Jo’s mind flashed to her youngest sister, Millie, and her obsession with creating order. Dr. McKendry would provide a worthwhile challenge for her talents.
Wynne paused as Jo sat in the proffered chair.
“Pray don’t let on that I told you this, but in spite of my badgering and complaining, I know the man is as fine a doctor as you’ll find anywhere. Many a sailor owes McKendry his life.”
“You don’t think he’ll join us?” Jo asked.
“I was only half jesting. He’ll be down here shortly, I assure you.”
They were odd friends, she thought, but they definitely complemented each other’s strengths.
“How did your trip to the village with Cuffe go this morning?” she asked.
The crease in his brow disappeared as Wynne settled into a chair. Satisfaction registered on his face. Jo already knew that look meant he was pleased with his son.
“The vicar told Cuffe recently of an old widow who lives on the outskirts of the village. He had a mind to purchase a few things to take over to her.” His blue eyes met hers across the room. “He’s a good lad.”
In her mind she saw the father and son sitting together by the pond at Knockburn Hall. She’d known it then and she knew it now. With Wynne’s commitment, their relationship would flourish.
The momentary silence in the room was broken by Dr. McKendry charging in, carrying a parcel that he tossed on Wynne’s desk. He drew a chair close to Jo and threw himself into it.
“I’m quite relieved to find you here, m’lady,” he said with a note of apology that didn’t match the mischievous glint in his eye. “I was fearful this villain may have absconded with you.”
“You can call off the search party, McKendry,” Wynne responded. “The only danger she faced was from some feral creature living in that wilderness you call an office.”
Ignoring his friend, Dermot focused solely on her. “Are you certain you’re feeling well enough to be up and about?”
“I assure you, I am,” Jo told him.
“What’s this?” Wynne demanded, holding up the parcel.
“Inexplicably,” the doctor replied, “it was somehow misplaced in my office. I’m not certain when it arrived, but it’s addressed to you.”
Wynne sent Jo a conspiratorial look and inspected the packet before putting it aside. “Yes. Golf balls I had sent from St. Andrews as a gift for the Squire . . . about six months ago.”
“But I am happy to see you’re not any worse for your adventure this morning,” Dermot said to her.
Coming out of the fish pond, Jo had been too agitated about Charles Barton’s welfare to be concerned about herself. Wynne had been there to support her, immediately ordering the others to see that the patient was taken to the ward and that Dr. McKendry was informed. As he escorted Jo back to the house, he’d murmured words of assurance and stayed with her until Anna had taken over.
“About that adventure,” Wynne said, drawing his friend’s attention, “Fyffe’s actions—”
“Were completely unintentional,” Jo broke in. “It was an accident and largely my own fault. I was standing too close to the edge and paying no attention.”
“Fyffe is exuberant, but harmless,” the doctor acknowledged. “That’s why we don’t assign an attendant specifically to watch him. However, considering today’s events, we’ll need to be more watchful.”
“Of course, you must do what you think best, but he was hardly a threat,” Jo asserted, conveying exactly what happened and then going on to tell them about the sketch she’d been holding when she fell into the pond.
The doctor was particularly interested in her observation about the change in Charles Barton.
“No doubt, Mr. Barton is now accustomed to your company. And enough people have been addressing you as Lady Josephine or Lady Jo in his presence. It’s possible your name has registered with him,” Dermot mused. “But the shift of sketching you instead of what he holds in his memory is very exciting. More and more, the curtain separating the remembered from the real appears to be falling away.”
“But what is Garloch?” she asked, thinking of the words he shouted. “Barton kept saying ‘Garloch.’”
“Garloch?” Wynne repeated, looking at the doctor. “Isn’t that the name of a village north of here?”
Dermot nodded. “Yes, about three hours by carriage if the weather is good. The place isn’t even half the size of Rayneford. Most of the farms have given over to raising sheep, I believe. Haven’t been there since I was a lad. A fine river runs through it that my uncles used to fish in before they were seized with their golfing fever. Beyond that, I don’t know much about the place. I can ask the vicar or the Squire; they may know more.”
“But why would Mr. Barton shout the name?”
The doctor shrugged. “Difficult to say. Garloch is quite a way from Tilmory Castle.”
“You say it’s about three hours north of here?”
“Indeed,” Dermot answered. “Are you thinking of going there?”
Jo decided it was time to tell them of her decision to leave. “Since you say this village is in the direction I’m traveling, I’ll make a stop there on Saturday while I resume my journey to Torrishbrae.”
The doctor’s protest was immediate and pronounced, but Wynne’s darkening expression was what Jo fixed on. He held her gaze. She imagined the questions running through his mind. He abruptly stood and went to the window.
“But you can’t leave right now,” Dermot exclaimed. “We need you here. Mr. Barton’s progress clearly depends on your presence.”
The doctor continued to protest. Watching Wynne’s profile, she saw the clench of his jaw.
“My family expects me in Sutherland,” she said in a reasonable tone, her words directed at Wynne. “And I believe I’ve accomplished all I can here.”
