Motton choked on his sherry.
“Actually, Miss Smyth, things are most certainly not in order.”
“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that, Lord Kilgorn. What is amiss?”
Had he entered Bedlam? “Perhaps we could discuss this in a more private location? It is an issue of some delicacy.” Not that the entire drawing room didn’t already know he and Nell were estranged. Motton definitely knew or he wouldn’t have that carefully blank expression pasted on his face. Miss Smyth must be the only woman in all of England and Scotland who was not fully aware of their marital situation—if she were truly in ignorance.
“Of course.” Miss Smyth sounded as cheery as if they were chatting about a balmy spring day. “Let’s step into the green parlor, shall we? Edmund, why don’t you bring along the sherry?”
“A splendid idea.” Motton grabbed a decanter and motioned Ian and the ladies to precede him.
The green parlor was a modest room with a settee, two upholstered chairs, a scattering of tables—and not a single hint of green.
“It used to be green,” Motton said, pulling the door closed behind him, “but my mother hated the color. Had it painted over the day after she married Father. Care for some sherry?”
“Please.” Whisky would be preferable, but Ian would take anything alcoholic at this point.
He considered Miss Smyth. How did one vent one’s spleen on an exceedingly cheerful woman who looked old enough to be one’s mother? Nell was sitting on the gold-colored settee next to her. Perhaps she should handle the issue.
Or perhaps not. Miss Smyth was leaning over and patting Nell’s hand.
“Don’t say a word until you’ve had a glass of sherry, Lady Kilgorn. You poor thing! You do look like you could use a restorative.”
“Yes, well—”
“And I shall have one, too, Edmund—a full glass, please.”
“Of course.” Motton handed the ladies their drinks.
Miss Smyth took a sip and smiled broadly at Nell. “You know, I’m so looking forward to you making Theo’s acquaintance, Lady Kilgorn. You seem exactly like the merry sort who would enjoy him.”
“Merry?” Ian blinked. Nell had been anything but merry recently.
“Not Theo, Aunt Winifred.” Motton actually groaned.
“And Edmund!” Miss Smyth laughed. “Oh, not this Edmund—the other Edmund.”
Motton groaned again, louder this time. “And not Edmund, either. Most certainly not Edmund. I had enough trouble with him earlier.”
“Oh, pooh!” Miss Smyth waved a dismissive hand at Motton. “Where is your sense of adventure?”
“Not in a drawing room with a monkey on the loose.”
“A monkey?” Nell choked on her sherry.
“Yes, indeed. A very sweet little, well-behaved—”
Motton snorted. Miss Smyth glared at him. “—very nice monkey, though why I named him after my dull nephew I will never know. My Edmund is not dull.”
“And Theo?” Nell smiled. She looked as if she might even laugh.
“Theo is Aunt Winifred’s parrot.” Motton rolled his eyes. “Her talking parrot.”
“Oh.” Nell did giggle then.
Ian could think of a few things to say, but none of them was appropriate for a lady’s drawing room. Apparently they had landed in a zoo as well as an insane asylum. But seeing Nell amused, his mood lifted as well.
Miss Smyth took a sip of her sherry. “But we didn’t come in here to discuss my pets, did we? You said you had a problem. What seems to be the difficulty, Lady Kilgorn?”
Any trace of mirth vanished from Nell’s expression. “It’s our bedchamber, Miss Smyth,” she said.
“You are in the Thistle Room, are you not?” Miss Smyth smiled. “I thought that was rather clever, you being Scots and all.”
“Yes, but—”
Miss Smyth’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “Is it too small? I know it’s probably not what you’re used to. I do apologize.”
“It’s not the size that is the problem, Miss Smyth, it’s…well…surely you know…?” Nell shrugged eloquently. Miss Smyth blinked at her.
“Surely I know what, Lady Kilgorn?”
“That Lord Kilgorn and I are…” Nell shrugged again.
“I’m sorry. I’m not understanding.” Miss Smyth made the mistake of looking up at Ian.
Could the woman really not know? “Miss Smyth,” he said, “surely you are aware of the fact—the well-known fact—that Lady Kilgorn and I have not lived together for ten years.”
