The Groom Says Yes

by Cathy Maxwell

  The compliment startled her—until she realized it wasn’t flattery but a poke, gently said, about her own state of undress, and she was mortified. She’d been so busy between ogling him, she’d forgotten she was, for all intents and purposes, déshabillé—which would have been fine if they had been in a boudoir and someplace far more sophisticated than Aberfeldy, but they were not.

  Sabrina began backing toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. The cheeky devil. He knew she’d forgotten herself.

  However, before she could answer, there was a sound of humming at the back door. It began to open. “Mrs. Patton,” Sabrina said in a horrified whisper.

  Chapter Fourteen

  To his credit, Mr. Enright understood the situation immediately. It would not be good for Sabrina to be caught with a half-naked man. The gossip would fly through the valley. She had no illusions about Mrs. Patton’s loyalty. A good story was a good story.

  Half of his face still covered with shaving cream, he pulled her back into the kitchen and stepped out into the hall. Sabrina cowered behind the kitchen wall, wondering what was to become of her.

  She heard Mrs. Patton gave a short cry of surprise at the sight of a stranger in her house. From her vantage point, Sabrina could only see Mr. Enright, but she could imagine the look on the cook’s face as she took in their lathered guest. Mrs. Patton had a weakness for a handsome gentleman.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mr. Enright said, again with that morning cheerfulness. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Who are you?” Mrs. Patton answered with her customary forthrightness.

  “Colonel Cormac Enright.” He clicked his heels and gave a short bow, a polite one. “I’m a guest of Magistrate Davidson. He’s already left for an appointment. I was taking advantage of the peace to shave in your kitchen. I hope that doesn’t upset you.”

  He knew it wouldn’t. He understood the power of his masculine charm.

  Sabrina was also certain that he was supremely confident that the sight of his bare chest would rattle Mrs. Patton enough that she would accept anything he said, and he was right.

  The cook started making a clucking sound like a hen feathering her nest. “No, no,” she assured him. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, Colonel.” Hen cluck, hen cluck, hen cluck. “Don’t let me interrupt your shaving.”

  “I can take it somewhere else,” he offered, taking a step closer to her.

  Mrs. Patton’s chortling clucks grew higher, and Sabrina could well imagine her round face giddy with pleasure as she said, “Don’t be silly, Colonel.”

  Yes, silly, Sabrina wanted to echo. Silly, giddy, hen—

  Mr. Enright waved his hand behind his back at her, catching her attention. He was signaling that she should make her escape. She could sneak to the stairs and the safety of her room now.

  To Mrs. Patton, he said, “Tell me about that pony in the stables.”

  Sabrina stuck her head out into the hall and realized he was directing Mrs. Patton toward the back door. He had also positioned himself to block Mrs. Patton’s view of the kitchen.

  Mrs. Patton was not one to stint on talking. “A fine Highland pony Dumpling is. You’ll have to ask Miss Sabrina about him. She reared him herself from a foal. A farmer had given up on him. Said he would never live, but our Miss Sabrina adores her animals, and she has a gift for healing. That pony owes her its life. I say, where is Miss Sabrina?”

  Sabrina was almost to the stairs. She tried not to look back. The impulse was hard to ignore.

  “I don’t believe she is up yet,” Mr. Enright answered. “I’m escorting her to call on her uncle the earl of Tay today.”

  “Escorting her?” There was a wealth of speculation in Mrs. Patton’s voice.

  “Yes, we have a visit planned,” he answered as if he hadn’t known what he’d just done. Sabrina had not been planning to take him with her when she called on her uncle, but now she would. Who knew what other suggestions would pass from his lips to Mrs. Patton’s ears if she didn’t keep him close to her all day?

  “Have you had anything to eat?” Mrs. Patton wondered.

  “I made a cup of tea.”

  Mrs. Patton made a sound of weary forbearance. “Isn’t that like the magistrate?” she said. “Here we have a guest, and he doesn’t tell me. I imagine Miss Sabrina didn’t know to expect you either.”

