“The old gods?” Lydia asked. “Do you mean the Greek or Roman gods?”
“No, lass, the Scottish ones. We have Beira, the most feared goddess of winter. She’s a brutal old woman, that Beira, but she created the lochs and mountains. Then there’s the kelpies, the water spirits—great horses made of kelp and seafoam—but you’d best be careful, lest they drown you.” He reached up to show her that his fingers were covered with rings. “We wear silver to appease the old gods.”
She marveled at the beautiful Celtic rings he wore and remembered that she had glimpsed a large ring on Mr. Kincade’s right thumb. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she was quite certain it was one of these pieces of silver.
“Do you miss Scotland?” she asked Mr. Graham.
“Aye. If you visit once, your heart willna leave it. Having been born there, I will always ache for home.”
“But you won’t return?”
He shook his head, a sad, forlorn look in his eyes. “There isna much work there. ’Tis better for my family to live here.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham. I cannot imagine how hard that must be.” Yet in a way she could. Her father’s business pursuits had left them in a constant state of upheaval. They might be in Bath for a few more months, but she would wager that by the end of the year they would move somewhere else in England. She had not had a proper home in a long time. She’d forgotten what it felt like to belong somewhere, to feel the call of a place that bore the name ofhome.
When she reached her family’s townhouse, she offered Mr. Graham coin to get him home, but the Scottish driver’s cheeks turned ruddy as he protested.
“Nay. It was my pleasure to walk with you, Miss Hunt.” He bowed and waited at the foot of the stairs until she’d been shown inside. She waved goodbye to him before stepping into the house.
“Miss Hunt, I was told by Miss Portia that you had left for London,” Mr. Annis said as he ushered her inside.
“I believed I was to go, but it seems I am to stay.” She glanced around. “Is my sister at home?”
“No. Your father, sister, and aunt are attending a dinner party at Mr. Rochefort’s home.”
“Oh well, it is too late for me to join them. Please have Mrs. Kloester send a tray of cold cuts up to my bedchamber.”
“Yes, Miss Hunt.” She didn’t miss the shadow of worry on Mr. Annis’s face.
“Mr. Annis, is everything all right?”
“I ...” The butler’s gaze turned to the hallway, as if he was expecting to see someone.
“Please, Mr. Annis.”
“I do not wish to speak ill of the master ...”
Lydia placed a hand on his arm. “Of course not. Please, if it is important to you, you may confide in me without fear.”
Annis hesitated. “I cannot even begin to ...” He straightened his shoulders and sighed. “You must come and see for yourself.” He led her upstairs to one of the empty bedchambers. He unlocked the door, which puzzled Lydia. They had never locked any doors in this house before.
Annis pushed the door open and stepped back. Lydia entered with no small amount of trepidation and gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth at the sight of a large form on the bed.
“Is that,” she whispered to the butler, “a man?”
“Yes, Miss Hunt. He was delivered here two hours ago by four rather questionable-looking men.”
“What? Why did they bring him here? Who is he?” She stepped deeper into the room, and the man stirred at the sound of her voice.
“They brought him here at your father’s direction.”
Lydia shuddered with sudden horror. “Papa did this?”
A rumbling growl came from the bed. “Let me go, foul wench!”
“Heavens! He’s awake.” Lydia rushed inside. “Annis, bring me a candle!” She stopped at the bedside. Annis handed her a candle, and she lifted it to the man’s face.
“Mr. Kincade!” she almost screamed in shock.
