Mrs. Winslow squeezed her hand, her expression unusually serious, before turning and climbing the stairs. Bryn waited until she heard Mrs. Winslow’s door close before she tentatively knocked on the study door.
“Enter.” His voice rumbled.
There was time to escape. She could hie to the stairs and lock herself in her room. Her hand trembled on the latch. Crossing over the threshold seemed tantamount to crossing another line.
Discarding all common sense, she slipped inside. Slumped in an armchair, Maxwell looked worn and haggard, his face pale, his eyes drawn. All her doubts took flight. He needed her.
“Do you feel feverish?” She placed a hand on his forehead. Not to run her fingers along the hair at his temples or to trail down his cheek, although that’s what her errant hand did anyway. “Let me check your stitches. With the carrying on, you might have ripped them.”
“Not feverish, just bone-tired.” He acquiesced to her demands, pulling his shirt from his breeches and twisting to the side.
She unwound the bandage. He’d bled through the cloth, but her stitches had held with no sign of angry red skin or pus. She rewrapped the wound. Maxwell dropped his shirt and settled into the chair with his knees spread wide and his hands dangling off the armrests, his eyes closed.
He was a stern, sometimes dour man. Others might call him cold. But she knew better. Their night together had proven him to be flesh and blood, passion and heat. And countless times afterward, she’d glimpsed the boy she’d been infatuated with behind his gruffness.
She drank him in. From his dark hair to his sensuous mouth, across his broad shoulders and chest to the bulge she could see faintly outlined by the black woolen breeches.
“I’m not sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but if you keep staring like that, my breeches are likely to combust.”
Bryn’s gaze popped up to find his half-lidded eyes on her. She backed to the door. “I should go. Mrs. Winslow…”
Emotion seethed in the depths of his eyes. Not cold at all, but an inferno. Yet he didn’t speak. She fled to her room, cursing her cowardice, and dreamed about a wholly different outcome to the evening.
Chapter Seventeen
The next days passed in fits and starts. The invitation to Sutherland’s soiree arrived, and Mrs. Wilson appeared twice for fittings. The midnight-blue fabric Maxwell had chosen had been fashioned into a gown so beautiful it took Bryn’s breath away.
She was a far cry from the skinny girl who’d spent most of her youth in breeches. The dress showcased the curves of a woman, the fabric light and airy and fairylike. What would Maxwell think?
She had barely seen him. He spent his days meeting with genteel, well-dressed gentlemen and widows and locked himself behind his study door in the evenings. Whatever intimacies had passed between them seemed forgotten. By him, at any rate.
Whenever the earl and Lionel Masterson came by, the gentlemen retreated to the study. The exclusion grated. Was she not as much a part of this as Maxwell?
Observing a disaster unfold, especially as her actions had set the disaster into motion in the first place, didn’t sit well. Her natural inclination to help along with a hefty dose of guilt left her feeling at sixes and sevens.
On the third such evening, the bell pull brought everyone to the entry. Henry opened the door, and Penny stepped inside. A young woman followed close behind, her eyes furtive and darting. She refused to give up her cloak, clutching it around her body. She took a step into Penny, and he put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her in front of him.
“It’s all right now, Gertie. You’re safe here.”
Bryn forced a smile in the face of the girl’s fear and held out a hand as if taming a wild animal. The girl was naught more than ten and six. “My name’s Miss Brynmore, Gertie. And this is Mrs. Winslow. It’s a cold night. Would you care for some tea in front of a warm fire?”
“There’s nothing to fear here, girl. They’re good sorts.” Penny’s voice rumbled, sounding more intimidating than comforting, but the girl nodded, her shoulders unfurling from their defensive scrunch.
Bryn never took her gaze off the girl nor let her smile lapse. “Come and warm yourself.”
Gertie took a handful of steps forward, glancing over her shoulder at Penny. Only when Penny put a hand on her back to guide her forward did she enter the drawing room as if expecting a trap to spring.
