Finding Miss McFarland

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Then this is no passing flirtation,” his father mused calmly, which frustrated Griffin to no end. It was as if he hadn’t been paying attention to the crux of the matter. “When a man is willing to set aside his own needs for that of a woman, there must be love involved.”

  “Of course there is. I love her! Otherwise, I’d never—” It took time for his own words to reach him after he cast them to the ceiling. But when they came back, he heard the truth for the first time. “Blast it all,” he whispered, mimicking a certain auburn-haired termagant.

  He was in love.

  “And did you tell her?”

  “No, Father,” he said absently, still reeling. He loved her. He loved Delaney McFarland down to the very fire that fed her soul. Why had it taken him so long to realize it? Surely if she knew how he felt, she wouldn’t refuse him again. He knew she cared about him. He’d seen it in her eyes. She’d never looked at Montwood with such affection. If she had . . .

  Then, I would have to kill Montwood, he thought with a laugh.

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because apparently, your son is a complete idiot.”

  Delaney had never run from any challenge in her life. Yet for the first time, she was doing exactly that. She’d spent the entire journey home from Springwood House fabricating a terrible but wholly necessary lie.

  “In short, Emma needs me, and I will not abandon her,” Delaney concluded. She managed to continue eye contact throughout the entire untrue tale.

  After scrutinizing her for no fewer than four entire minutes without a word, her father offered a nod. Apparently, he was in no mood to argue.

  Delaney did not pry. Instead, she turned to go to her room to pack a few things. She was grateful that convincing him had been so simple. One must not look a gift horse—

  “Before you go,” he said, his commanding tone raising the downy hairs on her nape.

  She stilled and then slowly turned back. “Yes, Father?”

  Gil McFarland’s thick wiry brows straightened into a flat line over his icy blue gaze. “Miss Pursglove is not my only source of information regarding your behavior. I trust you understand what is expected of you.”

  Under normal circumstances, such a statement would raise her ire. She loathed being treated like a wayward youth instead of a fully grown woman of marriageable age.

  Marriageable . . . Griffin Croft had proposed marriage. She still couldn’t believe it. More than that, she couldn’t believe how much she’d wanted to accept. Yet when she’d refused him, he’d surprised her even more by offering her everything she wanted—a marriage in name only, the key to her freedom, a life without the fear of falling in love and having her heart torn to pieces.

  The only problem was, she’d already fallen in love with him. Now her heart lay in a tangle like last Season’s ribbons.

  She could barely meet her father’s gaze. “In regard to your expectations, I am without a doubt of my worth.”

  And with that, she quit the room while trying to hide the anguish she felt.

  A short while later, Delaney stood in her chamber, packing only the essentials into a satchel.

  Miss Pursglove entered her room without knocking, announcing her presence with an austere sniff. “Friend or not, if you leave before dawn as you’ve planned, irreparable damage to your reputation will result.”

  Delaney was in no mood for this. “I’m certain, with your extensive training, you’ve learned that eavesdropping is impolite.”

  “You are on the verge of breaching a line that can never be uncrossed,” the wretched woman hissed. “Your behavior is unacceptable.”

  “Never fear, I’m sure Father will merely add to my dowry, making me irresistible,” she spat back, hands on hips. Her temper was climbing quickly, as if in defense of her own broken heart. The rage felt much better than complete and utter despair.

  Miss Pursglove sneered, her dark eyes narrowing as she stepped further into the room. “You are rich, to be sure, but there is a certain degree of character even the most basic husband requires.”

  “You forget yourself, Miss Pursglove,” Delaney warned. “You are an employee, not a part of this family.”

  “Do not think for a moment that it has been easy for me to withstand the association. My only accomplishment here has been instructing your sister. You defy me and the rules of society, again and again. In the end, I cannot stand by quietly and let you sully my name as well.” Raising her voice, she pressed a fist to the center of her own bosom. “If your father will say nothing, then it falls upon me. You will not leave this house!”

  Delaney stared at her decorum instructor, with a mixture of fury and satisfaction seething within her. After all this time, she’d actually done it. She’d broken Miss Pursglove.

