Chapter 25
Their long journey north eventually drew to a close.
Verbena could not help but keep her hand firmly ensconced within Willa’s and her face turned toward the open carriage window.
When she spotted a particularly pretty vista—which was often, in that part of Scotland—she would direct Willa’s attention to the sight with giddy eagerness.
As both Willa and Scotland would be home for the foreseeable future, she wished to familiarize herself with them as much as possible.
“I know it’s the hundredth loch we’ve passed today,” Verbena said as the carriage followed the curve of the water’s edge, “but I think it’s the loveliest yet.” She squeezed Willa’s hand in hers, her head whipping back and forth so she might take in the loch and Willa’s pleased expression equally.
Willa gave the view a polite glance, then fastened her gaze on Verbena. “As lovely as a thing can be,” she murmured. She squeezed Verbena’s thigh through her pelisse.
Verbena was still unused to such attentions, and she glanced across the carriage to gauge their travel companions’ reaction, only to find they were paying no mind.
Miles lay across the seat with his head in étienne’s lap, napping.
étienne stroked his fingers through Miles’s hair, humming to himself.
Miles was, Verbena noticed, drooling a bit in his sleep.
Willa must have noted this too, for she smothered a giggle against Verbena’s neck.
Verbena tucked her lips to contain her happy squeal.
It was still a novelty to love so freely.
She could hardly wait to arrive at Miles’s home so that she and Willa could finally be alone.
The stolen nights at inns along the road were not enough; though they could share a bed, as ladies did in those establishments, the walls of such places were thin.
Verbena had been forced to keep her touches brief and furtive with one palm clasped tight across Willa’s mouth to stifle her whimpers.
It would be wonderful to finally have the privacy to let those cries tumble from her lips.
But as Verbena thought about their new home, so close now, her mischievous smile slipped.
She turned back to the window and contemplated the gentle, verdant hills that lined the roadway.
Her plan, made in such haste in the churchyard, had its pitfalls.
Heading to Scotland had a dual purpose: to convince those who cared about such rumors that both “couples” had absconded to Gretna Green to be wed, and to settle in Miles’s hometown, far from London’s whispers.
Yet Miles McDonald was not a rich man, and whatever lodgings he was to provide for her and Willa would surely be much less comfortable than Verbena’s previous home.
She needed to steel herself; however small or squalid the rooms turned out to be, they were still a generous gift from a man who had very little.
Verbena would accept them with grace and good spirits so as not to offend.
Willa, as if sensing the encroaching worries, squeezed her warm hand around Verbena’s. Verbena shot her a grateful look. They could have an entire conversation, it seemed, using no words whatsoever.
Willa was the first to look away. She nudged the toe of her Hessian boot against Miles’s lax leg. “Wake up, Miles,” she said. “Tell me how much farther we must go. Surely we are close?”
Miles roused just as the coach rattled along a bend in the road. He sat up and looked out the window, his hair sticking up in comical licks. Verbena suppressed a chuckle; the hours spent together in the carriage had improved her opinion of the man, who she now saw was kind and quite silly.
Of course, knowing that he was not her rival helped immensely.
“Nearly there, Willa,” he announced. (The long journey had also given them all ample time to be properly reintroduced.) “See that rock? That’s the boundary of my family’s land.” He pointed out the window at an outcropping that resembled a flat bench.
“Do you not think we should stop somewhere along the road before we arrive so that I might change into more suitable clothing?” Willa asked.
She was dressed for travel in her trousers and waistcoat with a velvet pelisse for warmth.
While their driver had been paid to keep his opinions of his passengers’ dress to himself—a much better use of étienne’s honeymoon money than Calais—Verbena knew Willa felt a measure of anxiety that she would be deemed lewd by the people of Peeblewick.
“I don’t think anyone will mind what you’re wearing,” Miles said, which was strange. “No one should bother us. Not where we’re going.”
Verbena’s heart sank. Her friend, she reasoned, must be alluding to the fact that they would be living in such obscurity that no one would take note of them whatsoever. Still, better to wallow in obscurity than be placed in harm’s way.
Her dour thoughts must have been apparent on her face, for Willa leaned close to whisper in her ear: “No matter what, as long as we are together, I shall be grateful.”
“Yes,” Verbena whispered in return. “Agreed.” She pushed the sour imaginings from her mind.
étienne hung half his body from the window, craning his neck for a view of Miles’s property. “Ah!” he said. “Your home is just past this parcel, then?”
Miles stuck his head out as well, choosing to flank étienne’s body with his own instead of availing himself of the window opposite. Verbena rolled her eyes at the sight of their lower halves, which interrupted her own view. “No, this is it,” Miles said.
Now Verbena’s curiosity was aroused. She levered herself through the empty window and caught sight of the tract stretching out before them.
“This parcel?” she yelped. “Here?”
“Why, yes,” said Miles, his voice carrying over the coach’s roof. “Can you not see from that side?”
Verbena reached back and grabbed for Willa’s arm to maneuver her through the window as well. She could hardly believe her eyes, and felt it prudent to have her beloved’s confirmation that they did not deceive her. Willa obliged by releasing a shocked gasp, an entirely sensible reaction.
Because Miles’s home was a fucking castle.
It loomed high into the sky, its ivory-colored stonework shining in the sun.
Ramparts trimmed the roofline like orderly teeth while turrets thrust upward at appropriate intervals.
The windows were many and as clear as the lochs Verbena had viewed on their long journey.
Roses grew fat and red in the hedgerows that lined the lawn, and thick woods bordered the land on all sides.
