by Emma Prince
Selfridge’s cruel words were like a splash of ice water over Thea’s face.
“Why are you doing this?” she ground out, glaring at Selfridge. “And do not say friendship for Edmund, for we both know that is a lie.”
He stepped back at last, tilting his sandy head. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. I have been angling for the earl to take up a business venture with me.”
“I know about your business,” Thea practically spat. “What does that have to do with my past?”
“The earl was close to agreeing to my plan,” Selfridge replied. “Until you arrived. You have created quite the problem for me.”
So that was it. Selfridge sought to drive her away so that Edmund would sink once more under the weight of caring for his sister while also trying to manage the estate. Selfridge was counting on being able to destroy Edmund—by destroying her.
And he could—or at least he could ruin Thea forever, obliterating her ability to ever find paying work as a governess again. She would be forced to go to the workhouse. That reality loomed before her. Some women could work in factories or mills for years, managing through careful effort to walk the knife’s edge between respectable living and destitute poverty. Others, however, became sick and lost their position, or their wages were lowered until they could not afford enough food to fill their bellies. Some even died in accidents or from the diseases that tore through the workhouses like flames over dry kindling.
As if his sharp eyes could read the frantic inner workings of her mind, Selfridge rubbed his chin. “Of course, it need not be the end for you. Go quietly from Kinfallon and I see no reason to make your origins known beyond this keep. You could return to England, find another position—just not here.”
Thea’s stomach turned over even as her heart squeezed painfully. If she left, she would be abandoning Lady Clarissa—and deserting Edmund knowing that he might be forced to bend under Selfridge’s clearance scheme.
But Clarissa was far more stable than when Thea had arrived. And Edmund had caught up on all the estate matters he’d left unattended for so long. Perhaps even without Thea, Clarissa would carry on with her new routines, and Edmund could attend to his responsibilities. Did they even need her anymore?
She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. Whether or not they needed her, she had begun to let herself hope that they wanted her—that Edmund wanted her, and for more than a few stolen kisses. Yes, he’d told her he was coming to care deeply for her.
Yet whom did he truly care for—Miss Thea Reynolds, proper English governess, or Thea, bastard child of Lord Henry Tynham, liar and deceiver?
“Go,” Selfridge urged, interrupting her swirling thoughts. “It will be far easier this way—for both you and Lord Kinfallon. You needn’t face him and explain how you deceived him.”
Something cracked inside Thea’s chest. She’d been a fool to hope that she could escape the truth, a fool to hope that this fairytale could last.
“Go,” Selfridge said again, more insistently this time. “My carriage is waiting at the inn. You can take it as far south as Inverness. Start over, Miss Reynolds, and forget that you ever came to Kinfallon.”
Tears burning in her eyes, Thea gave Selfridge one swift nod before spinning on her heels and rushing from the study. Head down, she hurried up the south tower stairs to her chamber. The sight of her paltry possessions stilled her for a moment.
She would have to send for her trunk. Or would she? She possessed nothing of value. That was the truth of it—she was valueless.
Snatching up her cloak and bonnet, she turned her back on the rest. Clarissa could keep her gothic novels. Her other dress and the few assorted items she had were worth next to nothing. Heart throbbing against her ribs, she quit the chamber and hurried down the stairs.
As she crossed the great hall toward the keep’s large door, Mrs. MacDuffy called from the kitchen.
“Miss Reynolds! Where are ye going?”
Thea ducked her head, hiding her face, which was hot with shame, behind her bonnet. Without slowing, she pushed her way through the door and out into the cold air.
Good Heavens. It was snowing. Hard. Thea had been in such a giddy rush this morning that she hadn’t even bothered to look out one of her narrow windows.
She gripped the front of her cloak closed and bowed her head against the driving flakes, then began trudging through the snow on what she hoped was the road back to the inn.
As she walked, her mind swirled wildly.
