Thirteen
Helen thought they were a strange group for dinner. The scoundrel with deep pockets. Her Mags, pink and glowing. The outsized Highlander fumbling with the unfamiliar fine silverware. And herself, the Countess of Kinmarloch in a dirty blue dress.
At least, the dress was fully dry. Finally. And the wretched brown dress had been salvaged out of the keep and was hanging upstairs in front of the fire in her room. She could wear it tomorrow. And her nightdress was drying as well.
She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “When do ye leave for London, Jack Pike?”
Mags’ head, which had been angled toward Duncan, whipped around to look at Jack. “Nae. Yer nae leaving.”
Jack shook his head. “I won’t leave for several days yet. A week, maybe. I have things to do, I must make sure the cottage is well underway . . .” He glanced at Helen. “I don’t plan to come back so I must soak up all I can of Scotland while I’m still here.”
Mags gulped. “Nae coming back. But why must ye go?”
Helen thanked Mags silently for asking the question she herself wanted to ask but did not trust herself to.
“The new duke has been named. It will be John MacNaughton. He will be anxious to get my report. Hear my tales of the savages I have met. The sheep I have tamed.” He chuckled and sipped his claret.
Hope woke up in Helen’s chest.
“And do ye think the duke himself will come to Dunmore in the near future?”
“No.” It was a blunt answer. “He will never come.”
Helen’s heart sank. It all seemed too much right now. The loss of her keep. The loss of her dirk. The duke not coming. Jack Pike going back to London. Although why that should upset her, she did not know. Hadn’t she been wishing for him to leave just yesterday as they stood outside the public house in Cumdairessie?
That seemed a very long time ago.
Mags stared down at her plate. “And ye dinnae think ye will ever come back.”
“Mr. Pike’s life is in London, Mags,” Helen said, leaning forward. “’Tis a long journey.”
“But Mr. Pike likes long journeys. He was a sea captain. Dinnae ye like to travel, Mr. Pike?” Mags appealed to Jack.
He shrugged. “This was just a temporary arrangement. I have no real loyalty to the duke. I know him, but . . .”
There was a long silence.
Helen spoke first. “Well, it was very good of the new duke to have chosen ye to come. Ye have been the best gift to Dunmore a new duke could give. Sure, aren’t all the ladies in love with ye already? And everyone else, for that matter. It reflects well on the duke.”
“Well.” Jack made a face. “Lord Feces isn’t fond of me.”
Mags looked confused. “Lord Feces?”
“Lord Reeves,” Helen said.
A guttural laugh from Duncan which subsided when everyone else looked at him. His face reddened and he went back to eating, his fork and knife looking lost in his large hands.
Jack smiled. “And it might come as a shock, but I have not been pleasing to all the ladies I have met here.” He looked at Helen.
“Ye have been.” Helen cleared her throat. “Just some ladies dinnae like that ye are. Pleasing, that is. ’Tis nae reflection on ye. Only on them.”
“And why would ladies not like something that is pleasing?”
“Perhaps—”
“Perhaps they are so contrary that they don’t like being pleased?”
“Perhaps.”