The earl, Lionel, and Maxwell entered with raised voices and loud footfalls. Gertie scurried toward a corner, her panic palpable. Bryn shushed them with a hard, warning look. The girl was terrified, and being questioned by any one of them might make her retreat into silence.
“Gertie has information, if she’s willing to share it with you all,” Penny said.
Gertie’s fear centered on the wall of masculinity that filled the room. Bryn touched the girl’s arm and whispered sotto voce, “They look intimidating, but they’re pussycats. I promise.”
“Meow,” Maxwell intoned with a quirk of his lips.
“Don’t worry about them at all. Will you tell me what you can about Sutherland?”
The young girl stared down at her hands. They were red and chapped, the nails broken in places. “I’m a maid of all work for Mr. Sutherland. Jobs are hard to come by, and it’s been good money, but I’m a good girl, I am.”
“You seem like a very good girl, Gertie,” Bryn said gently.
“Go on. It’s all right,” Penny said.
“Whispers about Mr. Sutherland had made it to me ear before I applied for the position, but I have younger sisters to help take care of. Ma is all alone since Da passed.” She paused a moment to look around. “He’s never… not with me, but I’ve heard the others talk.”
“About what?” Bryn asked gently.
Gertie’s voice dropped. “Sometimes he brings a girl into his room. There’s talk of boys too. And him wearing fancy gowns.”
A pall blanketed the room. Bryn wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but not the outrageousness of Gertie’s claims.
The earl chuffed. “Sutherland would make a right handsome woman. What do you think, Lionel?”
A shocked sounding laugh spurted out of Lionel. “I must say that was a bit of a suprise.”
The information spun in Bryn’s head as she tried to make sense of it. Her gaze sought Maxwell’s, full of questions he most likely wouldn’t answer for her.
Sure enough, his gaze skittered away, a flush coloring his face. “It’s scandalous to be sure, but how does it relate to our problem?”
“Perhaps it doesn’t,” the earl said, “but information is valuable and can be bought and sold like goods. If true—or even if it’s only rumors—the information could provide leverage for Miss McCann’s marriage settlement.”
“I’d best get back.” Penny turned his hat in his hands and shot a look toward Gertie. “I don’t think she should return to Sutherland’s. Is there something here for her?”
Gertie sidestepped toward Penny. “I’ll not be burden or charity case. I’ll—”
Maxwell cleared his throat. “Miss Bryn requires a lady’s maid. I hadn’t had the chance to advertise for one, but I’m a believer in fate, and it seems to me, we can help each other. You don’t ever have to go back to Sutherland’s again, if you don’t want.”
Color burst in Gertie’s cheeks, marking her as almost pretty. “I’m good with hair, I am.”
“Will Gertie suit, Bryn?” Maxwell asked without taking his eyes off the young girl.
“She will indeed.” Although she was unlikely to find in Gertie the kinship she’d felt with Sarah, it would be nice to have someone nearer her age in the house. For as long as she would be here, at any rate. Bryn led her out into the entry where Penny swept his cloak on. “I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Soames, the housekeeper. She’ll get you settled into a room.”
“Do be careful, won’t you, Mr. Pendleton?” Gertie said.
“Don’t worry about me, miss. I’ll sleep with one eye open.” He gave her an exaggerated wink. Gert
ie’s giggle was high-pitched and relieved. He slipped out the front door as if he were oiled, a cold winter draft the only evidence left behind.
Bryn introduced Gertie to Mrs. Soames and worked out the details of her employment. By the time she returned, the drawing room was empty. She rapped on the study door. Nothing. She raised her hand to knock again, when the door opened.
“Did you get the girl settled?” Maxwell asked.
“I did.” She took a step forward, but he didn’t step back or invite her into the room. He was alone. “She’s as skittish as a mouse. I wonder at what she’s seen and heard.”
“I hope hiring her as your maid was acceptable.”
“It was very quick thinking and kind of you.”
He rubbed his nape. “Yes, well, good night then.”
He shut the door in her face, and she stomped a foot. She veered between sadness and anger at the walls Maxwell had erected so easily.
