“But,” Alasdair said. “I have surely made yer acquaintance before, Mr. Swinton and Mrs. Swinton.”
The Swintons—he silver-haired and perhaps fifty, she buxom and red-haired and Alasdair’s age—shrugged.
“We travel a great deal for pleasure,” Mr. Swinton said. “It would not surprise me if we had crossed paths at an inn somewhere.”
“Have ye ever been to Sommerleigh?” Alasdair asked.
They looked at each other and again shrugged.
“I don’t think so, Dr. Andrews,” Mrs. Swinton said.
Lady Lyndmouth was introduced next. Petite, blonde, supercilious. About Alasdair’s age as well. Wearing lavender, the color of half mourning. A fairly recent widow, then. Sometime in the last year. She was constantly reaching out to touch Morpeth, to brush his arm or his shoulder. And if she was not touching him, she was looking at him, following him with her eyes.
He next bowed to Morpeth’s brother-in-law Sir Timothy Colborne, brother to the unseen Lady Morpeth and also the husband of one of Arabella’s friends on the sofa. Sir Timothy yawned in the middle of the introduction.
Alasdair turned now to look at the three women on the sofa and he could hear Arabella’s laugh and he was happy for her.
Then he turned his head and observed Morpeth downing a glass of rum punch, also staring at Arabella.
I still want to beat him to a bloody pulp.
A half an hour later, Alasdair, standing across the room, could tell that Arabella was exhausted, despite the giggles and whispers on the sofa with her friends. She had had that long walk in the snow before he had thought to put her on the horse. Of course, she was tired. And since breakfast, all she had had was a small cup of tea, having refused the sandwiches in the lodge. Perhaps she felt she could not eat after hearing she would be soon facing Lord Morpeth. But how well she had done in the front hall with Morpeth, how brave she had been. Dauntless, as always.
But now, she needed someone to arrange that she got her rest and nourishment.
With a start, he realized that someone was him.
“I think Mrs. Andrews should retire. Lord Morpeth,” he turned to Morpeth, “would it be possible for someone to take us to our rooms? And perhaps for some food on a tray to be brought for Mrs. Andrews? I dinnae think she will be able to stay upright for dinner.”
“Certainly,” Morpeth said smoothly. “In my experience, Mrs. Andrews has a great deal of trouble staying upright no matter the circumstances.”
Daggers of light flashed in Alasdair’s vision. He would have thought he was about to have a seizure except the moment passed and he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He willed himself to recall the promises he had made as a young doctor during his trainingandthe promise he had made to Arabella in the lodge.
He then also remembered the piece of tartan sitting between his waistcoat and his shirt. His armor was also a favor from a lady. He could still parry.
“The privilege of being a husband,” he said through his teeth, “is that my job is to ensure that Mrs. Andrews has not a bit of trouble at all. With anything. Ever. Anywhere. From anyone.”
Morpeth inclined his head. “Just so, Dr. Andrews.” He turned to his butler who had been serving the rum punch and told him to take the doctor and his wife to their rooms.
Oh, to have the privilege of a husband really and truly. For Arabella to be Mrs. Andrews in law as she already was in his heart. When they were away from this evil man and his house, he would lay his soul bare to her.
Nineteen
Arabella let herself yawn as she went up the stairs on Alasdair’s arm, behind the butler. She hadn’t minded Alasdair interrupting her talk with Juliana and Rebecca. She had been about to doze off in the warm room after drinking a glass of rum punch on an empty stomach. And she would see her friends tomorrow. It was wonderful.
“I understand your luggage is with your abandoned carriage, of course,” the butler said. “If the snow stops tomorrow, we will send someone out to recover it. Until that time, we will endeavor to supply whatever you need.”
At the top of the stairs, the butler took a right turn and went to a door and opened it. The chamber behind the door was a lovely boudoir with a big bed that looked like a piece of soft heaven to Arabella right now.
“Lady Rebecca Dalrymple says she wants her lady’s maid to wait on you tonight, Mrs. Andrews.”
“Goodness.” Arabella laughed. “I don’t need a lady’s maid. I just need a nightdress and some warm water. And a hairbrush for the morning.”
The butler bowed. “I will send the lady’s maid along with these items.” He stepped outside the room and waited.
Alasdair hesitated by the door. “Goodnight, Mrs. Andrews.”
She turned. How handsome and kind and not-stupid he was, and how glad she was that he was with her. How she wished they really were married.
