by Kelly, Julia
“Then here’s where we’ll stay,” he said. Ina was Edinburgh just as much as Edinburgh was Ina. She didn’t belong in London anymore than he did at his family’s home in Ashington.
“Do you ever miss Oak Park?” she asked, as though reading his thoughts.
He shook his head. “It hasn’t been home for me for a very long time.”
“I’m sorry, Gavin,” she said softly. “Is it because of her?”
It took him a moment to realize she was referring to the letters she’d found. “No, not at all.”
“Your family then?” she asked.
He pulled a little harder on the oars, relishing the burn in his muscles. “My father made his choices, and I made mine.”
A shadow fell over her face as she cocked her head. “Do you ever regret not following one of the paths he wanted for you?”
“I would’ve made a very unhappy officer and an even worse vicar, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I can’t say a minister’s dog collar would’ve suited you particularly well,” she said.
“I might enjoy scholarship and writing, but I lack the necessary strength of beliefs to make a convincing clergyman.”
“Don’t tell Reverend Macdonough,” she said.
He laughed. “What the good reverend doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
“So instead of following your father’s wishes, you decided to write,” she said.
He nodded. “After Cambridge, I moved to Edinburgh. When I first arrived, I regretted it every month when it came time to pay for my lodgings. I was fortunate enough to receive invitations because of my family name, but while I was eating well enough at other people’s tables I was worrying about how I’d heat my rooms. I didn’t want to be the sort of gentleman who racked up debts he had no intention of ever paying, but on such a restricted income, it was nearly impossible to establish a life.”
“But you wrote?” she asked.
“Wrapped in a wool blanket with my feet on a brick I’d stick in among the coals to steal away some of its heat,” he said, realizing he’d never told her the details of his genteel poverty, because what man wants to linger on his failures?
“And after your book?” she asked.
“Things had already begun to change by the time the book was printed. After I’d spent a year on my own. My father finally agreed to settle a small income on me.”
One hundred pounds a year. That was all. It was a pittance compared to what the baronet could afford, but that didn’t matter to Gavin. It had been enough to supplement his small income. Enough to buy him at least partial freedom.
“It got a little easier after that, but the income from the book was never guaranteed. I wrote a few articles here and there to supplement it all,” he said.
“And now you work for Mr. Moray,” she said.
He chuckled. “One day he’ll take you to task for not dropping the ‘Mister’ although few people call him by his given name.”
“I suppose we should have him for supper one day. And Mrs. Wilis, of course,” she said. “I’d enjoy getting to know her better.”
“As I’m sure she would you.”
Ina planted her elbow on her knee and settled her chin in her hand, studying him as he continued to row. After a moment she said, “And next you’ll write a book.”
He pursed his lips, keenly aware that she’d named the ambition that had thus far eluded him. “Do you think I should?”
“If it’s what you want. I think you could do anything you wished to.”
Her blind faith warmed him just as it had when she’d revealed that she’d waited outside the bookshop the day his novel came out.
“I’ll consider it,” he said. “I wonder what my father would say if that ever were to come to pass. I think the fact that I’ve only written one had been some small comfort to him, as though I haven’t truly proven that I was right to follow this path.”
“He wouldn’t congratulate you?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful.”
“It’s strange that I know you so well, and yet your life before Edinburgh is still a mystery to me,” said Ina.
His hands gripped a little tighter on the oars. “There isn’t much to tell.”
A lie, but one he’d tell Ina again and again.
“You hardly ever speak of them,” she said.
“Who?” he asked, delaying her inevitable questions.
“Your family.”
“They choose not to see me, and I choose not to see them. It’s really very simple.”
It wasn’t simple at all, but she didn’t need to know that. That was an old, unhappy story full of scabbed-over pain. He had no interest in revisiting any of it, especially not this evening, when everything was supposed to be about his present with Ina.
“Is that why they didn’t come to the wedding?” she asked.
He’d thought about telling her that he hadn’t invited his mother, father, brother, or his sister-in-law. It would’ve been easier and worried Ina less. The responsibility would’ve fallen on him rather than reflecting back on the fact that his family had no intention of being a part of their lives.
In the end, he’d been right. He’d sent word to his mother and father and a separate letter to Richard and Grace. Neither branch of the family had seen fit to change their plans to attend and lend support to his suspiciously speedy wedding to a Scottish woman they’d never heard of.
“We’re hardly in one another’s lives any longer,” he said.
“You know I understand what it is to have a difficult parent. If Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t insisted that everything be done properly to prevent scandal, I wonder if my father would’ve shown up at all.”
