But her sister needed her.
“My carriage is waiting. And I know . . . it’s a hardship, an inconvenience . . . but would you consider coming with me to Fife?” She drew in her breath and held it, realizing the imposition of such a favor. “I’m sorry. I should never have—”
“I’m honored that you ask me. Wait for me downstairs. I’ll be right down.”
THE TEN EASY MILES from Edinburgh to Queensferry passed in absolute silence, for Millie sat with her arm tucked into his and her head against Dermot’s shoulder. He was pleased she was able to find comfort enough from him to sleep. She’d drifted off even before Castle Hill had dropped out of sight behind them.
Dermot watched the flat and rolling fields and villages and the occasional ruined tower house as the rising sun cast shadows against the front wall of the carriage. He kept telling himself that attraction didn’t need to evolve into affection. Caring for someone could exist independently of love. It was only logical.
The rawness of his emotions told him, however, that he was far too late for such quibbling. His feelings toward her had been changing, deepening. Each time they met only served to bring them closer, building on a foundation that was laid before they were even introduced.
But it was the disease afflicting her that was making him frantic. He was more than worried, he was becoming desperate. Each day, she came one step closer to being too late. He was a surgeon. He knew that timeliness was critical. He understood the dangers she faced, but something needed to be done. She had decisions she needed to face. And yet, he couldn’t force her to do anything. He certainly wouldn’t tell her family, regardless of the fact that Wynne and her sister Jo were his closest friends.
He’d made that mistake before, and it led to Susan taking her own life.
The Firth of Forth was smooth for the ferry crossing, and ahead of them, the skies over Fife were clear. Standing beside Millie, he hid his concerns, telling himself he was here for her. What he alone could offer had to suffice. It was the way she wished it. How he felt about her, the fears that plagued him, needed to be kept in check. They were secondary to her desires.
In anticipation of Millie’s arrival, Captain Bell had a carriage waiting for them at the ferry dock for the remaining sixteen miles of their journey.
She sat beside him, as before, her head against his shoulder, her bonnet on the seat across from them. She was so at ease with him that his heart swelled. They’d been following the coast road for quite some time when Dermot looked over and saw she was awake. He brushed his chin against the softness of her hair. Her hand slipped into his, and the way their fingers entwined spoke of more than friendship. Suddenly, he felt a burn in the back of his throat.
“Have you thought over any of the suggestions I made yesterday?”
She rubbed her cheek against his coat and stayed silent.
“If you’ll allow me, I can make arrangements for you to meet several surgeons. Good ones. You can choose the one you want.”
A second hand rested on his sleeve. She was staring out the side window.
“Millie.” He pressed her hand. “Talk to me. Tell me you’re considering it.”
She lifted her face and looked up at him. He saw the tears welling up, saw the trembling lip.
“As friends. You must promise me. You’ll not care for me more than you would for any mere friend.”
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s far too late for that,” he replied, then leaned forward to kiss her.
MILLIE WANTED THIS, but she feared it. Her body and her heart ached to be in Dermot’s arms, but her mind charged her to remember his past and his loss.
Unfortunately, he was right. It was far too late.
His lips pulled away as if sensing her hesitation, but she was not about to let him go. Millie raised herself and kissed him again. A fire was racing through her, immolating all vestiges of reason. She wanted him.
She moved in his arms, trying to get closer to his body. He lifted her and set her on his lap. Her hands moved over his shoulders, his back. Her mouth sought his and found it.
As he kissed her again, she opened for him. He groaned his approval. His tongue was searching, tasting. She wanted more. She’d never experienced passion, but she knew it could be all-consuming. And she wanted to be consumed. She needed him.
Millie’s hands moved inside his coat and waistcoat. She wanted to tear open his shirt, feel the hot skin she’d pressed her face against when she’d come for him at the inn.
She shifted restlessly in his lap, feeling him rise hard against her. His hands took hold of her waist, and he broke off the kiss.
“Millie, I’m falling too quickly.”
She moved again. “Then fall. Please fall. And take me with you. Show me.”
Dermot’s hands framed her face, and he looked into her eyes. “I can’t. I won’t take advantage of you. Not when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“When you’re so vulnerable.”
“Is this vulnerable?” Millie kissed him again. This time, she tried to pour all the longing she felt tearing at her into the heated press of lips, into the primal dance of their tongues. “I want you, Dermot.”
His reaction was immediate. His arms tightened around her, his mouth as greedy as her own as he gave as much as he took. Millie clung to him, teetering on the edge of sanity as he caressed and molded her dress against her body. Every inch of her body was alive.
But when she expected more, he pulled back slightly. “Will you still want me tomorrow?”
“I will,” she promised, floating in a haze.
“And the day after?”
She brushed her lips against his. “I will.”
“Will you want me next month?”
Now it was her turn to draw back a little, and she saw the sadness in his eyes. Tears welled and rolled down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to his. She understood what he was asking.
“I will.”
“Then you must fight this . . . for me. And you must allow me to fight it with you. The two of us will claw our way through, forge a path for our future, however hard it might be.”
