Chapter Three #2
“Left me unguarded?” Merry wanted to laugh, but didn’t do so for her sister’s sake. “You consider an inn’s common room that is bursting at the seams with nosy witnesses as unguarded? I assure you, sister, I was still well chaperoned.”
“Then what happened?” Seri asked with a loving quietness that reminded Merry of their mother.
Merry shrugged, hating herself for behaving like a fractious child that had been denied a toy. “I invited him to visit Broadmere Hall or Broadmere Townhouse, and he as much as refused to come calling.”
Serendipity eyed her for a long moment. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said that Malcolm often travels to London, but he does not.”
“That is not a refusal. He merely told you their habits.”
Merry rolled her eyes. “It was his tone, Seri. If you had heard him, you would understand.”
“But he seemed so”—Serendipity flipped her hands as if hoping to pluck the words she needed out of the air—“attentive last night.”
“One moment, he is attentive. The next, he is aloof.” Merry folded her arms and gave a stubborn nod. “The man is exhausting.”
“Most men are, according to our married sisters.”
“Well, Lord Kirkston can be exhausting with someone else. I am finished swinging back and forth on his pendulum of maddening moodiness.”
“It is not his fault,” Malcolm said as he rejoined them.
“Eavesdropping is very rude, my lord.” Merry was finished with the bubbly, ever-jovial Lord Malcolm as well.
Malcolm shrugged off the scolding. “Maybe so, but ye need to know more about my wee brother before he comes back inside.”
Merry wouldn’t exactly classify Duncan as wee, but perhaps that was a Scottish thing between brothers. “I have not yet had my tea, my lord. Proceed at your own risk.”
He settled in the chair across the table from them. “Tea is coming. Breakfast too. The innkeeper’s wife is seeing to it.” He cast a look back toward the bar, then jerked his thumb in that direction. “See?”
A haggard Meg, a wailing baby swaddled to her waist inside a carrying cloth, appeared with a tray laden with teapots, cups, and breads.
As she walked, she gently swayed and bounced, trying to soothe her child without spilling a drop.
“Beg pardon, ladies. Wee Ian has the colic this morning, and he yowls even louder if anyone but me holds him. Normally quiet as a lamb, he is, but not today.”
“Bless him. His poor belly.” Merry held out her hands. “Might I have a try with him? My sisters say I have a magical touch with children.”
Meg eyed her for a long moment, then shrugged and lifted the wee one out of the sling and handed him over. “Godspeed to ye and yer ears, my lady. He be clean. I just checked him.”
Little Ian bellowed even louder, making Merry laugh. “My goodness, young man. Is it truly that bad?”
She put him to her shoulder, patting and rubbing his back, as she bounced and walked back and forth in the short space beside the table. Patrons shook their heads and glared at her while covering their ears.
“Belly pains to all of you,” Merry said to them. “Then we’ll see how loud you get.”
Meg and the ale wench bobbed their heads in agreement as they laid out the tea and breakfast.
Merry took a seat on the bench, rested Ian lengthwise on his back in her lap with his head at her knees, and started working his little legs and helping him twist and turn at the waist. All the while, she hummed a tuneless song, occasionally leaning forward and babbling nonsense to the unhappy babe.
And then the red-faced wee one cut loose with a rip-roaring rumble that sounded dangerously wet and filled the air with a stench that would make any grown man proud—and then he smiled and cooed.
“That done it!” Meg scooped the child up before the soiled clout breached the wool pilcher covering his bottom.
“Did yerself proud, did ye not, my fine lad?” Before taking the baby away, she curtsied to Merry.
“Thank ye ever so much, m’lady. My wee bairn’s smiling again. Praise be for a bit o’ quiet.”
“How did ye know what to do?” Malcolm asked as he waved his hands to dissipate the offensive smell.
“Seri and I have many nieces and nephews.” Merry poured the tea, took a sip, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Your brother will return soon, my lord. Might I suggest you speak with haste?”
“Coming upon yer accident yesterday upset Duncan more than ye could possibly know.” Malcolm stared down at his teacup, framing it between his hands.
“Why?” Merry was in no mood for mercy when it came to anyone other than a baby with a bellyache.
“Because three years ago, our sister Catherine, Duncan’s twin, died in a carriage accident much like yer own. He pulled her from the water, but it was too late.”
