Chapter 18
Ishall show him that I am not so easily bewitched. I shall show him that I cannot, will not, be tempted again by his… rugged wiles.
Anna stalked through the manor with her traitorous hands curled into fists at her sides, her breath still unsteady after what had just happened, her lips still tingling with the fire of Jeremy’s kiss, her entire body still tingling after that thing he had begun to do with his thumb.
She had never felt anything like it, for her whole being seemed to light up from within, like a lightning bolt had struck her and coursed through every vein and nerve.
It was otherworldly, as if something was taking control of her body in the best way, and she did not know how far she would have gone if not for the careful interruption.
Then again, if I ruined myself with him, no other man would have me. She considered the possibilities. It would be the simplest way to dispense with the ‘get married and get out’ problem. And he was not married himself, which was more of a relief than she cared to let on.
“No… no, no, no… you cannot!” she hissed to herself, her mind awash with confusion and pent-up frustrations that now needed to be poured into something else.
It would be worse. If you let that man… fox you into his bed, it would be worse afterward.
A shudder ran through her, and not the pleasant kind she had just savored in her study.
How could she possibly stay in the same household with him, under the same roof, if she were to give in to him?
It was not as if he would make her his duchess, and she would not be anyone’s mistress.
No, she needed to guard her honor and her dignity, or risk losing everything. Not just her home, not just her comfort, not just her peace, but everything that was still hers.
“He has taken quite enough already,” she muttered, so furious, so dazed, that she did not see Katherine and Paul coming around the corner until she walked right into them.
The butler reached out to steady her as Katherine cried out, “Oh, Your Grace, be careful!”
Anna likely should have been embarrassed, but there was no room for it with so many other things buzzing around in her head.
Still, there was room in her mind for an idea.
An idea that began to grow as she looked into the worried eyes of her closest acquaintances here at Stonebridge: her butler and her lady’s maid, her peacekeeper and her confidante, the brother and sister who had been her loyal friends since she arrived at this place, who had accepted her and welcomed her long before the rest of the staff.
“I need cloth. Lots of it,” Anna blurted out. “Sheets, curtains, coverlets, that sort of thing. And I need you both to help me, along with anyone else you can gather at short notice.”
Mr. Miller raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting on her arm. “Are you… moving chambers, Your Grace? Redecorating?”
“Something like that,” Anna replied with a smile.
“Can I play with him whenever I want?” Sophie asked, her lip quivering as if Jeremy’s next answer could tip the scales between contentment and a tantrum.
The gray-and-white goat butted the fence, bleating his own protest about being separated from his new best friend.
Jeremy scooped the girl up into his arms and smoothed the messy tendrils of hair from her face. “Aye, if yer mother says ye can. I don’t want to be making her cross, lassie.”
Beatrice had not come into the barn, but she had made it clear that she did not approve of her daughter rabble-rousing with the goats.
She had left Sophie in her uncle’s care and wandered off to the paddocks where the horses were grazing, no doubt to have some peace with Douglas’ beloved horses.
Gentle giants who had adored Douglas, just as good for pulling carriages as they were for riding through the glens and up the mountains.
A few minutes ago, however, Beatrice returned to insist that Sophie come inside to rest.
“Mama is always cross,” Sophie said quietly, as Jeremy half-dangled her over the fence so she could reach down and have one last scratch of Sprightly’s head.
“She is?” Jeremy’s heart twinged.
He had lost enough people to know the twists and turns of grief, the pain and regret and anger that could bubble to the surface. Even now, the questions about his brother ran rampant in his mind.
Could I have done more? If I had done this differently, could I have saved him? If I hadn’t fallen asleep in the stables, could I have stopped the fire? If me mare had waited a few more days to foal, could I have prevented all this? Could I have gotten everyone out?
His was a silent torment, but it affected each person differently. Beatrice’s was louder, more likely to spill into other areas of her life.
Sophie nodded, her little arms looping around Jeremy’s neck as he lifted her away from the goat. “She is… snappy. She keeps telling me off. And she shouted at Nana.” She rested her head on her uncle’s shoulder. “Then, we came here.”
