This Perfect Kiss (19 page)

“She needs to eat,” he said. “Surely, it cannot be too much to feed her something she likes.”

“If you wish, my lord. Be there anything else?”

He came to his feet. “You visited Miss Douglas yesterday,” he said. “Did she accept the blankets and foodstuffs you brought her?”

The color rose in Mrs. Gable's cheeks. “She told me to take everything to St. Abigal's, where it was needed. I meant to tell you—”

“Was she angry?”

“I attempted to inform her that you had nothing to do with the donation, but she would not believe me.”

“Hmm. And the horse left in her stable?”

“I believe she just gave up trying to return it, since she had already done so twice before.”

Little steps, he thought with some satisfaction, that he could find even a minute way to make her life a bit easier. At the very least, every time she returned the horse, she gave him an opportunity to see her, and her presence lightened Anna's face.

He stepped through the door into the corridor, then turned on his heel to face the nurse. “I have known you for eight years. I trust your judgment when it comes to my daughter. I did not mean to imply otherwise. If cook made brisket for Anna out of kindness to please my daughter, then Anna should appreciate the gesture.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Camden retired to his private chambers to bathe and change out of his sparring attire. Later that evening, dinner was served promptly at eight. Sir Jacob's daughters, Lady Harriet and Tia were in attendance, as was his grandmother.

He barely remembered the last occasion at which his entire family had spent time together, except when Saundra had been alive and had been able to get him and his father and brother in the same room together.

It had been her gift to bring cheer to a room full of people, he realized.

He lifted his gaze past the pianoforte to her wedding portrait. It hung in all its golden glory above the marble fireplace, her grace and beauty forever immortalized in a tapestry of oils and canvas.

Lady Harriet's words scrolled through his mind.
“Do not tell me she did not break your heart. Or that you did not break hers.”

Aye, Saundra still haunted him in ways he would have never thought possible. She had ripped his heart from his chest and died with it clutched in her fist.

And had left him with a little girl, one who would soon be waltzing on the cusp of womanhood, that misunderstood age between childhood and motherhood. God forbid that she should experience the latter before finishing the former. Or that he would fail her as he had his wife.

Indeed, there were a hundred reasons why he spent so little time at Blackthorn Castle, why he did not want to be around come spring, when the earth came back to life and the weather warmed and his soul would begin to thaw in places he wanted only to keep frozen.

But there was only one reason why he would stay.

B
y the time Christel found her father's old solicitor in Maybole, she thought her feet and hands might drop off from the cold. Even wearing gloves, her hands were frozen. With the dog following on her heels, she pushed aside the gate into his yard. She had spent time here when she was a little girl. The house was smaller than she remembered and needed a new coat of whitewash. The path leading to the front door was in want of crushed stone, and she stepped over a rut. But the porch was solid and the door was oak. Using the knocker, she made her presence known.

A gray-haired man appeared in the doorway. A broadsheet tucked beneath his arm, he peered over his spectacles at her. “May I help you?” The door opened wider. “Miss Douglas?”

Christel stood with her cloak tightly clasped to her. “I am sorry to bother you, Mr. McGinnis. I was not sure if you would know me.”

“Aye, lass. Look at ye, a young woman now, but I would know ye, Miss Douglas. You have the look of your dear mam in your eyes.”

“Thank you, Mr. McGinnis.”

“Come, lass. Come inside. Standing out here in the cold.” Holding the door open, he stood aside. “May I get you hot tea?”

“Nay, that is not necessary.”

He closed the door, inviting her into his library. The room smelled of musty tomes and cigars. Mr. McGinnis had been her father's solicitor in charge of the trust that had been set up to manage Seastone Cottage. From what she remembered, he had also been a trusted friend. “I thank you for seeing me.”

He walked around the desk. “Will you sit?”

Christel sat on the chair facing the desk. He settled in his own chair and waited for her to speak her business. She withdrew a placard from her reticule and spread it on his desk. Today it was this tax notice nailed to her front door that had brought her to Maybole. “I am in need of funds, Mr. McGinnis. I know Papa had a special trust he specifically set up for Seastone Cottage. I came today in hopes that something might still be available.” Christel closed her hand around her necklace chain. “I did not know where else to go.”

