture to say that anyone in Scotland knows Kilmarin, Lady Sarah,” he said.
She was startled at his vehemence.
They looked at each other for a few long moments, then Sarah left him, glancing back to find him still regarding her with that intent gaze of his.
Why did she feel as if she had just begun a significant journey, one a great deal more important than a simple visit to Scotland?
Chapter 16
Douglas walked out the door in the north façade, an entrance not in daily use by the inhabitants of Chavensworth. This view of the house was distinguished by five chimney stacks flanking a tall central clock tower, all of them in a beige brick that had mellowed over the centuries.
He waited until the carriage turned and stopped in front of the steps. This particular carriage had been his first purchase on arriving in London, and the coachman the first person Alano had hired. Both looked well cared for and perfectly at home in front of one of the grandest estates in England.
“Am I the Queen of England then?” Alano said, lowering the window of the coach. “Here you are to meet me. It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t turn tail and run back to London.” His gaze encompassed the façade of Chavensworth. “Though I can see why you haven’t returned.”
“I’ve been hoping you’d make it in time.”
“In time for what?” Alano asked. “I’m thinking that you didn’t ask me here simply to fawn at your new home.”
“It’s not mine,” Douglas said. “I doubt I’d want the responsibility even if it were. It takes a great deal of time and effort to oversee Chavensworth.”
Alano had never been known for his handsome appearance. He looked more like a pirate than a successful, well-traveled man, especially when he was annoyed, like now. His eyes narrowed, and the wrinkles around his nose deepened, and deep furrows on his brow appeared.
“Are you going to tell me, then? Or are we playing a game of guess the reason?”
Douglas reached for the door handle and pulled it open. “What’s got you in such a bad mood? That new butler of yours?”
“He’s a molly woggle,” Alano said. “Always correcting me. I’d fire the fool, if I didn’t think it would make him happy.”
“In what way?” Douglas asked, stifling his smile.
“He’d know he got the best of me. I’ll have him quit before I give him the satisfaction of firing him.”
Douglas decided that any further conversation on the subject of Paulson would be fruitless, so he gave the driver directions to the stables before escorting Alano up the steps.
“Have you arranged that other matter?”
Alano pulled some papers out of his jacket and handed them to Douglas. “Done and ready for you,” he said. “Cost you a pretty penny, though.”
“Thank you,” Douglas said. “I’m going to Scotland, Alano. To Perth.”
Alano halted on the step and studied him.
“Are you, now? Are you ready for that?”
“I am,” Douglas said, certain of it. “But I need your help in another matter. The crystallization process has already begun, and the crystals will be ready in a day or two. I can’t leave it unattended.”
“When do you leave?”
“Within the hour,” Douglas said.
“That’s a bit of poor planning, isn’t it?”
“Exceedingly,” Douglas said.
Alano squinted at him. “You really do need my help, not to insult me back.”
“I never insult you, Alano,” Douglas said amiably, fami
liar with this long-standing verbal game. “I only tell the truth.”
“Before you leave, you’d better tell me what else I need to do,” Alano said, sighing loud enough that Douglas could hear.
This time, Douglas didn’t bother to hide his smile.
A week later, Sarah understood why Douglas required the time before they left for Scotland.
She’d expected that they would be driven to King’s Cross Station. She’d not expected that the carriage would travel some distance beyond the station to the very end of the train.
They left the carriage, and walked to the siding. Douglas pointed the way to a railcar, nearly as long as the other passenger cars, built of wood, and painted a deep blue. No words or identification marred the outside, marking it immediately as privately owned.
“I dislike traveling with eighteen other people,” Douglas said.
“Is this yours?” she asked, utterly surprised.
“Shall we say it’s ours? I haven’t time to furnish it the way I wish, but Alano assures me that it’s as fine as I could obtain, given the time.”
She turned and stared at him.
“You’ve purchased a railcar,” she said.
He smiled and held out his arm. “Shall we go see what it looks like? I’ve not had time to inspect it myself.”
Windows lined the car on both sides, each window adorned with a shirred-ivory curtain, now closed to provide privacy. Mahogany cabinets lined the back of the car, several faced with glass and revealing a selection of books in one, and a decanter and glasses in another. A small square table sat in front of the windows on one side of the car, flanked by four straight-back chairs upholstered in the same blue shade as the outside of the car.
At the front of the car was a large sofa, facing two overstuffed chairs, this fabric a softer blue. The cabinets at this end of the car allowed for a door in the middle, the half window in it covered by the same ivory curtain fabric.
Both she and Florie were agog, especially when they discovered the small stove in one cabinet. Douglas, however, seemed to take the luxury in stride.
“We can only take the train to Perth,” he said. “From there we’ll have to take a carriage.”
“Have you purchased a carriage as well?” she asked.
“We’ll simply take the one that brought us to London, and have it lashed to a flatcar. Tim will accompany us,” he said, naming their coachman and Florie’s husband. He turned to her now. “If you’d like to be with him, Florie, I’ve arranged for first-class tickets for both of you.”
Florie glanced from Douglas to Sarah, trying to restrain some of her enthusiasm and failing miserably.
“Go on,” Sarah said. “We shall see each other in Scotland.”
“I’ll just put the hamper away first,” Florie said.
Cook had prepared a hamper for that day, packing it with two salted hams, three jars of potted pork, at least a dozen jars of pickled vegetables, dried apricots, peaches, and quinces, along with a selection of breads.
“How long will it take to reach Perth?” she said, once Florie had left the car.
“Fifteen hours,” he said. “Unless we spend the night at a siding.” He moved to open one of the cabinets. He was exploring, just as she and Florie had done.
“That fast?” she asked, dropping onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa.