“Oh.” Miss Smyth frowned. “But you are still married, are you not?”
“Yes, technically we are, but—”
It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. Miss Smyth beamed at him.
“Well, there you are, then. This will be an excellent time for you to become reacquainted.”
Nell took another sip of tea and listened with half an ear to white-haired Lady Wordham, Lord Dawson’s estranged grandmother, and Lady Oxbury, a delicate woman of about forty who was there with her niece, Lady Grace Belmont, the Earl of Standen’s daughter. They were discussing people Nell had never heard of.
The men would enter the drawing room shortly, as soon as they finished their port. Could she slip out now and hide in her room?
No, it was not her room—it was hers and Ian’s. It was more a trap than a refuge.
How was she going to survive this house party? Dinner had been torture, seated between Ian and Mr. Boland, a thin, balding man of indeterminate age who was far more interested in his mutton than his dinner partners. One would think the poor soul hadn’t eaten in a month. She’d tried to engage him in conversation—even a discussion of the food on his plate—but he’d answered every one of her attempts with a grunt, a glare, and vigorous chewing.
She closed her eyes briefly. She’d been much too aware of Ian. She’d swear she’d felt the heat from his body. They had been seated very close together. Someone—Miss Smyth, most likely—had decided to squeeze in an extra chair on their side of the table. She couldn’t move without brushing up against him.
She’d felt his thigh against her thigh. She’d watched his broad, strong hand reach for his wineglass and his long fingers twist its stem, his heavy gold signet ring glowing in the candlelight. The sleeve of his tightly fitted coat—with his muscled arm inside, an arm she had viewed in all its naked glory just hours before—touched her arm more than once.
The first time it had happened, she’d tried to put more space between them by leaning toward Mr. Boland. Mr. Boland had glared at her as if he suspected she would snatch his buttered prawns from his plate.
“Would you like more tea, Lady Kilgorn?”
Nell jumped, splashing a few drops of liquid on her bodice. She hadn’t seen Miss Smyth approach.
“No, thank you. I am quite content as I am.”
“Are you, Lady Kilgorn?” Miss Smyth raised her eyebrows and gave her a very significant look.
“Am I…what?”
“Quite content as you are.” She now wiggled her eyebrows. She clearly was not talking about tea.
“Well, I…”
“Perhaps it is time for a change.” Miss Smyth leaned closer, her lips curving in a small smile. “One often finds opportunities in the most unexpected places, you know.”
“What?”
“Think about it, dear Lady Kilgorn.” She patted Nell’s hand. “I do apologize for my…mistake. I will talk to Mrs. Gilbert in the morning and see what she can do. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
“Yes, of course.” Nell watched Miss Smyth slip out the door.
It was extremely difficult to believe a house this size didn’t have plenty of spare bedchambers, but Miss Smyth had blamed leaky roofs, mold, mildew, smoking chimneys, even rodent infestations for the shortage. She glanced around the drawing room. It didn’t look as if the viscount took such poor care of his estate, but he hadn’t protested his aunt’s story in the green parlor. He’d just calmly sipped his sherry and
examined a black and gold vase on the immaculate surface of a small table.
“Here they come!” The two Misses Addison leaped from their seats as the door opened and the first unsuspecting male crossed the threshold.
Lady Oxbury frowned. “I don’t understand why Mrs. Addison doesn’t rein in her daughters.”
“Probably because she is upstairs in her room with a brandy bottle.” Lady Wordham shook her head. “I’m afraid she’s given up even trying to control them. A pity. I cannot like the way they pursue my grandson.”
Lord Dawson appeared quite adept at dodging the twins, however. He managed to keep Ian between him and the Addisons, then slipped behind the tea tray to reach Lady Grace.
“Well, if I had a daughter—” Lady Oxbury stopped abruptly. She turned bright red and then ghostly white.
“Are you all right?” Nell put a hand on Lady Oxbury’s arm. Her skin felt almost clammy. Was she going to swoon?
“Y-yes. I’m fine.”
“Pardon me, but you don’t look fine. Shall I get you a glass of water?”