  “It was a surprise,” Mr. Enright murmured.

  Sabrina reached the stairs. She now lingered. She couldn’t help herself.

  “Well, what can one say?” Mrs. Patton said. “Back when Mr. Davidson still had his man Emory working for him, I’d have an idea of what was going to happen. Emory would put the word in my ear. However, now it is anyone’s guess what will happen from day to day.”

  “What happened to Emory?” Mr. Enright asked, and Sabrina could have groaned aloud because she knew Mrs. Patton would answer honestly.

  “Och, the magistrate let him go,” the cook said. “He couldn’t afford his wages. I tell you, this is a fine family—but the earl, that is a different story. The man ruins everything he touches. He’d have Mr. Davidson and Miss Sabrina begging in the street if he had his way . . .”

  Sabrina could listen to no more. She wanted to staunch the flow of words coming from Mrs. Patton’s mouth, but the only way to do that was with her properly clothed presence. She flew up the stairs and dashed to her room.

  Ripping off her dressing gown and nightclothes, she threw them who knows where and dove into her wardrobe for a dress. She grabbed a blue day dress with lace trim at the collar. It was the sort of thing she would usually save for Sunday services, but she wasn’t being choosy at the moment.

  The water in the pitcher was from the day before and cold. Sabrina didn’t care. She scrubbed her face, polished her teeth, and tried to tame her heavy hair. Her fingers nimbly braided it, then she pinned it into a coil at the base of her neck.

  She grabbed her driving gloves and charged out of the room, not stopping until she reached the bottom of the step to take a deep breath. Calm. She must appear calm and serene, as if Mr. Enright were any normal guest of the house. It had been very clever of him to suggest that the magistrate had been called away on business.

  The smell of frying sausages drifted from the kitchen. Mrs. Patton was enthusiastically telling Mr. Enright the history of the valley, and probably of the Davidsons.

  Sabrina plastered a smile on her face and entered the room.

  Mr. Enright came to his feet at her entrance. He was, thankfully, dressed.

  However, Sabrina realized here was a man who looked as good in his clothes as he did without them.

  The bottle green wool jacket he’d scrounged from the attic fit tight across his shoulders, but that only served to emphasize their breadth and the muscles beneath the material. He’d tied his neckcloth in a simple knot. She was now glad, in a very feminine way, that she was wearing one of her best dresses.

  “Miss Sabrina, you look as if you slept well,” Mrs. Patton said approvingly. “I’ve been feeding our guest a few sausages. Would you like one?”

  “I’m not really hungry,” Sabrina said. The cup of tea Mr. Enright had poured for her earlier was still on the table. Sabrina sat down in the chair beside his and took a sip. It was tepid but what she needed—

  “What are you drinking?” Mrs. Patton asked, her brows raised in horror. “That cup has been sitting there. Was it yours, Colonel?”

  “Um, yes,” Mr. Enright said. “But I didn’t drink from it. I poured it and left it on the table. I’m sorry,” he apologized, covering up for Sabrina’s mistake and this bit of proof she had been in the kitchen earlier.

  “It is not a problem,” Mrs. Patton said, none the wiser. “You can enjoy as many cups of tea as you wish, sir. As for you, Miss Sabrina, here is a clean cup and I have a fresh pot.”

  Chastened, Sabrina took the cup and held it out. Mr. Enright poured the tea. She was conscious of his easy grace as he leaned towar
d her to fill her cup. His jaw was smooth and the scent of the shaving soap clean and spicy. He’d raided her father’s cache, obviously foreswearing her lavender-and-rose scent. The thought made her smile.

  He smiled in return.

  Their moment was interrupted as Mrs. Patton shoved the pan practically between them, forcing Mr. Enright and Sabrina to lean away from each other. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like a sausage?” the cook pressed.

  It was unlike Mrs. Patton to be so forward.