Millie wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder.
She wanted that future. She wanted everything he asked for. But she was afraid.
Chapter 9
MILLIE AND DERMOT WERE greeted with good news as soon as the carriage rolled to a stop at Bellhorne Castle. Sarah Pennington Bell had entered the world just before dawn, at nearly the same time the rider arrived in Edinburgh to deliver Ian Bell’s letter.
Dr. Thornton, who’d delivered the baby, grudgingly interrupted the breakfast he was eating in the dining room to give Millie a full report. Though he was hardly her favorite of all the people attached to Bellhorne, the family doctor seemed far less brusque and impertinent than she remembered. According to Phoebe, his manners and temperament had been improving steadily since his marriage to Captain Bell’s cousin, Alice Young.
Even so, in his inimitable way, Thornton announced the bairn’s lungs were strong and her temper was a match of her mother’s. The wee lass and Phoebe were doing wonderfully. Captain Bell, however, might need a day or two to recover his strength. Millie was certain she’d never heard the man joke before. She left Dermot in the company of the doctor and his wife, who was on hand to help. Thornton was happy to meet another medical man.
A few minutes later, Millie tapped on her sister’s door and entered, hearing Phoebe’s voice. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry at the sight she walked in on. Naturally, she did both.
Phoebe was propped up in bed with pillows tucked around her. She looked tired, but she beamed with happiness at the sight of Millie. A portable writing desk was balanced on her lap, and Millie had no doubt she was already writing about the ordeal of childbirth. Next to her, Ian was sound asleep, holding his precious napping daughter in the crook of his arm.
“Can you believe it? She’s here.” Phoebe put the desk on a side
table and opened her arms.
Millie moved into her sister’s embrace. A mother. Her sister was a mother. The worst of Millie’s worry was behind them. Phoebe and the baby girl were healthy. Despite what Phoebe had to go through, she seemed in exceptionally good spirits. She drew back to look into her sister’s face again and tucked away the strands of dark curls.
“Are you truly well?”
“Never been better.” Phoebe smiled at her husband and touched the tiny fist poking up from the swaddling. The little fingers were perfect. “We named her Sarah.”
“I’m certain Ian’s sister is smiling down on all of you right now. I didn’t see Mrs. Bell—the senior Mrs. Bell—downstairs to congratulate her. I know she must be pleased, as well.”
“She’s quite happy.” Phoebe sighed. “She was with me, holding my hand the whole time. I had to beg her to get some rest before our family arrives.”
Millie adjusted the blankets on her sister’s lap. “I suspect you’ll have everyone at your door tomorrow.”
Phoebe touched Millie’s cheek. “But you came right away.”
“I was closest. First to receive the news.”
“Did you travel alone?”
“Actually, I came with Dr. McKendry.”
Phoebe’s squeal caused Ian to stir, and the baby jumped. The sisters stared, holding their breaths as the infant made little mewling sounds before settling back to sleep.
“So . . . Dr. McKendry!” Phoebe asked in a hushed tone. “When did you two finally meet? He was supposed to come to the ball.”
Jo and Wynne and Cuffe were the only ones in the family who knew Dermot had been there. And none of them, including Millie, had said anything about it.
“He called on me in Edinburgh.”
“No wonder you were so anxious to go back up to the city.” Phoebe adjusted her position and winced.
“Was it very difficult?” she asked. “The birth, I mean.”
Millie helped her slide down a little.
“Not at all,” Phoebe scoffed, wincing again. “Nothing to it.”
When she was settled, the two of them gazed at the baby—the new mother with a look of contentment and love, Millie with a sense of awe.
Phoebe took hold of Millie’s hand. “Do you know for an entire year Jo and I have been trying to get you two to meet?”
Her matchmaking sisters. Millie knew. She’d been hoping for the same thing. But fate would have it that when they finally met, it would be under quite singular circumstances.
“You look pale. You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Millie lied. “Only a little tired. I’ve been on the road for much of the night.”
Phoebe tugged on her hand. “Well, tired or not, tell me about our good doctor. What do you think of him?”
“I think very highly of him.” Millie smiled.
“You must, or you wouldn’t have brought him along.” She nudged her. “How many times has he called on you? I need details.” Phoebe’s eyebrows went up and down suggestively.
Her sister never changed. That was one of the thousand reasons Millie loved her so much.
“I’m not giving up without a fight, miss. Has he kissed you?”
“Phoebe!”
“Have you kissed him back?”
Millie recalled the last leg of their ride and their kiss. “You, Mrs. Bell, are a married woman now. And a mother. Behave yourself and get some rest.”
“That means yes.” Phoebe tilted her head knowingly. “Has he sent you any gifts? That’s a definite sign, you know, when a suitor sends gifts.”
Millie said nothing but smoothed out the bedclothes around her sister. If Phoebe only knew . . .
“You two were alone in Edinburgh for days and days. I hope you made the most of your time. But I can see I’ll need to be writing to the staff on Heriot Row to get the facts.”
