The Highlander's Irish Bride, Page 3

Gillian sailed into the inn’s private dining parlor, garbed in an elegant, hunter-green traveling dress. “Good morning, dearest. I hope you slept well.”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  Gillian eyed her. “Don’t tell fibs, Kath. I can tell you didn’t get much sleep. Again.”

  “Is it the bags under my eyes? They’re almost as big as my portmanteau.”

  “You look lovely, as always. Just a little pale.”

  “Ah, my freckles gave me away.”

  The paler Kathleen got the more her freckles stood out. It was one of the things she most hated about them—that, and the fact that they all but glowed when she blushed. After Helen, freckles were the bane of her existence.

  “I love your freckles,” Gillian replied. “You look sprinkled with cocoa. I’m sure the men find it absolutely enchanting.”

  Kathleen snorted. “My brother once said it looked like the maid shook her duster out over my head.”

  “Dear me, I must be sure to accidentally trip Richard the next time I see him.”

  “In his defense, he was only twelve at the time.”

  “I’ll still have to punish him.” Gillian smiled at the serving girl, who’d come in with a fresh pot of tea. “Thank you. Please take away Miss Calvert’s dish and bring her plain toast. Perhaps a pot of jam, too.”

  The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Will there be anything else?”

  “I’ll have scones and clotted cream. And coffee.”

  Kathleen sighed with relief. The odor of smoked ham was curdling her insides.

  “I’m sorry to be such a pain, Gillian.”

  “Nonsense. Traveling does tend to make one’s stomach twitchy.”

  “Says the woman who ate a hearty beef dinner last night.”

  “I’ve always been disgustingly healthy. One time our household came down with a dreadful case of the grippe, and Charles was positively green around the gills, poor lamb. But I never turned a hair.”

  “That was lucky.”

  “Hardly. Aside from the cook and a groom, our butler was the only other person who didn’t fall ill, so he and I had to take care of most everyone. I took on the muckiest tasks because I was terrified he would give his notice.”

  Kathleen laughed. “That does sound awful.”

  “At least I discovered that I’m a capable nurse.” Gillian narrowed her gaze. “Which leads me to believe it’s more than a twitchy stomach for you. You’re fretting.”

  Kathleen busied herself by pouring another cup of tea. “You’re right that I didn’t get much sleep. My room looked out over the stable yard.”

  “Ah, yes. The larger inns can be annoyingly busy. And the service is dreadfully slow, isn’t it? If the girl doesn’t come soon with my coffee, I’ll have to storm the kitchen.”

  “Not with daggers drawn, I hope.”

  “I never threaten the people who prepare the food.” Gillian paused. “Goodness, what is all the thumping out in the hall?”

  When another loud thump was followed by a protesting yelp, they exchanged startled glances.

  Kathleen stood. “I’ll go—”

  The door flew open and one of the Leverton grooms marched in, his hand firmly clamped on the shoulder of a stable boy trying to wriggle from his grasp.

  Except it wasn’t a stable boy.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace,” the groom said. “But here’s a bit of a problem.”

  “So I see.” Gillian glanced at Kathleen. “Dearest, I believe that is—”

  “My sister,” Kathleen whispered.

  “Let go, you poltroon,” Jeannie hissed, struggling to escape.

  Kathleen pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. “Oh, my God.”

  “It’s all right, Simmons,” Gillian said. “You can release Miss Calvert.”

  Simmons still maintained his grip, albeit at arm’s length. “She gave me a right good kick in the knee when I helped her out of the boot. Almost took me down.”

  “You didn’t help me out,” Jeannie snapped. “You pulled me out.”

  “Only because you wouldn’t come out,” the groom protested.

  Kathleen rushed over. “Jeannie, you should never kick anyone.”

  “That will be all, Simmons,” Gillian said. “Tell the coachman we’ll be delayed. Oh, and find that blasted serving girl and tell her to bring another pot of tea along with my coffee.”

  The groom released Jeannie and backed away, as if she were a wolf about to spring. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  After Simmons limped out, Kathleen grasped her sister’s shoulders. “Are you all right? Are you hurt in any way?”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes. “Don’t fuss, Kath. I’m fine.”

