Instinct told her to trust him. Could she really? She wanted to. Desperately.
“Ye ken, one could say there are two types of women, as well. Those polished within an inch of their life on the outside but tainted inside. ‘Tis nae beauty I refer to, it’s life. Verve. Then there is the other sort. Those who are smartly outfitted in mind and spirit. Who are kind, nurturing, and courageous. I’ve come to adore women of that nature, few as they are.”
Piper waited on pins and needles for him to continue, fearing he would cast her into the former group. If his opinion of her were that low, she’d be gravely disappointed.
And she was.
“I believed ye a valiant spirit temporarily discouraged though possessed with pluck enough to overcome whatever it was that had befallen ye. Now, I’m left at odds.” He paused with a shake of his head, as if he couldn’t quite rectify that belief versus this new evidence. “What I haven’t liked about my life, I’ve sought to change. It isnae perfect yet, thus I continue to adjust. I’d thought ye eager to take yer future and mold it to suit ye, nae one else, but lacking direction or opportunity. Ye’ve had two years to make a change for the better, instead ye hide here in fear of the unknown.”
The accusation triggered something in Piper, a powerless fury she hadn’t felt in quite some time. It rose like bile in her throat, nearly choking her. Taking her breath. Yanking on the reins, she spun Dandy around before shooting a hot glare over her shoulder.
“I’d thought you different. Different from those who consider fear of the unknown an intolerable reason to keep myself hidden away. That is not at all the case.” Dandy pranced to the side, agitated as she. While she might summon the courage to face her brother, Piper wasn’t as confident that she possessed the mettle to confront what would come after. “Make no mistake, Mr. MacKintosh. I know exactly what it is that I fear.”
Chapter 8
Contrary to the life I lead—aka ‘hiding’ as Mr. MacKintosh so eloquently phrased it—I never intended to become a slave to my circumstances. I still dream of love, kindness, and the comfort of a warm embrace. Especially one that smells of citrus and spice.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, September 1895
More than a week later
So much for the gentle and patient hand he’d resolved to employ in earning Piper’s trust. Instead, he’d let his Scot’s temper get the best of him, and she’d fled on the wings of a solid rage of her own.
She’d been right to berate him. His rebuke had been overly harsh and unfair. In truth, he hadn’t meant to let loose like that. As he’d hit an apparent sore spot of hers, she had struck one in him.
Thus far, his twenty-five years hadn’t been marked by a great deal of accomplishment. Distinctive achievement. In his youth, he’d often felt extraneous. Lost in anonymity near the bottom of the pack after his parents died. There was not much he could do that one or more of his brothers hadn’t managed before. Nothing for him to have that hadn’t been someone else’s.
Even his fortune had been someone else’s. His father had left enough to each of his ten sons and daughter for them all to rest on their laurels for the remainder of their days. Aye, he was grateful for it. It gave him resources.
But no purpose. Contrary to Fiona’s opinions, one couldn’t squander each day on a golf course.
Life had granted him none of the inborn responsibilities of his eldest brother. He had no interest in soldiering like Vin, Richard, and Dorian. The investments and business interests that worked for Sean, Colin, and Jamie, also, now that he’d gone to America, bored Connor. Ian and Tam seemed to have no long-term goals beyond playing pranks, fighting, and leaving mayhem in their collective wake.
Connor had followed in their footsteps for a while, carousing and gambling as many younger sons of noblemen did. The lack of challenge irked him. It took no tangible skill to drink men under the table when he’d spent a lifetime keeping up with his brothers.
It wasn’t until he’d recently come across an estate for sale on the road between Glen Cairn Manor and St. Andrews that his ennui with life in general took a turn. His family thought him mad—a bachelor purchasing fallow lands and a near ruin of a house—however, Connor finally had a challenge to surmount and a subject matter that interested him.
Whether it made him a farmer, or not.
Piper knew none of that, as her ordeals were vague to him. While he could imagine, he didn’t know the specifics. Had he held his tongue, he might have gained other truths from her in time. Now that she’d gone to ground for close to two weeks, there was a chance he might never know the whole of it.
She said she knew exactly was she feared and admitted this merchant had frightened her. That could imply any part of a broad range of threat. Enough of one, combined with the prospect of a grim future, to send her into hiding.
Furthermore, she claimed the merchant searched for her? Aye, Connor could see it. Any spurned groom denied such a lady for his bride would attempt to retrieve her. Obviously, she bore her fictional Mrs. and lived under the auspices of widowhood to camouflage her presence. But to maintain her charade for more than two years? Why would she presume the man continued his pursuit?
Nay, he readily allowed her that point, as well. He could easily see that any man could carry a torch for her for more years than that. Whatever reasons possessed this merchant, her beauty alone would be enough. There was more to her than that, though. Some he knew already, some he sensed. Even if he knew nothing of her at all, the fealty of the people of Aylesbury alone would convince him that she deserved protection.
Their motives for safeguarding her weren’t as clear. He guessed she’d been born among them and elevated through her mother’s multiple marriages to acquire that sheen of gentility. Perhaps a descendent of some past marquis on the wrong side of the blanket. God knew, they treated her like a lady. Or a delicate treasure they didn’t want to see broken. They’d brought her back into the fold. Sheltered her from foreign threats.