“Miles,” Willa said slowly, “this—this is where we are to live? Are you sure?”
Miles withdrew back into the coach to collapse on the seat. “I think I know it well enough. I’ve lived here since I was a boy, you know.”
The rest of the party joined him, sprawling on the cushions with their wind-mussed hair.
“But dear Miles,” étienne said, “how is this possible?”
“Are you not impoverished?” Willa demanded.
“What?” Miles laughed. “No, not at all.”
“So you are wealthy!” étienne cried.
Miles shifted uneasily against the cushions. “I would call myself comfortably situated.”
“You’re not ‘comfortable,’ ” Verbena said. “You’re rich! Castle rich.” She flapped a hand at the window. “Everyone in London thought you a pauper!”
“Did they?” Miles asked. “No one ever told me that.”
“Why would they?” Verbena said. “It seemed—apparent.”
“Oh. Golly.” Miles grimaced.
“You could have said,” étienne insisted.
“Well, I didn’t want anyone thinking I was a braggart!”
Willa groaned into her hands. “You mean to say you let us all think we would be living in a ramshackle hovel out of politeness?”
Miles’s eyes widened in alarm. “You thought—?” He softened. “And you decided to come with me anyway?”
“Of course we did. We thought there was no alternative.” Verbena regarded him closely. “And, of course, there is no alternative to company so good as yours,” she added.
Miles beamed at her. “Likewise, Miss Montrose.”
étienne’s gaze had gone all dreamy. “I’m going to live in a castle,” he murmured.
“More of a manor,” Miles said apologetically. “And it’s not as if I have a title or anything. My father purchased it from a noble family who’d fallen on hard times.”
“If that’s the main house,” Willa said, “I can’t wait to see the cottage you’re giving us.”
Verbena remembered then: Miles had described only vaguely the “outbuilding” she and Willa were to have. She had pictured something sad and dreary, but seeing the McDonald estate now, her spirits were much improved.
As the carriage made its way up the long, neatly maintained drive, a portcullis rose to admit it.
Verbena boggled as they passed beneath the high archway and into a neatly tended courtyard.
A veritable flood of onlookers surged forward to meet them, men and women in various costumes, some in their shirtsleeves or with their hair hanging loose down their backs, all smiling for reasons unknown.
Verbena pressed her arm protectively over Willa’s chest to keep her in the shadow of the coach’s interior. “Miles, who are all these people?”
“Why, the servants,” he said. “Peeblewick is quite extensive, as you have noted, and it requires a large staff. They are—well, I probably should have told you earlier, but they are all, to a man, for want of a better phrase, exceedingly devoted to me.”
An older gent with a wisp of white hair about his ears fought his way to the front, grinning widely. “Master McDonald! It is so good to have you back at Peeblewick,” he called as the coach came to a halt.
“Good to be back, Silversmith,” Miles said, flinging the coach door open.
“And, as promised in my letter, I have brought more souls to populate the old pile.” He held out his hand to Verbena, who took it after only a moment’s hesitation.
She could trust her friends, now that they’d come so far together.
She allowed herself to be led out of the coach and into the sunlight.
“Miss Verbena Montrose,” Miles said to everyone, “lately of London.”
“How do you do, miss,” said Silversmith, shaking her hand with delightful informality. “I’m what you might call the head butler here at Peeblewick. At your service.” She could perceive that the healthy blush on his cheek was actually rouge.
Miles’s butler…was wearing rouge.
While Verbena gaped, Miles continued with the introductions, assisting Willa from the coach.
“My good friend and compatriot, Willa Witcombe,” he said, leaving off, Verbena noted, any honorific.
The butler and assembled servants did not bat an eye at that nor her strange dress, welcoming Willa into the fold with the same warmth Verbena had enjoyed.
“And finally,” Miles said, “Monsieur étienne Charbonneau, my dear, dear companion.” He helped étienne down from the carriage as étienne blinked in the bright light.
Silversmith kissed étienne in the continental fashion on both cheeks. “Welcome, monsieur,” he said. The rest of the staff echoed the sentiment with a loud cheer.
étienne stood there, dazed. Verbena felt similarly.
It was as if they had been transported to a fantastical realm where nothing was as it had been.
She reached without looking and found Willa’s hand reaching already for hers.
They squeezed their fingers around each other’s, a reminder that this was real.
“Miss Montrose and Willa will take the cottage by the burn,” Miles informed Silversmith.
“Certainly. Sarah! Eleanor!” The butler ushered forth two cheery young maids. “Show our new residents to their lodgings, please.”
“This way, miss,” said one to Verbena. The girls led the way, shooting curious smiles over their shoulders as they walked.
They left the courtyard, making their way down a garden path that led over a small footbridge and across a storybook sort of stream.
One of the maids placed her hand on the small of the other’s back, giggling softly at some whispered aside.
Willa held Verbena’s hand tighter. “Are they all like us?” she said under her breath. “Can they really be…?”
It seemed too wonderful to contemplate, yet here they were, being led by two girls younger than they through a stand of trees.
“Not too far now,” called one lass up ahead.
The other nodded at the surrounding forest. “Gives you a bit of privacy, I reckon. Close enough to the big house if you need anything, apart enough to do as you please.”
Verbena blinked at that. Her hand tightened in Willa’s. “I think,” she said, “we should get a house cat. Right away.”
“A tabby?” Willa’s smile was like the dawn, like dusk falling, like everything in between—just as she was.
Verbena nodded. “A fat one.”