My Highland Rogue

by Karen Ranney

  Jennifer tried to eat so as not to be insulting to Mr. Campbell or his cook. She managed to eat a little of everything even though she didn’t have an appetite.

  After lunch they spent some time oohing and aahing over Mary, who’d grown in only one week. It was evident to anyone that Mr. Campbell was a proud grandfather. He was the one who carried Mary into the room, then returned her to the nursery.

  Ellen and Hamish carried the conversation, their interests surprisingly parallel in several areas. Ellen had a decided political bent that dictated Scotland should consider its interests first. Mr. Campbell concurred.

  Neither she nor Lauren added to their discussion. When Ellen and Mr. Campbell left to tour the garden, she and Lauren simply looked at each other.

  Something had happened in those two days she’d retreated to her rooms. Ever since then, Lauren had been withdrawn and distant. Their friendship had suffered as a result.

  “I’m not returning to Adaire Hall,” Lauren abruptly said.

  Jennifer glanced at her. For several moments neither spoke.

  “You’re never returning?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “Harrison feels only contempt for me, Jennifer. He told me so himself. How am I supposed to live with a man who says something like that?”

  So that’s what had happened in those two days.

  “I’m his wife, and I’ll remain his wife until one of us dies, but I’ll not live with him.”

  Now was the time for her to launch into a speech about how people can change, except that she was certain that change was beyond Harrison. Even as a boy he’d been inflexible in his thoughts. Once he’d decided on something, it didn’t matter how much evidence to the contrary you showed him, his mind was made up.

  “Harrison doesn’t want to be a proper husband and father. Mary and I will make our lives here in Edinburgh. If Harrison wants us, he knows where we’ll be.” She took a deep breath and continued. “However, I have no hope of that ever happening.”

  Jennifer couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Of course, she couldn’t excuse Harrison’s behavior. Nor would she. He’d treated Lauren abominably and would probably continue to do so.

  No one had ever called him out on his actions. Her mother had tried, but it had been a futile effort, especially when Mr. McBain had backed Harrison in so many instances.

  “I’m sorry, Lauren.”

  She stretched out her hand to Lauren. The other woman took it and for a moment they sat in silence.

  “I want my husband to love me,” Lauren said finally. “I thought Harrison was capable of that, but not now.”

  She glanced at Jennifer as she pulled her hand free.

  “I don’t want your life, Jennifer. I’m not that good of a person. You’re the epitome of dedication and selflessness, but I don’t want to have to take care of Adaire Hall without any promise of some type of reward. Like a husband who loves me and a sense of family.”

  She wasn’t as virtuous as Lauren made her sound. Her mother’s illness had dictated that Jennifer take on her duties. After her mother’s death, she’d stepped up when Harrison had abdicated his responsibilities and had continued to do so for five years. When Lauren had arrived at Adaire Hall and had been almost immediately pregnant—and debilitated—Jennifer had carried on, waiting for the moment when Lauren would take on the role of countess.

  Now it looked like that day would never come.

  She didn’t blame Lauren for refusing to follow in her footsteps. Adaire Hall could not hug you in the evening or give you comfort at night. It couldn’t greet you in the morning with a kiss or share a laugh. Yet someone had to care, to be the one everyone relied on.

  Lauren was choosing her own life, one that would prove shocking to many people. Yet Jennifer couldn’t help but wonder when she got to choose hers.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Ellen’s patience ran out at dawn a week later.

  Nothing had changed since the visit to the Campbells a week ago. If anything, Jennifer had become more withdrawn. She barely spoke and found excuses not to join Ellen for dinner. She’d refused, for two days now, to accompany Ellen on shopping trips.

  Her physician had called on Jennifer and examined her goddaughter with Ellen in attendance. Dr. Ferguson pronounced Jennifer the picture of health.

  While she was relieved that there wasn’t anything physically wrong, she was still certain that something wasn’t right. She was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Jennifer always had her morning tea in her bedroom. She had her own suite, something that Ellen had decorated herself in anticipation of the many visits Jennifer would make to her home.

  Over the years, she’d changed the decor to suit her goddaughter. If Jennifer espoused a liking for flowers, the next time she visited, the coverlet of her bed, the curtains, and even the skirting around her vanity had been changed to a flowery pattern. The same was the case if she evinced a preference for a certain color. One year it was yellow. The next year it was blue.

  She hadn’t changed the decor since Jennifer had expressed a preference for green. The skirting around the vanity was a green-and-white stripe that was mirrored in the drapery. The two chairs in front of the fireplace, both comfortably overstuffed, were upholstered in a very small pattern of green leaves on a background of white. The coverlet was the same.

  Overall, it was a bright and cheerful room, the antithesis of its current occupant.

  Ellen was determined to discover what was wrong and solve it.

  After all, there was no problem that couldn’t be rectified by a little calm thinking. Another of Colin’s aphorisms, and one she sincerely hoped was true in this case.

  Another week had passed, another week in which the world was a gray formless void. Jennifer didn’t think of the future, and other than memories of her mother, she didn’t think of the past. As long as she didn’t think of anything, she was fine.