Connor included.
Quite likely, none of them would agree she was in need of his assistance. Bugger it, he might be a farmer at heart as the lass had teased him, however, he was a gentleman born. A gentleman to the bone with all the dispositions that went with it. Come what may, the proclivity to aid those in need ran deep.
Piper could avoid him all she liked, nonetheless, he meant to free her from the threat that haunted her.
Piper. The name suited her far more than Lillian or Lily. It complemented her backbone and wit, that playful edge he’d managed only a glimpse of thus far. He’d been wrong in saying she lacked those qualities. They were there, lurking a scratch beneath the surface. Muted by the burdens she bore.
She’d been not quite eighteen when she’d run away. That would make her twenty? Far too young to have been forced into rash actions, nevertheless brave for having taken the measures she had. If the guardian she spoke of was any sort of gentleman, he should’ve kept a weather eye on his ward and ensured her safety. Not left her to the wolves.
“Goats, my lord?”
Connor’s attention snapped back to Aylesbury’s steward, his teeth grinding at the title. It had been amusing the first few weeks of his stay. Of late, his patience was wearing thin. On the other hand, he might graciously allow it in this particular case. Larkin was old enough that his memory on the matter might fail him. Older than Hadrian’s Wall, if the papery skin drawn tautly over his skull was any indication. They’d been meeting to go over his progress and plans for the week ahead before the steward had drifted into silence—or to sleep—and Connor’s attention wandered.
“Aye, bloody goats.” He went on to repeat the justification he’d provided Piper on the matter. A repeat of the same reasoning he’d given Larkin himself more than a month past. “I requested the purchase of a large tribe, if ye recall? A herd?”
The older man nodded, running his thumb and forefinger down each side of his thick white mustache. “An interesting idea. I’ll write to his lordship on
the matter.”
“I dinnae want ye to write Aylesbury. I want ye to order them. Straightaway.”
The steward’s chin dipped to his chest before jerking up again. “Right-o, then. How many would ye like?”
Pleased that he was gaining ground in at least one aspect of his undertakings, Connor scratched his jaw. “How many cottagers are there? Wi’ small children,” he modified. Best not to rouse Aylesbury’s ire completely by leaping contrary to his wishes. Larkin provided the numbers of those with children compared to the whole and Connor nodded. “Aye. That’ll do. I’d like them here before the week’s end.”
“Yes, my lord. Will that be all?”
“Aye.” Connor flicked his fingers then brought a hand down on the steward’s ledger before he could move. “Nay, one other thing. Have ye ever been approached by investigators from Scotland Yard regarding the whereabouts of a Mrs. Milbourne?”
“Peelers? At Dinton Grange?” Larkin’s watery gaze blinked at him from behind his spectacles. “No, my lord. Nor am I familiar with the name.”
Disgruntlement pursed Connor’s lips. Her subterfuge ran deep. With good reason or not? “Have there been any unusual visitors to the area of late?”
“You mean besides yourself, my lord? And those who came for his lordship’s nuptials?”
“Aye, besides those,” he clarified, stifling his irritation. “In the months since then, have there been any other strangers about? Aylesbury isnae a large village, I assume any visitors rouse a fair helping of gossip.”
“True enough. True enough.”
“Have there been many?” Connor prompted.
“Now and again.” Gnawing his lip, the older man cast his eyes in all directions as if visibly combing through his own mind. Then he brightened. “I did come upon a bookseller a few weeks past. Inquisitive fellow. Bought me an ale at the King’s Head and bent my ear a fair while.”
A merchant, aye. But the same one?
“I’ve heard Mrs. Davies say that there had been a fellow in the village presumably seeking employment last week. Or was it a few months past? Yesterday?” Larkin scratched his head with a shrug.
“Does that happen often?”
“Laborers pass through often enough,” The steward’s fingers retraced the path of his mustache. “Some call on me here or approach me in the village. Not much for work this time of year with the crops in already.”
Connor frowned, as the harvest had barely begun. “Is that all?”
A ponderous pause then, “Yes, my lord.”
As the steward hobbled away, leaning on his cane, Connor rolled his eyes. There was a fair chance the information the steward provided was erroneous or downright false given his memory lapses. He considered asking the housekeeper about the incident himself, although, somehow he knew Mrs. Davies would give nothing away. Not only was her expression too deadpan to read, regrettably he was still considered one of the strangers to be wary of.
If he hadn’t gained their trust by now, such a miraculous occurrence wasn’t bound to happen any time soon. He’d be met with the same blank stares he’d encountered in his initial search for Piper. What he needed was someone he could trust to ask about for him. Someone familiar in the area who wouldn’t rouse suspicion. Alas, none of his own kin beyond Fiona would fit the bill. Should he interrupt her honeymoon, she’d wear a path in the carpet with all the miles she’d tread berating him for it. The rare letters he’d sent thus far about the estate weren’t met with a warm welcome.
For the same reason, he dare not ask Harry.
Without a familiar face to serve, an innocuous one would do. Someone everyone trusted. He knew just the fellow. In the meantime, he might ride into town and investigate himself.