Bryn woke at dawn after troubled dreams. In them, she’d been tossed on stormy seas, powerless against the forces of wind and water. Her ability to steer her own ship was gone. That had to change. If there were decisions to be made about her future and her life, she planned to be a part of them.
She lurked outside Maxwell’s study. A well-heeled gentleman with a bushy white mustache exited and shook Maxwell’s hand.
“Can’t tell you how delighted I am with our arrangement, Mr. Drake. The earl spoke so highly of you, and your portfolio is impressive. Always had my money in sheep, but your tactic of spreading the risk is sound. Can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve lost during some of our harsh winters, wondering if the flocks would survive.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Lowry. I look forward to our association. You should expect to receive quarterly reports.”
“It was certainly worth the trip down from Kinross.”
Bryn started and spoke without thinking. “Kinross?”
Both men turned. She took a step back into the shadows but then clenched her jaw and forced herself forward. If she wanted power, she had to claim it.
“Terribly sorry to interrupt, but my mother was from Kinross,” she added.
The old man blanched as if he’d seen a ghost and swayed backward, the doorjamb halting his retreat. “It’s impossible.”
Bryn exchanged a glance with Maxwell. His eyebrows rose as if to say, Go on now that you’ve started.
“I’m Brynmore McCann, sir. My mother was Katherine Kinnon before she wed. Did you know her?”
The man’s mouth moved, but nothing came out.
“Perhaps a chair, Maxwell?” Bryn stepped forward, worried the man might swoon.
Maxwell caught one arm and Bryn the other, and they guided him back into Maxwell’s study and into a chair situated across from his desk. She came around and squatted at his knees, putting them closer to eye level.
“Are you well, sir?” She covered his trembling hand.
His mustache quivered on the start of a smile. “Katherine’s daughter.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Aye. Your grandmother was heartbroken when Katherine left Kinross for the south and even more so when news of her death reached us. But we were told she and her babe died?”
“They did, but that was to be my brother. I lived. My grandmother?” The word bounced around her head until the reverberations could be felt in her heart. She’d been told she had no family left.
“You look so much like her it’s uncanny.” He covered one of Bryn’s hands in both of his. “No one was told of a daughter. Your grandmother will be thrilled.”
Now instead of giving comfort, she clutched the man’s hands for balance. The revelation left her light-headed. “Are you saying that I have a grandmother who is alive?”
“She was hale when I left her at the house yesterday morn,” the man said with a twinkling smile. “We married two summers past, both having lost our spouses years ago. I suppose that makes me your grandfather of a sort.”
“Why was I never told?” She didn’t expect an answer. Anyone who might know was either in Cragian or dead.
Maxwell cupped her elbows and helped her rise. She leaned into his strength as he guided her to the seat next to Mr. Lowry.
“No one mentioned a grandmother?” Maxwell asked.
Bryn rifled through her early memories. “Not that I can recall, but I was naught but five when Mama passed. Papa paid me no mind. He was obsessed with siring a male heir. I wouldn’t put it past Mary to keep the information from me out of spite. Or to use it when it would be most advantageous to her.”
Mr. Lowry gnawed on his upper lip, his mustache dancing. “Miss Katherine and Winnie, your grandmother, left things in a poor state. She didn’t approve of your papa being a widower and so much older than Miss Katherine. Winnie has lamented their falling out more times than I can count. Not setting things right before your mother died has haunted her. Stubbornness runs in the family, it does.”
“I would have never guessed.” Maxwell directed a wry smile toward Bryn.
“Do you think she would want to see me?” Bryn asked in a small voice.
“Want to see you? She’d insist upon it. In fact—” Mr. Lowry looked back and forth at the two of them. “I’m not privy to your current situation, but you can rest assured you’ll always have a home with us.”
“Bryn is being attended by a chaperone while staying in Edinburgh.” Dark truths hiding under the surface roughed his voice. Their gazes locked, and like applying a flint, a fire sparked to life no matter the distance he was trying to put between them.