“Hardly. We have finally broken through his silence. And another week’s delay in your departure could make substantial difference in Mr. Barton’s condition.” Dermot turned to the captain as if he was noticing his silence for the first time. “Talk to her, Melfort. Talk reason. You’re good at that sort of thing. Don’t you want Lady Josephine to stay?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. His penetrating blue eyes revealed his wishes before the words left his lips. “I do.”
“There you have it,” the doctor announced as if that were all she was waiting for.
Jo shook her head, still thinking it was wiser to put some distance between them. They were moving too fast.
Wynne turned from the window and joined the conversation. “That village is not on your way. You’ll still need to travel toward the coast to go north to Sutherland. But if you stay, I’ll go with you to Garloch and return here. This will give you the opportunity to investigate and see what connection exists between Barton and the village.”
Wynne’s offer to take her had its merits. An unknown Englishwoman stopping at an out of the way village in the Highlands made less sense than having him traveling with her, considering his connection to the Abbey and the McKendrys.
“But what shall we do once we get there?” she asked him. “We don’t even know if there’s a tavern or an inn where we can ask about Mr. Barton.”
“Most every village in the Highlands has a church.” Wynne looked at Dermot, who nodded confirmation. “That will give us a place to start. We can ask the vicar what he knows. Perhaps even get a letter of introduction from him.”
“I hate to think of you leaving your duties here,” she persisted, her pulse rising at the thought of being alone with him for a full day.
“She’s quite right,” Dermot agreed. “I’ll take care of this. I can have my uncle write a letter and I can escort Lady Josephine to Garloch.”
Jo thought the captain’s response most interesting, for he first sent her a questioning look, as if seeking her approval, and she nodded.
“My dear McKendry. Over dinner recently, I heard you eloquently affirm your commitment to this hospital. About yo
ur devotion to the patients who need your care and attention. Lady Josephine would never allow you to sacrifice your valuable time.” Wynne turned his attention back to Jo. “I happen to be at my leisure on Saturday, m’lady. We can leave at dawn and plan on returning before dark, if that suits you.”
Jo accepted the offer, somewhat astonished at how easily she’d been persuaded to extend her stay once again. She’d need to send off another set of letters to her family, inform them of her plans, and try to avoid any reference to Captain Melfort.
Chapter 14
On Friday night, Wynne stopped in Cuffe’s room to ask if he’d care to accompany them on their excursion in the morning.
“What does she hope to find in Garloch?”
Cuffe’s astuteness constantly surprised him. In fact, the more time Wynne spent with him, the more he saw how far advanced the lad was for his ten years.
“She’s hoping to find out who she is. It’s possible someone in that village can explain the linkage between her mother and Mr. Barton.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because she still needs to know where she came from. It matters greatly to her, even though she was raised in a family that loves her deeply.” Wynne recalled his son’s fear of forgetting his grandmother. “You and I know where we came from and who our parents are. That knowledge anchors us in some way. It gives us a bond with a certain place and certain people. Lady Jo would be greatly heartened to have a portion of what you and I have.”
“She’s a good person,” Cuffe said. “I see how upset she gets sometimes when she is sitting with Mr. Barton and he doesn’t respond. She’s always trying, always asking questions. But he’s in a world of his own.”
He sat cross-legged on his bed, studying Wynne in silence. In recent days, the difficulties of others had been injecting themselves into the lad’s life. He’d begun to help McDonnell with his letters, reading them to the blacksmith at first. But he was now answering the mother on the man’s behalf, and that was no easy task. In addition, the vicar told Wynne that his son had been asking about others who were in need in and around the village. He seemed particularly keen on helping old women, and young mothers who didn’t have enough food to feed their families.
“Just the two of you should go to Garloch, Captain,” Cuffe said finally. “And maybe while you’re there, you can convince her to stay at the Abbey. I think that’d be good for her and for you. For all of us.”
The following morning, as he packed his sword with his pistols under the seat of the carriage, Wynne was still thinking of his son’s encouragement to pursue Jo.
No doubt existed, in either his mind or his heart, that he wanted her. He’d dreamed of her a thousand times. Since her arrival, he continually sought her out or kept an eye on her whereabouts at all times. She was back in his life, and her effect on him was stronger than it had been sixteen years ago.
His blood pulsed each time he recalled riding back from the village with Cuffe and coming upon the pandemonium at the fish pond. When he heard her name cried out with such anguish along with the heartrending entreaties to save her, he’d become a madman himself until he saw her standing upright and wading through the water.
Later, her announcement that she was leaving wreaked havoc in Wynne’s mind. He was struck with the fear that he’d found her only to lose her again. He dreaded that once she returned to the protective arms of her family, his connection with her would be severed forever.
As a widower at his age, with wealth and a place in society, Wynne could probably have entered into marriage again. But he’d never been prepared to take that step. He would never consider a foolish match. He had no desire for a child bride, regardless of her dowry or her position. His sights had always been set higher. His devotion to his son dictated that he choose a woman with a strong mind and a kind heart.
On the list of women he wanted, Jo Pennington occupied the first and only place.
Leaving the driver and groom with his coach and four, Wynne went back up the half-dozen steps into the north annex.
