Chapter 6
Iam doing it!
I am really doing this?
Tiffany had questioned herself four dozen times already this morning, and it wasn’t even eight yet. She’d been up for hours packing, sneaking food, and whispering with Bonnie. Now, her sister gave her one last, big hug.
“I believe in you, sister. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Of course!” Tiffany squeezed her back. “You will have your publishing company if this works.”
“I have already written a letter to Mr. Grimm asking him to consider selling to me. So we had better find a way to get the money.” Bonnie stepped back and glanced toward the door. “I am nervous about you traveling all the way to York. It could be dangerous.”
“I will be fine. I look very different from normal, do I not?”
Tiffany brushed her palms down the front of her rough woolen skirt, then checked in the mirror once more to ensure the lumpy brown shawl they’d borrowed from Mrs. Oliphant made her look as shapeless as possible.
Her oldest blouse, and one of the dirty caps Mother used to make Ember wear to hide her hair, completed the disguise.
She and Bonnie had even rubbed a little ash along her jawline and cheekbones, and even under her eyes, to make her look gaunter.
“Yes, you do,” chuckled her sister from where she peeked out into the corridor. “But appearances are not everything, remember. Did you find a companion?”
Tiffany hesitated, knowing her sister wouldn’t approve of her choice. She wasn’t even certain she approved of her choice. “I did. We will meet at the station.”
Bonnie was distracted and didn’t ask who would be traveling with her, thank goodness. “Good. Everything looks clear out here. And in here…”
They both glanced toward the bed where a combination of pillows and a counterpane had been arranged to look like Tiffany was still sleeping under the blanket.
“Do you think she will fall for it?” Tiffany whispered.
Bonnie knew exactly which she mattered. “You know Mother is content to allow us to recover in peace. I shall just tell her your cramps are particularly bad this month, and you do not want to be bothered by noise or light or pampering. Just let you die in peace, oh the pain, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Thank goodness for menses, eh?” Tiffany asked drily.
“Every two years or so they become useful as an excuse, but that does not make up for the pain in the arse they are the other twenty-three months.”
“Pain in the ovaries, I think you mean.”
Bonnie snorted, then glanced out the cracked-open door and gestured. “Alright, your escape is clear. Go now, but remember, I can only stall Mother for three days, no more!”
“Yes, and my thanks,” Tiffany hissed in a whisper, as she picked up the carpetbag they’d found in the attic and slipped by her sister.
She made it out of the inn without encountering anyone who recognized her, then picked up her skirts and practically ran to the train station.
She was wearing Bonnie’s most practical pair of boots, which they’d scuffed so as not to draw attention, and she was grateful they’d thought of it.
A faint smile came to her lips as she remembered the thoroughly impractical heeled slippers—Ember’s creation—she’d worn to the ball.
Even the memory of dancing with Lysander at that ball—Lysander, whom she’d now lost—couldn’t diminish the satisfaction of knowing Ember was happily married to Max DeVille and well on her way to creating a new line of footwear for the ladies of Scotland.
And I helped her by showing off those shoes at the ball.
There. She’d done one thing right, at least.
And now, she was on her way to have an adventure. Granted, not the kind of adventure she would’ve necessarily chosen, but she knew this could help Bonnie, and if she could help another sister achieve her dream, she most certainly would.
She was still grinning from the excitement when she reached the train platform, and when she saw Laird Gaberlunzie standing there, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared off in the distance, her grin only grew.
She slowed to study him, since he wasn’t looking at her, and quietly climbed up the platform on his blind side.
What fit of madness had possessed her to say yes to his offer yesterday? She’d fretted over it half the night, reminding herself she didn’t know him, and he could very well be an axe-murderer for all she knew.
But for some reason, she trusted him. She didn’t know why, but she knew—deep down, as if the knowledge was some sort of magical knowing—he wouldn’t hurt her. And yesterday, he’d promised he’d allow no harm to come to her on this journey.
Perhaps that’s why she trusted him.
Or maybe it was because of the way he teased her, or the look in his good eye when he’d offered his protection. As if she was important.
For a reason other than the way she looked.
Today at least, no one would look twice at her, not dressed as she was. In fact, she looked a proper match for someone like him with that ratty tam and the old kilt and dirt on his knees.
