“Sister, can’t we go for a walk. Please?” Chris pulled a face and gazed longingly toward the window.
Poor lad. He needed exercise and fresh air.
“I think that’s enough dancing lessons for today.” Sarah withdrew her hand and stepped away, her eyes lowered. Caution had replaced her earlier enthusiasm.
She’d felt the connection too, and given the cool politesse that settled upon her, it frightened her. Sitting beside her brother, she fondly tussled his hair, several shades darker than hers. “No, darling, not right now. It’s still not safe, and it’s much too cold. Soon, though. I promise.”
She glanced at Gregor for confirmation, and he hitched a shoulder, giving her an I’m-nae-sure-when-look. He’d be bound, given the pinkish glint to the sky, snow would soon cover London.
Had it snowed while she’d been in England other than a light blanketing?
He determined to take the boy’s mind off his forced seclusion. “Tell me, lad. What’s yer favorite part of Christmastide?”
Chris grinned, his face animated. “The food. Mama made gingerbread and plum pudding.”
“I’ve never eaten, either,” Gregor admitted. “Although, I’m fond of black bun and clootie dumplin’, which I’m told is verra similar to plum puddin’.”
“Black bun?” Sarah asked. “Is that a sort of bread?
“Nae, it’s a fruitcake covered with pastry, usually served for Hogmanay.” He closed his eyes, the image blooming behind his eyelids of the trestle table in Craiglocky’s great hall sagging under the succulent feast.
“That’s your New Year’s celebration?”
“Aye.”
“Gregor, you obviously miss Scotland a great deal.” Sarah stood a couple of Chris’s toy soldiers on their feet. “Why do you stay here?”
“A man likes to be in charge of his own destiny. I will never have that at Craiglocky.” Yet, he contemplated returning. In a different role. Not cousin to the laird and son to Ewan’s second-in-command.
He settled in one of the chairs before the fire, and after a moment, Sarah sank into the other and tucked her feet beneath her. “If you could do anything at all, Gregor, what would it be?” She probed his gaze, her interest genuine.
“Become a doctor, but it’s too late at my age.”
“No. It’s not.” She gave a vehement shake of her head. “If it’s your passion, you should pursue it.”
Rather than argue, he asked her the same question. “What about ye, lass?”
“If I had the means, I’d open a school for those less fortunate.” She sent her brother a fond look. “Perhaps an orphanage and a hospital, supported by wealthy and powerful patrons. There’s little help for those afflicted with…challenges.”
Often no help at all. If they were lucky enough to be born into a family of means, they were shuttled off to the country, hidden away their entire lives.
She closed her eyes and rested her head in the corner of the chair. “Just imagine. A school for children like Chris and a hospital, too. Why, you could treat patients there.” Slowly, her lashes fluttered open, and he could almost grasp her dream.
Watching the cavorting flames, he idly rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “I ken several people willin’ to support such a cause, includin’ Yvette McTavish.”
Sarah perked up. “Truly?”
He nodded and shifted his attention to her. “I forgot to tell ye. Yvette and Ewan should arrive in London within the week.” He slapped his knees. “I say we propose such a venture to them.”
The next afternoon, just as Sarah finished sewing a button onto Gregor’s greatcoat, the bell ringing below revealed clients had entered Stapleton Shipping and Supplies. As she had the past three days, she checked that the bolt securing the door was in place, and on silent feet, rushed to keep Chris quiet.
“Shh.” She shook her head, one finger to her lips as her heart beat a hard, staccato rhythm. “You cannot play with your toys right now, Chris.”
“’Cause we’re hiding from Satan and the bad men still?”
“That’s right, darling.” She squatted beside him.
A bewildered scowl pulled his mouth down. “Sister, why do they want to hurt us?”
“I don’t know.” She had an inkling why, however.
Gregor’s voice echoed in the stairwell, his deep brogue, now quite familiar and always welcome. He knocked softly two times rapidly, followed by a single rap—the signal that all was well.
