Kirk sent a hard look at MacCreedy, who grinned unrepentantly.
Randolph, who’d been snoozing on the bed, twitched in his dreams and whimpered, his paws flailing about.
Kirk placed his hand over the dog’s head, instantly calming the sleeping mutt. “Leave the rabbits alone.”
The dog’s eyes opened and he wagged his tail, then sleepily rolled to his tummy.
“Och, dinna be spoilin’ him, me lor’. Her grace’s staff is all too willin’ to do tha’ now. Not only are they carryin’ him oop and down the stairs, but he’s started pretendin’ he canna eat his food, so now they’re givin’ him the choicest meat fro’ the table.”
“He’s not a dog, but an actor.”
MacCreedy agreed. “A shameless one, me lor’. As we all are upon occasion.”
“I shall pretend I don’t think you are speaking about me.” Kirk scratched the dog’s gray chin. “Randolph, do you see what impertinence I am subjected to? My motives questioned without remorse.”
The valet grinned. “Och, Randolph, dinna ye believe a word his lor’ship be sayin’. ’Tis a faraddidle when he says he dinna like to wear fine clothin’, fer he enjoys lookin’ so elegant fer his miss.”
“I don’t have a miss. Yet.”
“Ye will, me lor’. Ye will.” MacCreedy took the clothes brush to Kirk’s shoulders. “Tonight ye’ll play her at whist and whisper into her ear, and all will be right.”
A boom of thunder made Randolph jump to his feet and bark. Rain suddenly pelted the glass. MacCreedy shivered. “It do sound horrid outside, me lor’. ’Tis glad I am no’ to be travelin’ today.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Pardon me, me lor’.” MacCreedy opened the door and stepped outside. Low voices could be heard for several moments before he returned and closed the door behind him, a worried look upon his broad face.
Kirk frowned. “What is it?”
“Tha’ was MacDougal, me lor’. Miss Balfour’s maid is frantic wit’ worry. Apparently the young miss ne’er returned from her mornin’ walk.”
“Bloody hell! And no one noticed it until now?”
“Miss Balfour has been helpin’ nurse Miss Stewart.
Ever’one thought she was there, but she’d left midmornin’. MacDougal just requested tha’ grooms be sent out to look fer her.”
Kirk cursed and tugged at his cravat, yanking it free before he threw it on the bed. “Get my buff breeches and blue coat. Fetch my overcoat, too.”
“The grooms will find her, me lor’.”
“I doubt it.” Kirk dropped his coat and evening breeches onto the bed. “They have no idea where to look, but I do, for I’ve seen which path she takes.” Kirk swiftly changed his clothes, stomped his feet into his boots, and then knotted a tie about his neck. “Chances are, she stopped to read and didn’t notice the weather changing. She gets lost in a book the way some people get lost in a forest.” He took the overcoat MacCreedy held out.
“Be careful ridin’, me lor’. Yer leg is much improved, but an active horse could undo all your work.”
“I don’t give a damn about that. I have to find Miss Balfour.” He picked up his hat and cane and limped out the door. “With any luck, I’ll have her back before dinner.”
Kirk made his way downstairs as quickly as he could. “MacDougal, I’m off to the stables to procure a mount. I’m going to find Miss Balfour.”
“Me lord, there’s no need fer ye to go out in this weather. We’ve sent twenty men ridin’ oot to find her.”
A sharp crack of lightning boomed through the sky and made the floor tremble.
“I’m going,” Kirk repeated. “Have Miss Balfour’s
maid prepare a hot bath. She’ll be frozen through if she’s gotten caught in this downpour.”
With that, he limped toward the doorway. Two footmen sprang forward to throw the huge oak panels wide, and rain and wind swirled into the foyer.
Kirk fixed his hat more firmly on his head, tugged his collar higher around his neck, and strode outside.
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Since our talk with Lord Kirk, I’ve been remembering the various proposals I’ve received over the years. Some were romantic, some not. Some were honest, some not. But oddly enough, I can remember each and every one, ending with the proposal from Roxburghe, who lightened the moment with a bottle of rare champagne and a ring that still feels too heavy upon my hand. But it was his smile that made me say yes.
If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s a man’s smile.
