by Aubrey Wynne
First, I must apologize for such sparse correspondence. Mama and I have been so busy. I have met several young ladies of good quality, as Mama puts it, and we’ve become fast friends. They help fill the void you left behind.
I must admit, I did not realize how much I depended on you. The first few weeks, I found myself going to your room to share something or ask your opinion. I was terribly lonesome. My new friends keep me company and ease the emptiness while you are away.
Now, on to news of London. I attended my first crush. It is aptly named as I could barely move through a room. However, Lord Brecken showed me how to move through a crowd with only my back brushing against another. The secret is to keep my fan a distance from my chest and walk sidelong, allowing for space to the front. It helps one to breathe and not succumb to the terrible heat.
One of those insipid girls who was unkind to you had a glass of punch spilled down her front. I do not know for certain how it happened, but the earl was nearby, and I’d just told him at the last musicale how horrid she was. I am certain there is a rascal hidden behind his perfect manners.
I have decided I quite like the theater. Lord Brecken has escorted Mama and I and promised to do so again. He has his own box for the season, and I wanted to pinch Mama when she continued to gush about it. I find him to be quite attentive and a perfect gentleman, though he’s terribly old. Nearly eight and twenty!
Oh my, rereading this, I see I have mentioned his name several times. Do not let your imagination run away with you. I have no designs on the earl. There are plenty of others who find his dark looks appealing. A competition does not interest me. He is merely a diversion until you return. I find he is quite useful in honing my skill of flirtation and quick wit. The gentleman is awake on every suit, and our conversations can be quite lively. Did I mention he is also an accomplished dancer?
I hope you are not too bored in Glasgow. Why on earth did Grandmama sell the bookstore without informing us? Of course, she was the owner and certainly doesn’t need our approval. I shall miss the dusty old place. And I miss you dreadfully. Give Grandmama a hug and a kiss for me. Papa sends both to you. He’s never been much for writing. Enclosed is also a letter from Mama.
Your devoted sister,
Evie
Fenella blinked back the tears. Life went on in London without her. As suspected, her absence had been a boon for Evie’s social status. Rereading the letter, she smiled. Her sister wrote as she spoke. The rambling style made her homesick. She quickly scanned her mother’s short note, gushing about the Earl of Brecken and his growing affection for Evie. Yes, things were working out well on both sides of the border.
“I think my sister is smitten,” she announced to Rose, rising from the bed and taking the pins from her hair. “She insists there is nothing between her and the earl, yet he seems to come up in every subject.”
Rose beamed. “I’m glad to hear of it, Miss Fenella. Miss Evelina is a lovely girl and deserves a good match.” She helped her mistress off with the dress and underclothes then added lavender oil to the bath. “It also may save you from another season in London.”
“Do you miss England?”
“Not really. My mother and I don’t often have the same afternoons off, so our visits are rare. My brother is always sailing off to some new adventure.”
“Does your brother know any of your French relations?” Fenella asked as she sank into the tub.
The maid shook her head. “My mother was a gypsy turned seamstress, as you know. We have no idea if any of her relatives ever settled or where they might be. And my father’s family… well, they didn’t approve of my mother, so there was no correspondence between them.” She dropped a cloth onto Fenella’s knees and held out the soap.
Steam rose and curled in little wisps, seeping into her tired muscles. She leaned back and wondered what it would be like not to know your family.
“Would you like me to wash your hair?”
“No, it would take too long to dry.” She listened to Rose hum and relaxed, eyes half-open. Tomorrow she would find the company that had dropped off the ledger. Perhaps ask Colin or Sorcha. If they didn’t recognize the name, her grandmother would surely know.
*
Her finger paused at the entry. McPherson’s Forge. Each month, thirty-five pounds had been recorded as an expenditure. Not a fortune, but an annual wage for many servants in a fine house. When the handwriting changed to Ian’s, the withdrawals had stopped. Her instinct told her there was something off.
“Weel, if ye arena the bonniest lass ever to sit behind that desk.”