Giving her brother a reassuring smile, she patted her hair and ran her rough hands down the front of her gown. Until now—until Gregor—she hadn’t cared all that much about her appearance. Her clothing and hairstyle had been practical, serviceable, and kept her gender hidden.
That was what had been important. Was what had kept them alive.
But now…
She couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted to appear pretty, but without pins, she could do little with her hair but plait it. And while the gown she wore was a vast improvement over her shoddy boy’s attire, it fell far short of attractive, and the fit was dismal at best.
Chris resumed playing with his toy soldiers, his tongue caught between his lower teeth as he hummed to himself. What would become of him if she couldn’t retrieve the chest and her grandmother didn’t come ’round?
Cat, regally perched nearby, observed Chris’s every move. The furry imp reached his paw out and batted a soldier over. Then another. He looked at Chris, blinked his big green eyes, and knocked over a third soldier.
Chris burst out laughing, and a gratified smile swept Sarah’s mouth upward. It had been so long since he’d been this happy.
The door swung open, and Gregor stepped through, a look on his face she’d come to recognize meant he had another surprise. He quite liked surprises.
Behind him, filed in three of the most elegant women Sarah had ever laid eyes upon.
“Blimey,” Chris breathed, his jaw practically banging his chest.
Cat, on the other hand, appeared entirely unimpressed. After one bored, superior glance, he lifted a paw to his mouth—the same paw used to attack the soldiers—and begin grooming.
Chris’s awed gaze flicked from lady to lady to lady then returned to Sarah. He stood and tried to smooth his thick, newly trimmed hair. “Coo, I ain’t never seen the like afore, sister.”
Trying not to wince at the slang he’d picked up while in London, Sarah corrected his grammar. “You haven’t ever seen the like, Chris.”
“That’s what I just said. They’re prettier than angels straight from heaven, aren’t they?” As if he’d a notion of what angels looked like.
Gregor chuckled, and for some illogical reason, Sarah stifled the urge to tell him to hush. If she’d felt inferior a few moments ago, compared to these polished diamonds, she felt like a ragged beggarwoman now.
Not a hair out of place, their ensembles resembling garments straight from an Ackermann fashion plate, they whisked into the room, their friendly smiles only partially putting Sarah at ease.
“Allow me to introduce ye,” Gregor said, pride shining in his eyes the color of the sky before a storm.
Sarah permitted Gregor to draw her forward, kindness and understanding softening his face.
For the first time in her life, she wished the floor might swallow her up. Mustering every ounce of fortitude she possessed, she forced her mouth into a polite smile. It wasn’t these lovely women’s fault she lacked confidence or felt entirely out of her element. She mightn’t be able to do a thing about her attire, but rag-mannered she’d not be.
In truth, she ought to be thanking them profusely for coming at all.
“Sarah, this is Her Grace, Alexandra, Duchess of Harcourt.” Gregor motioned to an exotic black-haired beauty wearing a violet gown and spencer trimmed with ebony lace and velvet. “Adaira, Countess of Clarendon.” He indicated the petite woman, resplendent in a pale blue traveling suit. “And, Isobel, Countess of Ramsbury.”
The latter, attired in a soft pl
um and cream striped redingote, was possibly the most beautiful woman Sarah had ever seen. Even she couldn’t help but stare.
Practically beaming, Gregor completed the introductions. “Your Grace, my ladies, may I present Sarah Paine and her brother, Christopher?”
“Mums.” Chris attempted a courtier’s bow, earning him delighted cries and claps from the ladies.
Where had he learned to do that?
Ah, the other day when Gregor had bowed to her.
A credit to their kindness, none of the ladies mentioned his incorrect form of address. Likely Gregor had explained Chris’s special needs as well as the complete lack of interaction the Paines had ever had with aristocrats.
“I am honored, Your Grace, your ladyships. I regret you’ve been discomposed on my behalf.” Sarah curtsied, and as she rose in one lithe movement, couldn’t prevent sending Gregor a triumphant smile.
Yes, she’d been practicing too.
He gave the subtlest wink of approval, and that lovely, addicting heat, like sweetened warm chocolate, spiraled outward from her middle.