The bitter hurt in her voice was unmistakable. Arthur Duncan lived his life holed up in his study, working on his never-finished book while his daughter ran his house, kept her own company, and created her own art on the basement floor. His neglect had allowed her to study sculpture, to coax and cajole teachers in her teenage years, yet for all the freedom she’d enjoyed, she wasn’t without pain. Gavin suspected Ina would’ve preferred a parent who loved her unconditionally, and that the wound ran deeper than anybody could predict.
Enough. He didn’t want this evening to be about pain or regret. It was to be all about Ina. He needed to do something to bring the spark of life back to her eyes and set her rolling with laughter.
“Have I ever told you about the time I tried to win a race against my brother in a rowboat just like this?” he asked.
Her brows shot up. “No, and now that you’ve mentioned that, I demand every little detail.”
“No doubt to bring them up again and remind me of my foolishness,” he teased.
“Of course. That’s what embarrassing stories are for,” she said. “Now stop delaying.”
“I was just fourteen and had spent most of the year at school. Richard is a few years older than me, so he was already home, learning from my father about all the different aspects of running the estate.
“I was bored and resentful of the attention Richard was receiving, since I was the one who’d just returned. One morning, I saw him take a boat out onto a lake that falls on Oak Park’s property. Being a fourteen-year-old boy, I decided to race him, but I didn’t check the boat as I should’ve. I launched the thing by myself and went chasing after Richard. I shouted at him to challenge him, but then I realized that my boat was riding rather low in the water.
“It turns out that it’d been dry docked because someone had found a leak last time it had been taken out. I tried to bail water over the side, but there was so much of it I had to jump out, fully dressed and wearing boots. My brother pulled me into his boat by the back of my shirt. My only consolation was that I dripped all over him and he incurred the wrath of his valet when he went to change for supper that evening.”
“And you h
ad to walk back soaking wet?” she asked, two fingers pressed to her lips as she tried to restrain her laughter.
“I’ve learned since then that I should probably look before I leap.”
“A failed challenge and you wound up floundering in the lake? You must’ve been so humiliated,” she said.
“I was, thank you for reminding me.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Gavin. It’s just the thought of you standing there dripping and furious as a trapped badger because your brother got the best of you without even meaning to.”
He laughed. “You can always rely on the foolishness of youth.”
The outline of the island came into view, and even at this distance he could see the flickering of the lanterns that hung from stakes the caretaker, Brian, had left out for them. He nodded toward the dock he knew lay ahead of them. “We’re nearly there.”
Ina twisted in her seat, giving him a tempting view of her long, elegant neck. Again he pulled a little harder on the oars and hoped that by the end of this night she’d understand his plans were about far more than just one night.
Chapter Twelve
INA WATCHED GAVIN expertly maneuver their rowboat up to the little dock that was hardly more than wood posts and some rough-cut planks lashed together.
She pulled her cloak a little closer around her, happy Ruth had had the foresight to lay out one that was lined with fur as protection against the chill coming off the water. In the dark she could just make out the figure of a man standing at the edge of the dock, waiting to throw them a rope.
Gavin hailed him with a wave. “Evening.”
“I see you made it,” shouted the man.
“Beautiful night for a row.”
The man chuckled as Gavin pulled the oars into the boat, careful to keep them from dripping on her dress. When the man threw the rope down, he scrambled to loop and tighten it around the bow cleat and then straightened.
“Just three steps up and you’re back on dry land,” he said.
With her hand in his, she allowed herself to be helped up the ladder, the man on the dock waiting at the top to make sure her boots didn’t slip on the slick metal rungs.
“Thank you,” she said as Gavin began to unload several oilcloth bags from the boat and hand them up to the man.
“Always happy to help a lady, even if we don’t see many of you around these parts,” said the man.
“What are these parts?” she asked.
“This is Daldour,” said the man, puffing out his chest as though he was greeting the Queen herself. “I’m Brian McDonald, caretaker of this island and its ruins.”
Gavin climbed up the ladder and came to stand beside her. When his hand settled on the small of her back, she had to suppress the urge to lean into him.
“I’m Mr. Gavin Barrett and this is my wife, Ina. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McDonald.” He opened one of the bags and pulled out a bottle. “Per our agreement.”
“Ah, lovely,” said the older man, examining the bottle by the light of his lanterns. “You’ll find everything just as you requested. If you have need of anything, all you have to do is ask. I live just down the path from the dock in the cottage.”
“Thank you.” Gavin hooked the bags over his arms. When Mr. McDonald tried to hand him a lantern, he looked to her. “Would you mind?”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
His grin was so infectious she couldn’t help but smile herself. “More mystery.”
She liked it. It reminded her of the playfulness their relationship had once had. Maybe there was something left of that friendship.
Maybe they could find something deeper.
Gavin led her down a trodden turf path, her lantern lighting the way just a few feet in front of them. Despite the moonlight, she was glad of it, because there were little hills and dips all over the island.
They rounded a bend in the path, and suddenly a huge stone structure rose up out of the dark in front of them.