  “My groom, however, is apparently not fine,” commented Gillian.

  “He shouldn’t have pulled me out of the boot like that,” Jeannie said. “I tried to tell him who I was, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “How dreadfully rude of him. I must instruct my grooms forthwith to ignore all stowaways in the boot of my carriages. I assume that’s where you’ve been since we left London.”

  Kathleen goggled at her sister. “You were in the boot for over two days? That’s insane!”

  Jeannie winced. “No need to shriek. I’m fine. Just a bit hungry.”

  As if on cue, the door opened and the serving girl hurried in with a fully laden tray.

  “Coffee at last.” Gillian nodded at the girl. “And please bring some ham and eggs for the young l—”

  “Boy,” Kathleen cut in.

  The serving girl looked flummoxed. “You wants me to serve the likes of him? In here with you?”

  Jeannie, who had shoved her thick, wheat-blond hair under a droopy knit cap, was garbed in dust-covered breeches and a smock that was topped with a leather jerkin two sizes too big. Kathleen couldn’t imagine where her sister had found such an appalling outfit.

  “Yes,” Kathleen replied. “He’s . . . he’s our coachman’s son and is under the weather. He needs a good breakfast to, er, perk him up.”

  With a dismissive shrug, the serving girl thumped down the tray and departed.

  “Very quick thinking on your part, Kathleen,” Gillian said.

  “What difference does it makes if people guess I’m a girl?” Jeannie dropped into a chair and poured a cup of tea. “No one knows who I am.”

  “They know who I am, and they certainly know the Duchess of Leverton,” Kathleen replied, still trying to recover from her shock. “The entire point of my exile is to avoid a scandal, not start a fresh one.”

  After taking a large gulp of tea, Jeannie began removing her knit cap.

  Kathleen flapped a hand. “Please leave it on. You have to maintain that gruesome disguise until we leave.”

  “Why? It’s not as if anyone cares about me.” Jeannie’s tone was now surly. “I’m not you or Cara.”

  Gillian patted her arm. “Kathleen certainly cares about you, dear. She doesn’t want you damaged by cruel gossip.”

  Jeannie pulled a face. “It’s not fair. Kathleen kicked up the stink, but Mamma was acting like I was just as bad. She threatened to lock me in my room. What choice did I have but to run away?”

  Guilt stabbed at Kathleen. Still, now was not the time to fret about unintended consequences or fruitlessly dither. Unfortunately, devising a plan to get Jeannie safely home, without causing gossip, currently felt beyond the skills of her frazzled brain.

  “Think,” she whispered to herself, pressing a fist to her forehead.

  “Kath,” Jeannie said. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really.” Kathleen sank into her chair. “You, however, seem remarkably sanguine for someone who just spent two days in a carriage boot. How ever did you manage it?”

  “Oh, it was—”

  Kathleen put up a warning hand as the maid came in with a tray. The girl set it down, darting curious glances at Jeannie while she unloaded plates of eggs, scones, and ham.

  “That will be all,” Gillian sternly said.

 
The maid curtsied but cast a suspicious look over her shoulder before she closed the door behind her.

  “I’m assuming your servants will not gossip with the inn staff?” Kathleen asked.

  Gillian shook her head. “They know I’d stab them if they did.”

  Jeannie giggled. “Would you really?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Kathleen said as she began stacking food on her sister’s plate. “Now, please tell us how you managed this mad scheme.”

  “It was dead easy,” Jeannie replied around a mouthful of eggs she’d immediately shoved into her mouth.

  “Don’t choke yourself, dear,” Gillian said. “There’s no rush.”

  Kathleen grimaced. “I’m afraid there is. We have to get her back to London as soon as possible.”

  Jeannie’s fork paused in midair. “I’m not going back.”

  “Did you at least leave a note for our parents?”

  “Not that I was going with you, silly. They would have come after me.”

  “Won’t they, anyway?” Gillian asked. “I’m surprised we’ve not had a rider catch up with us already, since we’re traveling with two heavy carriages.”

