“I’m sorry,” Robbie said. “I’m so sorry. I didnae ken. I thought—dear Lord, I almost lost you forever. Please forgive me.” By the sound of Robbie’s voice, he was crying as well.
Lucy turned from the sweet reunion and led Virginia by the hand back into the dining room. “And then there were two.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“There were five captive women,” Lucy said. “Caya got married, Morag returned to her family in Wick, and now Mary’s brother has come to take her home. There’s just you and Charlotte left.”
“I see.”
“Do you worry about Lady Charlotte returning to Black Port Lodge? She told me she suspected her stepmother sold her to Captain O’Malley.”
“Charlotte sent a letter to her solicitor. He was her father’s best friend. She trusts him. Plus—”
“Plus, what?” Lucy asked.
She almost laughed. Lucy had a nose for gossip like pigs for truffles. “Plus, she was rather in love with her solicitor’s son.”
“Ah.” Lucy sighed. “Love.”
She heard Mary in the entry introducing Robbie to Flora and Charlotte. “We should—”
Lucy put a hand on her arm. “Let’s not overwhelm Robbie right away. Sit down. I want to talk.”
The hairs prickled on her arms. “Talk about what?”
“About why you haven’t written to your husband.”
“Is that Jemma crying? She must be up from her nap.”
Virginia started to rise but Lucy stopped her. “Leave her to Haddie, for now, and answer me. Why have you not written to Langley?”
“I told you. I’m not ready. It’s an adjustment after such an experience. And I love it here. It’s been wonderful spending time with you, renewing our friendship.”
“Ginny, we barely knew each other in school, and we exchanged very few words at social events. Although I consider you a friend now, we were never confidantes. But Langley is your husband. He must be half mad with worry about what’s happened to you. Is it fair to leave him in the dark?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“If something is wrong, Ginny, if you’re afraid or—” Lucy took her hands and squeezed. “All I want, all anyone at Balforss wants, is your safety and your happiness. You can trust me. It’s time you tell me the whole story.”
The whole story. The whole ugly awful story. How could she tell Lucy? Like she said, they’d only been friends for a short while. She hadn’t even told Charlotte and Mary the whole story, and they had bared their souls to her. She swallowed hard. The rational part of her understood that she could trust Lucy, and she believed her when she said the people of Balforss wished for her safety. But would Lucy believe her?
“If I tell you my fears, do you promise to keep them to yourself? At least until I’m ready?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think I was kidnapped by Captain O’Malley. Like Charlotte, I think I was sold to O’Malley.”
Lucy’s eyes and mouth went wide with surprise. She leaned back in her chair and shook her head slightly. “What are you saying, Virginia?”
“I’m saying that my husband may have tried to…get rid of me.” When she saw no change in Lucy’s shocked expression, she added. “I’m saying that, until I know for certain, it’s too dangerous for me to return home.”
At last, Lucy’s mouth closed and she tipped her head in sympathy. “Virginia, darling, what makes you suspect Langley had anything to do with your abduction?”
“I think the two who abducted me were my husband’s men.”
“I thought you said you lost your spectacles when you were taken and that you never saw your attackers.”
“It’s hard to explain. I saw them on the street before I was taken, before I lost my spectacles. And I recognized their voices.”
A wash of understanding swept over Lucy, and her shoulders relaxed. “Darling, the whole ordeal was so traumatic you only imagined they were your husband’s men. I know because…” Lucy scooted her chair closer and lowered her voice in confidence. “When I first arrived in Scotland, I had a similar experience. I saw something I didn’t understand and jumped to a wild conclusion about Alex. The consequences of that mistake nearly cost me my life.” Lucy smiled a reassuring smile, the kind she used with Jemma. “Don’t you see? Langley couldn’t possibly do such a thing. He’s a gentleman for goodness sake, and he’s your husband. I know him. He’s simply not capable.”