  She couldn’t seem to surface from the black mood enveloping her. Or maybe it was simply the realization that God had played a magnificent jest on her. He’d said to her: Here is Gordon, your friend and your companion. As you grow to know him, you will fall in love. You’ll want to be close to him, to live the rest of your life with him, but wait. I’m going to take him away from you for five years, during which time you’ll question and worry. You’ll miss him desperately, but don’t despair. I’ll give him back to you for a few days of magic and wonder. I’ll show you what life with him would be like. Just when you’re certain that I’m smiling on you, I’ll take it all away.

  Did God know when people were furious with him? Did He somehow sense it in the lack of prayers sent in His direction? She didn’t know. All she did know was that the world wasn’t a kind or just place. Instead, it was vicious and cruel.

  She couldn’t help but ache for her mother. Mary had been disappointed in her son. Harrison had never returned voluntarily to Adaire Hall. Even when she’d been so sick toward the end, he’d only made a grudging appearance.

  “Your brother has suffered for the lack of a father,” she told Jennifer once. “I think he would have been a different kind of man had Alex lived.”

  Mary would’ve been proud to have Gordon as her son. She didn’t doubt that he would’ve brought a lot of comfort to her mother in her last days.

  Betty’s actions had done more than destroy her life. She’d altered Mary’s as well. Hadn’t the poor woman suffered enough? First the fire, then the death of her husband, and the pain that she’d to endure for the rest of her days.

  Perhaps it would’ve been charitable for her to forgive Betty, but Jennifer couldn’t bring herself to do so. If God was displeased, she didn’t care. What more could God do to her?

  The maid brought her morning tray as usual. Until Ellen appeared, she hadn’t realized that there were two cups there.

  “I’ve decided to take tea with you this morning, my dear girl. We’re going to have a talk, you and I.”

 
She’d heard that tone from Ellen before, but had rarely been the recipient of it. Ellen insisted on excellence from her staff and, for the most part, received it. When someone did a slipshod job or didn’t follow instructions, they were lectured by Ellen in just that tone. She’d also heard her godmother face down a shopkeeper and had been grateful not to be the object of Ellen’s irritation.

  Her initial thought was to ask what she had done; then she decided not to say anything at all. Silence was always safer.

  “I’ve been patient long enough, my dear. When you wouldn’t tell me what was amiss, I told myself that it was a private matter. However, my patience is at an end. I’ve come to the conclusion that something is dreadfully wrong. Harrison has probably been an ass, but Harrison has always been an ass. Besides, you wouldn’t have that look in your eyes about him. No doubt you’re still missing your mother, but that is a pain that will last for the rest of your life. Yet I’ve seen you smile since Mary died. I haven’t seen you smile recently.”

  “Do you miss Colin?” Jennifer interjected. “You don’t speak of him very often.”

  Ellen looked taken aback. She poured them each a cup of tea, added sugar to hers, and sat back, concentrating on her cup for a moment.

  “I miss him every day. It’s like a hole in my chest, one that I can never hope to fill.” She smiled. “My grief always surprises me, however. I wake up and my first gesture is to roll over to his side of the bed, but he isn’t there. Does that answer your question?”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “I don’t know what I thought marriage was,” Ellen continued. “I saw your mother’s marriage to your father, but I believed they were so compatible because it was Mary, and Mary was a generous and loving soul. I had my own parents’ marriage as a lesson, you see.” She shook her head. “I think that’s why I rejected marriage myself, at least until I met Colin.”

  She took another sip of her tea, her gaze far away.

  “I was expected to be a dutiful spinster daughter. My parents only unbent and allowed me some freedom because of my friendship with Mary. By that time, she had become a countess.” She smiled in memory. “It was your mother who introduced me to Colin. Did you know that?”

  Jennifer shook her head.

  “My marriage was unlike anything I’d expected. It was like being with your best friend, the most favorite person in your entire life every day. We laughed a great deal. We kissed a great deal. I knew him better than I knew anyone, and I know that he felt the same about me.”

  Jennifer didn’t know what to say. That was the exact relationship she had envisioned having with Gordon.

  “It was a complete surprise when he wore me down, but I think your mother knew, from the beginning, that he was the one man for me. I never asked her, but I should have.” Her smile faded. “When Colin died unexpectedly, it was a shock. I think I believed that I would always be as happy.”

  Jennifer reached over the tray and grabbed her godmother’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Ellen. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I’m glad you did. I don’t speak of Colin very often, but I should. He was a fascinating, loving, generous, kind man, and by not speaking of him, I’ve helped to erase him from the world. I shall not do that in the future, because people deserve to remember him. Or if they didn’t know him, to learn of him anyway.”

  “I liked him very much,” Jennifer said. “We had the most wonderful conversations.”

  Ellen smiled. “He liked you, too. In fact, he said he thought you were the second most intelligent woman he had ever met. Me being the first, of course.”

  Neither said anything for a moment, each adrift in their memories.

  “Why did you ask about Colin?” Ellen asked, looking straight at her.