  Jeannie sawed at a chunk of ham. “That’s why you never saw me. I hid in the boot of the second carriage. You weren’t taking any luggage from that one, and it was just Your Grace’s maid traveling in that coach. I was very quiet and careful, so neither she nor the grooms ever suspected a thing.”

  “Clever girl,” Gillian said, shaking her head.

  “That doesn’t explain why Papa hasn’t apparently sent anyone after us,” Kathleen noted. “Or how you snuck out in the first place.”

  “I took some clothes from the stables, then I told the upstairs maid I wasn’t feeling well and was staying in bed all day. Then I got dressed and snuck out to wait for the carriages. I had to crouch down in one of the window wells until they pulled up in front of our house. Fortunately, it was raining, so everyone was rushing to load the luggage and not looking around. As soon as the second carriage was ready, I dashed out and climbed into the boot.” She grimaced. “It was a tight squeeze. I’m so glad to be out of there.”

  “I can imagine,” Gillian said. “But full marks for pulling it off.”

  Kathleen cut her friend an exasperated glance. “Really?”

  Gillian shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s exactly the sort of thing I would have done—or you would have, for that matter.”

  “It’s true, Kath,” her sister earnestly said. “Whenever things get sticky, I try to think what you would do.”

  Kathleen resisted the urge to curse. “But why didn’t anyone come after us?”

  “I left a note saying I was going home to Ireland.” Jeannie reached for a scone. “Mamma knows I like Ireland, too, so I thought it made sense to send them in that direction.”

  “But . . .” Kathleen sighed. “That’s rather brilliant, I admit.”

  Her sister grinned. “I thought so.”

  “But Papa and Helen must be frantic with worry,” Kathleen said, regrouping. “This was not well done of you.”

  Her sister’s chin tilted up at a mutinous angle. “They were being awful to both of us. They deserve a good scare.”

  Because Jeannie was tall and blooming into a beauty, it was easy to sometimes forget she was so young and naïve. Kathleen had been given a long leash while growing up, allowed to roam the countryside with her brother or Denny, riding horses, climbing trees, and dashing through the local villages. They’d indulged in more than a few risky adventures that had taught Kathleen how to take care of herself. Jeannie’s childhood, however, had been sheltered and strictly supervised. That she’d managed to pull off such a daring escape was terrifying.

  “Awful or not, they love you,” Kathleen countered. “And if anything had happened to you . . .”

  It could have gone wrong in ways too horrible to contemplate.

  “The only hard part was sneaking out when the carriage stopped so I could use the necessary and find something to eat.”

  “Are you sure no one saw you?” Kathleen asked.

  “No one that matters. I brought money along so I could nip in and buy a pie or pasty whenever the carriage stopped at an inn.” Jeannie shrugged. “Everyone just thought I was a boy.”

  Gillian nodded. “People generally only see what they expect to see. Jeannie’s costume is quite effective and deflected from her, ah, other attributes.”

  She meant Jeannie’s already blossoming figure.

  “And now we can be together, Kath,” Jeannie said. “You won’t have to go to those dreary Highlands by yourself. Won’t that be splendid?”

  Kathleen steeled herself against her sister’s pleading gaze. “We’ll have to hire a carriage. Gillian, perhaps your maid could escort Jeannie back to London?”

  “Of course, if that’s what you truly wish to do.”

  “It’s not what I wish to do,” Jeannie protested. “And you can’t make me.”

  Kathleen tried another tack. “Sweetheart, do you really want to spend the entire winter in a musty old manor house? It’s bound to be dreadful. We’d probably hate each other by the end of it.”

  “It’s only three months. I heard you talking to Papa.”

  “You mean you were eavesdropping.”

  “Papa said that if you stayed out of trouble for that long, then you could return to London.”

  Kathleen had wangled an even bigger promise out of her father, of which Jeannie was unaware. After an embarrassingly frank discussion about her utter ineptitude on the marriage mart, they’d reached an agreement. If she willingly spent three months at Lochnagar, scandal-free, Papa would let her return to Ireland for a trial run at pursuing a quiet life at Greystone.

