by Cheryl Bolen
Sorrow engulfed Sarah. “I honestly do not know, Grandmama.” How strange it felt on her tongue to address the woman as such. “I hope she does with all my heart.”
“As do I.”
Fighting her own tears, and struggling for composure, Sarah glanced outside. “Why, it’s snowing. I’ve never seen snow before.”
Huge snowflakes fluttered from the sky, casting a fluffy white blanket on everything, even as she watched. Chris would be ecstatic.
“So it is.” Grandmama turned her head. “It’s been an unusually cold winter thus far. The trip home may be a bit of a challenge. We shouldn’t delay overly long.”
Did that mean she intended for Sarah to accompany her?
The dowager cleared her throat, drawing her attention. Trepidation shone in her grandmother’s red-rimmed eyes. “Can you tell me what you do know?” Her gaze silently pleaded with Sarah.
“Mama was sickly when I left. She’d been frail for years. The tropical climate didn’t agree with her all that well. When Santano commandeered Papa’s ship, she made me take Chris and flee Jamaica. We scarcely had more than the clothes on our backs, but Mama and Papa had suspected Santano was up to something nefarious and had made arrangements for passage to England for us. She told me to contact you once we arrived three years ago. She sent a letter too.” Hitching a shoulder, she dropped her gaze to her lap. “So, I don’t know whether she lives or not.”
Speaking those words out loud drove a dagger deep into her middle and twisted it. Sarah folded her hands, clasping her fingers tight, and crossed her ankles.
“Three years?” Agony etched the old woman’s face. “Dear God. How have you and your brother managed to survive?”
“We had a few pieces of jewelry and some money.” Sarah raised her chin. She would not be embarrassed nor would she accept condemnation. “We’ve scraped by, living in unsavory neighborhoods you’ve probably never even ridden a carriage through.”
Grandmama closed her eyes, as if her shame were too great to even look upon Sarah. “This, what you and your brother have endured, is my fault. I tried to force Mary to wed a man she didn’t love. A man too old for her. She didn’t care about his title or wealth. She wanted love. How she must have suffered, and you children as well.”
Sarah wouldn’t deny it, not even to mollify her grandmother.
Mustering her composure, Grandmother offered a watery smile. “Well, if you’ll permit me, my dear, I intend to make up for those years of neglect. You and Chris must come live with me. I’ve a rambling old house that has lacked laughter for far too long.”
Relief washed over Sarah, as profound as if a lodestone had been lifted from her shoulders. Thank God Gregor had talked her into trying to contact her grandmother one more time. And thank God the Duchess of Harcourt had insisted on this tea party. For the first time in three years, she could actually anticipate Christmastide with a degree of joy.
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
That trio of softly uttered words was all Sarah could achieve, so overcome with emotion was she. This was what she’d hoped and prayed for, and now that the moment was upon her, she couldn’t quite conceive it was happening.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, another more sobering one did as well. What of her and Gregor? He meant to return to Scotland. Would she see him anymore?
You must, her heart cried. Even if that meant bolstering her courage, and telling him her feelings. Of her love. He felt something for her too. Nothing could convince her otherwise.
What did she have to lose by doing so?
She and Chris might’ve found a home with their grandmother, but Sarah’s heart had already found a home with a blond Highlander possessing a wicked smile and rakish twinkle in his eye.
“My Fifi—she’s my Pomeranian—may be a mite jealous of you at first.” A self-depreciating smile tipped Grandmama’s thin lips. “I fear I’ve rather spoiled her. Loneliness will do that to a person.”
“I’m sure we’ll march on splendidly. I’ve always wanted a pet dog. Chris has too.”
“Then you must have one,” Grandma’s voice brooked no dissent. “Both of you. Hmm,” she said, giving Sarah a speculative look. “We must find you a lady’s maid, straightaway. It won’t do for you to toddle about London unchaperoned, and I rarely attend functions these days. Though I might venture out a few times in the coming weeks to introduce you to Society.”