The kernel of hope that Lucy would believe her, that anyone would believe her, crumbled to dust. Virginia smiled through her tears. “I’m sure you’re right, of course. I’m just being silly. Forget I said anything, will you?” When Lucy nodded, Virginia added, “And please don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. In fact, I’ll go up to my room and start a letter right away.”
Virginia collapsed on her bed and buried her face in the pillow. Of course, Lucy hadn’t believed her. Even her own father hadn’t believed her when she’d tried to tell him about Langley’s abusive nature. Right from the beginning, she had known her marriage was doomed. Why would he, the most handsome, the most eligible bachelor in London, want to marry her? Money, of course. But then, that’s why any man would marry a woman. If Langley hadn’t married her, another man would have come along and married her for her money. “Money is what makes you pretty,” Langley had said. “Your most attractive asset.”
Her father knew it was the money he was after. But Langley had something to offer in trade. Title. He would be Earl of Bromley one day. With her marriage, Virginia’s father would be elevated from a mere man of wealth and industry to the father of a future countess, all for a bargain price—three thousand pounds cash infusion upon their union and five hundred per year thereafter.
Unfortunately, her father attached no other conditions to the deal. Nothing about, “You may not humiliate your wife in public,” or, “You may not strike your wife,” or, “You may not burn her with your cheroot.” Nor had he stipulated, “You may not flaunt your mistresses at home in front of your wife.”
Damn. She had been a member of the nobility—albeit by marriage—a viscountess, a member of the Ton in good standing. She deserved better, she knew. Even if their husbands despised them, women of her status were treated with respect. They were handled gently, not roughly. Not beaten regularly like the wife of a fishmonger. Those husbands cared for the well-being of their wives if only to get an heir. Langley hadn’t even done that.
It made sense that her husband was responsible for her abduction. With her father dead and Virginia missing, Langley would have her fortune and in two years be free to marry another unsuspecting heiress. If only her father’s solicitor hadn’t given her trust money to Langley, he might have had a reason for keeping her around.
She had planned to put an end to the abuse before all this had happened. Planned to tell Langley she would remain at the St. James house permanently, instead of returning to Bromley Hall after the Season. They could live separate lives. He was free to do as he pleased, so long as he let her be. Had Langley chosen a more drastic solution? Had he arranged to have her removed from his life permanently? Was he truly such a monster?
Damn and bollocks. How could she expect Lucy to believe her when Virginia could barely make herself face the facts?
The next morning, the women said goodbye to Mary and her brother with promises to write and vows to attend Mary’s wedding should she ever find the prince she was looking for. Meanwhile, Robbie promised he would never play matchmaker again. Mary could wed whomever she wanted as long as he had a position and was not a Jacobite.
Jemma was cutting another tooth and needed her mother’s full attention. With regret, Lucy declined the trip to market. To Virginia’s regret as well. She relied on Jemma’s sweet company. That left Virginia, Flora, and Charlotte packing overnight bags for their trip to Wick. The once party of five was now three.
Thurso held a small market on Fridays, but Wick held a much larger market on quarter day. Lucy had told he
r market day was a major event for people who lived in such remote places as Caithness. The quarterly market in Wick gave them a rare opportunity to purchase items they might not ordinarily find. Flora had a long list of household needs. Charlotte’s list included a new pair of boots, stockings, and perfume. All Virginia wanted was spectacles that would allow her to see the world again. They needn’t offer perfect clarity. Just something that would help her avoid the objects in her path.
Alex had heard from a friend that an itinerant salesman always came to market this time of year and usually had an assortment of spectacles for sale. The friend couldn’t remember the itinerant’s name. He thought the man was Romany but wouldn’t swear on it. The best that she could do was make a thorough search of the market, visit every booth, and ask everyone if they knew of such a man.
Miserable that she couldn’t join them for market day, Lucy pressed some coins into Virginia’s hand. “Bring me back some sweeties. I like black licorice and red lollies. Oh, and if they have comfits, get me the pink kind.”
