Chapter Thirty-Two
Georgiana leaned on the railing of the gallery to survey the guests in the hall below.
“Is that your grandson? The blustery fellow with the bulgy eyes?” Angus asked.
“Yes.” Georgiana sighed. “That’s Somerson.
” She took no pleasure in seeing him here.
He’d come for Caroline, and she hoped her granddaughter would be strong enough to resist him.
She could feel the anger emanating from Somerson, saw him looking for Caroline, checking his watch.
The longer she made him wait, the worse it would go for her.
“I see he takes after your husband’s side of the family,” Angus said acidly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Georgiana demanded waspishly.
“He’s not an attractive lad, now is he?” Angus mused, stroking his chin. “Not like you and Caroline.”
“Neville is hardly a lad, and he’s one of the most powerful peers in England.” Georgiana sniffed.
“Neville?” Angus snickered. “Powerful, and one of the nicest chaps too, by the looks of him.”
“He’s the very image of his grandfather,” Georgiana said, recalling her husband. “The apple has not fallen far from the tree.”
“Looks like it’s got a worm in it, if you ask me. Tell me, do you ever see him? Or his shade at least, the way you see me?”
Georgiana shuddered. “My husband? Of course not. Nor would I wish to. The long years of our wedded life were enough time together for both of us. More than enough.”
“Lucky man,” Angus muttered.
“Do you miss your grave so much?” Georgiana demanded, anger flaring.
“I meant I resent every single minute he spent with you that I was denied,” Angus snapped back. “I meant it as a compliment. Did you not recognize it as such?”
Georgiana looked at her hands, remembered where her lavish wedding ring had weighed on her finger, and looked at the finger of her other hand, where she’d worn Angus’s modest promise ring until she died.
She had treasured the tiny ruby far more than the massive sapphire and pearl ring.
Both were gone now, of course. The sapphires graced Charlotte’s fat finger.
“Forgive me. Somerson was not a one for giving compliments—at least not any that were directed my way. I quite got out of the habit of being complimented.”
“Then he was a fool, as well as uggsome. I would have told you every day how beautiful you are.”
“Uggsome?”
“The opposite of beautiful,” Angus said, staring down at Neville Forrester.
Georgiana felt tears come to her eyes. “We can’t change what’s past. Our time has come and gone. We can only help Caroline and Alec see how important it is to love and be loved. Do you understand that now?”
“O’ course I do. And I’m certain that’s why your Caroline can see me.”
“Because she’s in love with Alec?” Georgiana asked hopefully.
“She says she isn’t. I asked her directly.
I would have sworn . . . Och, I’ve seen the looks that pass between them.
They scorch the air.” He pushed his bonnet back.
“I thought it was working, our plan. I thought the lass could see me because she belongs here, that she’s meant to be at Glenlorne.
O’ course, I believed that of you too. We failed in our own time, gràdhach, and there’s more at stake now.
” He turned to her, and she saw tears in his eyes.
“Can we fix this—make them see—or will yon fool of an Englishman destroy everything?”
Georgiana looked down at her grandson’s hard, unfeeling face. “It’s up to Caroline now, and Alec. They must face the past and find a way. We can only do so much.”
Angus’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Then sixty years hence, it will be Alec and Caroline standing here, mourning the past,” Angus said, “and I’d not wish anyone that kind of torment.”
“Where is she, Glenlorne? Your letter said she was here.” The Earl of Somerson looked around Glenlorne’s great hall as if he was in the darkest slums of London, and his half sister had taken up a life in the demimonde.
It made Alec look around his home himself, but instead of shame, or guilt, he felt pride.
The walls were strong, the clan proud. They cared for each other, unlike this fool, and Bray too, who had everything money could buy, but lacked any human kindness.
“I assure you she’s here, my lord,” Mandeville said, quaffing another mug of ale and reaching for the pitcher. “We saw her only yesterday.”
Alec ignored him. “I understand that Lady Caroline has simply gone for a walk. She will likely be back shortly.”
“In this weather?” Countess Charlotte cried. “She’ll catch her death!”
Indeed. Alec glanced out the window at the steady downpour.
Where the devil was she? He had images of flash floods, slippery crags, deep crevasses, and Caroline lying broken and bloody in the heather.
He looked at his watch. He’d sent Jock and Hamish out to look for her an hour ago.
If they hadn’t returned in ten minutes’ time, he’d go himself, abandon his guests, or let Sophie and the girls amuse them.
Sophie had taken Lottie up to put her to bed.
Devorguilla and the girls were managing the herculean task of finding quarters for everyone from the earl to his lowest footman. Was there anyone left in England?
“Fear not, dear countess. Lady Caroline looked very much recovered yesterday, and hardly on the verge of death now,” Speed said.
“You were quite right to send her here to the Highlands. It appears to have done her a world of good and put the bloom back in her cheeks, so to speak—providing she doesn’t drown in the deluge, that is. ”
“Drown?” Charlotte said. Alec noted she looked more hopeful than sorrowful at the prospect. “Is that a possibility?”
“No,” Alec said quickly. Unless the ground became slippery, or she lost her footing and fell against a rock .
. . “No,” he said again. “She has probably taken shelter in the village. The local folk are very kind to—” He stopped himself from saying “strangers.” Caroline was hardly a stranger now.
She knew most of the villagers by name, knew their children, took baskets of food and Muira’s medicines to the sick and elderly, stopping to listen to their stories.
Caroline would be welcomed warmly at any hearth to wait out the weather. He felt a moment’s pride fill him.
“She’s with peasants?” Charlotte’s face creased with disgust. “She’ll get fleas—or worse. She’s already on the very verge of ruin, and fleas will certainly tip her over the edge.”
“I would go myself and look for her,” Viscount Mears said boldly, then subsided instantly. “If I knew the way.”
“And risk your own health?” Charlotte demanded. “I should say not.”
“I have no doubt that she’ll be back as soon as the rain stops,” Alec said again.
“Will that be anytime today?” Somerson said impatiently. “I understand it rains nearly constantly in the Highlands.”
“His grandfather said as much—he told terrible stories of the weather. He fought with the king’s army in the ’45,” Charlotte said.
“Well done, my lord!” Mandeville said, raising his glass, then met Alec’s sharp look and colored. “Er, we could mount a proper search for Lady Caroline.”
“Once the rain stops,” Speed added.
Alec looked at the gentlemen in the room.
Mears looked worried, but meek. Mandeville was helping himself to more ale.
Speed was examining the maker’s mark on the bottom of the pewter mug, assessing its value.
Somerson looked annoyed by the delay, and Charlotte was hopeful that Caroline might never return at all.
Not one person cared if Caroline was safe or not.
He’d made a dreadful mistake, sending for Somerson.
He looked out the window at the old tower, standing lonely and forlorn in the wet, and wondered if she was there. He imagined finding her there, kissing the rain from her lips, holding her body against his to warm her wet skin . . .
Jock came to Alec’s side and whispered in his ear. “She’s upstairs, safe. Came home an hour past, looking like a drowned stoat.”
Relief and anger flooded through Alec’s breast. She was safe.
No, she was hiding. He looked around the room. He’d be tempted to hide from these people himself, if they were his kin. Still, she could not avoid them forever. He frowned at her cowardice.
He got to his feet. “Will you excuse me?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and left the room. He took the stone steps two at a time and didn’t stop until he reached Caroline’s room in the tower.