Chapter 25
Where did they go?
Agnes rushed along the hallway, her heart thundering wildly in her chest, checking every room she passed through, though she knew neither the fox cub nor Lizzy had the height or dexterity to open doors.
Nevertheless, she had a fear that they might have gone through an open door and somehow closed it behind them, trapping themselves inside.
The crawling was a relatively new discovery for Lizzy, more of a determined drag really, but Agnes had only drifted off for a moment. She hadn’t meant to, but the last couple of nights had offered no hope of good rest, and she was beginning to suffer the fatigue of snatched moments of sleep.
What if Snout has eaten her? What if he has bitten her and she is bleeding out somewhere? Oh, heavens, what was I thinking, leaving her on the floor with a wild animal? Christine would never have done such a stupid thing.
It was the standard by which she judged everything she did: her sister. How could she not, when Christine had always seemed more capable, more mature, and better at everything without making anyone feel bad?
She can’t have gone far.
She skidded to a halt outside Gordon’s study. The door stood halfway open, concealing her enough that she could look upon the scene within without—hopefully—being noticed.
Gordon was telling stories again, his handsome face animated as he performed the voices, his strong arm securely wrapped around Lizzy as he turned the page of what looked like a ledger and very much not like a book.
Then, there was the fox cub on his shoulder, so content, so safe in his company that he had fallen asleep there.
What was more, Gordon was deliberately not moving that shoulder, remaining perfectly still so as not to disturb the sleeping animal.
“The tiny warrior princess brandished her wooden stick, wavin’ it back and forth most menacingly,” he said.
“The dragon laughed, for he’d never seen a warrior braver or more ridiculous in all his five-hundred years.
And when he laughed, smoke plumed out of his nostrils.
The little girl huffed and told him, ‘Daenae go roasting me, either, else I’ll stuff yer nose with me boots.
’ Which, of course, only made the dragon laugh more, and… ”
Agnes frowned, completely at a loss. How could this man be so cruel, when he was making up stories for a baby and a fox cub? Surely, if he was such a beast, Snout wouldn’t feel safe with him, and nor would Lizzy.
“The dragon felt he was about to sneeze,” Gordon continued. “He, too, had decided that he didnae want to roast the little mousie, but he always unleashed fire when he sneezed and so—”
Agnes braced herself and walked in, her cheeks hot as the sight of him conjured up vivid memories.
“I am sorry they bothered you,” she said, somewhat disappointed to have to interrupt the story. “I lost sight of them for a moment. Lizzy has recently started to crawl, and she is surprisingly quick.”
Gordon stared at her, his face unreadable. “They werenae botherin’ me.”
“That can’t be true. I am sure you are very busy.” She approached the desk to take Lizzy from him.
With some reluctance, he lifted the baby and passed her over, their hands brushing for just a moment. It was like lightning, shooting through Agnes’s skin, pouring fuel onto the fire of the heat that rushed into her face.
Indeed, it did not help that he looked so… at ease. His tenderness toward Lizzy and the cub did something strange to Agnes’s insides. She doubted there was anything more attractive than a man who was good with children, unafraid to look silly in order to entertain them.
“Iona told me of the festivities you are planning,” she said in a rush, hoping he would not notice any color in her face. “A dance should be a… welcome thing.”
He closed the ledger and looked toward the fireplace, avoiding her gaze. “Invite anyone ye please, though ye’ll have to be quick if ye want yer aunt to attend.”
Even if the journey were much shorter, there was no way Aunt Tabitha would choose to attend. She had not even responded to Agnes’s letters yet, although that might have had more to do with the distance between them.
“That is very kind,” she replied stiffly, “but unnecessary. I have no desire to invite anyone from home.”
He shrugged and looked at her at last, his expression blank. “As ye prefer. As Iona keeps tellin’ me, there should be a couple of English lasses in attendance anyway. I’m sure ye can make friends with them.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Agnes mumbled, dubious.
Before circumstances had turned her into a recluse, she had not really been too involved in society.
She could count her acquaintances on maybe two hands, and her friends on a couple of fingers.
Friends who had not bothered to correspond with her after she sequestered herself away with Lizzy, so perhaps they were not friends at all.
Holding Lizzy tightly to her, she turned and left. The fox cub didn’t stir at all, remaining on Gordon’s shoulder like a peculiar fur tippet, making her wonder once again how a man so cruel could be such a comfort to babies.