  “I’m certain,” Sabrina said, but the cook wasn’t listening to her. She’d turned, her bum practically in Sabrina’s face, to coax Mr. Enright to eat the last sausage.

  “I hate to see food go to waste. I imagine you are the same, Colonel.”

  “I am,” Mr. Enright said, “but I can eat no more. Perhaps we should give Rolf a treat?”

  “Aye, we could do that,” Mrs. Patton agreed, something she would never have allowed if Sabrina had suggested such an idea.

  “I believe we need to be on our way,” Sabrina said.

  “To pay your respects on the earl?” Mrs. Patton wanted to know. She started making the hen-nesting sounds again and her eyes were alight as if she had match-making on her mind.

  “Yes, we are,” Sabrina said, and shot the woman a look, willing her to return to her old self.. Sabrina walked briskly out of the kitchen, expecting Mr. Enright to follow if he could ever escape Mrs. Patton’s clutches.

  She remembered that her bonnet was in her father’s office. She found the bonnet on the floor. Thankfully, it was not the worse for their struggles. She tied the ribbon under her chin and went outside.

  The day was a good one. The air was clear with the autumn sun promising a warm afternoon. Sabrina decided she didn’t need an outer garment. There were not many clouds in the sky, so they would not have to worry about rain.

  She went to the stable and hitched Dumpling to the cart. Rolf had left his bone long enough to come see what she was doing. He padded back to his bone, which he playfully threw into the air before settling down to chew on it again.

  Mr. Enright had not come out of the house yet.

  In truth, Sabrina had expected him to follow her out the door.

  He hadn’t.

  Sabrina stood out in the yard, believing she could be patient and failing miserably. She stomped to the door and opened it. “Mr. Enright, we should be leaving.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I’m coming.”

  “Wait, wait,” Mrs. Patton said, “and here is what my youngest son said, ‘I thought it was the apples.’”

  Both Mrs. Patton and Mr. Enright laughed uproariously at that statement.

  Sabrina hadn’t heard anything funny.

  “What a scamp,” Mr. Enright said. “You have your hands full with him.” He came out of the kitchen.

  “That I do,” Mrs. Patton answered, following him. “I’ll roast venison for dinner this evening. You like venison, don’t you, sir?”

  “I like all food,” Mr. Enright answered. He placed a black hat on his head, setting the wide brim at a rakish angle. It was the type of hat an ostler would wear, and Sabrina wondered where he’d found it in the attic. He now made a dashing appearance, and Sabrina was not pleased at the way her heart seemed to skip a beat at the sight of him.

  She wished to outgrow her attraction to him, not fall deeper under its spell.

  “I don’t have all day to stand here,” she practically barked.

  “I’m here,” he answered. “Mrs. Patton does like to talk.”

  “Not usually,” Sabrina lied.

  He smiled, the expression relaxed—and that frustrated her as well. She didn’t want to feel all mixed up inside. Feeling this way about Mr. Enright was ridiculous. If she was going to be fluttery around a man, it should be one from the valley. A suitable man. A salt-of-the-earth kind of man.

  Not a condemned convict.

  Then again, she wasn’t taking him to see her uncle for her own amusement. She was tolerating his company for her father’s sake.

  Or so she nobly told herself.

  “Would you like for me to drive?” he asked.

  “Do you know the way?” she said, sounding more snappish than she had intended.

  “No.”

  “Then I shall drive.”

  He shrugged, as if it had not been an issue one way or the other for him, and hopped into the cart. He leaned against one side and stretched his long legs out, placing the heels of his boots on the other side of the cart. He took up more than his fair share of the space, crowding her a bit.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked archly.

  He smiled his satisfaction, and said, “Carry on.”

  She thought about refusing his order. She could tell him that she and Dumpling weren’t going anywhere until he sat up straight . . . but then what good would that do except to make her look more peevish than she already did? She snapped the reins, and they were off.

  Dumpling started at a smart clip, and Sabrina let him go.