“I am sorry, lass.” He pushed away from the desk and went to a shelf at the back of the room, returning with ledger books. “I have kept records of all transactions. I paid out the last of the monies six months ago. I am sorry I could not give you better news, Miss Douglas.”

This was not the visit she had wanted to have when she'd left Seastone Cottage this morning. Her hands tightened on the necklace. She had spent a week tabulating figures, deciding how much longer she could live at Seastone with no viable income. If she could not solve this problem herself, she would be forever dependent on the charity of others for her survival.

Clearing her throat, she forced her fingers to relax. Circumstances bid her to go forward. “You were a good friend to my father. He always trusted you.”

“I would like to think I served him well.”

Making a decision to trust him, too, she reached behind her and unlocked the clasp on her necklace, letting the gold coin drop into her palm. “Can you tell me what this might be worth?”

She slid the coin across the desk. He took it to the window for better light. A frown formed between his brows. He looked back at her.

“Where did ye get this, lass?”

“Is it valuable?”

“Its value is twenty-five shillings per coin, the same as any other gold coin today. Still more than most people here earn in a month, to be sure. But 'tis not why this coin is unique.”

Christel stood as he invited her around into the light. He scraped his thumb across its face. “The millage was changed to produce the shape of a chevron arrowhead. This coin has the mark of the East India Company still visible. The last of these old hammered coinages were melted down a decade ago. This is a rare coin. Rare enough that spending it anywhere in Ayrshire will bring the provost's dragoons to your doorstep, lass. You best be able to tell him where that came from.”

Her mouth went dry. “The coin was sent to me in a letter from a friend.”

He sat back behind his desk. “Some years ago a shipment of old gold coinage vanished from one of His Majesty's ships in Prestwick. By anyone's estimates the stolen gold was worth twenty thousand pounds. Every so often a coin like this one surfaces and raises questions.”

“Twenty thousand! But if anyone here had that kind of money . . .”

“A person can no' hide that manner of wealth unless 'tis literally hidden in a cave somewhere and forgotten. But I have always been under the notion the coins were melted down to bullion.”

“Then 'tis possible the coin is merely random. Sent to me for funds. There must be some still in circulation.”

He slid the coin back to her. “ 'Tis possible. But the crime is still unsolved.”

“Mr. McGinnis, I do not know what this coin means, if it even means anything. But twenty-five shillings will purchase enough feed and supplies to last the winter for me. At least until I can find employment. I was a rather good seamstress in Williamsburg.” She slid the coin back to him across the desk. “If you can help me cash this, I will give you—”

“Nay, lass.” He laid his hand across hers. “ 'Tis dangerous times. An accusation of sedition has hanged more than one man. Smuggling rum is seditious activity these days. Your uncle was an enemy of England. You are his heir. I would have to explain why I had the coin, and we could both be arrested.”

“I need the money, Mr. McGinnis. Is there someone you can trust?”

He shook his head. Christel understood fear of authority better than most. But his fear went beyond the mere possibility of being interrogated by the provost and his men. She laid her gloved hand across his. “I thank you for seeing me today, Mr. McGinnis. Please believe me when I say that I did not mean to upset you.”

His fingers closed around hers. “This is no' the same place in which ye grew up, lass. Much has changed since the provost has come into power. And Lord Carrick be his friend, mum.” A warning?

After wrapping the accounting ledgers for her, he walked her into the foyer and helped her into her cloak. “I am sorry I could not be of more use.”

As he opened the door, her gaze fell on the portraiture of an older woman she remembered was his wife.

“She died two months ago.” A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “We were married thirty years, Miss Douglas.”

“My condolences on your loss, Mr. McGinnis.”

“We had no children,” he said, gazing at the image, as if his world lived inside that painted piece of canvas.