  Striding across the room, Delaney retrieved a box from the bureau. “First of all,” she began, her voice calmer than she felt, “you cannot tell me what to do. Frankly, I’m surprised you even try.” She moved toward Miss Pursglove, a practiced smile on her lips. “Second, you cannot take any credit for my sister, because she has absorbed none of your overweening, condescending mannerisms. Even our father would agree, you were never hired to instruct her. Therefore,” she said, presenting the box containing the ugliest brooch in existence, “without my presence in this house, you no longer have a purpose here.”

  Miss Pursglove blinked as her hand closed over the box.

  “Consider that a parting gift,” Delaney added, herding the apparently dumbfounded decorum instructor out of her bedchamber. “I could think of no other person who could make such an object look pretty by comparison.”

  And with that, Delaney closed the door as one would a pocket watch, with a satisfying click.

  At an hour before dawn, she set off for Hawthorne Manor, Emma and Oliver’s estate. First light had yet to bloom over the horizon. While she hated to arrive unannounced—and at such an unseemly hour—there was no help for it.

  She had to leave London before Griffin Croft came to call and asked her to risk everything for him. Because for the first time, she was afraid she would.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “If you’ll forgive me, sir, but the elder Miss McFarland is not at home.”

  Griffin didn’t believe it for an instant. Most likely, she’d left instructions with her butler to state that she wasn’t at home when he came to call. After all, he’d warned her in advance.

  Thinking of her sitting up in her bedchamber with the belief that this would stop him, he almost laughed. “Then I should like to speak with her father.”

  “Mr. McFarland is not at home.” The butler’s expression gave nothing away.

  Griffin bit back an oath and took a deep breath. “Would you be able to tell me when he might return?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge Mr. McFarland’s schedule, sir.”

  This was obviously getting him nowhere. “Would the younger Miss McFarland be receiving callers, then?” If the butler uttered another excuse, so help him, Griffin was going to explode.

  “If you’ll forgive me, sir—”

  “Mr. Croft! What a coincidence,” Bree McFarland said as she descended the stairs behind the butler. “I was just heading out now to see your sisters. Am I mistaken, or did I hear you ask Hershwell if I was at home?”

  “Apparently, neither your sister nor your father is at home,” he said, studying her closely for any sign of deception.

  “Hershwell would lose his post if he revealed anything of father’s whereabouts. As for my sister, I’m surprised you’ve not heard. It was such a big fuss. Last night when we arrived home, Delaney told Father that she’d received a message from one of her friends requesting her assistance on an urgent matter. Though I do not know the particulars, I do know that she had to leave before dawn this morning.”

  “On an urgent matter,” he parroted, keeping the disbelief from his voice. He suspected the urgency had everything to do with his promising to call on her this morning. That was fine with
him. He could wait her out. “Then I’ll return later this afternoon.”

  He bowed and turned to leave.

  “Mr. Croft,” Bree McFarland said, stepping out to follow him. “I don’t believe she’ll have returned by then. You see, her maid informs me that she packed a bag to take with her, because she was removing herself from town.”

  He hesitated, a feeling of dread funneling through him like water being pulled on a drain. “And you’ve no idea where she’s gone?”

  “Delaney wouldn’t have told me.” She looked sideways as if embarrassed. “I haven’t exactly been known for my ability to keep a secret for long.”

  Her admission brought out a new concern. If he was trying to win Delaney’s favor, then it wouldn’t suit his purpose to have rumors of his intentions all over town before he’d secured her. “Perhaps it would be best if we kept this exchange between us for the time being.”

  And he would have to be careful how he sought information on her whereabouts in the future.

  When Griffin spotted young Mr. Simms before he left Danbury Lane, he learned that the lad knew nothing of Delaney’s departure either, other than the fact that she’d left shortly before dawn. Not only that, but she’d taken one of her father’s carriages and drivers with her. Neither the driver nor the carriage had returned, which left Griffin with only one conclusion. Somehow, he’d lost her.

