“Perhaps I thought I would have a better chance at seducing you if I were at the inn too.” He said it to send this conversation away from the reason he avoided this place, but the notion had passed through his mind, often, scoundrel that he was.
That took her aback for a five count, no more. She lifted a cover to see what else the cook had made. “I’ll wager this fish was caught within the last few hours.” She moved a chunk of it to her plate. “If that was your plan, you could effect it just as well here. Even better is my guess. Just invite Miss Ingram and me to stay here too.”
“You would like that?”
“Which? Staying here, or being seduced?”
“For now, you need only respond to thestaying herepart.”
“Who wouldn’t like that, except you? It is luxurious. The food is very fine, the mattresses are wonderful, I am sure, and I am guessing the linens are of top quality. Are there other servants besides the cook and this footman who brings us too many dishes?”
“Several. They are spying on us through the keyholes.”
“As long as there is one woman to help Miss Ingram so I don’t have to, I would say this is a marked improvement over any inn.”
Could he do it? Stay here? Right now, he thought he could. While they toured the house, he could. Only he did not think anything had really changed about his feelings toward this house. All that had changed was Davina’s presence, and the way that pushed old histories away for a while.
Still, she wanted to sleep in the house she thought should be hers, and be served by the servants she thought she had a right to command. He could indulge her for a few days. He could conquer his aversion that long. Perhaps it would blunt her eventual disappointment about the property.
“I will speak with Roberts. He will send for our baggage and Miss Ingram and move us all here.”
Chapter Seventeen
For now, you need only respond to thestaying herepart.
He assumed they both understood and accepted that of course he would not seduce her, so he could joke about it. Little did he know she had almost blurted out that she would gladly be seduced.
She strolled through the overgrown garden while he went to give instructions to Mr. Roberts. One could still find the paths if one pushed away the bushes’ tall branches. A few blooms poked through in one area, indicating there had been a flower bed there, now all but swallowed by the encroaching wilderness.
A back portal beckoned. She unlatched it and walked into a field of heather. A short distance away, on a little hill, she saw a copse. The trees looked young enough to believe someone had planted them here, forcing an unnatural canopy over what should have been pasture or fields. After walking another twenty feet toward them, she saw why. The family graveyard enjoyed this bit of nature, the headstones and small mausoleums showing through the bare branches.
She took her time walking among them, reading the names of her ancestors. She knew in her heart she was one of them, just as she had known upon entering the house that her mission was just and right. She had experienced the same contentment she knew when her father and she had returned from one of their journeys into the country.Ah, home again. It brought a special peace to return to where one belonged. She had not enjoyed that feeling since he died, until she entered their home in Caxledge. Today, stepping into that house, she had once more.
She read the names of those buried here. MacCallums, most of them. No Marshalls. None of Brentworth’s ancestors had been laid to rest here. Perhaps if any perished here, their bodies were sent back to England.
One grave marker made her pause. Not a MacCallum. Not even a Scot, from the name. Jeannette O’Malley. Nor did the stone look very old. It showed no chips and not nearly as much weathering as the others. Not fresh either. Just more recent. A servant, most likely. She could see how one might end up here, if it were an old retainer without local family.
She turned to make her way back and saw Brentworth watching her from amid the trees. The branches sliced his form. She walked to him.
“There is no grave for the son of Michael MacCallum.”
“The records show him being buried in the parish yard.”
“The day is young, and I have eaten enough to last until morning. I think I will visit that parish yard.” They reentered the garden. “Is the church far from here? If you give me its direction, I will go now.”
“Do you think to walk? It will be a rigorous four miles each way. Roberts has sent my coach to the inn, but I am sure there is a gig or wagon to be had. I will call for it and take you.”
“I can drive a gig myself.”
“We will do this together, Davina. It was your rule that we both learn what is to be discovered, so neither of us misinforms the other.”
“Are you saying I would lie to you?”
“Of course not. Just as you did not insist on coming north with me because you thought I would lie to you.”
Together they went inside and waited for the gig to be prepared.
* * *
