Authors: Adrienne Basso
Above all else, the children's safety must come first.
The remaining days of the journey took on a repetitive nature, varied only by the weather, condition of the roads, and the size and quality of the inns where they spent the night. Finally, the weary travelers arrived on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Jane, the nursemaid, once had the privilege of visiting the city and she helpfully pointed out the historic landmarks to a rather curious Harriet.
The city made a most stirring first impression. A walled community dominated in the center by Edinburgh Castle, sitting majestically on its high basaltic rock, with its silhouette of ramparts and rooftops. Harriet enjoyed the beauty of the architecture and the splendor of the churches, though the less than pleasant odors reminded her that she was once again in a bustling, thriving, highly populated city.
After a brief drive down Queen Street, the coach turned onto Charlotte Square, a palace-fronted block of elegant homes that reminded Harriet very much of London. The carriage slowed as they reached the center of the street, yet even before the vehicle came to a complete stop the front entryway of a most elegant home opened and several servants hurried out to assist them.
“Please inform the Laird that Lord Avery has arrived,” Nathaniel told the groom who stood at the ready to take charge of his mount.
“Aye.”
“Uncle Duncan! Uncle Duncan! Guess what happened to us!” Gregory bolted from the coach, ran up the front steps and disappeared into the house.
Mortified by the child's lack of manners, Harriet scrambled out of the carriage and followed quickly on his heels.
“Are ye lookin' fer the young lad?” A pleasant-faced footman asked when Harriet entered the foyer. “He's gone tae the library searching for the Laird.”
Harriet nodded her thanks. She was not about to push herself further into the house, so she waited for Nathaniel and the girls to join her and hoped Gregory was not making a total nuisance of himself. As she waited, Harriet let her gaze drift around, taking note of her surroundings with no small measure of astonishment.
The marble floors were stunning, the crystal chandelier impressive, and the vases of fresh flowers, discreetly placed on several wall tables, a delightful surprise. There was an intricate wrought-iron railing following a winding set of stairs to the next floor. Adorning the large expanse of wall along the staircase was an array of pictures, an eye-pleasing mix of landscapes and portraits.
“Miss Sainthill. This is quite a surprise.” An uncharacteristically grim-faced Duncan McTate entered the elegant foyer. Gregory was nowhere in sight.
“I'm sorry we have invaded without prior notice, but there was no time to let you know of our dilemma,” Harriet said. She waited for her chance to teasingly scold the Scotsman for taking liberties with his greeting, but he made no move to grasp her hand.
“You are always welcome in any of my homes,” Mr. McTate replied formally, executing a stiff bow.
He smiled tightly, without humor and bore an air of distraction that Harriet did not think was entirely owing to their unexpected arrival.
Something was definitely amiss.
A warning knot of caution flickered through her body.
A footstep by the staircase caught Harriet's attention. She looked up, expecting to see Gregory, but it was a gray-haired gentleman who strode purposefully forward. His clothes were of the finest quality, his bearing aristocratic. Harriet smiled hesitantly, assuming he was either a relative or friend of the Laird's.
But then Nathaniel's voice came from the doorway, a low snarl of anger. “Bloody hell, what's he doing here?”
Harriet turned to Nathaniel. His face registered surprise, then anger. The set of his jaw was hard, the expression in his eyes murderous. There was only one individual who could put Nathaniel in such a state and Harriet's blood ran cold as she realized the identity of the mysterious gentleman.
His uncle, Lord Bridwell.
Alarmed, Harriet moved closer to Nathaniel. Her eyes anxiously scanned the open doorway, but Jeanne Marie and Phoebe did not enter the house. She saw them whispering and giggling outside with Jane, then the trio followed one of grooms as he led the carriage away. Relieved the girls would not be seen by the man who was their temporary legal guardian, Harriet turned her attention back to the drama at hand.
Lord Bridwell straightened and took a step forward, his eyes narrowing with malicious triumph. “McTate insisted he knew nothing of your whereabouts, but I knew you'd be turning up here eventually. Are the brats with you or has Brockhurst taken custody of them?”