“She was angry with yer grandma?”
“Angry… then sad.”
So, that’s why ye both arrived earlier than expected.
He could well imagine what might have happened.
Beatrice was a widow with a daughter and no heir, husbandless and now without the title or fortune that would have made their lives comfortable.
Beatrice’s mother must have mentioned remarrying for it to warrant such a reaction.
Jeremy held the girl tighter. “I know with all me heart that she’s not angry with ye, lassie. Never angry with ye. So, ye just remember that while yer ma is getting better again. She might say things she doesn’t mean, but ye’re to ignore it.”
“Is she sick?” Sophie peered up at him with sudden concern.
“Not sick like when ye get a cold in the winter,” he replied carefully. “But she’s very sad, and that’s a kind of sickness. The remedy is time and a lot of love from ye.”
Sophie nestled back into her uncle’s chest. “Because of papa?”
“Because of papa.” Jeremy kissed the top of the girl’s head.
She puffed out a weary breath. “I miss papa.”
“I do, too.” His throat clogged. “I do, too.”
She was too young to fully understand the depth of grief as an adult might.
He knew she had been inconsolable in the days before he left for England, but when everyone around her kept explaining that her father had ‘gone to a better place’ and ‘was in heaven, looking down on her’ and ‘had been called back to be with the angels,’ then what reason did she have to be overwhelmed by loss?
To her, her father was not truly lost; he was just somewhere else.
Her sorrow stemmed from his immediate absence, not from the painful reality that he was gone forever.
Maybe her lack of tears and obvious grief was not easy for Beatrice to handle. Or perhaps, Beatrice was jealous of her daughter’s ability to just move on as if nothing had happened, playing, laughing, and smiling.
By the time Jeremy had carried her out of the barn, Sophie was asleep in his arms, finally giving in to the nap that she had been fighting.
Beatrice was waiting outside, and when she saw her daughter sleeping in her uncle’s arms, her expression showed no relief. Her demeanor grew cold, and her reddish-brown eyes narrowed as they fixed on Jeremy, as if he had somehow betrayed her.
“I think Sprightly finally wore her out,” he whispered, as he made to hand the girl into her mother’s arms.
But Beatrice took a step back. “I daenae want to disturb her sleep,” she said tightly. “Ye can carry her upstairs, since it’s ye she decided to behave for.”
“Don’t do that,” Jeremy said quietly, subtly covering Sophie’s ear in case some part of her was still listening. “I know ye’re hurting, but don’t do that. It’s not her fault. None of this is her fault, and she’s not choosing sides, Bea. There are no sides in this.”
Beatrice’s forehead crinkled, and for a moment, Jeremy worried he might have hurt her. A tear formed on her lashes, quickly brushed away, and she took in a deep, shaky breath.
“Still, will ye carry her?” she asked. “I daenae think I have the strength today.”
There was no apology; it was not necessary.
Beatrice had lost the love of her life, a man she had spent a decade with, a man she had imagined spending many more decades with, having more children, though it had been difficult for them to conceive.
Sophie had been their miracle, but they had always longed for more.
“Aye, I will carry her.” Jeremy offered his free arm to his sister-in-law, but she shook her head and wouldn’t take it.
Together, at a respectful distance from each other, they walked back to the manor in silence.
Douglas might have made a joke, pulled a face, or told them both to cheer up, and it was his voice that seemed to fill the space between them: the memory of him, always knowing exactly what to say at the right moment.
Jeremy wasn’t speechless for long. Not silent, anyway.
In his absence, Stonebridge was attacked by someone with what seemed like an endless supply of cloth: blankets, tapestries, coverlets, old curtains, and even a few rugs.
They now hung from the ceiling in a strange kind of divide, while a series of ropes split the staircase into two paths.
One set of curtains completely covered the entrance to the hallway where Anna’s study was, while the entrance to the kitchens had no covering at all.
“I guess the wee dowager is drawing her lines,” Beatrice said with a huff that could have been derision or admiration. “Cannae blame her. If there had been a castle left and someone came in trying to claim it as their own, I’d have done worse.”