Her mind immediately rejected that notion. She’d fought too hard to chart her own path only to give up now. And then the Murray problem was bound to blow up in her face, sooner or later.
Uncle Riddick, who’d been carefully watching her, finally spoke up. “If you agree to wait six months before making a final decision, I will support you.” He leaned forward, lifting a hand. “But you will not go to Galway. We’ll find you a respectable convent in England, if need be.”
She sagged with relief. It was a partial victory and didn’t seem . . . awful. After all, she’d made a thorough hash of things with the Carmelites. Taking time to make a careful decision about where she would go next made sense.
Of course, that still left the Murrays.
“And I’ll take care of Mungo Murray,” her uncle said, reading her mind.
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, sir.”
He pointed a gnarled finger at her. “Now, you cannot be hiding here at Blairgal, like a hermit. Go down to Glasgow with Eden and Alasdair for the holidays. Get out and do some socializing. Play cards, go to dances, and talk to nice fellows.”
She gaped at him, appalled. “But—”
“Donella, you will not lurk about here for six months and then scamper off to a convent to escape us. You’re going to do what all young ladies should do—have fun.”
“But I don’t know how,” she blurted out.
Donella hated socializing and was an absolute failure when it came to flirting and other normal female activities. Aside from her relatives, she hadn’t a clue how to talk to men.
You could talk to Logan Kendrick.
“Capital idea, Grandfather,” Eden enthused. “I could truly use Donella’s help planning the Christmas and Hogmanay parties. I love doing it, but it’s always quite the undertaking, especially now that we have fewer staff at the manor.”
Breadie Manor, a tidy estate just outside Glasgow, was the family’s base when they visited the city. There, Eden and Alasdair hosted annual parties that were always tremendously successful. Donella had never been to one of those celebrations and had no desire to start.
“I haven’t the foggiest clue how to plan holiday parties,” she said. “We never did anything like that at Haddon House.”
Socializing had always happened at Blairgal, overseen by her uncle and the castle’s competent staff.
“Our housekeeper can get you started,” Eden said. “In fact, I think you should go down early. Alec and I can join you in a week or so.”
Alasdair frowned at his wife. “Why don’t we all just go down at the same time?”
“Because Elizabeth has developed the sniffles, and Callum is teething. They’re in no condition to travel.”
Alasdair jerked up straight with alarm. “Lizzie has the sniffles?”
Lizzie was Eden and Alasdair’s adopted daughter, an adorable and rambunctious three-year-old. Callum was their son, a robust baby who would no doubt weather the half-day journey to Breadie in good order.
“Nurse told me just a short time ago,” Eden said with a vague wave.
Donella was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes. When she saw Lizzie a few hours ago, her little niece had seemed in perfect health.
“Then she cannot step foot outdoors until she’s better,” Alasdair exclaimed.
Alasdair Gilbride, once a fearless spy for the Crown, turned into a wreck when anything was even slightly wrong with his children.
“Sorry, old girl,” he said to Donella. “You’ll have to start the holiday folderol without us for a bit.”
“But we don’t even celebrate Christmas,” she protested. “And we can certainly wait a few weeks before planning the Hogmanay celebrations.”
Scots generally didn’t fuss about Christmas, saving most of their holiday spirit for Hogmanay, when they rang in the New Year.
“We celebrate Christmas now,” Alasdair said, winking at his wife.
“Aye,” said Uncle Riddick, sounding slightly disgruntled. “With Eden and Georgie in the family, we don’t have much choice.”
“Which is exactly why we hold the parties in Glasgow,” Eden said. “So you don’t have to put up with our Sassenach fuss and nonsense.” She smiled at Donella. “You’ll see. It’s great fun.”
“And you’re a Catholic now, old girl,” Alasdair said. “Celebrating Christmas is obligatory.”
“I suppose, although it’s beastly that you’re using my conversion against me,” she grumbled, annoyed by their ruthless manipulation.
“But you love Christmas, Sis,” Fergus said. “You told me that in one of your letters.”
Christmas had been her favorite time of year in the convent. Festivities there had been simple, lovely, and heartfelt. The sisters had taken great joy in decorating the church and dining hall, and had even held a special dinner on Christmas night to celebrate the Savior’s birth.
Alasdair beamed at her. “There you go. All settled.”
Well, she couldn’t stand up to the entire family. And perhaps leaving Blairgal wasn’t such a bad idea. She’d have the manor house to herself and could spend time planning her next steps without everyone trying to coax her out of them.
“Very well. I can leave in a few days. The rest of you can come down when you’re ready.”
“There is the issue of a chaperone, however,” Walter said, frowning. “You won’t have one at Breadie Manor until Eden arrives.”
Ah, the perfect excuse to avoid socializing.
“The housekeeper will be there, and I promise I won’t leave the estate. Besides, I’ll be too busy planning the parties to do anything.”
“Goodness, pet,” said Eden, “you’re not a servant. We want you to have fun, not just work.”
Alasdair suddenly looked crafty. “Maybe dear Mamma-in-law could go with her. No one could possibly object if Donella was chaperoned by Lady Reese.”