  Of course, he wasn’t one to accept defeat. He would simply find her by any means necessary.

  Frustrated, Griffin went to Gentleman Jackson’s saloon. He needed to find a decent sparring partner. As luck would have it, Everhart was there.

  Today, however, his opponent was sorely lacking in skill. Griffin’s fist connected with flesh time and again. “You’re an easy target today, Everhart. Spend the night carousing?”

  “Though you may not believe it, I kept very respectable company last evening,” he said through a yawn and then threw a punch that struck only air. “My cousin and his wife invited me to dine with them. Afterward, Rathburn gave me leave to stay in my usual guest quarters if I chose, and so I did.” This time, he blocked the blow to his gut. “Regardless, I was not expecting to awaken at dawn to the sound of some red-haired demon pounding on the door.”

  Griffin’s arms felt suddenly stiff and leaden. “Red-haired demon?”

  Everhart took advantage with a left and then a right to his ribs. “With my room overlooking the drive and receiving the full force of those violent raps, I stumbled out of bed and stuck my head out the window.” Dancing from foot to foot, he motioned with his fist for Griffin to raise his guard again. “Anyway, I learned later that the chit was one of my new cousin-in-law’s friends, requesting use of Rathburn’s hunting box in Scotland. Apparently, she had to flee posthaste, though my cousin and his bride could only speculate over the reason. If you can believe it,” he paused to laugh with incredulity, “Emma said that only a matter of the heart could be the cause. Besotted fool that my cousin is, Rathburn was inclined to agree.”

  Griffin stilled. A matter of the heart. That was reason she’d left London. Could it be that Delaney McFarland was in love with him?

  Everhart connected with Griffin’s jaw and knocked him flat.

  Blinking the stars from his eyes, Griffin looked up. “Whereabouts in Scotland?”

  “Near Dumfries. I’ve stayed there a time or two. Say, are you going to sit on the floor, or are we going to finish?” Everhart offered his assistance.

  Dumfries? Surely, fate had a hand in this. Griffin stood and shook his opponent’s hand. “I owe you one, my friend.”

  “For knocking you on your arse?”

  “Precisely.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Outside Dumfries, Scotland

  Groggy, Delaney sat up in bed and pushed a mass of red tangles from her face. She stretched, only to discover that nearly every muscle in her body ached. How was it possible to sit in the back of a carriage for the better part of six days—not counting stops for meals, a change of horses, and a night’s rest—and still be exhausted after arriving at her destination?

  Yesterday afternoon, when Rathburn’s housekeeper had opened the door of the spacious stone and shingle hunting cottage, the first thing out of Delaney’s mouth had been a yawn.

  Mrs. Shaw had immediately escorted her to a guest room, where Delaney had summarily fallen asleep. And by the look of the sun rising over rolling hills in the east, she’d slept all through the night, as well.

  Looking down, she noted that she still wore her traveling costume. Her very wrinkled traveling costume. She’d just begun to unbutton the dark blue jacket when she heard whispers in the hall outside her door.

  “Arriving with nae maid and in such a rush, I dinna ken what to think,” Mrs. Shaw said in her thick Scottish burr. “Be that as it may, His Lordship’s missive left explicit instructions to treat her lik’ family, for she is one of the new Viscountess’s closest friends.”

  Delaney smiled at that, glad to have such good friends to support her, even when she hadn’t given them a reason. She’d been afraid that if she’d spoken the reason aloud, she would have crumpled to the floor in a heap of sobs.

  Now, a safe distance away from the cause, she stood up and walked to the window to open the sash. The cool breeze was sweetly scented by the dewy grass, moss, and heather. Down a gently sloping hill stood the abbey ruins and beyond those, a tree-lined stream curled toward a grand estate, miles in the distance. The lovely view gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt for the past week.

  At least, she had the comfort of knowing she was right to refuse Griffin. Because in the end, it was too easy to imagine her life in parallel to her parents. She couldn’t bear to live like a haunted mirror image of her mother’s broken heart. If Delaney married Griffin for the sake of his misguided honor, and he never loved her in return, the damage would be irreparable.

