Finding Miss McFarland (21 page)

“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.

W
hen 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.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Outside Dumfries, Scotland

G
roggy, 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.

D
ressed 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.”

Delaney watched her disappear through the door leading off the foyer and caught sight of her own reflection in an oval mirror. Her simple day dress hosted a ruffled hem at the bottom and satin sash beneath her breasts but not a single flounce. Her small bosom was not disguised in any way—although, there was no one to notice it or to think she was perfect anyway. Ever again.

She sighed, wondering when she would stop thinking about Griffin Croft.
How long does it take to fall out of love with someone?

Mrs. Shaw came out of the parlor and stopped beside Delaney, but her gaze was fixed on the door. “I guess it isn’t Douglas, after all. I wonder who . . .”

The housekeeper’s next words fell on deaf ears as Delaney turned and saw a figure emerge in the doorway. Her heart sputtered. The air left her lungs in a rush. “Mr. Croft!”

Beneath the archway, he bowed in greeting, his gaze never leaving hers. Somehow, he’d found her. And by the state of his windswept hair, poorly knotted cravat, and muddied boots, it hadn’t been an easy journey.

She regretted every trial he’d gone through to get there.

But then he had to open his mouth and ruin everything.

“Good morning,
Mrs. Croft
.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

“Y
e’r married,” Mrs. Shaw said, her Scottish burr rolling over the words so long they started to sound like church bells. Then, a wide grin filled her face, as if she suddenly understood a riddle.

Delaney shook her head. “We are not married.”

“Perhaps not in the truest sense . . .” Griffin interrupted, a look of supreme triumph flashing in his gaze. “Yet.”

If he thought that traveling all this way meant she would simply change her mind, he was sorely mistaken. Still . . . he said the words with such heated certainty that she had to blush.

“Ye poor wee lass.” Mrs. Shaw sidled up to her and draped the heavy shawl around her shoulders. “Now I understand why ye looked so frightened and alone yesterday. Many a young woman has fled out of fear . . . and then regretted it later.”

“Oh, but I didn’t—” Delaney attempted a denial, but the housekeeper had a dreamy look in her eyes and wasn’t listening anyway.

“That happened wi’ Mr. Shaw and me, so many years ago. I was so young ’n’ unsure that I ran away. He didn’t find me for nigh on a month. Ah, but when he did, I was glad he was my husband already.” She cast a knowing glance to Griffin, earning a chuckle that made Delaney’s cheeks burn.

He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, as if he hadn’t any control over the older woman’s incorrect assumptions.

“Though I cried for shame, because I’d wished that had been our wedding night.” Mrs. Shaw nodded sagely and then took Delaney by the shoulders and turned her to face Griffin. “Now, what ye need to do is walk over to the smithy’s ’n’ say yer vows over the anvil. Ye can still have your weddin’ night with nae regrets after.”

Griffin smiled and proffered his arm. “And where is the nearest blacksmith?”

“Back toward town.”

Ignoring his bent elbow, Delaney skirted around him. “Mr. Croft, might I speak with you in private for a moment.”

“Certainly,
Mrs. Croft
.”

Delaney drew in a quick breath. In the same instant, she felt a familiar warmth ignite deep within her. Her inner flame had returned.

G
riffin followed her out the door, fighting the urge to take her in his arms with every step and every angry swish of her braid. He wanted to kiss her until the crazed unrest that had claimed him this past week faded away. He wanted to slip that shawl from her shoulders, strip her bare, and make love to her right here, right now. He wanted to prove to her and to the world that she was his.