The duchess made a shooing motion, her astute gaze inspecting Sarah from her braided hair to her scuffed shoes and saggy stockings, clearly visible beneath the too-short gown. “You must call me Alexa. Any friend of Gregor’s is a friend of mine.”
He had told them she was his friend?
Sarah wasn’t confident that was a good thing, given the acute curiosity the ladies’ genial smiles and friendly greetings couldn’t entirely hide. Surely, they didn’t think…?
Oh, God.
Did they believe she was a special friend to him?
One of a less than reputable nature?
No. No, she reassured herself. They wouldn’t be here if they did. So how, precisely, had Gregor explained their relationship? She tossed him a considering look.
“Yes, please do call me, Addy,” the Countess of Clarendon insisted, scrunching her nose in a winsome fashion. “I’m seldom addressed as Adaira.”
“Aye, ’tis true and generally only when she’s been embroiled in mischief of some sort,” Gregor said, grinning, his tone light and teasing like a beloved sibling. “For instance, abductin’ a laird of the realm. A certain earl known for his rigid adherence to decorum.”
“Never say you did?” Sarah reassessed the small woman. Wasn’t she the one who raised prize horses too? She might well have to rethink everything she’d previously believed about nobility.
Addy’s wink was nothing short of vixenish. “I did, but it was a colossal misunderstanding. And in the end, Clarendon fell madly in love with me.” She rolled a dainty shoulder. “So, all’s well that ends well.”
Her sister, the Countess of Ramsbury, studied Sarah, her intelligent gaze contemplative. “Sarah, what Alexa says is true. Gregor’s word is enough for us. You’ve no need to worry in that regard, and do call me Isobel.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say.
Ladies didn’t go about giving permission for commoners to address them by their first names.
Mayhap she’d underestimated Gregor’s position. Lord, had she insulted him by doing so? Her mind raced to recall any incident when she’d been less than respectful. Dash it all. Since the moment she plowed into his office, she’d treated him as her equal. He’d never indicated she should do otherwise.
The duchess glided forward and clasped Sarah’s hand. “My dear, we are going to be the greatest of friends. I know it. Now, gather your things. We are going shopping.”
The countesses bobbed their bonneted heads in agreement, eyes alight with excitement, and looking quite proud of themselves. Why, they were enjoying this intrigue.
Sarah sought Gregor’s gaze. “Isn’t that dangerous? For me to go out, I mean?”
The Countess of Clarendon—Addy—wandered to the window and peered at the dock below. “We alighted from a carriage out front, but we’ll leave in one of the two waiting behind the building.”
The duchess grinned, a twinkle in her eyes. “We need you suitably dressed for your first foray into society. I’m delighted to say, your grandmother has accepted an invitation to tea Monday next.”
Sarah’s heart stuttered. She believed she had until Christmas—almost three weeks—to prepare to meet her grandmother. But next Monday?
Ten short—very short—days?
Another unwelcome thought brought her up short. Just how much was this going to cost?
Too much.
She’d never been a gambler, and she wasn’t certain spending money she couldn’t spare on garments to impress Lady Rolandson was a wager she would win.
Adaira crossed to Chris. “I should very much like you to meet my children, Chris. My boys would be delighted for the company. You are of an age, I believe.”
“May I, Sister?” Chris’s countenance glowed from excitement. He’d never had a friend. Not even at Bellewood House.
Her gaze warm and welcoming, Adaira came to stand before Sarah. Several inches shorter, her height in no way diminished her presence.
“We’ve discussed it.” Her vibrant eyes took in Gregor, Alexa, and Isobel. “If you’re in agreement, Gregor will escort Chris to my house to play with my children while you, Alexa, and Isobel go shopping.”
Chris would adore that.
“Afterward,” Adaira said, “my husband and I would be honored if you and your brother would agree to stay with us until things are settled with Lady Rolandson. If it becomes a lengthy process, we’d be delighted to celebrate Christmas and Twelfth Night with you, too. My husband and I host an annual Yuletide Ball, and I vow, no one makes a better plum-pudding than Cook.”