  Looking into this future was bleak indeed. She would find herself spending years, always remembering how much she loved him. Ultimately, marrying for love was not an option for her. She refused to sentence herself to the life of her parents. By rejecting Griffin’s suit, she’d made sure of it.

  Delaney drew in a breath. Unfortunately, there was no answering heat. No assurance that her inner flame existed. It had completely sputtered out beneath the torrent of sobs she’d released on her journey along the Great North Road.

  She supposed she would have to learn to live without that part of her. Just as she would live without ever seeing Mr. Croft again.

  She wouldn’t return to her father’s house, either. She was putting that life behind her as well. Instead, she planned to pen a letter to Mr. Harrison, inquiring if she could work for him at Warthall Place until a school for girls could be established, preferably far away from London. At least, that way she could achieve her dream of helping those children, and in return, she would fulfill her own sense of purpose, which was all she really needed.

  A soft knock fell on the door a moment before it opened. Beneath a ruffled cap and a few graying strands at her temples, the older woman smiled. “Guid. Ye’r awake at last. I’ve brought a cuppa, Mrs. MacRyrie’s bannocks, and some heather honey to git ye settled.” She set the tray down on a bench at the foot of the bed and poured tea into a waiting cup. “And of course. ye’ll be wantin’ a bath. We’re already heatin’ the water. Nothin’ finer than a bath efter a lang journey.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Shaw,” Delaney said, grateful but still not wanting to reveal too much.

  The woman came near and offered the cup. “I’ll launder yer clothes, since the satchel you brought is on the wee side. I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ somethin’ fresh to wear.”

  Delaney curled her hands around the cup, welcoming its warmth as another cool breeze rushed in through the window. “I packed two more dresses, though they are far less substantial than what I’m wearing. I imagined it would be warmer since we’ve reached the end of June.”

  “Ach, but ’tis warm.” As she spoke, she
flitted about the room, straightening up the bed, tossing Delaney’s discarded jacket over one arm. “I’m certain we hae a nice woolen shawl for ye, if ye get too cold.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’d like to walk a bit this morning.” A very long walk would help to clear her head. Delaney took a sip and pointed out in the distance. “How many miles away would you say that estate is?”

  From her vantage point, the house stood as tall as the trees surrounding it, though that did little to aid her in assessing its size. Yet something about the dark brick façade, trimmed with pale stone around each window and door, appealed to her.

  “That’d be Brannaleigh Hall, the summer home of the late Viscount Brinley. It’s been empty for nigh on three years, though the caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Culloden, keep it in fine shape.” She came up to peer out the window and used her apron to rub at a mark on the sill. “I must warn ye, it’s a fair stretch of the legs.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m after,” Delaney said but felt little conviction. She needed to get a sense of herself back. “I’ll explore the grounds after my bath.”

  “Guid,” the housekeeper said with a touch of concern as she tapped her on the shoulder. “That’ll get ye settled straightaway.”

  Settled into her new life.

  But Delaney doubted that a bath could wash away the old one.

  Dressed in a somber slate blue to match her mood, Delaney walked down the stairs. She’d attempted to tame her hair into a braid, but already her efforts were snaking wildly about her cheeks and throat as a breeze came in through the open front door.

  “There ye are,” Mrs. Shaw said, walking briskly from the back of the house. “Mrs. MacRyrie packed a special lunch.”

  Delaney took the small pail with the cheesecloth bundle inside. “Thank you. And please extend my appreciation to Mrs. MacRyrie as well.”

  The housekeeper smiled at that. “I’ll have the kettle ready for yer return. And if ye need to speak about what troubles ye, I’ll be glad to listen—” She stopped short at the sound of horse hooves galloping up the drive. “That’d be Douglas, Mrs. MacRyrie’s son. He comes this way whenever his belly is empty, which is nearly every day—Which reminds me, I found this lovely maroon shawl in a chest belonging to the Dowager Viscountess Rathburn. Let me fetch it from the parlor before ye set off.”