Oh, God, what was she doing? How could she abandon Clarissa and Edmund like this—like a coward?
They will be fine without me. The thought broke her heart, yet it was the only thing that kept her lifting one foot through the snow and then the other. They will be better without me. If she left quietly, she would not bring shame on Edmund and Kinfallon, nor would she give the village any more to gossip about. She would simply be another failed employee of Lord Kinfallon’s. Nothing more.
When she reached England, she would write to the Braxtons again and ask for a letter of reference. She wouldn’t be able to get one from Edmund. How would she explain the month-long gap after she left the Braxtons to a future employer, though? Perhaps she could claim an extended illness, or a visit to distant family in Scotland. As if none of this had ever happened.
The path before her blurred as tears filled her eyes. Selfridge’s cold words came back to her. Forget that you ever came to Kinfallon.
Yes, she would run away like a coward to protect her future and save Edmund from a scandal.
But she would never forget this place—or the love she felt for Edmund.
Chapter 10
Edmund urged his horse across the last of the hills separating him from the castle—from Thea.
He’d gotten word before dawn that one of the nearby crofts’ rooves was in danger of caving in under the weight of all this heavily falling snow, but by the time he’d reached the croft, the men had already managed to clear the snow and save the roof.
Thea had no doubt already woken—somewhere behind the thick, heavy clouds overhead, the sun had risen not long ago. Edmund wanted to be the first thing she saw this morning—for he had come to a decision after a long, sleepless night.
He loved her. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. And he wanted to marry her.
Now that he’d decided to ask for her hand in marriage, time seemed to stretch cruelly, separating him from her. Edmund silently cursed the snow, the last few hundred yards to the castle, even his strong, steady horse for not having wings to carry him straight to Thea.
When he reached the castle, he hastily tossed the reins to the stable lad and pushed his way into the keep.
“My lord,” Mrs. MacDuffy greeted him breathlessly. “Mr. Selfridge awaits ye in yer study.”
Like a plucked flower left out in the sun, Edmund’s good mood withered. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. It seemed the whole world was conspiring to put him on pins and needles before he could speak with Thea.
“And there is another matter, my lord, regarding—”
“No’ now,” he called over his shoulder. He’d put out this fire before turning to the next one.
He barged into the study to find Selfridge sitting at his desk, a private, pleased smile on his face.
The man jerked to his feet at Edmund’s abrupt arrival, but the sly grin remained.
“Ah, there you are, Lord Kinfallon.”
Edmund’s mood soured further. “What do ye want, Selfridge?”
Selfridge stepped around the desk. “As you know, the month we agreed upon is almost up.”
“Aye,” Edmund replied. “Do ye want yer answer now?”
“No, my lord,” Selfridge said quickly. “In fact, I came to tell you that if you wish to take more time to consider, to assess your situation further, I will happily grant it to you.”
Edmund felt his eyes narrow. What was the weasel esquire up to?
“Why would I need more time to �
��assess my situation,’ as ye say?”
Selfridge furrowed his brow in a faux display of concern, though his lips still twitched with glee.
“Just this morning I learned that your governess has chosen to leave your employ.”
“What?”
“I am sorry to say, my lord, that I have discovered some most…unsavory details about the woman.”
In two steps, Edmund closed the distance between them. “Explain yerself before I rip out yer tongue for slandering Miss Reynolds.”
At last, that damned smile slipped from Selfridge’s lips.
“I…I was concerned for your wellbeing, my lord, and the wellbeing of your sister. I had a man in London look into Miss Reynolds. She is not what she says, my lord.” Selfridge shied back from Edmund’s glare, his words coming faster now. “She is the bastard child of Lord Henry Tynham and a whore. Reynolds was a distant childless aunt of hers, whose name she took to move in respectable society as a governess.”
Shock jolted through Edmund, but it was quickly burned away by rage. He grabbed a fistful of the front of Selfridge’s finely tailored frock coat. “How dare ye make such an inquiry?” he snarled. “And under the pretense of Clarissa and my interests?”