The masculine tenor sent her pulse racing even as her eyes refused to move from the book before her. Would he be as handsome as she remembered? A week was a long time to feed the imagination. She glanced under the cover of her lashes. Mercy! Those clear blue eyes laughed at her, and she couldn’t breathe. Don’t be a dimwit, say something!
“I imagine I am the only female who has sat here.” Her voice sounded steady and amused. She took in a breath. Evie would be proud.
He sauntered in and settled his hip on the edge of the desk, his bare knee hanging over the corner. Fenella valiantly tried to take her eyes from the muscled leg and curling dark hair. She was aware of his palm next to the ledger and the musky, male scent of him.
Perhaps Evie wouldn’t be so proud.
Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips.
“I wanted to thank ye,” Lachlan said softly. “I’m no’ one to let a wee scrape get the best of me or to need assistance managing a step or two.”
Fenella looked up now and saw he was embarrassed. He ran his fingers through his thick auburn hair and stared at the floor. This confident man who avoided her eyes was self-conscious about needing help. Or he was not accustomed to thanking anyone. It warmed her to watch him fidget, red spreading up his neck and across his cheeks.
A smile pulled at her lips, and she reached out and covered his hand. “You were incredible that day. I watched you from a window. I consider it a battle wound.”
He nodded and turned those sapphire eyes on her, a direct gaze that made her feel like… like a woman.
“I also apologize if I offended ye in any way that day. My mouth doesna always wait for my brain to decide what is appropriate.” He grinned, the color disappearing. “Though it’s no’ all my fault. I swear ye are the bonniest female in all of Glasgow.”
It was her turn to blush. “No offense taken. However, I’m not so sure about Sorcha.”
He snorted. “I’ve already spoken with her. She’s a good woman, helped bring me into this world. And will never let me forget my… fumble.”
They sat in a silence for a moment, then Lachlan stood. He adjusted his brown waistcoat and pulled at his sleeves. Fenella watched as the dark kilt fell softly back over his knees.
“I will leave ye to yer work, Miss Franklin. Ian leaves tomorrow, so if ye need anything, it will be me ye must come to.” He winked and left the office, the door slamming in his wake.
The tune Rose had hummed earlier at home began low in her throat as she sorted through the pile of papers on the desk. A light, happy tune that matched her mood. She liked this side of Lachlan MacNaughton.
In truth, she liked the man from any angle.
*
“Ian!” bellowed Colin as he strode through the door.
Fenella coughed, a piece of beef lodged in her throat by the unexpected intrusion. A huge paw slapped her back, her chin almost dipping into the cup of tea before her. She held up a hand to stop him.
“Ma always said to take smaller bites and dinna talk until I swallowed,” he lectured with a grin.
“My mother always said to knock before entering a room,” she quipped.
“Knock?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
With a laugh, she waved him off. “Yes, the sound that gives warning to an imminent interruption? It’s much more effective than causing a person to jump and choke.”
He paused, a thoughtful look on his h
andsome face. Then he nodded, his blue eyes sparkling. “I’ll knock, and ye’ll take better care on the size of yer bites. Compromise, my da always said.”
She stifled the laugh. “Wise man,” she agreed. “Did you need something?”
He eyed the pastries laying on brown paper. “Ian needs to approve a shipment. Or Lachlan. I canna find either of them.” He sniffed. “Did Mrs. Douglas make that?”
“Yes, my grandmother thought it would be a nice gesture for Lachlan’s return. Would you care for one?”
“Weel, since ye offered, I’ll take a wee bite.” He settled in front of her, his hulking form snug between the arms of the chair. “But I wouldna want to deprive my cousin again.”
Fenella laughed. “She sent a tart for each of you. Ian and Malcolm had theirs earlier. I’m saving one for Lachlan.” She handed him one of the flaky treats. “I wonder if you could answer a question for me?”
Colin broke open the tart and licked at the berry filling. “I’d tell ye my deepest, darkest secrets if ye bribed me like this,” he said around a mouthful. “Ask me anything.”