“Maybole is not so far from Seastone Cottage,” she said. “If I may, I would like to visit here on occasion.” To reassure herself that he had someone to look after him. “Perhaps you would allow me to go through your broadsheets. I noticed you had stacks of newspapers against the wall. 'Twould give me a chance to catch up on the news of the area.”

“I would welcome the visit, lass.” Hands sliding into his pockets, he said, “Ye might get three guineas for that gold chain in your hand. I know 'tis no' much, but it can get ye through the next few weeks. A jeweler could help ye. There be one in the square.” He glanced over her shoulder at the sky. “Ye best be headed home soon, though. A storm is coming.”

Christel thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. As the door closed shut behind her, she tucked both the gold chain and the coin into the pocket she'd sewn into her skirt, wondering what madness Saundra might have got herself into. If Saundra had been involved in a gold theft, Christel was sure Leighton had to have been involved. She was also sure she needed to visit Blackthorn Castle for answers.

Christel slipped past the picket fence to where her scruffy hound sat on the road. His tail thumped the ground as he glanced quickly at her, but turning his head again, he resumed his vigilance, as if something up the crowded street had grabbed his attention. Kneeling beside him, she followed his gaze. “What is it, Dog?”

His tail thumped faster and he barked. She glimpsed a black lacquered coach sitting in front of the notions shop. Anna and Mrs. Gables had already descended. Christel started to stand when another woman briskly alighted from the coach.
Tia
.

Christel rose to her feet. A large leghorn straw hat sat prettily over her sister's sable curls, its wide brim blocking much of her profile. Festooned with pink ribbons, the hat made her look all sweet and innocent, like a character straight from
Little Red Riding Hood
. Her rust-red redingote and the basket she carried over her forearm did much to enhance the image. Holding Anna's hand, Tia smiled down at the child as they moved toward the shop.

Dog barked and whined. Before Christel could grab his scruff, he launched himself across the crowded street, barely missing being run down by a beer wagon, with Christel running after him. Even as she called to the errant hound, she could hear Anna's squeal of excitement. Pulling from Tia's grip and ignoring Mrs. Gable's horrified warnings, Anna ran forward, and, dropping to her knees in unladylike abandon, opened her arms to the hound. Dog licked her face and hair.

Anna raised her head at Christel's undignified approach and smiled brightly. “He looks much better than before, Miss Christel,” she said approvingly. “I think he has been eating well. I can no longer feel his ribs.”

“Fortunately for him, Seastone Cottage has an abundant rabbit population.”

Adjusting her bonnet, Christel greeted Mrs. Gables and, as Anna's reunion with Dog continued undeterred by the cold wind or curious onlookers, faced Tia. Christel's uncertain smile of greeting went unreturned. Very well, she thought. So be it. Though she had once held out hope that they could be like real sisters, Tia clearly had no want to share that desire, and Christel did not have the stamina to try.

Doctor White approached from the carriage. “Miss Douglas.” He carried his black leather physician's bag beneath his cloak. “Have you walked to Maybole?”

“I have a horse at the livery down the street. I should be leaving.” Looking down at Anna, who seemed content enough in the brisk cold as she rubbed Dog's tummy, Christel wanted to inquire about the child's father.

“You
must
bring Dog to Blackthorn more often,” Anna said. “Especially since Papa is leaving next week for Glasgow.”

“He is going away?”

“For a while.”

Tia readjusted her redingote against the cold breeze. Christel realized she was keeping them all outside.

“Snow is coming,” Mrs. Gables said, stomping her feet for warmth, and taking Anna's hand.

Christel tweaked the pink bow on the girl's bonnet. “I shall visit soon. I promise.”

Anna's face brightened, and she looked to a place behind Christel. “Did you hear, Papa? She has agreed to visit.”

Lord Carrick stepped onto the cobbled walk behind her, the force of his presence filling the air like the gathering clouds above her. Her heart flip-flopped against her ribs. He had not been present a moment ago, so he must have just crossed the street. He wore a heavy cloak and tricorn, and his cheeks were ruddy from the cold. He carried packages, which he gave to an attending footman even as he kept a red tin box in his hand.