“Been working again in the kitchen.” Higgins scratched his head. “I thought it was the pixies who fried the sausages, but it was the girl. Now she’s baking. Baking!” He sounded outraged.
Gabriel fingered a scar on his cheek thoughtfully. “She’s supposed to take the carriage back to her home.”
“Yes, yes, she’s alone,” Higgins muttered and left.
Dash it, the man had phases when he understood perfectly well, followed by episodes where he seemed entirely deaf and senile.
Gabriel hadn’t had the heart to dismiss him. He’d been working for three dukes of Dunross. When Gabriel inherited the dukedom, Higgins had shown up at his doorstep in London and stuck to him with more persistence than mud stuck to his Hessians. He’d followed him here to Dunross castle. He’d become his shadow.
“I serve the Dukes of Dunross,” he’d stubbornly repeated and refused to leave. He’d been half deaf back then already. Though sometimes Gabriel suspected the man was faking it and selectively choosing only what he wanted to hear.
Higgins was one thing. The bigger problem was: what on earth was he going to do if the girl refused to leave?
Why on earth would she want to stay? She had his name. She had a title. He’d guaranteed her financial support. He’d fulfilled his promise to her father. He had nothing else to offer. The castle was a dump of stone; there were no servants. The food was ghastly, and he himself looked like a veritable gargoyle. Even in the old days, when he’d apparently looked reasonably attractive, he never relished being out in town and about in society.
He’d been semi-relieved when his father asked him to marry his colleague’s daughter. He wouldn’t have to go courting.
He was a military man. He knew how to order a company around the battlefield. Or he had thought he did. He did not know what to do with ladies. He could hardly order her around like his soldiers, could he? He had no idea how to talk to a woman, least of all court one.
Especially one who had a sprinkle of fairy freckles on her nose and a quizzical glint in her hazel eyes, and who was now his wife.
He was thoroughly ruffled.
Her hands had been icy cold when he had placed her on the sofa. He’d looked down at her. A complete stranger. His wife. Yet he felt like he’d never carried a more precious bundle in his arms.
He shook himself. No, no, no, no. This wouldn’t do. The girl had walked into his life a mere twenty-four hours ago, and he already worried about her.
He needed to get rid of her immediately, but didn’t know how to go about doing that without forcefully carrying her into the carriage.
Suddenly, a tremendous crash reverberated through the castle.
He jumped.
By Jupiter. What was that?
Either the place was being invaded, or the girl was taking the castle apart.
Since he was relatively sure he’d helped defeat the French in battle five years ago, it must be the girl.
With a feeling of foreboding, he left his tower room.
Chapter 8
Birdie was rearranging the furniture.
After all, she told herself, she was the Duchess of Dunross; this was her home, and she could bloody well do whatever she wanted. She was determined to make this place more homey. It needed a womanly touch. Since there were no servants to help her, she had to do things herself. But she was used to that.
Whenever Birdie decided to do something, she did so systematically and thoroughly. After Gabriel had fled—really, there was no other way to say it, he’d literally fled after she’d mentioned children—and Higgins had shuffled away, she’d been left alone in the gigantic medieval hall.
She had heard the carriage rumble into the courtyard and stop in front of the stairs. It was to take her home. She ignored it.
Her gaze now fell on the door to the right. It was a smaller, oaken door next to the fireplace that she’d not noticed before.
“Plan for the day: investigate the castle,” she said aloud. She’d open each door, peek into each corner, discover every secret of this place. After all, this was to be her new home. A feeling of excitement overcame her.
The room behind the door was dark as the drapes were drawn. Birdie pulled them aside, releasing a shower of dust. She sneezed.
Weak daylight poured through the grimy windows.