Virginia was, of course, excited with the prospect of finding spectacles and hunting down Lucy’s special treats. The other aspect of the trip that made her both delighted and apprehensive was that Magnus would be driving the carriage. She hadn’t seen him since the afternoon she’d brought him dinner. Not since the kiss. She liked him, perhaps a little too much, and she’d been unforgivably forward with him in his cottage. The kiss could never be repeated, but she hoped, by now, he’d softened toward her, and that they could be friends.
Friends. Nothing untoward about that. And they wouldn’t be alone this time, so there could be no misunderstanding. She’d be with Charlotte and Flora, two chaperones. And Magnus would act as their protector. She was safe with him. He had, after all, risked his life to save hers on the Tigress. With someone like that at her side, no one would dare try to harm her. Not even Langley.
“Good morning.”
She whirled in the direction of Magnus’s voice, his tall, broad figure rapidly coming into view. If he got close enough, she could make out his handsome features. She opened her mouth to answer.
“Good morning, Mr. Magnus. I was delighted to hear you’re our escort to Wick.”
That’s what she would have said if Charlotte hadn’t stolen the words out of her mouth. Drat. Was Charlotte going to monopolize Magnus all day? Would she never have a moment alone with her champion?
Oh, for goodness sake. She was talking nonsense and to herself no less. Magnus was too much a gentleman to take an interest in a married woman beyond polite conversation. It was unkind of her to begrudge Charlotte time with Magnus. That was a match that made sense. She was, of course, a gentlewoman and belonged in England on her family estate. But if no one could prove Charlotte’s stepmother was responsible for her abduction, things would not be safe in Black Port for Charlotte. Just like Virginia, she would be safer here, in Scotland, with Magnus to protect her.
Magnus helped Flora and Charlotte step up into the Balforss carriage, a gleaming black lacquered coach Lucy said had been purchased only weeks ago. She was the last to enter. Before Magnus offered his hand, he leaned down close to her face and regarded her, a long piercing stare she had difficulty interpreting. His normally soft brown eyes had taken on a flinty quality, and though it was plain he was still angry, the connection excited her.
“Viscountess,” he said, his voice like tumbling rocks. Odd that he didn’t address her as Lady Langley, but then she didn’t mind. Viscountess sounded more intimate, really.
“Mr. Magnus,” she said, an equally less formal address than Mr. Sinclair. She took his hand, big and warm and rough. For a moment, she imagined how his hand would feel on the bare skin of her thigh. Still caught in his gaze, he quirked an eyebrow at her. She whispered a hasty thank you and climbed into the carriage.
Virginia, you fool. Don’t let yourself imagine that he cares. Don’t let yourself do something stupid like fall in love.
…
She hadn’t balked when he’d called her Viscountess. Good. Because if she tried to correct him, the leash on his temper might snap. Bloody hell, how could she look more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her? He took in the blush on Virginia’s cheeks. It made his own temperature rise. Like him, had she remembered their kiss? He’d stayed away because it had bothered him, actually gave him a jabbing pain between his ribs on his left side, to know that, even if he wanted her, it would be out of the question with Virginia. She was married. To a prat, according to Alex. Why would she marry a prat? And what the devil was a prat? He’d forgotten to ask.
With the ladies on board and the doors secured, he climbed into the driver’s seat and whistled short and sharp. The horses dipped their heads and stepped out in unison. He took a measure of pride in the grand carriage. He and his stepfather had acquired it in Inverness. Last month, Auntie Flora had finally convinced his uncle that no woman should have to ride to kirk in that wooden contraption Lucy had called “The Crate.” So, Laird John had sent him and Fergus off with a heavy purse saying, “Purchase the finest they make, but dinnae be philanthropic about it.”
His stepfather had had a good time haggling with the coach-maker. Finding the right horses had taken longer. Matched, trained to the harness, and fit. At last, he’d found them at a farm near Fort George where the man bred hearty Friesians for harness. That night, he’d stolen away to spend time with the farmer’s daughter. She was plump and willing and eager to do what Magnus thought only French women did. He’d had no idea Scottish women knew about…that thing with the name he couldn’t remember.