After he spoke to Piper.
If he could find her.
Barring a miracle, he didn’t have much choice but to wait for her to come to him.
* * *
What else am I to do? Hie myself off to America?
Why not?
Why not.
The notion seemed preposterous at the time, a jest in the face of a serious dilemma. As the days passed and Piper considered it, the more it made sense.
For the first time, she wondered if her self-imposed exile couldn’t result in a finer future than the solitary, lonely existence in this cottage tucked away in an isolated corner of the Marquis of Aylesbury’s very estate provided. It had never occurred to her to look elsewhere. Where else could she go but home?
Hiding in plain sight had passed time. Nothing more. She should have realized long ago, she couldn’t go on like this forever. Hiding but not truly living, as Connor had so sagely put it.
Connor.
Piper sighed. He intrigued, enticed, and infuriated her. She was tempted, often simultaneously, to kick him and hug him. How was that possible? In any case, she owed him an apology for losing her temper when she had invited his opinion. She’d already been on edge with the news of Harry’s return, and he’d scratched at the recently picked scab. She should seek him out.
Not only to beg forgiveness.
This time the reason she hadn’t already done so did revolve around that irritating adage. Fear of the unknown. The uncertainty of her welcome, what he’d say or do if she approached him had kept her at the cottage more than the rain had.
Point of fact, the rain had stopped the previous night and she persisted in dawdling rather than seeking him out as she intended. Wanted.
His company was refreshing, an invigorating combination of insight and provocation. His presence uplifting and comfortable. Each day she lingered at her cottage left her yearning to explore the possibilities of his friendship even more.
If she were honest with herself, friendship wasn’t all Connor tempted her to explore. She wanted that kiss he’d come close to bestowing upon her. Her reckless imagination had carried out that moment as it should have been. His lips on hers. His hands on her. And perhaps more.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t wait for him to take the first step. If she wanted anything more of him, she would have to go to him.
A sigh of appreciation escaped her as she took a pan of apple tarts out of the oven. Hilde told her Connor had something of a sweet tooth. Piper made them for him as a peace offering. An offering to either proceed or follow that kiss.
Whether he’d want to kiss her now that he’d taken her measure, she wasn’t certain. He adored women with verve and courage. While she liked to think she bore those qualities—deep down, at any rate—she hadn’t done much to display them of late. Perhaps the time had finally come to shed the cloak of comfort and habit and reassert the woman she was meant to be.
Who she could be and was close to becoming.
Setting the tray of pastries on the work table, she swapped it for a cast iron pan of the steak and ale pie she’d prepared for her supper later. Though she took many of her meals in the manor kitchens with the trusted staff, she’d become a fine hand in the kitchen during her exile. While she preferred baking, she could cook for herself.
She could manage many things now she hadn’t been able to before. She’d gained skills and confidence, become far more self-sufficient. With those skills came options that wouldn’t have been viable before when she’d been a child who’d never plied a needle to anything more rudimentary than delicate embroidery.
“Smells divine, m’lady.” Edith offered a complimentary sniff from where she sat at the table, letting out the bodice of one of Piper’s day dresses.
Alas, she could sew more practically now, but she wasn’t as skilled with seam work as Edith.
“Is it about ready?”
Shedding her apron, Piper went to her bedchamber and removed her plain linen shirt and black skirt. A skirt of wine-colored faille was laid out on the bed for her. She pulled it on, and Edith arrived a moment later with the matching bodice she’d been sewing. A repeating pattern of looping knots and braids was embroidered on the high collar and spilled down the front panels. Glass beads wove along th
e design and clusters of glass bugle beads dangled from each of the knots.
The gown had been one of many made in the months before her escape from London, intended for her debut in Society. Edith had packed several when she’d been sacked afterward and followed Piper to the Grange. There had been few opportunities for her to wear any of them, but Connor had said he liked her in red, and she wanted to look pretty for him.
Tugging on her worn black gloves, she returned to the parlor where Edith offered her a short wool cape. The early autumn nights had grown colder, the green leaves taking on the hint of the glorious golds and reds she adored. Even so, the day had been clear and cool without being too brisk. “Thank you, Edith, I think not today. I have long sleeves and the walk to the manor to keep me warm.”
“Be safe, m’lady.”
With a nod, Piper set out with a basket of tarts in hand. There was much for her to consider. Not only her clothing choices. She needed to give serious consideration to her options. Some that hadn’t been viable when she was seventeen were available to her now. Or would be presented to her shortly. As soon as she was twenty-one, Piper could access the generous inheritances her father and Sedmouth both left for her without a guardian at hand. She could be in and out of London with no one the wiser and miles away before anyone knew. She could take herself off to America or the Continent, even. Anywhere she pleased.
Working her way through the sheltered path, she emerged near the stables and gave a wave to the lads working there as she passed.
Her days of hiding would be done and that person Connor might come to admire set free if she handled it all discreetly. She could take Edith with her, perhaps, or hire a companion. There’d be no reason for her to be isolated for days at a time. No reason to be lonely and alone.
A Question for the Ages (Questions for a Highlander Book 7) Page 9