There hadn’t been much sleep after that, and she was glad to see the sun peek through the cracks in her curtain. Quietly, so as not to awaken the other guests, Theodora dressed and went downstairs.
Glancing inside the breakfast room, she was relieved to see Lance alone there. She paused in the hallway to smooth the skirt of her green silk traveling gown, which she’d chosen with great care, and to place her cool hands over her heated cheeks. She’d never asked someone to kiss her, and had no idea where to begin. This is not an undertaking for the weak, she told herself firmly. But it must be done.
With a final, deep breath, she plastered on a smile and entered the breakfast room.
Lance sat at the table, buried behind a newspaper, a half empty cup of tea before him. Dressed in a blue coat and buff breeches, his boots clean and shining, he looked exactly like what he was: a handsome, good-hearted country squire.
She approached the table, noting he hadn’t heard her enter. Smiling, she leaned across the table and tapped on the back of his newspaper.
He lowered the paper, his expression brightening. “Theodora!” He put down the paper and stood, looking absurdly pleased to see her. “Good morning!”
That was a good start, she decided. “Good morning.” Her uneasy dreams and concerns still filled her mind, but she resolutely pushed them aside. But when I kiss him, will he kiss me back?
There was only one way to find out. She stepped forward, her skirts swinging to brush his legs, her toes just touching his boots.
Lance’s eyes widened. “Th-Theodora?”
She placed her hand on his arm. It was firm, although not as hard-muscled as Con— No, don’t think about anyone but Lance. Steeling herself, she slid her hand up his arm.
“Theodora!” Lance’s voice sounded strangled. “I— This isn’t— What are—”
The door opened, and a maid with a covered serving dish appeared.
Lance’s hands dropped to his sides and he instantly stepped back. “Ah! The eggs!” No man had ever sounded more relieved to see his breakfast.
And just like that, the moment was gone, leaving Theodora with a desire to curse.
“Aye. I’ve brought your eggs. Hot, they are, too.” This maid was different from the one they’d seen last night. She was large-boned, with a broad freckled face topped by thick, curly blond hair. Seeing Theodora, she dropped into an awkward curtsy, the platter wavering in her hands. “Good morning, miss!”
“Good morning.” Theodora took a seat, Lance doing the same.
The maid popped back to her feet and set the dish on the table. “Here you are; fresh from the chicken. I stole these from beneath the hen just this morning.”
“Fresh eggs are always best,” Lance said politely.
“Aye, although the hen was nae happy to give them up. But that could have been due to my cold hands. I’d be clucking up a storm if someone put their icy hands on my bare behind, too.”
Theodora had to stifle a laugh, while Lance made a strangling sound.
The maid lifted the serving cover. “Nice and hot! I daresay the chicken wouldn’t wish to sit on them now, eh? They would burn her bum if she tried.”
Theodora choked back another laugh, hiding it behind a cough. She looked at Lance to share her amusement, but he was watching the girl with a confounded look on his face.
Theodora cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome,” the maid said, grinning cheerfully, but making no move to leave.
This maid wasn’t as well trained as the last, and Lance cast an almost desperate look at Theodora. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll finish the newspaper before I eat.” With that, he hid behind the paper, leaving Theodora to handle the wayward servant.
“Ye’d best eat the eggs quickly,” the girl said, sliding the dish forward. “There’s nothing less tasty than cold eggs—unless it’s greasy, uncooked pig head or—”
“I beg your pardon,” Theodora said hastily. “Have we met?”
“Oh no. Polly Shoales usually helps Mrs. Landry, the innkeeper’s wife, but late last night Polly went and hurt her ankle, perhaps even broke it. This morning, Ma—she’s the laundress here—says to me, she says, ‘Alice, you’re going to have to help.’ So here I am. Normally Ma don’t like me and my sisters to help. She says we’re clumsy, the lot of us, and I cannot disagree, but this was an emergency.”
“Ah. I’m sorry to hear about Polly.”
“I’m not. Polly isn’t very nice to me—not since the Trivet boy started saying he thought I was prettier than her.” Alice sniffed proudly. “She didn’t take to that kindly.”
Theodora ignored Lance’s irritated shake of the newspaper. “She didn’t?”
“No. So I’m not the least bit sorry Polly’s hurt herself—though I suspect she has naught but a tiny sprain, if that, and she just wanted the time off to snuggle up to Tom the butcher’s son.”
Fascinated, Theodora asked, “I thought she liked the Trivet boy?”
“She likes them all, and too much, if you ask me.” Alice tugged at her lace collar. “So now I’m left to be the maid, and Polly will choke her goat when she finds out how uncommon busy we’ve been, what with you and the squire, and your chaperone, and that handsome gent as looks as if he were tossed from heaven.”
Choke her goat. I must remember that one. With a quiver of humor in her voice, Theodora said, “I daresay Polly will indeed regret treating you so poorly. Thank you for bringing the eggs. As you said, we’d best eat them now, before they grow cold.”
“Indeed, miss. Ring if you want more.” The maid gave a quick curtsy and left.
