“My name is Graeme,” he said, interrupting her protests. She was more than annoyed by their little ceremony and by being removed from her room; he could see the frown settle on her brow. He had to admit, though, that seeing her with her feathers all ruffled was vastly entertaining.
“Graeme. Very well, and I am Vanessa.” She fell into step beside him, still clutching her bag to her chest.
“It’s not far, where we’re going. Just over that small rise,” he said, gesturing up ahead.
They walked in silence for a few moments before he spoke. “Research?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “What sort of research does a lady of good breeding busy herself with?”
She cut her eyes at him, and he knew instantly that he’d somehow offended her. “Fossils. And old bones.”
“Bones,” he repeated, unsure whether he’d heard her correctly.
“Precisely.” She juggled her bag to try to better grasp it, and he realized that two rather large volumes had been stuffed into the bag. Briefly, she paused to straighten her glasses. “They are most fascinating.”
“Indeed.”
She was a most peculiar female. Beautiful and obviously intelligent, in a bookish sort of way, but fascinated by strange things. Granted people could say the same of him; some had.
“They call that study paleontology, I believe,” he said, then wondered why he’d tried to impress her.
Her eyes brightened, and she gave him a brilliant smile. “That is correct. It is a relatively new science compared to other fields of interest.”
He reached over and grabbed the bag out of her arms and slung it over his other shoulder. Now weighed down with both her trunk and her bag, he silently wished that he’d brought his horse. But there really wasn’t much farther to walk.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding surprised. “Might we talk about that ceremony?”
“It wasn’t real,” he said, finally ending her misery.
“I beg your pardon?” She turned around to look back in the direction of the pub. “But those men said—”
“I know what you heard. Fools,” he said. “Handfasting is an old Scottish custom, but it’s not widely practiced anymore. It’s not a legally binding ceremony.”
She stopped walking, and her hand came up to her chest. “So we are not married? Oh, that’s a huge relief. Not that you’re not husband material, though certainly not husband material for me.” She began moving forward again. “Not that I’m looking for a husband, because I most assuredly am not. In fact, I only recently escaped from my own unwanted betrothal only to stumble into our little union.”
She took a great gulp of a breath, then flashed him a blinding smile. “In any case, I do appreciate you coming to my rescue. Although I’m certain I would have escaped unscathed somehow, it was much easier, not to mention faster, that you came along to save me.”
Graeme was relatively certain that she hadn’t taken nearly enough breaths to get through all of that. Not only did she speak incredibly fast, but her thought process jumped from one subject to the next with nary a pause.
So she didn’t believe him to be husband material. Was it because she thought him a dirty Scot? Oh, perhaps he was more passable than the others from the pub, but not as refined as a stodgy Englishman that was more to her taste? He’d be a liar if he said that didn’t offend him, but he was used to the English judging him by his Scottish heritage as well as the Scots ridiculing him for his English title.
She was full of surprises, though, and that certainly kept his curiosity piqued. From studying fossils to breaking an engagement, she had him wondering what she’d reveal next. Damned if instead of finding her behavior annoying, she made him smile. Annoyed by that revelation, he forced a frown.
“Escaped your own wedding?” he asked. They crested the hill, and down the path sat his mother’s white stone cottage. The stones reflected the moonlight, taking on a nice sheen. Though he knew the inside was spotless and tidy—his mother took to heart the old proverb that cleanliness was next to godliness—the cottage would be a far cry from anything Vanessa was used to in London. Though she had been willing to stay in that pitiful excuse of a room at the tavern, he reminded himself.
“I did. Just yesterday,” she said. “Got on a train and immediately came up here.”
“Old or fat?” Graeme asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your groom. Was he old or fat?”
She chuckled. “Neither, actually. He was rather pleasant in appearance, and I thought we would make a brilliant pair. He is a researcher as well. He’s an American, though.” Then she shrugged. “But I did not hold that against him.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Kind of you.” He waited a few more steps before asking, “If you were so perfect for each other, what happened?”
“I found him in bed with my younger sister,” she said without even pausing. “Well, on the floor in front of the hearth in the study, to be exact.”
Graeme released a low whistle. Evidently that fiancé of hers was a complete and utter idiot. Though Vanessa was certainly not your typical English lady, she was beautiful and definitely more interesting than the rest of them. Perhaps American men were even more foolish than Englishmen.