* * *
Lightning flashed across the sky in a jagged race with the howling wind. The rock ledge where Dahlia had taken shelter didn’t provide much protection, for it sloped the wrong way, welcoming the water in long puddles, but it kept the worst of the wind and rain off her.
As the rain increased, so did the flow of water,
threatening the meager fire she’d built close to the wall. The flames, weak as they were, offered far more comfort than she’d expected, for the wall of rain kept in the heat. Sadly, it also kept in a good bit of smoke, making her cough every few moments.
She’d coughed so much that her chest ached. Her shoulders and back also protested as she huddled against the wall in the one place where the puddles couldn’t reach. All in all, she was thoroughly miserable, but dry. So far.
A gust swirled through the rain, making the small fire sputter. Dahlia drew her arm over her face and coughed hard, wincing as her chest protested yet again.
Finally able to catch her breath, she slumped against the wall, tugging her cloak closer. She must have been more tired than she realized for she’d actually dozed most of the afternoon, waking now and then to stir the fire and add from her dwindling stack of damp sticks.
She wasn’t certain what time it was now, though the sky was getting dimmer. She coughed at the smoky air, rested her head against the rock wall, and closed her aching eyes. She’d been a fool to go for a walk this morning, but her mind had been so full of thoughts of Kirk, her heart so pained with her unhappiness, that she’d forgotten the cold, forgotten the impending bad weather, forgotten everything except how she could resolve the hollowness that had taken the place of her heart. She’d felt that, by walking, she might find the
answer somehow, somewhere. An answer that eluded her still.
A shiver wracked her, and she tucked her gloved hands under her arms and wondered if there was any way she could be more miserable.
I doubt it. I’ve reached a new level of miserableness. One only found in certain fables and legends.
Lightning flashed, the brightness making her peek through her lashes. Through the unremitting gray, she saw something moving through the pouring rain—a huge horse, by the shape of it. On its back was Kirk.
For a second, she didn’t believe her eyes, but then he climbed off the horse and dashed through the rain. “Dahlia! Are you injured?”
She wondered vaguely why he was yelling.
Oh yes. The rain is loud.
She wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before.
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head, or thought she did.
His face showed concern. “Come with me!”
She should get up and run into his arms, but her legs were heavy, and her head hurt an amazing amount. “It’s raining too hard. We should wait until it lets up,” she said faintly.
He crouched before her, water dripping on the cave floor as his gaze flickered over her face. “I see you’ve made a fire.”
“Of course.” Dahlia gestured to the dry spot beside her. “Sit down. We’ll leave once this passes.”
He crouched beside her, his broad form dwarfing
her little cave. “It’s dry in here.” He sounded surprised. “I was picturing you alone and cold and frightened.”
“I
am
cold.” So cold that her shivers were growing, and she couldn’t stop them.
I’ve never been this cold.
He brushed a curl from her cheek with his gloved hand. “I should have known you’d take care of things.”
“I don’t need a keeper.” Or a “compatible companion,” either. The thought almost brought tears, so she added instead, “I used to light all of the fires each morning at Caith Manor.”
He smiled approvingly. “It’s a bit smoky, but it’s much warmer.”
She thought to nod, but her aching head protested, so she pressed a hand to her forehead and rested it there. As she did so, the horse stuck his head inside their cave and sniffed, as if looking for a carrot. She eyed the huge animal. “Surely you didn’t get that horse out of the duke’s stable.”
“Where else would I have gotten it?”
“A tanner’s yard.”
He laughed. “It’s the oldest nag there. Neither of us is a rider, and I didn’t want a horse that might bolt at thunder.” He removed his gloves and then reached out and patted the horse’s nose. “I was told that even were I to scream in its ears, it wouldn’t startle. He’s the perfect horse for us.”
Dahlia supposed she should feel offended by that, but she was caught in the grip of a lethargy so deep that her shoulders were weary from it.
What’s wrong
with me? I can’t seem to think well, and my head aches so.
She closed her eyes, willing the pain away.
She wasn’t certain if she fell asleep or if time simply stopped, but suddenly, long cool fingers grasped her chin as Kirk tilted her face toward his. She found herself looking into his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes. She could drown in those eyes. Lose herself completely to—
He pressed a hand to her forehead, his brows snapping down. “Damn it, you’re burning up.”