Donella was too horrified by that idea to even respond.
“Certainly not,” Eden firmly replied. “I need Mamma’s help with the children.”
Most of them blinked at that remark. Lady Reese, while fiercely loyal to her family, was the least maternal woman one could imagine.
Her ladyship pressed a soulful hand to her bodice. “I couldn’t think of abandoning Eden in her time of need.”
“Good God,” Fergus muttered.
“Then I suppose I will just have to stay here,” Donella said, trying to sound regretful.
Eden beamed at her. “Not to worry, dearest. You can stay with the Kendricks. I wrote to Cousin Victoria just this morning, and she’s expecting you in Glasgow by the end of the week.”
Donella stared at her, once more too aghast to utter a sound.
And when Eden and Uncle Riddick exchanged a quick glance, she finally realized that the pair of them—assisted by Lady Reese—had been ten steps ahead of her, all along.
She was going to Glasgow, whether she wanted to or not.
Chapter Sixteen
Donella snuck down the stairs of Kendrick House to find the hall empty. She’d arrived at lunchtime to encounter an entire household determined to pamper her into submission. It had been much the same at Blairgal, to the point where she’d been happy to escape the parade of servants and family ready to leap to her assistance at a moment’s notice, whether she wanted it or not.
She’d grown used to self-sufficiency. In the convent, Donella had performed every chore, from the endless washing of floors to long hours tending the kitchen garden under a hot sun. So as lovely as it was to be spoiled, she’d had enough, since it was beginning to make her feel useless and guilty.
The sooner she could begin her work at Breadie Manor, the better.
Escaping there for most of every day would also minimize her contact with Logan. The idea of seeing him again, especially after that ridiculous good-bye on her part, made her cheeks flame with heat and her stomach go topsy-turvy. God only knew what he thought of her, especially after that embarrassing scene with Alasdair at the crofter�
�s cottage.
And yet here she was, living under the same roof with the man. It was the perfect illustration of just how much control she’d lost over her life.
Six months. You only have to stick it out for six months.
Then she’d be free to do what she wanted.
She made her way to Lord Arnprior’s library, hoping to avoid the notice of the butler or a footman. Clearly a conspiracy was in the works between Kendrick House and Blairgal Castle, one that involved a great deal of well-intentioned meddling that was sure to drive her insane before the holidays even arrived.
What she needed more than anything else was peace and privacy, and she hoped to find that in the study. The only other alternative was her bedroom, where her assigned maid was fussing over her clothes. Donella didn’t need a lady’s maid, especially since she had so few gowns, but Victoria had insisted—just like she’d insisted on a shopping expedition tomorrow.
“You’ll need a new pelisse, some day gowns, at least three dinner dresses, and a ball gown,” her hostess had said after examining the meager contents of Donella’s trunk. “Lord Riddick was quite clear. He’s opened accounts for you at several stores and expects me to properly kit you out.”
“It’s entirely unnecessary,” Donella had said, trying to sound firm. “I’ll be too busy planning Eden’s parties to socialize.”
“Oh, I promised Edie I’d help you with that, too. So you’ll still have plenty of time for socializing.”
“But—”
“I have my orders, Donella. You are to buy some pretty dresses and enjoy your time here in Glasgow. His lordship was perfectly clear on that point.”
And that, apparently, was that. She was to have fun, even if it killed her.
If she didn’t first die of embarrassment when she saw Logan Kendrick.
Victoria had assured her that the study was empty, so she didn’t bother knocking before slipping into the room.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she was about to head for the bookshelves that rose to the ceiling behind Lord Arnprior’s desk when she caught sight of a small boy curled up in front of the fireplace, reading a book. He suddenly jerked into a sitting position, dropping the leather-bound volume to the floor.
Donella halted in the middle of the carpet as the boy scrambled to his feet.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to barge in like that.”
The little boy tucked his hands behind his back, looking a bit wary. “That’s all right. And you didn’t really barge in.”
She waggled a hand. “Perhaps just a bit?”
That won her a hint of a smile. “Maybe a little.”
For a few moments, they eyed each other. The study was quiet but for the hissing of coals in the grate and the tick of the gilt and porcelain bracket clock on the mantel.
He was a handsome child, with jet-black hair and skin the color of bronze. His dark eyes were big and thickly lashed. He regarded her with a solemnity that seemed beyond his age, which she guessed to be about six. He was at that endearing, awkward stage when a boy was a few years out of the toddler stage but not yet old enough to enter the schoolroom.
When it became obvious that her little companion was content to stand and stare, studying her with open curiosity, Donella bit back a smile.
“I’m Donella Haddon. I’ve just arrived for a visit.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh, you’re the almost-nun Papa told me about. You had to leave the convent. Aunt Vicky said you might be coming for Christmas.”
She mentally winced to learn he was Logan’s son. The resemblance was quite strong, including the stubborn line to the jaw and the high forehead ending in a slight widow’s peak. Then there were the gangly arms and legs that hinted he would grow up to be a tall man, just like his father.
Still, it was hard to believe that such a solemn child could be the offspring of the bold Highland warrior who tossed would-be kidnappers off bridges.