  Mr. Enright crossed his arms against his chest, his hat low on his head, and acted as if he was enjoying the ride.

  They drove through Aberfeldy, following the winding road that led to Annefield. There were a number of people out and about. Many tipped their hats or waved to Sabrina. They all stared hard when they realized she was not alone, and that the man with her was not her father.

  Oh, yes, jaws dropped open, especially the female ones.

  And Sabrina found it curious that so many women could immediately notice and appreciate Mr. Enright. She, herself, was usually so busy with whatever was occupying her mind she didn’t register people immediately. Not the details of them. It was humbling to realize how imperceptive she could be.

  “Is your life easier that every woman who crosses your path finds you attractive?” she heard herself ask.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him tilt his head in her direction, his expression one of confusion. “Not everyone finds me attractive.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Do you find me attractive?” he asked.

  Now they were on dangerous territory.

  Sabrina kept her gaze on the road, but her attention was on him. “I asked out of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” he replied lightly.

  “I’m afraid that was true,” she agreed, without realizing what she was admitting.

  He laughed. This time the sound was richer than it had been, less rusty and with more feeling.

  “I wasn’t being funny,” Sabrina said, a bit put off.

  “No, you weren’t. But I find your candor, Miss Sabrina, charming.”

  He’d used her given name. She was torn between being afraid of his becoming too familiar and wanting him closer. She couldn’t have it both ways.

  She knew which one was the wisest.

  “I’m just saying that life is easier for the attractive,” she pressed, clinging to the idea that they were having a theoretical conversation. “My cousins Aileen and Tara are beautiful women, and life has always worked out very well for them.”

  “You are a beautiful woman.”

  Sabrina almost drove the pony cart off the side of the road.

  She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Please,” she said, infusing in that one word her dismissal of his comment.

  “Do you believe I jest?” he asked. He had brought his feet in the cart so that he could better turn toward her.

  “I’m not vain,” she said. “Nor am I fishing for compliments.”

  “I’m not paying a compliment. I’m stating a fact.”

  She felt heat rush to her cheeks. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was flattered he had called her so.

  “I’m not a fool,” she protested softly. “You would just like another tryst with me.”

  “That I would,” he admitted readily. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t a lovely woman.”

  For a second, she was tem
pted to halt Dumpling and throw herself in his arms. She didn’t even dare look at him in case he could read her thoughts in her eyes. He was uncanny that way. It was as if he could read her mind . . . or perhaps, his thoughts echoed hers?

  Once again, dangerous ground.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, speaking as if he had told her she had good driving skills.

  And, of course, he wasn’t one to accept that. “Who convinced you that you weren’t lovely?” he asked.

  “A mirror,” she replied.

  He shook his head as if she spoke nonsense.

  “You don’t need to flatter me, Mr. Enright,” Sabrina said, deciding this nonsensical conversation could not continue. “I’m not like other women, who feel all they have to offer are their looks. I have a mind. I read and try to improve myself all the time.”

  “A bluestocking,” he murmured.

  “Yes, I am a learned woman,” she said proudly. “During my mother’s illness, books sustained me. Reading refreshed my spirits. However, I do not lack social graces.” She wanted that understood.

  “Social graces are overrated.”

  “They are never overrated. Did you not have a mother? Did she not teach you that?”

  There was a flash of straight white teeth. “She tried her best, my lady.”

  “I imagine you were a handful,” Sabrina had to observe.

  “I imagine you were the same,” he countered.

  “No, I always obeyed,” she said. “Although I admit to having an independent mind. Perhaps that has been my problem. But I do try to make good use of my life. It is not very much now, but someday it will be. Yes, it will,” she tacked on, realizing how empty her words sounded.

  Empty. There was a word she did not like.

  “And if you could do anything you wished, be anything, what would you want?” he asked.

  Sabrina shot him a dubious glance. “We don’t have choices in life.”

  “Of course, we do. Life is nothing but choices. However first, you must answer the question, what do you want?”