Merry slowly set her cup back on its saucer, her heart breaking for the pain the family had experienced. “Sorrows and prayers for such a terrible loss.”
Malcolm shook his head. “If that weren’t bad enough, our father died a fortnight later—after using each of those days to berate Duncan and blame him for Catherine’s drowning.”
Serendipity gasped, and Merry felt the same. She had no idea what to say. Watching the door to ensure Duncan was still outside, she leaned forward and asked, “Why would your father say such hurtful things to his own son?”
“Because Duncan was never enough for him. Father put up with me and Catherine well enough, but not Duncan. Maybe because Duncan always took the blame to protect us whenever we did anything that might displease the old devil. He shielded us from Father. Always. And, in turn, Father treated him like the family whipping boy.” His voice fell to a raspy whisper.
“Neither Catherine nor I ever understood why Father hated Duncan so.”
A door slammed, and hard stomping to rid boots of snow echoed through the room.
Merry tore her attention away from the horrible conversation and stretched to look at the doorway. “Hush! He is coming.” She hurried to pick up her tea as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Serendipity assumed an admirable nonchalance, and so did Malcolm.
As Jasper and Duncan approached the table, Merry looked up and managed a smile. “Well? What is the verdict, gentlemen?”
The men exchanged glances as if uncertain whom she was addressing.
“I think we can make it, depending on the carriage,” Jasper said.
Duncan’s scowl darkened. “The snow is too deep. Ye canna even see where the road might be.”
Jasper jutted his chin higher, keeping his focus on Merry rather than the marquess. “Them Suffolks can find it. Both them and I know where the road lies. I’ll not fail ye again, Lady Merry.” He tipped a nod at Serendipity. “Shall I see what carriages might be available to let, my lady?”
“If all they have are yellow bounders,” Duncan said, “how do ye expect to drive the team, since ye have no saddles for postilions? Ye know as well as I that post-chaises have no driver’s seat.”
“Well,” Merry interjected before Jasper could respond to the marquess, “he cannot possibly answer that until he asks them, now can he? There is no need to worry about something that might not turn out to be. It’s foolish to borrow trouble.
” She understood Duncan had not had an easy way of it, but she refused to join him in his darkness.
“See what they say,” Serendipity told Jasper, “and then we can sort out what to do.”
“Ye need to stay here until some of the snow melts.” Duncan flicked a hand at the nearest window. “’Tis already warmer than yesterday. It should be clear enough in a day or so.”
“A day or so?” Merry couldn’t imagine sleeping on that bench another night. “And when it melts, it will become a muddy mess. Better that we leave now so as to travel on the packed snow rather than sink axle deep into mud.”
“Know much about axles, do ye?” Duncan snatched up a chair, thunked it down beside her, and threw himself into it as if preparing to give her a stern lecture.
“Anyone with good sense knows that when the roads become a quagmire, they are more difficult than traveling on packed snow.” She pointed her teaspoon at him. “Admit it.”
The muscles in his squared jaw rippled, and his narrow-eyed glare hardened.
Merry couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop glowering at me, my lord. I do not find you the least bit frightening.”
With a frustrated growl, he jumped up from his chair and stormed off, shoving patrons out of the way.
Malcolm beamed at her. “Well done, Lady Merry. Ye’ve gotten under the beastie’s thick hide. He’ll not soon forget ye. I grant ye that.”
“I am sure you are wrong about that.” A heaviness settled in her heart as she freshened her tea.
“When I told him that you and he would be quite welcome at both Broadmere Hall in the Lake District and Broadmere House in Mayfair, he made it quite clear that he rarely traveled south past Gretna Green.” She picked at a steaming bun, not even bothering to butter it.
“We have been a nuisance to him, my sister and I. The quicker he is rid of us, the better.”
With a seriousness that didn’t suit him, Malcolm shook his head. “Ye have the wrong of it there, lass. I promise.”
Merry passed the warm, yeasty buns to Serendipity, along with the small plate of butter.
She sat straighter, lifting her chin and assuming a smile she didn’t feel.
“If your brother wishes to come visiting, the invitation stands, but know this—I shall not hold my breath and expect him to darken our doorstep anytime soon.” She twitched a shrug.
“I am not a desperate debutante who begs gentlemen to come calling. If they come to visit, they come. If they don’t, they don’t. ”
“Merry.” Serendipity angled a disapproving look her way. “We must not be ungrateful.”