“Oh my,” she murmured.
He swept a hand out before them as though offering the building to her in all its medieval glory. “Welcome to Daldour Abbey.”
The partially ruined abbey was large, with squared-off walls and arched windows that once probably had wooden shutters but now were left open to the elements. A tower rose high above them with windows looking out over the firth in all directions. It was part monastery, part fortress, and entirely intriguing.
“How have I lived in Edinburgh all my life and not known about this?” she asked in wonder.
“It does require some advance planning,” he said.
She stole a glance at him. “Can we explore it?”
“I should hope we would. Who knows what we might find?”
She tugged on his arm and laughingly led him up the grass to one of the open doorways.
“Do you know how long it’s been abandoned?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Hundreds of years, I’d guess, but architecture isn’t my specialty.”
“How do you even know about it?” she asked.
“You can see the island from the shoreline. I’m quite fond of Queensferry, especially in the summer. The shops are all open, and there are children running around in their boater hats with their mothers in tow. It reminds me of the days my nurse would take me to the shore in Ashington when I was very young.”
“And Mr. McDonald?” she asked as they climbed a flight of stairs rubbed smooth by thousands of sandaled feet trotting up and down them for centuries.
“His brother is the proprietor of one of Queensferry’s finest pubs. We’d spoken one afternoon, and he told me that for a good bottle of whisky McDonald could be persuaded to entertain a pair of explorers and make some special arrangements.”
“ ‘Special arrangements?’ ”
“Something along the lines of this,” said Gavin as they rounded the corner.
A wall of heat hit her from a fire that roared in a hearth tall enough for her to stand up in. Heavy cloth hung over the windows to block out the worst of the wind, and scattered candles made the stone room improbably cozy. At the center of the space stood a table and two chairs.
“Mr. McDonald has over-delivered on his promise,” Gavin said as he set down the oilskin bags and began opening them up.
Out of the first bag came a tablecloth, plates, glasses, napkins, and silverware from their own household. He set them all out, and suddenly the room was transformed into an intimate dining room fit for two.
This wasn’t the outing Gavin had promised her. It was more. It was thoughtful and caring and . . . romantic.
Just as a honeymoon should be.
She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress and fiddled with the edge of her traveling cloak. The evening had hardly started, and already it had knocked her back on her heels.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She needed to be useful to keep herself from twitching out of her skin.
He cast a glance over his shoulder and hesitated a moment. “If you like. Just don’t tell Mrs. Hart that you assisted.” He opened the next bag and pulled out a wrapped parcel that smelled like freshly baked bread.
“You enlisted the help of Mrs. Hart?”
“She was nervous about your not looking at the menu. She doesn’t believe a gentleman could possibly plan a meal,” he said.
“Little does she know about your years as a bachelor fending for yourself,” she said.
He chuckled. “If I told her that I used to toast bread on the fire in my rooms, she would expire from shock. She’s a snob when it comes to cookery.”
A little smile tugged at her lips as she took a stoneware bowl wrapped tightly in a tea towel. “It hasn’t taken you long to figure that out.”
His gaze slid up to her again before q
uickly dropping back to the basket. “I should’ve been more help to you in setting up the house.”
She was about to absolve him of responsibility, but instead she nodded. “I would’ve welcomed your assistance. You might’ve saved me from my aunt, who couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to employ four footmen.”
“Where would we have put four footmen? There’s hardly room for Ruth, Norris, Mrs. Hart, and the maids,” he said.
“Planning isn’t Aunt Jacqueline’s strength. She was rather enamored of the idea of a grand household but chooses not to think about what paying and feeding all of those people costs.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any to let you know that Norris probably wishes you would find a proper valet,” she continued. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind helping you for now, but he does have other duties.”
“Is it important to you that I have a valet?” he asked while he set about opening a bottle of wine.
“I only mention it because it’s making Norris’s day more difficult. He has to stop what he’s doing and make himself available. I doubt he’d be so bold as to say anything to you.”
“But you know it bothers him?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said with a shrug.
“I hadn’t thought about that. Well, if it’s for Norris’s sake, I suppose I can ask him to inquire whether there’s anyone who would be suitable,” he said.
“You’ll need to interview them too,” she said.
“Would you do it with me?”
“Oh, of course.” Hiring a valet usually fell to the gentleman of the house, but she was flattered her opinion mattered to him.
“The truth is, although I borrowed my brother’s valet on school holidays, I left home shortly after Cambridge. And then I never had the money to pay for a man outside of the college stewards. It’ll be new for me.”
Cautiously, Ina asked, “Does it make you uncomfortable that the house and carriage and suppers are paid for from my marriage settlement?”
Rather than answering, he beckoned her. “Come, sit.”
When she sat, he pushed her chair in for her and settled down across the table from her.