She eyed his legs, and realized they really were well-formed. What was wrong with them to cause his limp? She wondered if she’d have the courage to ask on this adventure.
Well, one thing was for certain: if she were wrong about him, and she needed to get away from him fast, she’d be able to outrun him, thanks to that limp.
Snorting quietly, she then muttered, “Likely not an axe-murderer.”
He suddenly jerked and whirled around, lifting his arms as if in defense. When he saw it was her, he tried to turn the motion into a little wave, as if he’d meant to do it. But when he saw her grinning at his attempt, he scowled and dropped his arms. “Ye snuck up on me.”
“No, you just did not hear me.”
Still scowling, he tapped the eyepatch over his left socket. “Nae depth perception, and I cannae see shite on this side.”
Strangely comforted—rather than scandalized—by his coarse language, Tiffany hefted her bag and cocked her head to one side. “That thing was on the other side yesterday, was it not?”
He frowned, affronted. “I dinnae think so. Surely I’d remember which eye I’m missing, aye?” Turning again, he nodded to the train rolling slowly toward the platform. “Ye have our tickets?”
Raising her brow at his commanding tone, she reached for a pocket in her bag and pulled them out. He snatched them out of her hand, then reached for her bag. She had just enough time to wonder if she’d been wrong to trust him, when he suddenly thrust out his elbow.
She stared at it. He was acting as if…as if they were a couple. When she glanced at him, he merely gazed back, offering no excuses. But when she still hesitated, he waggled his elbow again.
“Come along, no’ milady. Ye wanted to look like a simple couple on a journey south, aye? So cozy on up to yer husband.”
Husband.
The idea of being married to a man like him would’ve made her laugh only a month ago. She’d had her heart set on the most eligible bachelor around, but then had lost her opportunity. But here was a poor man, one with wit and intelligence, and rather fine legs—
Stop looking at his knees, ye ninny.
Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm, and when a bolt of lightning completely failed to strike her down, she stepped closer and linked her arm through his.
This time, she felt a bolt of lightning alright, but a different sort. This warmth spread throughout her chest and settled lower. The reminder that, while this man might not be the sort she’d marry, she was beginning to think of him—and his legs—as very desirable indeed.
And rather than being ashamed of that, the thought made her feel…free.
She might be the most beautiful woman the Oliphants had seen in a generation—and since it was the truth, there was no harm in admitting it, right?—but who said she had to marry someone like Lysander Oliphant?
Well, her mother. And years of belief on Tiffany’s part.
But the last few days had been curiously freeing, and had shown her Viscount Blabloblal wasn’t the only man who could be her future husband.
She still wanted a husband and bairns of course, and she was wise enough to know she shouldn’t settle for a man without money to support them…
but perhaps she shouldn’t be as single-minded in her purpose as she had been the majority of her life.
When I return, I will have to think long and hard about finding a new dream to fix my sights on.
As the train pulled to a steaming, clanking stop, he glanced over at her. “Well, mistress? Are ye ready for yer adventure?”
Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “I really think I am. I can feel myself changing already.”
His gaze slid over her, more familiar than it ought to be as he studied her features, and when he finally nodded, she thought she saw a hint of approval in his single green eye.
“Come along then.”
When they stepped up onto the train, she noticed he didn’t appear to be limping. But before she could ask, someone bumped into her from behind, and she turned to see a young mother juggling three small children.
“Sorry, missus,” the woman gasped, trying to contain a squirming toddler. “I am just trying to get to our seat.”
Smiling, Tiffany pulled Laird Gaberlunzie out of the path. “Certainly. Can I—we—help you at all?”
“Nay, but ye have my thanks. Ian! Stop licking that pole! Hold yer sister’s hand and kindly keep yer finger from exploring the contents of yer nose. Nay, Jenna. Ye cannae have a lolly. Come along, both of ye. The baby’s fretful.”
Chuckling, Tiffany watched them go, then turned back to find her companion studying her. Slowly, her smile faded. “What?”
But he shook his head and stepped into the aisle once more, as the train began to puff away from the station. “Nothing.”
“That is not true.” She hurried to keep up with him. “You were looking at me strangely.”
“Let us simply say, Miss Oliphant, that ye surprised me.”
What? How?