“My nephew and nieces are none of your concern,” Nathaniel insisted hotly, resentment simmering in his every word.
An amused smile curved Lord Bridwell's lips. “That's not what the courts say.”
“Courts be damned. The children are mine. They belong with me and while there is breath in my body I will not relinquish them to you!”
Something brittle and dangerous flashed in Lord Bridwell's eyes. Harriet could feel the hostility radiating between the two men. If they each held swords they would in all likelihood be charging each other, swinging with the intent to kill. Though weapons were not necessary for the tension and violence to erupt. Fists would serve just as well.
Hoping to avoid a brawl, Harriet planted herself in front of Nathaniel's adversary. “Good afternoon. I am Harriet Sainthill. You must be Lord Bridwell.”
His lordship's rapt gaze fixed on Harriet's face and she struggled to keep her expression neutral.
“Ah, the little governess who likes to write letters. It appears I owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Sainthill.”
Beside her, Nathaniel went rigid.
“You are gravely mistaken, my lord,” Harriet replied. “The letter I sent was not meant for you. It was written purely out of concern for one of my charges. In fact, if I was aware of the consequences, I would never have penned the missive.”
“Then you would have missed the opportunity to correct a grave miscarriage of justice.” Lord Bridwell's expression hardened. “But I will not condemn you for your part in this fiasco, since I am certain my nephew has lied to you about a great many things. He's rather good at it, you know.”
Lord Bridwell's smug, raspy voice grated along Harriet's nerves.
“You know nothing of Lord Avery,” she said. “For if you did, you would not spout such nonsense.”
“I know he is a kidnapper,” Lord Bridwell declared. “And soon the magistrate will also know of his crimes.”
Nathaniel looked at his uncle with a speculative gleam. “If you intended to involve the law in our little family squabble, it would have already been done. Your idle threats do not intimidate me, sir.”
“They should. I promise you, this is far from over, nephew.” Lord Bridwell smiled with chilling certainty and sauntered away.
His departure smoothed away some of the tension that had gripped the room. For a few seconds they all stood in awkward, shocked silence.
Nathaniel finally exploded. “Christ's bones, McTate, how could you let that viper set foot under your roof?”
The Scotsman shrugged. “When he appeared on my doorstep yesterday afternoon, I knew the secret was out. If I sent him away, who knows what he might have done. It seemed wiser to invite him to stay with me. At least if he is here we know he hasn't run to a magistrate and tried to have you arrested.”
Though the explanation made perfect sense, Harriet could see that Nathaniel struggled with the reasoning. His attitude was remote. He was regarding McTate cautiously, as if he no longer completely trusted his good friend. Harriet could sympathize with the Scotsman's dilemma for she too had unwittingly betrayed Lord Avery.
“We could all use a bit of rest,” Harriet decided. “Perhaps we can make more sense of things in a few hours.”
“An excellent suggestion.” McTate seized the diversion and shot Nathaniel an unrepentant look. “I have had your usual bedchamber prepared, placed the children in the chamber beside you and Miss Sainthill next to them.”
“My uncle?”
“Is on the opposite side of the house.”
“Since you are familiar with the residence, will you escort me to my chamber, Lord Avery?” Harriet asked.
“I need to have a private word with the Laird,” Nathaniel replied grimly.
With little more than a curt nod, the two men departed. Sighing tiredly, Harriet followed the footman to her room. As she climbed the stairs she could not help but once again be impressed by her elegant surroundings. Duncan McTate's town home was as well appointed, refined, and luxurious as any London establishment she had ever seen. It was such a stark contrast to the ancient, medieval Hillsdale Castle that Harriet could scarcely believe the same individual owned both properties.
Harriet took full advantage of the civilized amenities in her lovely bedchamber and washed away the grime of travel. Then she stretched out on the comfortable bed and closed her eyes, dozing briefly. Refreshed, she left her room an hour later and had taken but a few steps before she was waylaid by a footman.
“His lordship requests your presence in the drawing room, Miss Sainthill.”
