Chapter 15 #2
Once seated at the desk in the library, resigned to her duty, she bent and opened the lower drawer. After retrieving her personal stationery, she took out her crystal pen and pulled the inkwell closer.
She sighed as she stared at the stack of correspondence and black-bordered calling cards.
Each and every one of them would be a sincere expression of emotion, and each and every one of them would be difficult to read.
Someone—Douglas?—had tied the stack tightly with string.
She’d have to find a knife or a pair of scissors.
Her hand rested on the stack, but she didn’t move from her chair to locate either tool.
She didn’t want to read them. She drew her hand back, leaned her head against the chair, and closed her eyes.
On the way to the library, she’d caught herself walking to her mother’s room to sit with her for a few minutes until she realized what she was doing.
Morna Herridge would never require her presence again.
Sarah should give orders to have the room transformed back into the Summer Parlor again, but she doubted if she’d ever sit there in the evening working on her needlework.
She found her scissors and cut the string, beginning to read each letter. By the third, she was weeping again, but she didn’t allow her grief to interfere with her duty. Toward the bottom of the stack, she realized that she’d stopped crying, intent on finishing her chore.
When she finished, she stared at a new sheet of stationery, knowing that she should begin to work on the most important letter, the one she’d not written, the one that hung over her head like the Sword of Damocles.
Suddenly, she knew that she couldn’t write that letter because that letter should not be written.
She stood and made her way to the butler’s pantry, where Thomas was polishing the silver in his work apron. At the sight of her, he stepped back and reached for his jacket.
Sarah raised one hand to forestall him. “Have you seen Mr. Eston?”
“Not this morning, Lady Sarah.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” she said, leaving him.
Douglas must be making his diamonds. She left Chavensworth, beginning to walk toward the observatory. The day was a breezy one, but the air felt heavy, as if rain was imminent. Sarah hadn’t been back to the observatory since the day her mother had died, and she was shocked at the changes.
Empty crates were scattered about on the grass outside the observatory, and a huge hole had been gouged out of the knoll. Four stacks of bricks were placed on the side of the lane.
What on earth was Douglas building?
She knocked on the closed door of the observatory and, for a moment, wondered if he were inside. Finally, the door opened, so quickly that she was startled by it. Sarah pressed her hand her throat and subdued her gasp only by force of will.
“I don’t need anything, thank you,” he said, his tone sharp.
He wasn’t even looking at her when he spoke, but at the doorframe. When his gaze finally did settle on her, his look of annoyance faded to surprise.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked, curious.
“Your staff,” he said, once again annoyed. “You have a very diligent staff, Sarah. They call upon me three or four times a day to ensure I don’t need anything. Cook sends luncheon and tea, and once a tankard of ale. I think they’re afraid I’ll waste away out here.”
“But I do hope that you don’t scare the poor things with that tone of voice. It isn’t the least bit friendly.”
“I didn’t know that one was supposed to be friendly to the staff.”
“Well,” she said, amending her comment, “if not friendly, then at least civil. You weren’t at all civil, Douglas.”
“My apologies,” he said.
“I haven’t come with any offerings,” she said. “Does that mean I cannot come inside?”
She peered around his arm to see a selection of beakers and vials and curious round glass objects sitting on the work surface.
“It isn’t safe,” he said, placing his arm across the door like a barrier. “Or I would invite you inside.”
“Not safe? If it’s not safe for me, why is it safe for you?”
“I never said it was safe for me,” Douglas said.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “You never said anything about it being a hazardous process, Douglas.”
“We actually didn’t discuss the process in detail, Sarah.”
Well, that was certainly true. She’d barely discovered what it was her father was willing to bargain her for, let alone discussed the matter. Still, she was a little annoyed by his reticence. Was she supposed simply to ignore the fact that he might be in danger?
“Is there a reason why you’re here, Sarah?” he asked.
She should definitely resent that tone of voice. Or the careful look in his eyes. And she should most assuredly not take notice that his white shirt was open at the throat, and his hair just a little bit mussed as if he’d threaded his fingers through it.
However many times Sarah saw him, however many times she told herself he was her husband—nothing prepared her for the shock she felt in the presence of his sheer physical perfection.
“Sarah?”
Startled, she stared up at him. What did she want? She blurted out the news.
“I have to go to Scotland,” she said.
The words seemed to hang in the air between them until she wanted to prompt him to speak.
For the longest time, he didn’t say anything, merely propped his hand against the frame of the open door and regarded her the way he might one of the components of his dangerous process: with a great deal of care.
“Why do you have to go to Scotland? When I first met you, you were arguing against traveling to Scotland, I believe.”
“My grandfather lives in Scotland. My mother’s father. I have to tell him about my mother, and I cannot simply send word to him in a letter, Douglas. Besides, I’ve never met him.”
His brows drew together. “Do you think now is an opportune moment to do so?”
“My mother and her father were estranged, and I know it always saddened my mother. Now, at least, I should make the effort to heal that rift. Besides, I cannot, in all good conscience, write that poor man and tell him the news that his daughter is dead in a letter. How cold and cruel would that be?”
“You couldn’t be cruel, Sarah. You worry too much for those in your care.”
She tucked that comment away to study later. For now, she needed his…consent? Surely not. No, she needed his company.
“Can you spare the time?” she asked.
“So you want me to go to Scotland with you?”
“Of course I do. You’re my husband.”
“And I’m Scottish,” he said.
She stared at him in surprise. “You’re not.”
“Never tell a Scot he’s not a Scot,” he cautioned.
“You never said. Nor do you sound like one.”
“I’ve lived all over the world since I was fourteen. I speak a number of languages. I haven’t been home in some years.”
“There,” she announced. “All the better reason why you should return. I couldn’t imagine being away from Chavensworth all that time.”
He ignored that comment for a question. “Where does this unknown grandfather of yours live?”
“Outside of Perth.”
He stared at her. “Perth, is it? That’s a bit of a coincidence.”
She frowned at him.
“I was born in Perth,” he said.
Actually, she had no knowledge of Scotland, other than it was a rugged, mountainous land, peopled—according to her father—with barbarians. She’d dismissed that opinion since her mother was Scots and certainly not a savage.
He glanced back into the interior of the observatory, then back at her. “How soon are you set on leaving?”
“A day? Two days,” she decided.
He nodded. “I’ll need a week,” he said.
“A week?” She thought of protesting, then kept silent.
“A week,” he said. “Are you very sure this is something you’re set on doing?”
“Very sure,” she said. “How many days do you think it will take to reach Kilmarin?”
“Kilmarin?”
“My grandfather’s home,” she said.
For the first time since she had met him, Douglas seemed truly out of sorts. Not irritated exactly, as much as discomfited. If she didn’t know better, she would think she’d given him a shock.
“Do you know Kilmarin?”
“I would venture to say that anyone in Scotland knows Kilmarin, Lady Sarah,” he said.
She was startled at his vehemence.
They looked at each other for a few long moments, then Sarah left him, glancing back to find him still regarding her with that intent gaze of his.
Why did she feel as if she had just begun a significant journey, one a great deal more important than a simple visit to Scotland?