“Think of the scandal, my lord,” Selfridge replied, trying to lean back out of Edmund’s grasp. “You don’t want even more rumors about this place—and your sister—circulating, do you? I thought it best for Miss Reynolds to excuse herself without causing a sce—”
“So ye told her to leave?”
“She has clouded your judgment,” Selfridge said. “You were so close to seeing the right of my plan, but then she came along and changed your mind.”
Fury so fierce that it blurred Edmund’s vision flooded him at that. He strode forward, driving Selfridge back by the front of his coat until Selfridge bumped into the stone wall.
“I understand now,” Edmund said, his voice deadly soft. “Ye wanted to be rid of Miss Reynolds so that I would fall so behind on running the estate that I’d be forced to clear my lands for sheep. But ye have the wrong of Miss Reynolds. She didnae convince me no’ to go along with yer scheme. I have always found it the most detestable, black-hearted, vile idea. I am only glad that I can tell ye once and for all that I will never accept yer ploy. Now ye willnae have any further reason to visit Kinfallon Castle.”
“But Lord Kinfallon,” Selfridge protested, flushing pink, “it is a good plan. Think of all the money to be made. And by all accounts, it is a benevolent act to move these barbarous crofters off the land. It civilizes them. They actually prefer it once they—”
Edmund cocked his fist and drove it into Selfridge’s face with all his strength.
“How dare ye!” he roared again. “Ye think my sister prefers her life now? Thanks to ye, innocents have died, and all to line yer pockets. I willnae let ye destroy Thea as well.”
Selfridge lifted a hand to his bleeding nose and stared at his reddened fingertips, stunned. “You would pass up all this land’s potential just for your mad sister and that lying tart?”
It took all of Edmund’s strength, but he forced himself to step back from Selfridge instead of beating him to porridge with his bare hands.
“Get. Out.” He pointed to the study door. “And if ye ever set foot on Kinfallon lands again, I swear I’ll kill ye for trespassing.”
Selfridge slid from the wall and scuttled around Edmund, giving him a wide berth. Edmund followed him out of the study and watched as he crossed the great hall and to the keep’s door. Selfridge stood awkwardly in the snow for a moment as his horse was brought from the stables, then he mounted, but instead of taking the winding road leading back to the village, he cut due east in the most direct path off Kinfallon lands.
When the swirling snow at last swallowed the repulsive sight of the man, Edmund turned back into the keep. “Mrs. MacDuffy!” he bellowed.
The housekeeper scurried out from the kitchens, her hands balled in her apron.
“Where is Miss Reynolds?”
Mrs. MacDuffy’s gray-brown eyebrows drew together and up. “That was the other matter I wished to tell ye of, my lord. She left.”
“When?” he demanded. “And in which direction did she go?”
“Only a quarter of an hour before ye returned, my lord,” the housekeeper replied hurriedly. “She headed down the road toward the village—on foot.”
Cursing, he spun away and charged for the door. Thea had been out in this snowstorm for more than a half an hour now, accounting for the time he’d spent with Selfridge.
He plowed toward the stables and ordered his horse saddled once more, all the while praying that he would not be too late.
“Thea!” Edmund swung his head back and forth, searching for any sign of her through the thick, dense swirls of snowflakes. “Thea!” he called again, but the snow seemed to swallow his voice.
The deep banks and drifts covering the road forced him to go slow or risk laming his horse. Still, the wild urge to gallop head-first into the storm clutched at his heart. She was out here somewhere. She must be.
Ahead, he spotted a black smudge against the sea of white. He spurred his horse until the dark-clad figure was only a few yards away. Then he leapt from the saddle, sinking nearly to his knees in the snow.
“Thea!”
She turned then, and his breath left him. Aye, she was alive, but her nose was tipped red, as were her eyes. She’d been crying, he realized.
