“Mr. MacLean, may I present the Reverend William West,” Semple said.
Eleanor had married a minister? He’d been certain she’d marry an earl or viscount. How had she ended up with a minister—especially one coming to Assiniboia—the land she had claimed to be too frightened to settle with Arran? Was her love for this man worth the risks inherent in colonizing a new land? Something she had been unwilling to do for Arran?
The very thought made Arran’s muscles tense as he lifted his chin.
“How do you do?” Reverend West asked as he extended his hand to Arran.
Whatever shred of decency Arran had left, he used to shake West’s hand, though he could not find the wherewithal to welcome him to Assiniboia.
Reverend West put his hand under Eleanor’s elbow. “And may I present Lady Eleanor Brooke, our new teacher.”
Eleanor’s mouth parted momentarily, as if she wanted to speak, but she closed her lips again and simply looked at Arran, a thousand emotions passing through her expressive eyes.
“The lady and I have a previous acquaintance,” Arran said in a thick, rough voice, hoping not to betray his true feelings.
James looked sharply at Arran, but Arran could not muster the strength to introduce Eleanor to his friend and mentor.
“How nice,” Semple said while West frowned, apparently surprised at the news.
“And the babe?” Arran asked, finding it hard to make sense of what was happening.
“My child,” West said in a tight voice. “My wife, Anne, was taken from us on our voyage here.”
“I-I’m caring for Miriam,” Eleanor finally said. “Anne was a dear friend of mine.”
He’d forgotten how melodic her voice sounded to his ears. A torrent of memories and emotions rushed back to his mind and heart, almost knocking him over with the force of them. He had spent hours listening to her in the gardens at St. Mary’s Isle—would have spent the rest of his life listening to her if she had agreed.
So, she wasn’t married to the minister—and the babe was not her own.
But there were so many other questions warring within him. Why was she here? What had she been thinking—what had Selkirk or Semple been thinking to allow her to come? They should know, better than most, that this was no place for a woman of noble birth, coddled and protected from life’s hardships. She lacked the experience and fortitude of the Scottish Highlanders standing all around her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Arran managed to say to the minister.
Grief hung heavily around Mr. West as he looked beyond the small group toward Fort Douglas. Though Arran had not lost a wife to death, he understood the pain West felt at losing the woman he loved.
But now here she stood, alive and lovelier than his aching heart had remembered. It was almost more than he could bear.
“If you’ll show us to our quarters,” Semple said, “I think we’re all ready to find our beds.”
“Aye.” Arran was the deputy-governor. He had a responsibility to all these new arrivals—even if his world had just been turned on its side. “We have room within the stockade for the settlers to pitch their tents.” He absently motioned toward the fort.
“I would like the Reverend and Lady Eleanor to sleep in a house, if possible,” Semple said. “I’ve heard the governor’s house is quite large.”
“Aye.”
“Perhaps it’s large enough for all of us?” Semple asked hopefully.
Arran only nodded. He led them up the riverbank, and after seeing that James was helping the colonists organize their tents, he showed the governor, minister, and teacher to their quarters.
“Is there a woman who could be employed to keep house?” Governor Semple asked Arran as they stood inside the main room and he inspected his new home. “And to act as a chaperone for Lady Eleanor?”
“Please,” Eleanor said, the baby still in the sling on her front. She bounced gently as the child began to stir. “Miss Brooke will do.”
The three men turned to look at her.
Her cheeks were pink as she dropped her gaze. “I do not wish to carry my title here, if you please.”
“As you wish,” Semple said with his no-nonsense attitude. “It’s probably for the best.”
