“Pick her up, Lachlan, and put her on the sofa, would you?” she suggested.
“Nay, if I touch her, ’twill be wi’ my hands around her throat.”
Kimberly was so startled by his response that she immediately made an exasperated sound herself. “Put her on the bloody sofa. You can save your neck-wringing until she’s conscious and can appreciate it.”
She didn’t wait to see if he would follow her order. She stepped around Winnifred to get to the door to summon a footman for some smelling salts. When she turned back into the room, Lachlan was dumping the older woman off of his shoulder onto a rose and gold sofa, and none too gently.
“Do remind me never to faint when you’re around,” she said dryly.
Lachlan dusted off his hands as if they’d been made filthy by the chore, then glanced at her. “Nay, darlin’, you’d be carried like a wee bairn. But she’s no’ deserving o’ that care.”
She came back to stand beside him. “Am I to understand that she’s the woman you were only just telling me about? The one who stole your inheritance?”
“Aye. I dinna ken why she’s here, but she’ll no’ be disappearing on me this time.”
Kimberly frowned. She could guess why Winnifred Marston was suddenly at Sherring Cross. She’d obviously come here with Cecil, and had probably been shown to a room last night so that she could retire, as late as it was, while they were still in the duke’s study. That would explain why they hadn’t seen her sooner.
But this was still so—astonishing, she had to ask again, “She’syour stepmother?”
“Aye.”
“The Widow Marston is your stepmother?”
He glowered at her now. “Aye and aye, and dinna make me repeat it again. I dinna care what she calls herself now, but she’s the same woman was married tae my da for twelve years, then snuck off in the dead o’ night no’ a week after he died, taking the MacGregor wealth wi’ her.”
He was growing annoyed at her persistence, but she still found this too ironic by half. “You couldn’t be mistaken? Maybe she only closely resembles your stepmother?”
He snorted. “She fainted at the sight o’ me. If there was ever any doubt o’ her guilt, there’s none now. But there wasna any tae begin wi’.”
It was incredible. Kimberly had met and spoken with Winnifred Marston dozens of times socially, even before her mother died and her father became interested in the widow. She’d always seemed a nice enough sort, if a little self-centered.
The widow was in her late forties, had brown hair untouched yet by grey, light brown eyes, and a slightly plump, though very curvacious figure. And she wasn’t very tall, certainly shorter than Cecil. She was a handsome woman for her age.
Kimberly had actually never given the woman much thought. She knew that Winnifred had refused to marry Cecil until Kimberly was herself married and was gone from his house. But that was understandable.
She knew many women who weren’t related by blood that had trouble sharing the same household. There were even some troubles among those who were related. It was a matter of each wanting ultimate control of a household, when only one could fill that position. And she’d certainly had no problem with that, since she wanted out of her father’s house as well.
She also knew that the widow was quite wealthy. She’d bought the old Henry house, a really large home, when she’d moved to Northumberland several years before. She employed dozens of servants. She entertained lavishly and frequently. With stolen money?
It was incredible. And her father, when he was told—good God, she couldn’t begin to guess what his reaction was going to be. Actually, he’d never believe it, not with a Scotsman as the accuser.
She shook her head, still quite bemused. “I’m having a very hard time imagining Winnie as a thief, I really am.”
“Winnie?” Lachlan said in surprise. “D’you know this woman, Kimber?”
Had that somehow not been mentioned yet? “Actually, you’re going to find this—”
“Who fainted?” Megan asked as she sailed into the room, the footman apparently having fetched her along with the smelling salts. And then seeing Winnifred on the sofa, “Ah, our newcomer, Lady—Marston, is it? Was she taken ill? Should I send for a doctor?”
“I doubt a doctor will be needful,” Kimberly replied, giving Megan a slight smile. “She was merely done in by the sight of Lachlan.”
Megan lifted a brow in Lachlan’s direction. “You have them swooning at your feet now, MacGregor? Maybe you should start carrying the salts around with you?”
He snorted. “She fainted in fear, and rightly so.”
Megan’s brow lifted much higher at that. “Did she now? Well, you’ve such a frightening face, no wonder. Yes, that I can surely imagine.”
Lachlan’s lips compressed in annoyance. Megan was sitting down on the edge of the sofa now, so that she could pass the smelling salts swiftly beneath Winnifred’s nose. It did the trick, the widow’s hand coming up to swipe at the offensive smell, then her eyes slowly blinked open.