The second the door closed, Lance lowered his newspaper. “Good God, what was that?”
Theodora laughed. “That was Alice.”
He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table before he eyed the plate of eggs with great interest. “She was quite loquacious.”
“She was. Lance, may we . . . may we talk?”
He looked uneasy, but offered a quick smile. “Of course. What is it?”
“It’s—” She struggled to find the words, wetting her suddenly dry lips. “I’m glad we are finally alone.”
He flushed, and cast a quick look at the partially open door. “Yes, well, we haven’t had much time together over the last few days. I have missed our conversations.”
But conversation wasn’t what Theodora wanted. She tried to imagine Conner saying such a thing, and couldn’t. Now was the time to kill her fascination with him.
She pushed herself from the table. “Would you . . . would you mind standing?”
Lance flushed an even deeper red, but after a stilted moment, he pushed himself from the table and joined her. “Theodora, I’m not sure what—”
She rose up on her tiptoes, and pressed her mouth to his.
He froze, his eyes wide, looking so startled that she broke the kiss almost the second she’d started it, blazing with embarrassment as she stepped away. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have— I don’t know what I was thinking.” She started to turn, but Lance caught her arm.
“No!”
She looked up at him, hoping for . . . she didn’t know what.
Lance captured her hands and held them to his chest, pulling her closer. “Please don’t think I am not— Or that you—” He took a breath and gave a shaky laugh. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have done it. I was just—”
It had been a desperate attempt to smother the passion stirred by Conner’s kisses. But when her lips had met Lance’s, she’d felt nothing. Not a single thing.
Our marriage will not be passionate. She now knew that without a single doubt. But that is fine, isn’t it? Many marriages survive without passion. Wasn’t it more important to share common interests, enjoy easy conversations, and savor the joint enjoyment of a quiet, well-organized life, than to recklessly pursue a man who made one’s knees weaken when he flashed a wicked grin, and who had the powe
r to send one’s spirits soaring or plummeting to the ground?
Common sense instantly answered that question. Sadly, her heart answered it in the opposite direction. Life with Conner would be wildly passionate and undeniably blissful . . . or it would until he tired of being with her and at home, and sailed away, leaving her alone and forgotten.
Perhaps the truth was that neither of these men were right for her. The thought was lowering indeed.
Red faced, Lance smiled and gently squeezed her hand. “I didn’t respond in a satisfactory way, did I? No, don’t answer that.” He took a steadying breath. “Perhaps . . . perhaps we should try that again. This time, I will try to—”
“Lance, I can’t marry you.” The words tumbled from her, propelled by her wretched thoughts, horrid dreams, and exhausted mind. She blinked, shocked that she’d said the words aloud.
“Well,” he said, looking stunned.
That was it. Just “well.”
She wetted her lips. I hope I haven’t broken his heart. “Please. I-I’m sorry if—”
“Thank God.”
She stared at him.
Lance went back to the table and sank into his chair limply. “I’m— This is so— Theodora, thank you.”
She didn’t know what to say. “You’re glad.”
“Ecstatic!” He flushed. “No, no. Not that I don’t think you’re— Theodora, you’re an exceptional, beautiful, capable—”
“We would not suit.”
“At all.”
They exchanged surprised looks and then burst out laughing, both of them punch drunk with sweet relief.
Theodora sat back in her chair, gasping for breath. “Oh Lance! I’ve been questioning our relationship since we first eloped, but I couldn’t find the words to say it.”
“And I couldn’t say it to you. Men cannot cry off.”
“No, they can’t. Society is brutally strict about that. How wretched for you. How long have you known this elopement to be an error?”
“To be honest, I suspected it the night before we left, and I knew it for certain once we were under way and you kept demanding I let you take the reins.”
“I’m a good driver.”
“And I’m not,” he said frankly. “But I wished you’d pretended that I was.”
“Oh. I’m not very good at pretending.”
“No. And I fear my vanity rather wishes you were.” He laughed. “I know, it’s absurd.”
She shrugged. “We all have expectations.”
“I suppose so. I haven’t slept a wink since we left, worrying . . .” He looked at her and said in a cautious tone, “To be honest, some of my concern was about Mother.”
“I’m not surprised. She seems rather forceful.”
“She is. I fear she might take umbrage at your spirit, which I like, of course. But Mother—” He spread his hands. “She is what she is.”
“I was a bit worried about that, too. And your sisters . . . I had no idea I would be expected to launch them for their seasons.”
“I suppose I should have mentioned that.”
“And that you wished for six children—”
“Or more.”
She shuddered. “One, perhaps. Two, maybe. I was also unaware that your mother would wish to name our first son, and that she’d live with us, and—” Theodora threw up her hands. “So many things! Didn’t we talk at all before we eloped? What were we thinking?”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, looking younger and more carefree than she’d ever seen him. “Apparently we weren’t thinking at all. We just met at a fortuitous time. I was looking for a wife. Mother has suggested repeatedly during the last year that it was time I married.”
“But she hasn’t liked your choices.”
“Not yet. But it’s made me realize how much I’d like to be married and have children and all that comes with it. So when I met you, and you are a beautiful, accomplished woman—” He smiled. “It seemed meant to be.”