“I have no need for a chaperone, Grandmama or a maid either.” Her grandmother looked so disconcerted, Sarah softened her declaration with smile. “I’m almost five-and-twenty, and I assure you, given where Chris and I have lived, and the hardships we’ve endured, I don’t give a whit what anyone else thinks of my reputation. I know the truth, and that’s what counts.”
“Very well, my dear,” Grandmother conceded. “But you’ll need a maid to help you dress. Today’s fashions cannot always be managed by one’s self. You can determine when and if she accompanies you on outings. Is that agreeable?”
She appeared so eager to please, Sarah didn’t have the heart to deny her. On the other hand, Grandmama wasn’t going to dictate to her. She’d been independent too long. “That’s acceptable. If I have a say in who is hired for the position.”
“Of course.” Grandmother’s face brightened, and she clasped her hands to her breast. “Oh, what a Christmastide this shall be. I haven’t celebrated since your mother left all those years ago. We used to make plum pudding together.”
“Mama always made Christmas pudding.”
A single tear made a track down Grandmama’s face. “And gingerbread? How Mary adored gingerbread.”
“And…gingerbread.” Sarah pressed a palm to her mouth, fearing the dam of emotions she’d kept at bay, had refused to yield to, could no longer be held back.
“Come here, Sarah.” Grandmother opened her arms.
At once, she knelt before her, and burying her face in the crook of her grandmother’s neck, smelling of lavender and roses, burst into tears.
“There, there, my dear.” Grandmama made comforting sounds in her throat all the while patting Sarah’s back. “We have each other now.”
At last, her tears spent, Sarah sat up and retrieved her own handkerchief. As she composed herself, a twinkle entered her Grandmama’s eyes. “Tell me about that Scot you came with. I believe you’ve a fondness for him? Did I hear he’s related to Viscount Sethwick?”
“He’s Gregor McTavish, and Viscount Sethwick’s his cousin.” Lest her grandmother have any ideas about dictating who she spent time with, Sarah squared her shoulders. “I am more than fond of him. I love him.”
Chapter 13
Gregor sat across from Sarah as the carriage rumbled through Mayfair’s elite streets. The sprinkling of snow four days ago had long since melted. Too bad, since he’d hoped to take her and Chris for an outing complete with hot drinking chocolate and roasted chestnuts. Had they been in Scotland, he’d teach her to ice skate.
Extremely fetching in a raspberry-toned redingote trimmed in black fur with a matching hat and muff, she’d been quiet and preoccupied most of the ride. Every now and again, her lips twitched the merest bit, and she sighed softly.
Would he ever tire of watching her?
Not in a lifetime.
He’d called to take her on the promised ride through Hyde Park today, and when she’d descended the stairs, uncustomary nervousness pummeled him. Given Lady Rolandson’s caustic reputation, he’d expected the dowager to eviscerate him with her hostile gaze, but instead, she welcomed him warmly and hadn’t even balked at their lack of chaperone.
No doubt Sarah could be credited there. His tropical flower had turned out to be quite independent and strong-minded.
Permitting himself a thin, secret smile, he adjusted the cuff of his coat. He had something very special in store for Sarah. He only hoped he hadn’t overstepped the mark. “Ye dinnae look as happy as I thought ye would with the news that Santano and his crew were arrested.”
Gregor was well pleased that his plan had gone off with nary a hitch.
Last night, Santano had broken into the warehouse, only to be confronted by him, a half dozen Bow Street Runners, as well as Ewan, Clarendon, Warrick, Ramsbury, and Harcourt.
“Those two ruffians we caught that night at the theater couldn’t wait to turn against Santano.” In the unlikely event they were spared the hanging they deserved, for their testimony, the pair could expect to live the rest of their miserable lives in an Australian penal colony. “They provided enough information to have the mutinied crew members also arrested for murder, the Bow Street Runners informed me this morning.”
Sarah brushed a hand over her thigh, her eyes more jade green than brown today. “I confess, I am profoundly relieved. Tonight, I shall sleep well for the first time in years.” Her pretty bowed mouth tipped upward, and he yearned to taste those soft lips again. “I can never thank you enough, Gregor. And I’m very grateful for all that you’ve done, at great risk to yourself too.”