Mama had always made plum pudding on Stir-Up Sunday. She’d even gathered local greenery and made a sort of tropical kissing bough.
A tiny spark of discomfit gave Sarah pause. Or perchance, others taking control of her life was what disconcerted her most. She must entrust herself and her brother to women she’d just met on the advice of a man she scarcely knew any better. It wasn’t easy to let go. To put her faith in strangers when she’d relied solely on herself for so long.
Isobel must’ve noticed her hesitation. “We only want to help, Sarah, and you needn’t concern yourself with the cost. Consider the purchase our Christmastide gift to someone we would like to bless as we’ve been blessed.”
Sarah swallowed against the tightness constricting her throat. Kindness such as this had been rare these past few years. Though it bordered on impudent, she must have an answer. “You don’t know me; why would you extend such generosity?”
“Because Gregor asked us to.” The Duchess of Harcourt lifted a hand toward the Scot solemnly observing the exchange. “And we have absolute trust in him and his judgment.”
That said much about Gregor, that these women loved and respected him.
I could, too.
She firmly tamped down the unbidden thought. This may be the chance that she had prayed for. Mayhap her only chance. Neither pride nor fear would prevent her from accepting their benevolence.
Yes, she’d go to the fittings. She’d allow the ladies to purchase her clothing, and pray that her grandmother would reimburse their expenses. If the Dowager Viscountess Rolandson still refused to acknowledge her grandchildren—
Well, Sarah wouldn’t deny Chris one last, wonderful Yuletide.
Beyond that, she couldn’t contemplate. The near future gleamed brightly, and what lay beyond that glow, she’d fret about when she must.
She stepped nearer to Adaira, and after a swift glance toward Chris, assuring he’d returned to his toys and wouldn’t hear her, lowered her voice. “No doubt you’ve noticed Chris has some challenges. Are you certain you’re comfortable taking him?”
Such an incredulous expression swept the countess’s face that Sarah was at once ashamed.
“I understand and admire your concern for your brother, Sarah. That makes you a caring sister. But I promise you Chris will be treated with the utmost respect and gentleness. Gregor mentioned Chris’s lo
ve of horses, too. I have the gentlest pony that my sons ride. With your permission, I’d like to teach Chris to ride, as well.”
Chris might never be adept at the sport, but at least he’d be allowed to try. He wasn’t supposed to be able to walk either, but his tenacity proved the doctor wrong. Given the opportunity, who knew what he could do?
Once again, Sarah must rely on her woman’s instinct, and though she admitted to being anxious, no alarm tunneled through her veins. Her nape hair didn’t stand on end, nor did her stomach wobble in fear. Giving a slight nod, she acquiesced. “Very well. Thank you, and Chris would love to learn to ride.”
Relief softened the corners of Gregor’s eyes. Had he really thought she’d put up a fuss? Something like sorrow also deepened his eyes to slate blue. Was he saddened as much as she to part?
She’d miss him. Much more than she ought to after a mere three-day acquaintance. But Mama swore she’d known she’d loved Papa after their third meeting.
Love?
Was it possible to fall in love so quickly? Affection and interest—those were feasible. Even physical desire. But love?
No.
What about Mama and Papa?
They’d been devoted to each other, and if Mama ever regretted leaving her privileged lifestyle for that of the ship captain’s wife, she never breathed a hint. It mattered not whether her parents had been in love. Sarah didn’t have time for such distractions. Everything she did was to ensure Chris’s future.
In short order, her few possessions, along with Chris and his toys, had been bundled into one of the waiting coaches accompanied by the lovely Countess of Clarendon.
Sarah couldn’t contain her surprise at how readily her brother had accepted Adaira’s hand, and after a fond kiss on his forehead had been led from Gregor’s apartment.
“I’ll ride with the lad to Clarendons’, just in case he needs a familiar face.” Gregor draped a cloak around Sarah’s shoulders. Likely another castoff from the charity bin. He handed her a plain straw poke bonnet.
“We’ll wait for you in the carriage, Sarah.” Alexa exchanged a telling look with Isobel.
A Yuletide Highlander Page 7