  There was always something perceptive about Ellen’s glance, as if she could see beyond the layer of lies or wish to obfuscate or pretend. Even if she’d tried, Jennifer doubted she would have ever gotten away with anything as a child. Ellen took her role as godmother seriously. When Mary wasn’t feeling well, Ellen took it on herself to ensure that Jennifer knew her manners, was being educated well, and that her character was being formed correctly.

  “Is it because of Gordon?”

  Jennifer forgot to breathe for a moment. “Do you know?”

  “All I know, my dear girl, is that you aren’t yourself. Something’s happened and you have studiously not mentioned Gordon’s name ever since arriving in Edinburgh.”

  Jennifer stared down at her hands, clasped them together, then released them.

  “You haven’t been very communicative, Jennifer. When pressed, you’ve told me about Harrison and Lauren and baby Mary. You’ve been very descriptive about Sean’s funeral, Mrs. Thompson and her expertise, and even your cook. Gordon is the one person you haven’t spoken of. Has he gone back to London as well?”

  Jennifer didn’t think she could say the words. If she said them, it would magically change everything about her past. Make all those interludes with Gordon something terrible, something about which to be ashamed, instead of memories she’d always treasured.

  How could she possibly tell Ellen when she could barely face the truth herself?

  “Did he hurt you in some way?”

  “No, Gordon would never hurt me.” Not deliberately.

  “Then will you tell me what it is? Misery shared is misery eased, sometimes.”

  Jennifer only shook her head.

  “Are you certain you don’t want to tell me?”

  Jennifer stood and without another word headed for the bedroom. She closed the door firmly behind her, hoping that Ellen hadn’t seen her tears.

  Ellen stared at the closed bedroom door, wishing that she hadn’t pushed the issue. She’d upset Jennifer, and it was the very last thing she wanted to do.

  She placed her cup on the tray, then went to the bellpull, and signaled for the maid to come. She would have to apologize later this morning and then work on her patience for a little while longer.

  Jennifer hadn’t said anything about wanting to go back to Adaire Hall, another change. In the past, Jennifer had always put a limit to her visit almost immediately on arriving in Edinburgh. Plus, she always went on about enhancements that she wanted to make to the Hall or to the gardens or to some aspect of the estate.

  Jennifer had always taken such pride in her home, more than Harrison ever had. All he cared about was gambling, which was a fool’s exercise.

  She would have to be very judicious about her questions of Jennifer in the future, but she wasn’t going to curb her curiosity.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Gordon had never been feted at a dinner like the one he attended tonight. Four friends who’d known Alex Adaire insisted on buying him an extravagant meal, then finishing it up with a round of drinks.

  Gordon learned that his father had an ear for voices, and that he kept his classmates amused and entertained by mimicking their professors.

  “It’s only because he was brilliant that he got away with it, of course,” Michael McTavish said. “He was smarter than all of us.”

  “I used to ask him if he ever studied,” McNair said. “He answered that he did, sometimes. Hardly ever, though.”

  Over the next several hours, Gordon was regaled with stories of Alex’s generosity, too. How he’d spent many sleepless nights quizzing friends for exams. Or how often he’d loaned money to a classmate and never asked for it back.

  All four of them had gone to Adaire Hall for his funeral and even now missed him.

  It was odd to be examined so closely, especially when they pretended not to be looking at him. Evidently, even some of his gestures were similar to his father’s.

  Each man had an abundance of Alex stories and insisted on telling them. By the end of the evening, he was filled with regret that he hadn’t known the man they knew and never would.

  Gordon had, however, acquired four new friends, men who promised to help him find property for sale if he wanted to expand in Scotland
. From what he’d been told, Edinburgh would be the perfect venue for a new music hall.

  He managed to say enough to indicate his interest, but not why he would probably never come back to Scotland to live. That confession was too raw; that loss too much to bear.

  He finished his whiskey and nodded when asked if he wanted another. One thing alcohol could do: erase your memories, at least temporarily.

  “I love him,” Jennifer said.

  Ellen turned to see her goddaughter standing in the doorway, dressed for bed.

  “I’ve always loved him. I dreamed of being his wife. I wanted to share the rest of my life with him. I wanted to bear his children. I was used to sharing my thoughts with him, and hearing his. A day wasn’t right without him being there.”

  “Gordon?”

  Jennifer nodded. “When we were children, we never tried to keep our friendship a secret. There was no need. My mother liked Gordon very much. She spent a lot of time with him. I think she saw him as a good influence for me. Or hopefully for Harrison, although he and Gordon never got along.”

  Ellen went to Jennifer’s side and gently pulled her into the sitting room. She’d been ready to retire for the night, but not now, especially in view of Jennifer’s distress. She could feel Jennifer trembling and wanted to hug her, but instead led her to the sofa.

  “When we got older, Mr. McBain began to object to my seeing so much of Gordon, so it was just easier to slip away to meet him. Harrison always tried to remind me that he was the gardener’s boy, never realizing that Gordon would always be more than that for me.”

  Jennifer had left her rooms barefoot. Now Ellen draped a throw over her goddaughter’s feet.

  “I knew he would eventually leave Adaire Hall, but not the way he did.”

  Ellen wanted to hurry her goddaughter along, to ask her what had gone so bad between them, but she had the feeling that the story had to be told in Jennifer’s way, not hers.