“Have you heard of McPherson’s Forge?”
He nodded and took another bite. “It’s a local business. They repair our power looms or other machinery if I canna fix something.”
“So, McPherson’s isn’t a regular expenditure?”
He shook his head. “No’ to boast, but I’m good with my hands and figuring out mechanical problems. It irks me to have to call in McPherson, so I dinna do it often. He’s a good man, but I have my pride.” Colin stood, wiped his mouth, and bid her good day. “If ye see Ian, tell him I’m looking for him.”
Interesting, she thought. A legitimate business but not a legitimate charge. Not on a monthly basis, at least. She walked over to the shelf and ran her finger along the dusty leather spines. She pulled out the accounts from the past two years. Mr. Pelling had worked for the MacNaughtons less than two years. The regular entries of thirty-five pounds began two months after the accountant’s handwriting appeared in the ledger. Only four to McPherson’s were entered with a different amount. A total of seven hundred pounds stolen.
The man had nerve, she thought, considering his wage. One hundred pounds annum was more than enough to ensure loyalty. Or at least honesty. Was McPherson part of the deceit or another victim whose business had been chosen at random? It was time to ask Ian or Lachlan.
Chapter Nine
An Excuse to Entice
Lachlan grabbed another heavy bag of wool and tossed it over his shoulder. The physical labor felt good after being imprisoned in the townhouse for days. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with one forearm and tossed the sack onto a growing pile. His bare upper body was slick from exertion and bits of wool and grime clung to the hair on his chest.
“Is that the last of it?” asked Ian, counting the rows.
He nodded, hands on his knees, breathing deeply. One week of inactivity, a bit of physical labor, and his body ached. His brother clapped him on the shoulder. “Sorcha said it would take ye a while to get back to yer old self. Dinna work yerself too hard. Ye’ve nothing to prove.”
“I’ll not have Colin seeing me with the endurance of an old woman.” Lachlan straightened and grinned. “Ye’d do the same in my place.”
“All the same, remember to listen to him when I leave. Ye may be in charge, but he knows this mill and will give ye good advice. Confer with him whenever ye can.”
“I will, but now I have a sweet reward waiting for me in the office,” said Lachlan. “Shall we have a last whisky at The Pigeon tonight or stay at home and drink the good stuff?”
“Och, I’d rather have some quiet after the catter and welter of this place.” He held up a hand as Lachlan passed him. “I thought ye promised to leave the lass alone?”
“I didna mean her, so much as what Mrs. Douglas sent. Ye thieving pigs ate my share of sweets when I was incapacitated. So, the kind lady sent more.” His eyes strayed to his stockings, and he studied the laces intently. “I thanked her this morning and apologized for my behavior. She graciously accepted.”
“Weel, knock me over with a wee feather. I’m proud of ye, Brother. If ye mean it, ye’d best clean yerself up and put yer shirt back on.”
Lachlan hated the guilt that had knotted his stomach over the past days. “She’s a bonnie lass, but ye’re right. I canna treat her like a village girl or one of the barmaids. I think she’s a wee more sheltered than the lasses I… mix with.”
“I thought the same. And it doesna sound like her family is much support for her financially. Mayhap there was a calamity in her father’s business before he died.” Ian shrugged. “It’s our luck she’s decided to stay with her grandmother. Mrs. Douglas is a good woman and respected in Glasgow.”
Stopping by the water tub, Lachlan splashed his face and chest, rubbed off any lingering fragments, and smoothed back his hair. Pulling the shirt over his head, he tied it at the neck and shrugged on the waistcoat.
She was a long-legged beauty, he thought as he dressed. Must be the Scots blood in her. He liked that he didn’t have to look down at her when they spoke or worry about crushing her when he… no, he couldn’t let his mind go there. He hadn’t yet figured her out. One moment she was more girl, blushing at his words or look or a touch. The next, she was a confident woman, holding her own in quick, sharp banter. Her sweet gentle eyes reflected innocence and vulnerability, then flashed silver in an instant, keen with intelligence, seeing right through him. Naïve then knowing, flippant then thoughtful. Lachlan enjoyed a good riddle.