“Lady Kilgorn is right, my dear.” Lady Wordham appeared as worried as Nell felt. “You look distinctly out of curl all of a sudden. Perhaps we should send for your hartshorn.”
“No, no, really, I’m fine.” Lady Oxbury mustered a weak smile. “Please, don’t give it another thought.”
Nell exchanged a glance with Lady Wordham. The elderly woman shrugged.
“Very well, but do be careful. I know I am ancient, but you are not as young as you once were. You need to take good care of yourself.”
Lady Oxbury made an odd noise, something of a cross between a giggle and a sob. “Yes, I will. If you’ll excuse me? I believe I’ll get a fresh cup of tea.”
Nell watched Lady Oxbury pour her tea and then wander over in Mr. Wilton’s direction. Why had she reacted so oddly? They’d been talking about the Addisons and daughters…
“Do you suppose Lady Oxbury lost a baby?” Nell didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Lady Wordham answered.
“You mean miscarried? Perhaps. It is a common occurrence, though I can’t imagine her loss could be recent. Oxbury’s been dead a while, sick longer than that.”
“Miscarriage is common?”
Lady Wordham nodded. “Very common. I lost my first child—hardly knew I was pregnant. Went on to have a strapping son and three daughters.”
“But Lady Oxbury doesn’t have any children.”
“True, but Lord Oxbury was thirty years her senior. I suspect that was the problem. Old man, old seed, you know.”
“Oh.”
“But a young man, like Lord Kilgorn…” Lady Wordham paused, turning a very penetrating gaze on Nell. She felt herself blushing and looked away.
“You and Lord Kilgorn are estranged, aren’t you, Lady Kilgorn?”
“Yes, but I really do not wish to talk about it.”
“And I will not pry. Believe me, I understand estrangement too well. I’ve not had the pleasure of knowing my grandson because of a falling-out with my youngest daughter.” Lady Wordham leaned forward and grasped Nell’s hand. “Believe me, Lady Kilgorn, when I tell you, most sincerely, only the most heinous transgressions are worth the pain of cutting yourself off from a loved one. Consider well Lord Kilgorn’s sins. Are they really so evil you must suffer a solitary life? Or is forgiveness the better course?”
Nell was certain she would die of embarrassment. “Lady Wordham, I appreciate your—”
Thankfully she was interrupted by a commotion at the drawing room door. It was Miss Smyth with…
“Oh, my.”
“What is it?” Lady Wordham twisted around and laughed. “Oh my, indeed.”
Lord Motton’s aunt had returned with a large gray parrot on one shoulder and a small brown monkey, dressed in black and silver livery just like Motton’s servants, on the other.
Lord Motton did not look pleased. He left his conversation with Mr. Wilton and strode purposefully toward his aunt.
“Avast! Trouble on the portside!” The parrot flapped its wings, the monkey screeched, and the silly Addison twins screamed.
Nell slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh. “I’ve never heard a bird talk.”
“You haven’t?” Ian strolled over, teacup in hand. He nodded at Lady Wordham. “One of my schoolmates had a bird like that. They are very clever creatures.”
“Really, Lord Kilgorn?” Lady Wordham smiled. “Please, sit with us.”
Ian took the chair Lady Oxbury had vacated. Nell tried not to stare at him. She’d forgotten how his eyes sparkled when he thought of some wee bit o’ mischief, how deeply his cheeks creased when he smiled. His hair glowed warm chestnut in the candlelight and, if she looked closely—which she must stop doing immediately before he noticed her interest—she could see the red-gold shadow of his beard tracing the strong line of his jaw.
“The fellow taught the bird to recite his Latin declensions,” he was saying, “so the master would think he was studying, when he was actually out wh—” He flushed and cleared his throat. “Having some fun.”
“I see. How…clever of him,” Lady Wordham said dryly.
Nell studied her hands. What was the matter with men? They seemed to give no thought to climbing into any woman’s bed. One woman would do as well as another. Love was irrelevant. Mr. Pennington certainly didn’t love her, but he would have been happy to do…that with her. And Ian—
She glanced at him. Now he was frowning at the monkey, which had climbed onto the decorative lintel and was screeching down at the viscount.
“That silly leash is going to come loose,” he said. “It’s clearly not tied securely.”