“I am not ungrateful,” Merry said. “But I am also not some silly girl who swoons at the sight of a handsome man.”
“So, ye think him handsome?” Malcolm asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Do you not have somewhere else to be?” Merry shooed him away with a flick of her hand. “Go see to your brother.”
Malcolm laughed, took a bun out of the basket, and bit into it as he stood and took her advice.
“Perhaps Lord Kirkston is brusque because of his history,” Serendipity said as she drizzled honey onto her bread.
“I can understand and tolerate such behavior up to a point, but the man should be better able to handle himself now that the worst of our ordeal is over.” Merry bit into her bread and slowly chewed while watching the door for one of the males of their party to reappear.
“And he even warmed a bit earlier, actually teasing me about snoring. But then he retreated into his darkness and became all aloof and growly again.” She ran her finger through the butter puddling on her plate, then licked it.
“I cannot tiptoe around people. You know that about me, Seri.”
Serendipity shifted with a heavy sigh. “Perhaps that is why you get along better with children than adults.”
“Children are honest and open. Adults play too many silly games where the rules keep changing.”
“Yes, but when we care about someone, we should try to help them overcome their obstacles.”
Merry stared at her sister in disbelief. “I will not beg someone to come calling—and we only met that mismatched pair of Scots yesterday. Why in the world would you think I cared about him?”
“Because you not only granted him the familiarity of using your given name but also invited him not only to our home in the country but to our place in Town.” Serendipity shook a finger. “You have never done that with any other gentleman of your acquaintance.”
Irritated beyond measure, Merry huffed. “Might I remind you of the uniqueness of our current circumstances?”
Serendipity sipped her tea with the slyness of a cat plotting to steal the cream from the larder. “Regardless of our circumstances, the facts remain. You like Lord Kirkston. I can tell.”
“I think the cold has filled your head with nonsense.” Merry held up a hand to stave off further comment. “The men are returning. Pray that Jasper has found a means of transportation that will suit our needs. Then we can be on our way after freshening up in Meg’s privy corner.”
Their man’s spirits did seem much brighter than they had when he had left to speak with the innkeeper, but Merry didn’t know whether to be happy or sad.
There was still the problem of never seeing Duncan again, and even though she wouldn’t admit it to Seri, she did like him…
just a little. Well, maybe more than a little.
She did like him more than any other gentleman she had ever met.
“They agreed to lease us a full-sized coach, my lady,” Jasper said. “Not a yellow bounder at all, but one of the mail coaches yet to be put into service. Mistress Meg, the innkeeper’s wife, told her husband he’d better do it or he’d be sorry. He didn’t hesitate to do as she said.”
Merry barely heard the good news because Duncan had stalked up behind Jasper, his face even more thunderous than before. “Did you hear, Lord Kirkston? A good, sturdy mail coach. We shall be quite safe on our journey home.”
“I heard.”
She almost shivered at the way he growled the words, and it made her angry. It was not fair that his deep voice with its seductive Scots burr should have such an effect on her. “You should be happy. Now you will be rid of us and able to go on your way.”
He shoved in closer, towering over the table. “I never said I wished to be rid of ye, Lady Merry.”
“Actions speak louder than words, Lord Kirkston.” She swallowed hard, finding it most difficult to breathe.
The way his eyes flashed suggested so many things, things she wanted to believe but dared not even think about.
He had made it clear he would never go to the trouble of traveling to see her, and it would be most unseemly for her to journey north to chase after him.
Besides, her pride would never allow it.
“You should have some breakfast, my lord, before you set out for Galkirk.”
Once again, he sat in the chair beside her, never taking his eyes from hers. “Ye truly mean to leave today? Giving no thought to the danger of the deep snow?”
“Jasper feels he can make it, and I trust him.” Merry got the distinct impression they were speaking of something that had nothing to do with horses or carriages making it through the snow.
“’Tis a shame you rarely travel south of Hadrian’s Wall.
” His gaze pulled her in; she found herself drowning in the almost obsidian pools of his dark brown eyes.
“I shall miss you, Lord Kirkston,” she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t.
“I shall miss ye as well, Lady Merry,” he said, his voice soft and ragged. Then he slowly stood, tipped a curt nod, and strode away.