  But he’d emphasized the staying out of trouble part, or their gentleman’s agreement would be off.

  “Jeannie, how do you think Helen would react if I were to whisk you off to Scotland?”

  “All Mamma cares about are Cara and Richard, and getting them leg-shackled. I’m just in the way.”

  Sadly, there was more than a nugget of truth in that assessment.

  “But there’s your coming out in the spring to plan for. You don’t want to miss that,” Kathleen said with an encouraging smile.

  “I don’t care,” Jeannie flatly said. “And I swear I’ll run away again if you make me go back. I know how to do it now.”

  Kathleen’s heart lurched. “That would be a terribly foolish—not to mention dangerous—thing to do.”

  “I think you don’t want me along because you’re afraid I’ll make trouble for you.”

  When Jeannie suddenly looked down at her lap, her defiance crumpling as she blinked back tears, Kathleen wanted to cry, too.

  You’ve made an epic mess of everything, Kath, old girl.

  “No . . . nobody wants me,” her sister gulped. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  Kathleen slid out of her chair and went down on her knees, pulling Jeannie into a tight embrace. “Darling, I love you so much, and I would happily keep you with me if I could.”

  Gillian leaned forward. “Might I make a suggestion?”

  Kathleen glanced over with relief. “Please.”

  “Allow me to send an express post to my husband, explaining the situation. I’m sure he can speak with your parents and smooth things over.”

  “B-but I still don’t want to go home,” Jeannie quavered. “Please don’t make me, Kath.”

  “Kathleen, I suggest Jeanette come to Glasgow with us,” Gillian said. “It would be the best way to avoid scandal, for one thing, since Charles and your parents can put it about that she joined us at the last minute. Then she can return to London with me at the end of my visit.”

  Jeannie turned a teary, pleading gaze on Kathleen. “Please say yes, Kath. Please. At least let me stay for a visit.”

  Kathleen wavered, unsure whether Gillian’s solution made sense. Jeannie was a handful at the best of times. “Well . . .”

  “You’ll
have both me and Lady Arnprior to look after Jeannie,” Gillian said, clearly reading her mind. “Vicky used to be a governess, and knows all about entertaining, er, active young ladies.”

  Jeannie bounced in her chair. “I’ll be good as gold, I promise.”

  Kathleen mentally rolled her eyes. “The duke would truly be willing to explain all this to our parents?”

  Gillian twinkled at them. “I won’t give him a choice.”

  Kathleen recognized the desperate eagerness in her sister’s expression. It was a need to be loved and accepted, to know she was truly wanted. She’d felt the same more times than she could count.

  How in God’s name could she say no?

  She nodded. “Thank you, Gillian. That would be splendid of you and the duke.”

  “Huzzah!” Jeannie jumped out of her chair and began dancing around the room.

  Kathleen pointed at her sister. “But you must promise to listen to me. No more running off or doing silly things.”

  Jeannie twirled to a halt and clasped her hands in a prayerful attitude. “I will be a perfect angel, Kath. I promise. Now that we’re together, what could go wrong?”

  Chapter Four

  Glasgow

  September 1823

  Bored.

  Grant Kendrick knew the feeling would pass. He was too busy to indulge in foolish bouts of dissatisfaction.

  And yet ...

  He leaned back in his desk chair and cast a jaundiced eye at the ledger before him, where the figures marched across the page like soldiers in battlefield formation. Business was its own sort of battle, fought with brains, instinct, and numbers.

  Always numbers, unrelenting and precise.

  Grant was certainly precise, from the neatly arranged bookshelves in his office, to his daily attire of plain tailcoat in dark blue or green, with gray vest, pale breeches, and top boots. Why wear anything different? He spent most of each day in the warehouse or down at the port when a ship was off-loading, so there was no point in dressing flash.

  He closed the ledger and stood, stretching his arms to work out the kinks, almost touching the massive beams overhead. Then he picked up the rest of the leather-bound volumes stacked on his desk and carried them to the oak bookcases that lined the opposite wall. He barely had to look to put them back, since every ledger, every file, and every scrap of paper was perfectly organized, so that the right information would be at his fingertips whenever he needed it.