Gratitude wasn’t what he wanted from her. “Then what has ye lookin’ so downtrodden, leannan?”
A sorrowful sigh escaped her, and she shifted on the seat. “This morning, my grandmother reminded me that we still don’t know whether Mama lives.” She palmed her tummy. “There’s this persistent knot here, in my middle, that won’t go away because I don’t know.” Her tongue darted out, moistening her lower lip. Throat convulsing, she turned her face away, obviously fighting tears.
Gregor couldn’t bear her suffering and crossed the carriage to sit beside her. He gathered her into his embrace, and she immediately turned her face into his chest, wrapped her arms about his torso, and wept.
“Shh, leannan, mo ghoal.” Calling her my love wasn’t so very bold, considering Sarah didn’t speak Gaelic. He ran a hand up and down her spine, admiring the gently sloping curve even as he comforted her.
“Oh, Gregor.” His greatcoat muffled her voice. “What would I do without you?”
“Dinna give up hope.” He laid his cheek atop her head. “If I recall correctly, Captain Piermont is scheduled to sail to the Caribbean soon. I’ve already asked him to check on your mother.” If all went as he intended, he’d be by Sarah’s side for the rest of his life, and she’d never have to fend for herself again.
She tilted her face, her eyelashes adorably spiky, and her cheeks rosy from her cry. “I’ll write a letter to send with him too. So that Mama knows Captain Piermont is trustworthy.”
Resisting her slightly parted rosebud lips proved as futile as denying his growing homesickness for Scotland. Lifting her onto his lap, he cradled her in his arms and tasted her luscious mouth.
Sarah sighed again, only this was the sound of a contented woman. Twining her arms about his neck, she urged him closer. She opened her mouth to his tongue’s gentle probing, and he deepened the kiss.
Desire, lust, and profound longing tunneled through his veins, filling every pore, and swelling within his heart. This woman had become something so precious in such a short period of time, he must convince her to marry him.
He would convince her.
After several more delicious minutes of exploring her mouth, he finally raised his head. The carriage had left the main part of London and bounced along a less busy lane on the town’s outskirts. Good thing too, for his rash impulse wouldn’t have served her reputation well had they been seen.
Cuddling her in his arms, he dropped a kiss atop her bonneted head.
The carriage hit a bump, and Sarah came down hard on Gregor’s lap. At once, hot, intense desire flooded his groin. Gritting his teeth against the sweet torture, he shifted her onto the seat once more, then wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
His hair had come loose during their kiss, and she grasped a handful.
“I like that you haven’t cut your hair. It suits the rugged Scotsman that you are far better than the Titus or Brutus.” She giggled, holding a few tendrils out to the side and jiggling them up and down. “Or heaven forbid, the frightened owl.”
Rotating a finger near his head, he chuckled. “Can ye imagine all of this styled in the frightened owl fashion?”
She dropped her focus to his fancy togs. “You might dress the perfect English gentleman, but at heart, you’re Scot through and through, Gregor.” Head to the side, she considered him. “I don’t believe managing Stapleton Shipping and Supplies is what you’re meant to do, no matter how good you might be at the position.”
Neither did he.
“I think you should pursue becoming a doctor,” she announced.
Edinburgh did have an outstanding medical school.
Sarah had grown up on a tropical island and more than once expressed how much she disliked England’s drizzly, gray clime. Could he convince her to make Scotland, with its harsher weather, craggy terrain, and rugged people her home?
There’d be plenty of time to consider that later.
He’d reinforce his efforts to court her, and his surprise today was sure to earn him a place in her heart.
Rather than return to the opposite seat, he tucked her close to his side and took her hand in his. Yuletide was less than a week away, but he couldn’t wait that long to give her the gift he’d found for her.
They traveled in silence for several minutes, and when he glanced down, it was to discover she’d fallen asleep, her head nestled against his shoulder.