Miss Franklin smiled as he entered. He gave her a nod and a wink. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Hello, Lachlan. You look… wet.” Her plump lips pressed together, and he knew she held back a laugh. “Did you come for your pastry?”
He nodded and plopped down in a chair. She said his name in an almost sensuous way, stretching it out in her English accent. His body responded with approval. “Aye, Miss Franklin. How are the numbers treating ye?”
She handed him a tart. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, gazes locked. Her eyes flickered ashen dark before she looked away. He took a bite and groaned, recognizing the heat but letting her attribute it to the sweet. “Almost worth the goose egg on my head.”
“Your recovery took longer than expected. Each time Sorcha went to check on you, she mumbled something in Gaelic under her breath.”
“Not the first time,” he said, taking another bite, “and I doubt the last. I have a way with people, ye ken.”
“There were a few items I’d like to discuss with you and Ian before he leaves,” Miss Franklin said, ignoring his last statement.
“Then it’s good I’ve stopped by,” said the other brother from the door. “And if there’s a piece of that left, I’d be happy to relieve you of it.”
Ian took a seat next to him, and they both turned to their new employee. Her confidence seemed to wane.
“I’m sorry, but it feels strange to sit behind the desk as if I’m the owner and you are the employees. Would one of you care to switch?”
Lachlan gave his brother a sideways glance. They both shook their heads. “As a good Scot, though, I’ll compromise.” He picked up his chair and placed it on her side of the desk so he could face both her and his brother. “Now no one’s at the head, so to speak, and we can all feel at home.”
“In true Highland diplomacy, from the chaos comes order,” added Ian with a chuckle. “Proceed, Miss Franklin.”
“Please, if I’m to use your given names, it is only fair you should call me Fenella. You are my employer.”
“It would be my pleasure, Fenella,” said Lachlan. He liked how the name rolled off his tongue. “Now, what’s the problem?”
She studied her lap and smoothed her dove-gray skirt. The pink ribbon high on her waist matched the rosiness of her cheeks. “I have been studying your past expenditures, and there is one in particular that has me confused.”
Lachlan leaned bac
k in his chair. “We’re listening.”
“It’s a case of lying ledgers, I’m afraid.” Fenella explained her findings and the conversation with Colin. Her demeanor was straightforward and business-like and her tone apologetic rather than smug or condescending. “I believe Mr. Pelling got away with seven hundred pounds over the entire length of his employment. And his generous wage.”
“How did I no’ see it? I trusted the bloody rat. He said they were on retainer, did all the repairs, and provided parts.” Ian swiped his face and blew out a long breath. “I assumed Colin took over the repairs after Pelling and the supervisor left. He talked about saving us money by doing it himself. So of course, the ceased entries didna concern me.”
Lachlan let out a whistle. “Wonder where he took off to with our money?”
“It doesna matter at this point. Ye canna try to find him when ye’re running the mill. I still plan on going home.” His eyes narrowed. “We need to find out if McPherson was in on this. If he is, I’ll make sure the whole of Glasgow kens it.”
Lachlan crossed his arms and then his ankles as he leaned back against the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “Colin and I will have a friendly talk with McPherson and his manager. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“That’s the problem with doing business in the Lowlands when ye’re from the Highlands. We’re no’ one of them. This would never happen in Dunderave.” Ian scowled.
“There’s black-hearted, greedy men in every country and every county. Ross Craigg wouldna think twice about putting a knife in my back if he thought he could get away with it.” The thought of that pile of cow dung cooled his ardor as he watched Miss Franklin’s lovely brow crease.
“What do you mean by ‘not one of them’? Aren’t you all Scots?”
Lachlan looked at Ian and they snorted in unison. He patted her arm. “Bless yer wee heart, lass. But all Scots are no’ created equal, ye ken. We held a long tradition of raiding the Lowland cattle and sheep. Of course, they tried to repay us in kind.”
“You mean feuds?”