She shook her head, unable to comprehend the extravagance. Granted, Chavensworth was a beautiful home but it didn’t belong to her, and everything within it—portable and sellable—had been stripped from it by her father. She had no ready funds, exchanging the income Chavensworth produced for necessities such as food and other commodities that the estate could not provide.
Turning to Douglas, she watched him. He was smiling, obviously delighted by his exploration.
“Did you do this for me?” she asked.
He turned to study her, his gaze intent. “Engines are extraordinarily loud,” he said. “In addition, I dislike plumes of steam and smoke.”
She’d dreaded her first time on a train, but this was almost magical. Had the circumstances been any different, she would have been as thoroughly delighted as Douglas appeared to be.
An hour later, when the train began to move, Sarah decided that the sofa was not a good choice and relocated to one of the chairs. Here, she at least could grip both arms as the speed began to increase. Douglas, who’d already spread his papers across the surface of the table, glanced over at her and smiled.
“It’s a great deal faster than a carriage,” he said, “but there’s no need for alarm.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said, lying. “I’m simply being cautious.”
He turned his chair to face her. “Is this the first time you’ve traveled by rail?”
She nodded. “I suppose you’ve done so many times before.”
He smiled. “I have, but I felt the same as you at the beginning.”
A very nice thing to say, but she wasn’t at all certain Douglas had ever been afraid of anything.
They were soon out of London, through beautiful open country. Lowland hills began to swell up from the earth, gradually surrounding them. The weather was fair and the rails smooth, and gradually Sarah’s discomfort gave way to acute boredom.
She looked through the books in the cabinet, found one on botanicals that looked interesting, and carried it back to the chair. She halted in the middle of the room, transfixed by the feeling beneath her feet.
“What is it, Sarah?”
She turned to smile at Douglas.
“The floor is vibrating. The speed of the train makes it very challenging to walk, doesn’t it? However does one become accustomed to it?”
He smiled back at her. “I imagine it’s a bit like getting your sea legs. It takes some time to learn how to walk aboard ship, especially in inclement weather.”
She made it to the chair, sat, and turned to him. “Have you been all over the world, Douglas? And traveled by whatever conveyance?”
“I’ve seen most of it,” he said. “But my most impressive journeys were those on the back of an elephant, or riding a camel.”
“While this is my very first occasion to travel by rail. How countrified you must think me.”
He looked at her for a moment, as if he wished to say something, then changed his mind. Finally, he only smiled, devoting himself to his work again.
“I understand you will be staying with us for some time, Mr. McDonough,” a woman said.
Alano looked up to find that an angel was speaking to him. Not an angel with long blond hair and ethereal wings, but an angel with soft blue eyes and a coronet of brunette braids upon her head.
He walked to the base of the stairs and placed one hand on the newel post. She still stood above him, making no move to equalize their positions. She might be considered Queen of the Angels, so regal did she appear. A thought he decided to keep to himself for the time being.
“I will,” he said. “A fortuitous event, would you not agree?”
She raised one eyebrow and looked at him imperiously.
“Is there any food you do not like, Mr. McDonough?”
“I’ll eat just about anything,” he said. “Except for lamb. Dinner, however, was very tasty. If lonely.”
She looked startled.
“How do you prefer your mattress made? I’ve had the maids mound it in the middle, but that can be changed.”
“I’m of an age that anything other than the floor is fine with me,” he said.
“Is there anything we need to know to make your visit with us as pleasant as possible?” The words were hospitable; the tone in which they were uttered was icy.
He found himself utterly fascinated.
“Have you been here long?” he asked.
She looked surprised at the question, but answered nonetheless.
“A number of years. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he said.
He just wanted to keep her there talking. Any subject was
acceptable, including the weather. But it was such a bucolic English night that he didn’t think it would interest her for long.
“Have you ever known a Spaniard?” he asked.
Another lift of an eyebrow.
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he said.
She slowly descended the steps, still clutching that odd book with one arm. It looked heavy enough that she could use it as a weapon.
As she passed him, Mrs. Williams uttered a word that only someone well versed in colloquial Spanish would know. In fact, he was so startled by her whisper that he wondered if he’d misheard her.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, the smile playing around her mouth telling him he hadn’t been mistaken after all.
He began to look at his stay at Chavensworth in a whole new light.
The movement of the train had lulled Sarah to sleep. Douglas reached into the cupboard and retrieved a blanket, then placed it across her lap before tenderly tucking it around her shoulders.
The train hadn’t halted at a siding after all but continued on through the night. The moon shone through the window. A Scottish moon. For the first time in twenty years, he was home. In the time he’d been gone, he’d seen the world, experienced adventure, been in danger as well as financial peril.
He’d come to value friendship, honesty, honor, and courage. He’d also come to feel some degree of shame for those things he’d done, as a boy, to survive.
Coming home was easier than he’d thought it to be. Perhaps that was due to Sarah’s presence beside him. Sarah, intense, duty-driven Sarah, who smiled so rarely that he’d come to look for it. Something about her smile seemed to lighten his heart.
Sarah made a sound in her sleep, and one hand brushed against her cheek. He bent and smoothed her hair free of her face.
Chavensworth was entailed, and the Duke of Herridge had not mentioned any other estates. Consequently, Douglas had believed the fortune he’d amassed to be substantially larger than anything she would inherit. But if she were to inherit Kilmarin, it meant his wife would probably become the wealthiest woman in Scotland.
Ever since he was a little boy, he’d heard of Kilmarin. The castle seemed to embody all that was great and wondrous about Scotland, its history, and the ferocity of its people. There were places at Kilmarin, he’d heard, that were seven hundred years old.
