“Your instructions?”
“Yes. Evidently I left them a note the night I vanished, saying I’d gone on to Lattimer Castle, and that they were to remain there until I sent for them.”
That would have been Graeme’s doing, then. In all honesty, over the past days she’d completely forgotten about her coachman and driver. “Well, it’s done, at least. And I can’t fault Graeme—I don’t want to see any harm befall Connell or the other boys. In fact, I’ll write Stevens myself and ask that they cover the Lattimer coat of arms on the coach doors.”
“I asked Ranald to do it nearly a fortnight ago,” Graeme said, as he emerged into the foyer from the direction of the kitchen.
Her spine stiffened and her fingers clenched, her body wanting to fling itself into his arms, while her mind bellowed that the more distance between the two of them, the better it would be for her. “Well,” she said aloud, “it’s been seen to, then. Good.”
He nodded, no sign of last night’s anger on his lean face. “Aye. Are ye going in to breakfast? I’ve a few people to see, so I’ll be oot fer a few hours.”
“You don’t need to report your whereabouts to me,” she returned. “I said we’d remain here until Sir Hamish departs, and so we will.”
“Then I’ll see ye later.” Without another word he headed up the hallway toward his office, entered, and closed the door behind him.
“So you are on the outs,” Mrs. Giswell noted, moving into the lead. “I thought there was a chill in the air yesterday, but now I’m certain of it.”
“I don’t wish to discuss it.”
“Andthatis how a lady puts a stop to an innapropriate conversation. I shall desist.”
Wonderful. She’d finally mastered the art of being appropriately rude. Perhaps that was the key to success in London—to be direct, rude, and dismissive. Being friendly and hopeful certainly hadn’t achieved anything. Not in London, anyway. Yesterday, in this small corner of the Highlands, she’d been appreciated, welcomed, and accepted, all with nothing for her to offer in return but a smile. Of course she’d lied about who she was, but she had the distinct impression that she cared more about that than they did.
“Who are ye going to marry?” Connell demanded, as she entered the breakfast room. All three of Graeme’s brothers were there, in fact, the youngest one excited and the other two looking supremely amused. At her, no doubt.
“Why you, of course,” she returned, swooping in to clasp his hand. “I must marry the first man who asks me.”
“I didnae ask ye, and I’m nae a man,” he exclaimed, pulling his fingers free. “I’m a bairn and a duckling.”
“Oh, dear!” She put both hands to her cheeks. “Then I suppose I shan’t marry anyone—because no one bothered to tell me what catching the first apple meant!” She kissed him on the cheek.
He wiped the kiss away with a grimace. “I was hoping ye were bamming me. I’ve had my eye on Jenny Moss fer some time now, anyway.”
Brendan let out a shout of laughter, the first time she’d ever heard him do so. “Ye ken she’s twice yer age, duckling.”
“Aye, but she makes a very fine rhubarb pie.”
“That’s good enough fer me,” Dùghlas put in, chuckling as well.
After Marjorie selected her breakfast she headed for the chair at the opposite end of the table from Brendan. If he’d decided he didn’t hate her, she meant to make an attempt not to do anything to change his mind.
“Ye can sit here, Lady Marjorie,” he said unexpectedly, indicating the chair to his right. “Ree, I mean. I’ve been thinking I might owe ye an apology.”
“‘Might’?” Dùghlas echoed. “This entire da—blasted mess is yer doing.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Marjorie interrupted, before they could begin quarreling, and took the seat beside the sixteen-year-old. “I was quite angry at first. But at the same time, I got to meet all of you, when I wouldn’t have otherwise. And about that, I cannot be angry.”
“You could still be angry aboot Brendan,” Connell suggested. “He’s only happy this morning because he finally got to kiss Isobel Allen.”
The older boy’s face flushed. “How’d ye like yer head dunked in the river, duckling?”
“Ye wouldnae, because I would tell Graeme, and ye’d be—”
“Isobel seemed very happy last night, herself,” Marjorie broke in. “And if anyone has the right to applaud or complain it would be her, Connell. Ladies don’t like it when you say things, true or not, that could embarrass them or hurt their reputations.”
“Aye,” Brendan seconded. “So keep yer gobber shut.”
“I…” The boy stood up, then collapsed into his chair again, the very image of defeated youth. “Aye.” In the next heartbeat he straightened up again. “I’m going up to the meadow after breakfast, if ye want to come, Ree. Last year I found two pennies, a button, and a seashell necklace.”