Jo was the woman for him, but he feared a proposal right now would only invite rejection. He could make his feelings for her known; he could reveal the true workings of his heart, but their future lay in her hands. He’d withdrawn from her already when they were young; this time it was up to Jo whether they should try again. All he could do was to be here; she needed to decide if a future with him was worthy of a second chance.
As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he saw Jo coming down the stairs alone.
“You’re not bringing your maid?” he asked, after they’d exchanged greetings.
“As you know, sir, I’m well past the age of thirty,” she answered lightly. “I have little need to worry about a damaged reputation.”
“Your courage does you great credit, Lady Jo,” he said in mock seriousness as he led her out into the courtyard.
“And you, Captain? Are you worried?”
Wynne pretended he was resigned to fate as he handed her into the carriage. “On more than one occasion, Dr. McKendry has said I’m a delicate flower in matters of my own reputation. But in your case, m’lady, I’ll make an exception and try to bear up.”
Climbing in and sitting across from her, he admired the smile tugging at Jo’s lips. She was a woman who seemed ready for any situation. The black velvet hat and the deep-green carriage dress she wore beneath her cloak were as handsome as they were sensible, he thought.
In spite of the early hour, she was fresh-faced and ready for their adventure. Today was an unexpected gift. The two of them alone together on the road.
The serving men climbed up top, and the driver was heard calling to his four-in-hand, “Walk, walk on.” As the carriage rolled on, Wynne saw Jo looking out the window back toward the Abbey.
“Please don’t tell me that moonstruck suitor of yours is running after us in his nightshirt?”
“Don’t tease me,” she scolded, although the reprimand didn’t reach her deep-brown eyes. “The doctor is not moonstruck. At least not because of me. And he is not my suitor.”
“Well, he’s mastered the woeful look,” he told her. “I’m sorry to tell tales out of school, but last night after you ladies left the dining room, the rogue tried everything he could think of to get the vicar to give him the letter of introduction. His performance would have outshone Garrick himself.”
“But you were able to get the letter?”
“Happily, I still have the ability to outwit McKendry.” Wynne patted his pocket with the letter. “I promised the vicar I’d bring him a new set of Denholm golf clubs the next time I come back from Edinburgh.”
“You didn’t,” she gasped. “You need do no such thing. I’ll see to it. I’ll make the arrangements to have the clubs made as soon as I get back. I’m so sorry to impose on—”
“All of this was in good humor,” he said softly. “The vicar expects no reward.”
Her cheeks reddened prettily and her eyes flashed reproachfully as she slapped his knee and smiled. Time again ticked backward for him. She’d often acted exactly this way any time he’d tease or fluster her. Wynne recalled how he’d then pull her onto his lap and kiss her, begging her forgiveness.
He was tempted to do it now. This was the first time they’d really been alone since their kiss in the garden.
Her flushed skin matched the color of the rising sun, and she leaned toward the window. He wondered if she too was recalling those bygone moments.
While she was distracted, Wynne studied her profile. The shape of her face, from the high cheekbones to the fullness of her lips. She was more beautiful than his memory served. His gaze moved to the dark curls escaping the velvet hat and slipped lower to the dress, momentarily lingering on her breasts. He’d felt their fullness when he’d brushed his fingers over them in the garden.
The two of them were close in age, but not in experience, he was certain. He’d been married. And during the years before and after his late wife Fiba, he�
��d had liaisons with women. Wynne’s gaze once again moved over her body, her face, her parted lips, and he wondered if it was possible that she was still as innocent as she’d been years ago. It made no difference to him. Her passionate response to his kiss stirred that desire in his loins even now. She’d wanted more, as he did.
He shifted in the seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts and the reaction of his body. He needed to put his attention elsewhere and quickly found a topic more potent than any other to curb his body’s wanton response.
“Your brother,” he said. “Viscount Greysteil, Lord Justice of the Commissary Court in Edinburgh. Does he know I serve as governor at the Abbey?”
Her dark eyes relinquished the view of the rolling hills and turned to him. “Dr. McKendry failed to mention you when he first communicated with me.”
“He was acting upon my recommendation. But since your arrival, you’ve sent a number of letters to Baronsford, have you not?” He cocked one eyebrow, waiting for an answer.
“Does it matter to you if my brother knows?”
Wynne patted the seat. “I always travel with a brace of pistols, so I’m prepared, just in case he decides to pursue you here. Greysteil missed my heart the first time. If he has a second chance, he might not feel so generous.”
He was joking, but Jo’s eyes clouded at the memory. “I thought we weren’t going to speak of the past.”
“That was before,” he said softly. “Now I find it unavoidable.”
Her brows knitted, and she returned her attention back out the window.
“I didn’t blame him then. I don’t blame him now. He was defending your honor. If I was gifted with a sister like you, I would have done the same thing.”
She continued to sit in silence, but Wynne knew he didn’t have days or weeks or months to pursue her. She could decide tomorrow to leave the Abbey, and he’d be left with only memories and regret. This was his opportunity to speak.
It Happened in the Highlands Page 13