He hadn’t thought anything was quite as good as doing that with a woman. Until he’d kissed Virginia. Nothing was better than that. The farmer’s daughter—Tara or Tamara or something like that—hadn’t smelled good like Virginia. She hadn’t had whisky-colored hair that made him want to touch it. She didn’t have a sensuous laugh, or a soothing voice, or sweet breath, or kissable lips. Oh God, Virginia’s lips on his parts…
Jesus. Stop already. That will never happen. Ever. Stop thinking about it.
So, what the bloody hell was he doing driving the women to Wick, potentially spending three days in Virginia’s company? The answer that he’d give anyone who dared ask was that Alex had ordered him to do it. In truth, he needed to find out why Virginia hadn’t sent a letter to her husband. The reason why he needed to know and why he should care didn’t signify, of course.
What he had also reasoned out on this long ride to Wick was that Virginia needed his protection. He’d known that since the moment he’d set eyes on her. She was his responsibility alone. The thought of any other man getting close to her made the imaginary divot in his chest hurt. In addition, he hadn’t parted well with her the last time he’d seen her. He would like to rectify that by offering his friendship. A friendship between the two of them would be an ideal arrangement. He and Lucy were on friendly terms, as were he and Caya. There was no reason why he and Virginia couldn’t be friends.
Friends? Who the hell was he kidding? Friends didn’t think about doing the things he imagined doing with Virginia. He wanted—no—he needed to be near her, to see her face, hear her voice, to know she was close enough to catch in his arms again, if the occasion arose.
Shite. You can look but you cannae touch. Best remember that, laddie.
Bloody hell. Six hours riding atop the carriage and all he’d done was think about Virginia and swallow a thousand midges. Their destination was the Crown Tavern, the place where Declan had first seen his Caya. That had been only five weeks ago. He couldn’t believe it. So much had happened.
Once they arrived, he left the women to settle in their room whilst he took the carriage to the coach house to have the horses stabled. He’d join the women for supper tonight and tomorrow morning he’d accompany them to the market. Hopefully, Virginia would find her spectacles. It must be difficult for the lass not being able to see well enough to find her own way.
After leaving the coach house,
he trudged back to the Crown Tavern, slapping his gloves against his thigh as he went. Surprising how important it was to him that she find her spectacles. Two weeks ago, he would not have wanted her to see him clearly. But his whiskers had filled in well enough that he looked like himself again.
At the inn, he grabbed an oil lamp and took the stairs two at a time to his bedchamber, a musty attic room with a slanted ceiling on the third floor. He was used to moving about indoors bent over. Lord knows he’d clonked his head often enough to know better than to stand straight anywhere but out of doors.
He eased sideways through a door frame too narrow for his shoulders, then held the lantern up to examine the mattress for bedbugs. He’d rather sleep on the floor than be eaten alive. Seeing no trace of the wee beasties, he stripped down and put on clean clothes. He never wore a stock or any kind of neckcloth. They always made him feel like he was choking. For a reason he couldn’t own, he wore one tonight.
He went down one flight and rapped on the door to the room the ladies shared. “It’s Magnus. I’ve come to escort you below stairs.” Things could get tricky for him this evening. He knew the tavern owner and his wife. He knew the barmaid, Evelyn, even better. A little too well, perhaps.
“Be with you in a trice,” Flora called.
He stepped back and listened to light female chatter punctuated by three sets of footsteps clacking back and forth. Virginia opened the door, and he caught his breath. She’d let her hair fall loose down her back, those whisky-colored tresses, the ones he’d imagined winding around his hand as he pulled her in for another kiss. Lady Charlotte followed, but he didn’t see her. Not really. The two women linked arms and proceeded down the hall, the back of their skirts swaying in unison.
At last, Auntie Flora emerged and hooked a hand around his elbow. “You look very gentlemanly this evening.”
He tugged at his stock. “Thank you, Auntie.”
Forgetting the Scot (Highlanders of Balforss) Page 7