“You’re a fine gentleman, Mr. Drake. And I’m sure Winnie will want to thank you for taking care of her granddaughter. I’ll send word this very day, but I know she would want me to extend an invitation for you to stay with us in Kinross at your earliest convenience, Miss McCann. And yourself as well, Mr. Drake.”
Welcome was evident in the man’s expression. Her throat tightened. “I would be most happy to visit once my business in Edinburgh is concluded.”
“Winnie will mean you to stay, Miss McCann, I can assure you of that. You could even open up your house if you want. It’s been vacant for several years but in good repair.”
“My house? Whatever do you mean?”
“Why, the house that was left to you on your grandpapa’s death. Oh goodness me, of course, you don’t even realize… Well, you’re an heiress, my dear. The house is nothing grand like you’d find in London perhaps, but it has several bedrooms and a grand dining area and even a small ballroom.”
“A ballroom?” Her imagination couldn’t keep pace with the revelations. Even Maxwell looked stunned.
“Part of the money you’re investing, Mr. Drake, is rightfully Miss McCann’s, of course.” He sounded genuinely thrilled.
After years spent observing Mary’s ambition for more money and power, Bryn couldn’t fathom his jolly acceptance of her existence. She searched his face for ulterior motives. “You don’t mind?”
“My dear girl, Winnie and I are rattling around up there alone. My boys are dead and Miss Katherine too.” His eyes gleamed with tears although his lips were still turned up into a smile. “This news is a godsend. A miracle.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Bryn said.
“Say you’ll come to Kinross as soon as you’re able. Mr. Drake has our direction. I’ll start to Kinross as soon as my business is concluded to prepare for your arrival. I can’t wait to see her reaction to the good news.” Mr. Lowry rose, and Bryn followed suit. His energy was infectious. The three of them made their way to the door. “Perhaps you could write to her, Miss McCann.”
“Of course. I’ll write her this very hour.”
Mr. Lowry enveloped her hand in both his gnarled hands and nodded as if affirming she was flesh and blood before taking his leave.
“Well then.” Maxwell’s voice rumbled. He gestured toward the study, and she followed him like an automaton.
“I had family who wanted me, Maxwell. All those ye
ars…” The lump formed from the loneliness and torment of growing up with a father who barely acknowledged her and a sister who hated her.
“All those years made you who you are today. Anyway, if you had left Cragian, what would have happened to me?”
“Wh-what?” She tensed.
“There would have been no one to save my hide in the forest after I bashed my head.”
He still hadn’t guessed about the baskets. The pinpricks of relief were bittersweet. “If I had left, there’d be no one out to kill you in the first place.”
He propped his hands on his desk, his gaze on the tips of his boots. One of his fingers tapped the desk like a timekeeper. Then all his fingers took up the beat. He was like a spring ready to pop or a snake to strike. He pushed off the desk and paced, the sound muffled by rugs. Yet she could feel each boot heel strike in her chest.
“I suspect Mary was aware of not only your grandmother but your inheritance as well. I would wager that’s what Dugan would have received upon your marriage,” he said.
The dark place in her heart recognized his suspicion as truth. Mary had used her with little thought for her happiness. “What was Mary receiving in return?”
“What does she want above all else?”
“Respect. Adulation. Power.”
“Perhaps Dugan had promised them a cut of your inheritance once you were married?”
“No, not money. Craddock and Mary have plenty.” Now more than ever, she needed to play a part in finishing the drama with Mary. “I can discover her plan at Sutherland’s party. Her tongue gets the better of her when she’s provoked. And no one can provoke her like I can.”
“The earl and Penny are trained operatives, Lionel is a solicitor who understands legalities, and I have war experience. How would your provoking Mary further our goal?”
The fact she had no good answer for his question did nothing to quash the fury that alit within her. “This is as much my problem as yours. Why won’t you allow me to help?”
“Because those people have tried to kill us already. Why won’t you allow me to protect you, woman?” After days of presenting a blank slate of indifference, the raw emotion in his face and voice was startling to see. “It would kill me to see you hurt.” The admission cost him dearly.
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