And to me, at least for a short while.
Even now, she could feel his hand reaching for hers in the bathtub as he knelt there and listened to her to ease her troubles.
How on earth could that be the same man who had spoken so brusquely, so dismissively to her the other morning?
“There ye are!”
Rapid footsteps in the hallway made Agnes stop. She turned to find the housekeeper running toward her with surprising speed, a grin on her lined face… and what looked like a rag mop in her hand.
“I hope ye’re nae avoidin’ me, Miss Agnes,” Iona said, coming to a not-at-all breathless halt. “I’ve been searchin’ high and low for ye.”
Agnes shook her head and put on a smile. “Not at all, Iona. I was merely heading down to the kitchen to see if I might partake in some luncheon before Lizzy wakes up from her nap.”
It had been another day since Agnes had seen Gordon, who seemed content to keep to his study. In four more days, however, she would have no choice but to cross paths with him. At least, if they were to be believed as a betrothed couple at this wretched cèilidh.
“Ah, we must have just missed each other,” Iona said, nodding.
“I was just up at the nursery, tryin’ to find ye.
I need ye to tell me which fabric ye prefer so I can send the request to the seamstress.
She’s houndin’ me with riders from the village three times a day, and if we daenae tell her fast, she’ll make somethin’ ugly just to spite us. ”
Agnes chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. While she had not been actively avoiding Iona, she had not sought her out about a gown for the cèilidh either, despite the housekeeper’s excitement about it.
“Apologies, Iona.” She gestured to the ribbons of fabric that dangled from the old woman’s fist. “I’ll choose now.”
None really sang to her, for she preferred pale colors. The housekeeper had chosen an array of bright shades that Agnes would never have picked for herself.
“Goodness, it is impossible.” She laughed stiffly. “They are all pretty. Why don’t you pick for me?”
“Och, I couldnae do that,” Iona replied, shaking her head. “Go on, which do ye like best?”
Agnes stifled a sigh as she studied the gaudy colors: emerald green, rich scarlet, a nauseating goldish-green, a vivid purple, and an offensive yellow, so bright that no one would be able to look at her directly if she wore a gown of it.
“I think… the red,” she said with a half-decisive nod.
Aunt Tabitha would have fainted at the notion of her niece wearing such a brazen color, but it was the best of a bad selection. Besides, when else would Agnes be able to wear such a daring shade?
“The red!” Iona chirped, as if Agnes had made the right choice. “Of course it has to be the red! Och, ye’ll look wonderful. It’ll suit ye very well, indeed.”
Agnes expelled a breath of relief. “Well then, I hope you will have less trouble with the seamstress now… and I thank you for everything you are doing for me. It really isn’t necessary, but I am grateful.”
“It’s nothin’, Miss Agnes,” Iona insisted. “I havenae had somethin’ this excitin’ to do in years, so I’m nae complainin’. I’ll have a messenger ride out now, and I’ll come and find ye once I receive the reply.”
Agnes’s cheeks ached from the smile on her face. “Of course, Iona. I look forward to it.”
The housekeeper hurried off with the same astounding speed as before, while Agnes watched and felt her shoulders grow heavy with the weight of the gathering to come.
She did not like to be the center of attention. She did not like having all eyes on her. She did not like so much fuss. And she did not like the notion that there might be Englishwomen attending the cèilidh, for it rather spun the narrative out of her control.
At this point, she was the one dictating what Edwin knew and how he knew it. She was the one who had spread just enough information so that he was aware she had gone to Scotland and taken Lizzy with her, to marry a fearsome laird who wouldn’t take kindly to interlopers.
But if news reached society through other lairds’ English wives, it would be out of her hands. Their gossip would be splashed across the scandal sheets, with her at the center of it.
Is it too late to rescind the invitations?
Perhaps there wouldn’t be any need for a gown. Perhaps, if her anxieties continued, she would withdraw to her chambers during the party and stay there until it was all over.
“Iona, is that ye?” Gordon’s voice sounded behind her, jolting her out of her thoughts.
She didn’t pause to look back, but took off at a sprint, vanishing around the first corner she came to.
After everything that had been said and all the confusion in her mind, she couldn’t bear to see him.
Not yet. Definitely not without Lizzy as armor between them.