She truly hadn’t been sleeping well, fretting for her brother and herself. Now that her grandmother had acknowledged her, Sarah’s life would be so much easier. Her mother was the final thing that plagued her peace.
Hopefully, Piermont would return with good news in the spring.
Stretching his legs out before him, Gregor rested his head against the squabs. He had more to overcome than Sarah’s dislike of the climate. Her grandmother was a wealthy, powerful woman, and if he convinced her to marry him, though they’d never go without necessities, he wasn’t in a position to shower fine things upon her.
He opened his eyes and touched his lips to the top of her bonnet. Nae, Sarah cared more about character and what was in a person’s heart than being draped in fine silk and glittering jewels.
A few more minutes passed before the carriage juddered to a stop.
“Sarah?” Gregor gently shook her shoulders. “Sarah, wake up, lass. I’ve another surprise for ye. It’s an early Yuletide present from me.”
Blinking drowsily, she raised her sleepy gaze to his, and the tenderness there humbled him. Still sleep-drugged, her irises were a haunting shade somewhere between blue and green with gold flecks today. He loved that about her. Her eyes changed color depending on what she wore or her current mood.
“Another surprise? What have you done now, Highlander?” Excitement twinkled in the depths of her gaze, and she cast an inquisitive glance out the window. “Where are we?”
“You’ll have to wait and see, jo.” He gave her a seductive wink.
The carriage door swung open, and the driver lowered the steps.
Gregor descended first, then extended his hand to assist her from the carriage.
Her face awash with curiosity, she inspected the stately manor on London’s perimeter.
After some lengthy inquiries, he had finally found what he sought. For a time, he feared the task he’d set himself impossible to complete, but with the help of Ramsbury, Harcourt, and Ewan he’d met with success.
“Why are we here?” Sarah took in her surroundings. “Am I meeting yet another titled relative?”
“Nae.” Gregor lifted the knocker, and almost at once, a cheerful maid opened the door.
A secret in her eyes, she bobbed a curtsy. “Mr. Stallworth is expecting you, sir.”
Sarah preceded him into the house and glanced around, her forehead furrowed with two neat rows.
“This way, please, Mr. McTavish, miss.” The maid indicated they should follow her.
Completely bewildered Sarah asked, “Gregor, whatever are you about?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Unfamiliar giddiness bubbled behind his ribs. He couldn’t remember ever going to such efforts for a present before. And this would be the first Christmas gift he’d ever given.
True, he was giving it to Sarah early, but nonetheless…
The maid led them toward the back of the house, down a long corridor, then to a cozy room off the kitchen. A man rose from beside a short, wooden enclosure, and smiling, extended his hand.
“Mr. McTavish. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I see you’ve brought the young lady you told me about.”
“Sarah, this is Able Stallsworth,” Gregor said. “Mr. Stallsworth, Miss Sarah Paine.”
Squeaking and rustling from the enclosure hinted at Gregor’s surprise.
Eyes going round in excitement and astonishment, her mouth formed a perfect little “o”. She rushed to the box, and giggling, sank to her knees. “Oh, Gregor. Nothing could be more perfect.” She scooped a wriggling black dachshund pup into each hand and held them against her cheeks. Cooing softly, she kissed their shiny heads. “Aren’t you the most precious darlings?”
“Happy Christmas, Sarah,” Gregor said, his throat oddly tight with sentiment.
She turned such a look of utter adoration on him, he didn’t doubt she was meant to be his for all time. Everything that had happened, that had brought them to this point, had been part of a grand plan. She was his destiny as surely as snow was cold and fire burned hot.
Stallsworth gave a deferential half bow.
“You have your pick of the litter, Miss Paine. No one else has claimed a pup yet. It will be another two weeks before they are ready to leave their mother, however. Let me know which one you want, and I’ll tie a ribbon around its neck. I’ll give you a few minutes alone with them.” At the door he turned back. “By the by, their mother’s name is Elsa.”
Such joy radiated from Sarah’s face, Gregor could have watched her for hours.