“Phoebe! You’re incorrigible. Seriously!” She gestured meaningfully toward the man sleeping on the far side of the bed and shook her head.
“As you wish. I’ll let you off for the moment, but we’re not done discussing this.”
“I believe we are finished, you monster.”
Phoebe took her hand. “Well, after all your courting, it’s your duty to ask him to marry you.”
“My duty?” She laughed.
“You’re an earl’s daughter with the large dowry, and you know that can be intimidating for any man who’s not a fortune-hunter. And we don’t want to let a good one get away. But I’ll not say another word about it . . . for now.”
Millie thought about Dermot. Somehow, between rearranged bookshelves and voracious squirrels, she’d fallen in love with him. But before they could ever talk about marriage, she needed to tell him what she knew of his past, his fiancée, and his time in the asylum.
“When can I steal my niece?” Millie said, standing and changing the subject. Right now, she didn’t want to think about the future. She only wanted to enjoy this moment. “I’m dying to hold her.”
Phoebe looked over at her husband and daughter and smiled. “Stealing her? You’ll have to take on Captain Bell. I don’t think he’s ever going to let her out of his sight.”
IN MANY WAYS BELLHORNE Castle reminded Dermot of the Abbey, his own home in the Highlands. People came and went. They contributed where it was needed. And they just belonged.
Captain Bell’s mother seemed to be a combination of Dermot’s aunt and Jo’s real father, Charles Barton...kindness and moments of forgetfulness wrapped in one loving person. As the afternoon slipped by toward dinner, the old woman asked Dermot variations of the same question half a dozen times.
Oh, my dear, have we been introduced?
To whom do you belong, sir?
When were you and Lady Millie married?
It was during one of those moments when Bell came to Dermot’s rescue. “Dr. McKendry, allow me to escort you to the library. Lady Millie is waiting there.”
“Thank you.” With a bow to Mrs. Bell, he excused himself. He hadn’t seen Millie since they arrived, though he knew she’d been busy visiting with her sister.
“I hope you’ll forgive my mother’s tendency to become . . . unfocused at times,” Bell said as they climbed the stairs from the Great Hall to a gallery.
“Please, think no more about it. She’s a lovely woman.”
“I’m familiar with your work at the Abbey, and I admire what you and Captain Melfort have been able to accomplish. But my mother is different and—”
“I understand. I know her condition started after your sister’s disappearance. But I hear it’s much improved in this past year.” Dermot knew his profession sometimes made people defensive. Diseases of the mind were not very well understood, and fear was often the result. But he wasn’t in the business of recruiting patients to his hospital. He gently elaborated on this on their way.
The captain was pleased to talk to him about it. He took him only as far as the door. “I’ve already warned Millie that I’ll let out the guard dogs if she tries to escape with my daughter.” He smiled. “You are in charge, McKendry. Make sure she causes no trouble.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Dermot entered the library and came to an immediate halt. He took a moment to enjoy the scene before him and another moment to find his voice.
Millie sat in a corner of the bright, well-appointed room. Shafts of golden sunlight spread across the floor. She’d kicked off her slippers, and her legs were stretched out on a sofa. Her face was bent over a precious bundle in her arm. Some of her soft brown hair had come free and tendrils hung loose, as they had the first night he saw her at Baronsford. She lifted her face and looked at him, and Dermot knew he was a lost man.
“Come.” She smiled. “Come and meet her.”
She swung her feet to the floor, and he sat next to her.
“Isn’t she the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen?”
“Indeed, she is.” Mille was the most beautiful creature
. He managed to tear his gaze from her and look down at the wide-eyed infant.
The bairn opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out at him. She knew he hadn’t been truthful.
“I believe that’s a sign of genius when an infant sticks her tongue out.”
“I’m certain you’re right,” he said, admiring the plump cheeks and light-colored wisps of hair.
“She is small, but sturdy. Look at these little fingers. Even the fingernails. So perfect.”
He agreed. Dermot touched the tiny fingers, and they stretched for him. He traced the pale, arched eyebrows. The soft, smooth forehead. Little Sarah blinked as if satisfied with his attention now.
“I’ll never experience this, will I?” she asked, her voice choked with tears. “I can’t be a mother, can I?”
Millie’s words threatened to rip out his heart. Dermot forced his way out of the abyss of sadness and found his voice.
“There is nothing you can’t do,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her temple. “Have faith, my love.”
Chapter 10
MILLIE KNEW THAT ONCE her parents arrived at Bellhorne, her time wouldn’t be her own. She had things she needed to say to Dermot.
The next morning, when he came downstairs, she was waiting for him. Leading him through the gardens, she took him out into the fields and through the deserted nomad’s camp to the path that ran along the shaded brook.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Millie had taken these paths many times when she was younger. Ian’s sister always led the way.
Sarah’s murder had been devastating for so many people, including Phoebe, who had been particularly close to her. Then fate had taken a hand, crossing the paths of Phoebe and Ian in the vaults beneath Edinburgh’s Old Town. The dangers that followed had nearly cost the lives of others but had ended happily.
Dearest Millie (The Pennington Family) Page 6