She struggled to follow his words. Burning? No, the fire was burning. She was just cold. It was cold outside, for she could see her breath. Or was that the smoke? She wasn’t certain anymore.
“Damn it, I have to get you home. We’re leaving right now.”
But she was so, so tired.
What’s the hurry?
she wanted to ask, but he had already kicked out the fire, the smoke carrying the scent of damp peat.
A cough caught her by surprise, shaking her until she thought she couldn’t breathe. When she opened her eyes, Kirk was back out in the rain, untying something from the horse’s saddle. She thought it was his cane until he unfurled an umbrella and brought it to the ledge. “Come.”
She looked up at the umbrella. In the back of her mind, she heard Lady Mary say,
One day, I would like to meet a man who wants to hold my umbrella
.
Well, Dahlia knew one man who would bring her
an umbrella, and here he was, holding it for her now. It was too bad he didn’t know what it meant.
Her eyes welled with tears and she desperately blinked them back. To cover her embarrassment, she put a hand on the damp ground and pushed herself upright. But as she struggled up, her knees gave way and, with a mumbled cry, she fell forward, straight into blackness.
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I aged nearly twenty years when Lord Kirk carried Miss Balfour through the front door. She was so pale, and burning with fever. We put her to bed and sent for the doctor, who pronounced that she, too, had Spanish influenza. Thank goodness he had medicine for her, or things could have gone much, much worse.
I’m sure no one is more relieved than I am. Well, perhaps one person . . .
* * *
Dahlia slowly opened her eyes until shards of light pierced her. “Ow!” she tried to say, although nothing but a croak slipped from her lips.
“Ah, you are awake!”
She forced her lids up and slowly focused on Lady Mary’s smiling face.
“You gave us quite a scare.”
How had she done that? She struggled to remember where she was, and how she’d gotten here. There
were cool sheets against her skin, but the room looked unfamiliar . . . Where was she?
Oh yes.
The duchess’s house party.
Kirk.
The cave.
“Here.” Mary held a rag soaked with water and dribbled some water on Dahlia’s lips.
Grateful, she swallowed, the moisture easing her painful throat. “Thank you.” Her voice sounded old and creaky, as if it belonged to someone else.
“You’re quite welcome.”
“What day . . .” She couldn’t finish.
Mary gave her some more water. “Only two days. You’ve been even sicker than Alayne, but it passed quicker, which is good.”
Dahlia looked at Mary with a frown.
“She’s fine now. Her parents have arrived and they’re with her. The poor duchess is quite sad, for she’s had to cancel her ball, something she’d never before done. But she’s relieved you’re better.”
“Have . . . have you been here the entire time?”
Mary gave her a curious look. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“That—”
The door opened and Lady Charlotte looked in. “Oh! You’re awake!” She hurried forward, all soft lace and plumpness. “We’ve been so worried about you. But I told her grace you would be just fine.”
“Thank you for nursing me.”
“Oh lud, it wasn’t me, although I would have been glad to do it. Lord Kirk was here and he refused to leave your side. Grew quite nasty about it when MacDougal tried to get him to leave for a nap one day—” Lady Charlotte went on and on, but Dahlia had already closed her eyes, her mind whirling slowly through a sudden spate of fogged memories.
She remembered a deep voice whispering in her ear, reading poetry and telling her to hang on, to never give up, to stay with him forever . . .
That was Kirk.
Dahlia smiled and, with a great sense of peace, she drifted back asleep.
* * *
Two days later, ensconced upon a settee by the fire in her bedchamber, Dahlia took the teacup Freya held for her.
The maid smiled. “Ye’ve no tremble in yer hands today.”
“I’m almost better. Just a little tired is all.” Dahlia smiled. “Thank you for suggesting the bath. I thought it would be too much, but it’s made me feel more like myself.”
“It took a while to dry yer hair. Shall I pin it oop?”
“No, let’s just leave it down.” It felt so soft and silky, cascading over her shoulders in lavender-scented curls. “I’m too comfortable to move.”
“Her grace says yer da will be here tomorrow.”
“He needn’t come.”
“Och, I think she’s glad to have some company. She’s no’ used to havin’ under a dozen guests at Christmas.”