He plowed to her side. “Are ye well, lass?”
“Y-yes,” she mumbled through chattering teeth. Then she dipped her head so that her bonnet blocked her face. “I am s-sorry to have given you cause to ride out in the storm, my lord. The inn isn’t far now. I’ll make it just fine.”
“Ye arenae going anywhere.”
When her head snapped up and she fixed him with wide, confused eyes, he realized his blunt words made him sound like a bloody barbarian, as he had the first night he’d met her.
“I spoke with Selfridge,” he began again.
Her pale eyes seemed to contract with pain. “Then you know the truth about me.”
“Nay,” he replied, “I imagine there is still a great deal more to learn about ye.”
She must have mistook his softly spoken words for an indictment, for her brows drew together and up in desperation. “My father would not acknowledge me as his legitimate child, but he allowed me to grow up in his household—as a servant. I worked in the kitchens, then as an assistant to the nursemaid who looked after my legitimate half-siblings. I began sitting in with them once they were old enough for a nursery governess. Ostensibly, I was there to assist the governess, Miss Milton, with whatever she might need—I had three half-siblings born within a year of each other, and they were a handful. But all the while I helped her, I was gaining my own education as well.”
She pulled in a breath and let it go slowly in a white puff of mist. “I learned not only my numbers and figures, geography, natural history, and more from Miss Milton, but also how to be a governess. When I turned eighteen, my father’s wife wished for me to be sent away from the household, but because she was grateful for all my care with her children, she provided a letter of reference that made it seem as though I had been the family’s governess for several years—which I had, at Miss Milton’s side. That letter helped me secure employment with the Braxtons—and leave London, where rumors had begun spreading about me.”
Realization dawned as Edmund took in Thea’s words. “That explains why ye had so much experience for one so young,” he said.
“Yes,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. “Though I earned that experience, it was still a deception of sorts, along with my name. I…I hope Mr. Selfridge keeps his word and doesn’t mention any of this beyond Kinfallon’s walls. He promised that if I went quietly, he would not bring scandal to you or Lady Clarissa.”
Involuntarily, Edmund’s hands clenched at his sides. “I sent Selfridge off my land with a broken nose and a promise to kill him if he
ever returned.”
Thea’s eyes flew up to his. “You what?”
“Thea.” He stepped closer, until the frosty puffs of their breaths mingled. “Selfridge told me a wee sliver about your origins, aye, but he didnae tell me anything of yer character, or yer strength, or yer heart. I dinnae give a damn about yer past. It has made ye the woman ye are—the woman I love.”
She pulled in a sharp breath, her eyes sheening with confused emotion. Gently, he cupped her hands in his and drew them to his mouth, blowing warmth onto them. Then he lowered himself to one knee in the snow, still holding both her hands in his.
“I spoke to ye of a chain earlier, of being one link between the past and the future. I once feared I would destroy everything that had come before—until ye. Ye saved everything my ancestors fought for, and now I want us to build the future—together. I want to give the stewardship of this place to our children, and our children’s children. Will ye join yer heart, yer life, yer future, with mine, Thea? Will ye marry me?”
Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks as she gazed down at him, yet her eyes were bright and sure. “Yes,” she whispered. “Forever yes.”
Epilogue
Yule, January 6, 1839
Thea’s Christmas feast was much enjoyed at the castle, as was the celebration of Hogmanay. Just as Edmund had said, he, his sister, Thea, and even Mrs. MacDuffy and the other members of the staff joined together for a rousing singing of “Auld Lang Syne,” all of them standing cross-armed in a circle in the great hall. Edmund performed the first-footing ceremony, which Thea found fascinating. As a handsome, dark-headed man, his crossing over the castle’s threshold at midnight of the new year promised to bring a year full of luck and plentitude. The ancient custom seemed suited to the medieval castle and the simple yet bold way of life here in the Highlands.
This morning, Thea was getting yet another education in the holiday traditions of the Scots.