Harriet nodded and followed the servant, eager to see Nathaniel. But when she entered the drawing room she discovered it was not Lord Avery who awaited her.
“I was not sure you'd have the courage to come.” Lord Bridwell rose stiffly to his feet. His intense gaze honed in on her, but Harriet refused to so much as blink. “I might not have, if you had shown the courage to reveal the summons came from you,” Harriet replied tartly.
Lord Bridwell grunted his response. He resumed his seat beside a mahogany table near the window. A shaft of sunlight illuminated his narrow, harsh face. Harriet might have considered him a handsome man if she did not know of his nature.
Harriet took her time settling into a chair. She smoothed her skirt and made a deliberate show of admiring the drawing room's rich, exotic furnishings, silk wallpaper, and gilded ceiling.
“I assume you have called me here to discuss my charges,” Harriet said in her most professional, governess tone. “Would you like a detailed report of their progress? They are each apt pupils, showing excellence in various subjects.”
Lord Bridwell shifted in his seat. “If you insist.” “Whom shall I speak of first?”
“The boy.”
Harriet felt a rush of ill will towards Lord Bridwell. “Yes, the boy. The child you claim to have such a keen regard for, such grave concern for his future, and yet you cannot even recall his name.”
There was a slight pause. “Garret.”
“Gregory,” Harriet said deliberately.
“The young whelp is the eighth Duke of Claridge. He will be known by his family and friends as Claridge and by the rest of society as Your Grace. His Christian name is of no importance.”
“He is four years old,” Harriet said. “Those of us who love him call him Gregory.”
“How disappointing to learn the reports of you were misleading,” Lord Bridwell replied with faint hauteur. “I had heard you were a female who disregarded sentiment.”
I used to be.
Harriet nearly spoke the words out loud, but she would not share such an intimacy with Lord Bridwell. She had been the type of female who was practical and sensible and even rigid. But her weeks at Hillsdale Castle and her love for Nathaniel had softened that part of her personality.
“Enough of this farce.” She bolted from her chair. “We both know your interest in the children is purely monetary. Why did you summon me here?”
“I want you to use your influence on my nephew to convince him to give me the children without a legal battle. If you do, I will see that you are handsomely rewarded.”
Harriet had fully intended to dislike Lord Bridwell. He had caused no small amount of anguish and suffering to those she loved and those acts of cruelty were difficult to overlook. This suggestion only served to further solidify her initial negative impression.
“Lord Avery is not a man who is easily swayed from his convictions. What makes you think I would have any influence on his decisions?”
“I see the way you look at him, with such care and concern, such deep emotion.” Lord Bridwell spat out the words. “He also appears far from indifferent toward you. There are ways a clever woman can manipulate a man, if she is so inclined.”
“And if I refuse to help you?”
“Then you will suffer.” Lord Bridwell's hand curled into a fist, casting a claw-like shadow on the carpet.
“I am not so easily frightened. Nor is Lord Avery.”
“You intend to stand beside him?”
Harriet nodded.
“A most unwise decision. My nephew is foolish, stubborn, and proud. This will be a nasty fight, yet my victory is assured. If you will not help me, at least have the sense to remove yourself from the scandal.”
“I am not afraid of gossip.”
“No, I do not suppose that you are, especially after last Season.” His eyes gleamed with malice. “I am sure you think nothing could possibly be more hurtful or humiliating than the scandal you faced but a few months ago.”
Harriet's heart skipped a beat. He was trying to intimidate her, to shake her confidence. “I am only the governess. My character is not at issue.”
“Oh, but it could be. And what of my nephew? What will you say if you are called to bear witness to his character? That he lied, employed you under false pretenses, made inappropriate advances towards you? Will you, I wonder, reveal the extent of your involvement with him or will you lie under oath to save your reputation?”
“My relationship with Lord Avery has no relevance in this case,” Harriet declared.
“Perhaps. And perhaps not.” The corners of Lord Bridwell's mouth turned down. “Moral character is a key element in his case. You cannot deny it will be more difficult for my nephew to prove his worthiness if your involvement in this matter is taken into account.”