She looked at the red leather strap. “Don’t you think Miss Smyth knows how to handle her pet?”
He looked at her, his eyebrows raised, his eyes incredulous. “Do you think the woman knows how to handle anything?”
“Well—”
Just then Miss Smyth pulled on her end of the leash. As Ian had predicted, the red leather fell off the monkey’s leg. Freed, the creature screeched again and leaped for the curtains, scrambling up the twenty or more feet of gold fabric. Lord Motton glared at his aunt and then glared at the monkey.
Miss Smyth smiled brightly at the gathering. “Who would like to take a brisk turn about the terrace?”
Ian snorted. “I’ll wager Motton would like to send his aunt for a brisk gallop back to London.” He shook his head. “I’ll see if I can help him capture the wee beastie. Perhaps in gratitude he’ll find me an empty bedroom.”
CHAPTER 4
“Do ye suppose he’ll be here soon?” Annie glanced at the door as she helped Nell out of her dress.
“Do I suppose who will be here?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Nell knew they sounded unbelievably stupid. There was only one gentleman expected in this bedchamber.
Annie rolled her eyes. “His lordship, of course.” She grinned. “I caught a glimpse of him tonight. He’s a wee bit old—”
“Old?” Was Annie blind? “He’s just thirty.”
“Aye, but ye’d hardly know it.”
Nell pressed her lips together. Perhaps thirty did seem old to eighteen…. Of course it did. Eighteen certainly seemed young to her now.
She’d been only seventeen when she’d married Ian. So full of love. So certain life held only happiness for her. She glared at herself in the mirror.
So foolish. Well, she was indeed older now—and wiser.
“I passed him in the hall.” Annie giggled. “And I’ll grant ye, I waited for him to come by.” She picked up Nell’s discarded clothes. “He was quite an eyeful. Ye can bet I’d not let him out o’ my bed if he were my husband.”
“Annie!” She didn’t care to have her maid lusting after her husband, estranged or not.
“Och, I shouldn’t be saying such things, I know. Looks can be deceiving. Did he beat ye, then?”
“No! Of course he didn’t beat me.”
Annie s
ent her a sidelong glance. “I know it’s nae my place to ask, but we—the servants—always wondered why ye were at Pentforth. Even my ma dinna seem to ken the reason.”
“It’s…” She didn’t owe Annie an explanation, but she had to say something. Ian was the laird, after all, and the problem rested as much with her as with him. But what could she say? “Things just didn’t work out, Annie. Sometimes that’s the way life is.”
Annie snorted. “‘Things’ don’t do anything, milady. Ye need to make things work. Ma always said it was a shame ye lived alone. And his lordship needs an heir. This may be yer golden opportunity.” She grinned. “I know I’d see it that way if I had a husband as braw as yers.”
Nell could not get any redder, she was quite certain of that. “Yes, well, um.” She looked around. Where was Annie going to sleep? “I don’t see a cot made up for you.”
“Weel, ye couldna make much use of yer opportunity with me in the way, could ye?” The cheeky girl winked at her! “Dinna worry. Mrs. Gilbert has given me a snug wee room with Lady Oxbury’s maid.”
“But—”
Annie had already shut the door firmly behind her.
Nell sighed and glanced at the bed—the very narrow-looking bed. She’d certainly not get a wink of sleep tonight.
The memory of Ian, the very detailed memory of him standing naked by the bath, sprang into her mind.
Heat flooded her. She hadn’t meant that would keep her awake. She’d only meant she’d be too nervous, too aware of him, to sleep.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and bit her lip. She hadn’t thought about that in years. It was too tied up in the pain of her miscarriage, the shock and dread she’d felt when she’d first seen the blood trickling down her leg, the anguish and despair that had filled her when she’d finally admitted the baby was gone. She’d cried then until she’d had no more tears to shed, until her heart was exhausted and she couldn’t feel anything at all.
That was how she’d decided—how she wanted—to go on—peaceful, even-tempered. No passion, no love, no pain. Tranquil.
Pentforth Hall had been her refuge. The neighbors had learned long ago to leave her alone. The servants were polite, but they kept the proper distance. All was calm.
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