“Until you realized I am not what either you or your mother was hoping for.”
“You’re much too spirited for life on a farm.” He hesitated. “I hope you will not think badly of either me or my mother. I truly respect and admire you. And Mother means well, but she’s been different since Father died and—”
“Please, don’t say another word. I honor you for caring so much for her. Was she the only reason you decided to marry?”
“No. There was more.”
“Yes?”
He bit his lip and then said in a rush, “The honeymoon.”
“The . . . honeymoon?”
“I never had the chance to take my grand tour— Father was ill, so I stayed home. Last year I decided that perhaps now was the time, so I began to plan a trip. That’s when Mother suggested it was time I look for a wife.”
“Ah! She thought getting married would keep you home.”
“Foolish of her, I know, but I thought that I could do both if I planned a lengthy honeymoon.” He looked around the cozy breakfast room and gave a regretful sigh. “I must admit, I was enjoying our trip. That was one of the things I liked about you—that you’ve traveled so much.”
She smiled. “Too much. Meanwhile, I found your fondness for home life quite attractive; I’m worn-out from traveling so often.”
“How ironic!” He shook his head at their foolishness. After a moment, he said simply, “So. What do we do now?”
What did they do now? “I suppose we will return to our homes and try to explain things.”
“Oh.” Lance’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. I suppose we must.” He absently folded one corner of the newspaper. “I wish we’d at least reached Scotland. I’ve always wanted to visit, but—” He sighed. “It’s not to be.”
“Apparently not.”
“It’s a pity, for I hear it’s beautiful. I must admit, I wasn’t looking forward to marrying over an anvil. I only suggested fleeing to Gretna Green because I didn’t wish Mother to sabotage our engagement, which she would have done.”
“I thought it would be romantic, but . . . no.”
“We are both of a commonsensical nature. I’m not sure romantic love is for us.”
That might be true for Lance, but Theodora was perfectly capable of falling wildly, madly in love. It was annoying that life wasn’t planned like the craft patterns in women’s magazines—each step carefully explained, and accompanied by a clear, simple drawing showing the desired outcome. Real life was like trying to make one of those projects in the inky dark of night, without any instructions or the final picture, and sometimes, without either glue or scissors.
She sighed. “I don’t look forward to returning home and telling my family we’ve changed our minds.” And Conner . . . oh God, what would she tell him? He’d be so pleased, and would woo her with even more fervor than before. How will I resist him?
“Neither do I,” Lance admitted. “I shall have to return home and this adventure will be over.” He sighed, looking sad. “I suppose all good things must end.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a small book and looked at it with a wistful smile. “I’ll tell you something, if you promise not to laugh.”
She smiled. “I promise.”
He opened the book to the first page and handed it to her. “Before I left, I listed all of the places of interest near Gretna Green. After we married, I was going to suggest we take some time and visit the area.”
She looked at the list. “Carlisle Castle, the Cathedral—”
“Beautiful structures, both. I saw pictures.”
“The gardens at Wordsworth House. I’ve heard of those.”
“The roses are renowned. There are five more places that I thought we might enjoy seeing.” He laughed ruefully. “Silly of me, wasn’t it?”
“Not at all. I would have enjoyed them all.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. In fact . . .” She looked at the journal, a thought growing with each passing second. “Lance, what if we go anyway?”
“What?”
“You want to see the sights, and I’m not averse to that. We have a chaperone, and neither of us are eager to return home. Heaven knows I don’t look forward to explaining the situation to my family, or Conner . . .”
“Ah yes, your family friend.”
Something about the way Lance said it made Theodora look at him sharply. “He is just a family friend.”
“Of course. He also needs to wed, and soon. Added to that, he knows you quite well, and . . .” Lance spread his hands wide. “I’m not a fool, Theodora. I can see, you know.”
“Then you can see how red my face is right now.”
“No, no! Don’t be embarrassed.” Lance’s eyes softened with humor. “I don’t blame Douglas for wishing to marry you; I rather wanted to myself.”
“That was different. You were being noble, while he’s being a pain in the—” She caught Lance’s shocked expression and hastily said, “Either way, if you don’t mind, I’d rather he didn’t know our engagement was off.”
“You don’t wish to marry him.”
“No.”
“He won’t just go away if you tell him to?”
“Lance, he was planning on following us all the way to Gretna; he’s a stubborn, difficult man. Once we reach Scotland and he thinks the marriage imminent, he’ll realize there’s nothing more to be done and leave us be. Then we can explore the area at our leisure before we return home to face the music.”
She handed him back the small journal and he slipped it into his pocket. “It’s tempting,” he said. “As you say, we have Miss Simmons to answer the concerns of propriety. I think she’d enjoy seeing some of the sights, too.”
“I’m certain she would. She doesn’t seem to have had a very exciting life so far.”
Lance leaned back in his seat, and stared for a moment at his hands where they rested on his knees. Finally, he slapped the table with a decisive whack and stood. “Let’s do this!”
Caught by the Scot Page 17