“Then you must be Joseph Kendrick.”
He came forward and bowed over her hand forcefully. Unlike his father, he showed excellent manners.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Haddon.”
She dipped into a curtsy. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kendrick.”
“You’d better call me Joseph,” he said with a shy smile. “There are an awful lot of Mr. Kendricks in the house.”
“I’ll be happy to call you Joseph, if you promise to call me Donella.”
He crinkled his forehead. “Shouldn’t I call you Miss Haddon?”
“Only if you want to. But I’m not really used to that name anymore.”
“Because you were in the convent. You don’t keep your regular names in a convent.”
“Correct,” she said, surprised he knew such a detail.
“What was your name before they kicked you out?”
Donella sincerely hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life known as the girl who got kicked out of the convent.
She gestured toward the velvet settee, inviting him to sit with her.
“My religious name was Sister Dominic.”
Joseph perched next to her, tucking his feet close together and folding his hands in his lap. “That’s a funny name for a girl.”
She almost grinned. Perhaps he had a bit of his father in him, after all.
“True, but Saint Dominic was a great man who accomplished much in his life.” She wrinkled her nose. “While I picked him as a good example for me to follow, it unfortunately didn’t stick. I suppose that’s why they kicked me out.”
She mentally froze, surprised both by the words and the effect of them. It was actually a relief, because it was the truth. How strange was it that it had taken a child to finally get her to admit it to herself.
His mouth twisted with sympathy. “They don’t sound very nice, if you ask me.”
“No, they were nice. I just wasn’t a very good nun.”
His eyes went wide. “Did you do anything naughty, like put frogs in the other nuns’ beds or refuse to eat your turnips?”
This time, she did grin. “Sadly, no. Although now that you mention it, I can think of one nun who quite deserved a frog in her bed. And I like turnips,” she added.
“Papa says I have to eat them so I grow up to be as big as he is,” he said morosely.
“You can give your turnips to me. I’ll eat them for you.”
He brightened for a moment before that oddly wary expression shuttered his gaze. “You won’t tell Papa, will you? I don’t think he’ll like it.”
Surely the boy wasn’t afraid of his father? Logan was a big, brusque man, but from what little he’d said to her, he clearly loved his son.
“Does your father know you don’t like turnips?”
He shook his head.
“Then I would advise you to tell him as soon as possible, and also that I’ll eat your turnips from now on.”
She was again rewarded with that lovely, shy smile.
“I will.” He cocked his head and pointed to her throat. “I like your necklace.”
She touched the Celtic cross on its silver chain. Donella had given away most of her jewelry when she joined the Carmelites. Her brother had saved a few of the more important pieces, though, like this cross. She was slightly ashamed that she’d shed a few tears when Fergus had pulled it from his waistcoat pocket and given it back to her.
“It’s a very old family heirloom, Joseph. It was a gift to my great-grandmother from her grandmother.”
He apparently tried to work out the convoluted ancestral connection before giving up with a shrug. “I have a cross, too.” He fished a chain out from under his shirt.
Donella rested the expensive gold cross in her palm. There was a delicacy to it, as if it had been made for a woman. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mama’s. She died a few months after I was born.”
“I’m so sorry. That’s terribly sad.”
“I don’t remember her.” He tucked t
he cross back under his collar. “But Papa saved this special for me. He gave it to her when they got married.”
Donella had to struggle against a constriction in her throat. “I think it’s a splendid gift. I’m sure your mama would be very proud to see you wear it.”
“Mama was a Catholic, like me.” His smile suddenly flashed bright. “And like you.”
“I see.”
“Mama’s entire family was Catholic. I used to live with them in Canada.” He looked at her with expectation, as if his words conveyed special meaning.
“That’s nice,” she said cautiously.
“Catholics have Christmas, even in Scotland, don’t they?”
“Yes, although the festivities aren’t as big as they are in England and France.”
He blew out an unhappy breath. “But they still give presents and toys, don’t they? And have treats and special cakes and things?”
Now she understood. He was afraid his Scottish relatives wouldn’t properly celebrate Christmas. Not like he was used to, anyway.
She leaned in closer, as if imparting a great secret. “Well, I’m going to celebrate Christmas, no matter what. And there will be presents. In fact, I’m planning a big Christmas party for my cousin. She’s English and loves Christmas. Would you like to come to our party?”
He wriggled with excitement, almost toppling off the settee. Donella righted him with a swift hand, returning his big smile.
“Really?” he squeaked. “I can come to your party?”
“Miss Haddon is having a party, is she?” came a deep, brogue-laced voice from the door. “I wonder if she’ll give me an invitation.”
* * *
Donella jerked around to stare at him, her cheeks flushing pink. Logan was stunned to find her sitting in his brother’s study, comfortably chatting with Joseph.
His son sighed and rolled his eyes, as if annoyed by the interruption. The lad found his papa something of a pest these days, and he got along better with everyone else in the household, including, it would appear, Donella Haddon.
Logan had poked his head into the study, hoping to play a game of Fox and Geese with his son before dinner. Finding Donella, a woman he’d thought never to see again, was yet another in the string of surprising events of the last few weeks.
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