But if I can’t…if I can’t…
The trouble was, she wasn’t quite sure where he was. That is, she knew he was somewhere in the vicinity of theSassy Lassie Inn in Inverness, because he’d told her to send his letters there. He’d answered the first few, so she knew he’d received them. Surely Castle Kinross wasn’t so very far away from the inn? Surely, someone in Inverness would be able to direct her to the castle?
But if they couldn’t, or wouldn’t…
An image of Grace’s face the day Juliana had left her in Buckinghamshire rose in her mind. Grace’s dark eyes—so like Juliana’s brother Jonathan’s—had filled with tears. Since her niece was born, they’d never spent a single day apart. Juliana had done her best to explain to Grace why she had to go, but at six years old Grace understood only that her beloved Aunt Juliana was leaving her behind. She’d clung to Juliana’s skirts, wailing, until her nurse had been obliged to drag her away.
Juliana squeezed her eyes closed and tried to hold off the familiar wave of grief and panic, but it was no use. Her chest tightened, her stomach heaved, and she might well have cast up her own accounts right then and there if Stokes hadn’t signaled the post boys to stop the coach.
She stuck her head out the window to survey the inn, and her stomach gave another threatening lurch. TheKing’s Head Inn was an indifferent looking place. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean, either, and cramped looking, with only a tiny inn yard and small stables. Juliana opened her mouth to instruct Stokes to go on, but Miss Findlay roused herself, and opened her eyes.
“Are we stopping, my lady?”
Juliana took one look at Findlay’s pallid, clammy face and decided the King’s Head Inn would have to do. “Yes, for a night. It’s another half day to Dumfries. We’re better off staying here and continuing our journey tomorrow.”
Miss Findlay looked so relieved, Juliana’s stomach knotted with guilt. She never should have involved poor Findlay in her mad scheme. “Stokes,” she called. “Secure rooms for tonight, if you would, and order a light supper and bath for Miss Findlay. There.” She gave Findlay a reassuring smile. “You’ll feel much better after you’ve rested a night.”
Stokes grumbled as he dismounted. He was a surly one, but he’d known Juliana since her birth, and was more like one of the family than a servant. Stokes wasn’t at all pleased about their highland adventure, but of all the servants at Graystone Court, he was the least likely to reveal the truth about it to her father. Lord Graystone hadn’t the faintest idea she was in Scotland. He thought she was in Buckinghamshire with Grace, and Juliana was determined to keep it that way. Stokes might grumble and scold a bit, but he’d keep her secret.
The proprietor of the inn was pleased to accommodate her ladyship’s party. Within half an hour Miss Findlay was safely ensconced in an upper bedchamber, awaiting her bath and supper. Juliana saw her settled and bid her to go to sleep, then hurried back down the stairs in search of the inn’s proprietor.
Surly servants, dusty roads, vomit, and ruined boots were unpleasant enough, but finding Fitzwilliam was a much stickier problem, and it became stickier the closer they got to Inverness. They were still several hundred miles away, but surely someone at the King’s Head had heard of Castle Kinross? The innkeeper was the most likely person to help her, but when she stepped into the dining room she found only a handful of dusty travelers taking refreshment there. She hesitated for a few moments, hoping a servant might appear to direct her to her host, but she waited in vain.
“Where in the world is everybody?” she muttered crossly as she made her way down the hallway toward the entryway. Several carriages had arrived while she was upstairs with Findlay, and the ostlers were dodging about, trying to accommodate them all. She ventured out, hoping to find Stokes, but he wasn’t in the yard.
Juliana stepped away from the bustle of guests and servants coming in and out the door, and leaned back against the side of the inn with a sigh. It was a warm day. She closed her eyes, let the sun caress her face, and tried to calm her mind. She’d spent so much of the past few months scurrying from one place to the next it felt strange to be still and let her thoughts go quiet.
She took a few deep breaths until her frayed nerves calmed a little, then began once again to ponder a way out of her dilemma. That is, the dilemma of having come hundreds of miles in search of a man who might not wish to be found.
Not even by her, his dearest friend.
Why hadn’t he answered her letters? Oh, what a fool she’d been to go haring off to Scotland after Fitzwilliam! Even if she did find him, he might refuse to return to England with her. If he’d wanted to come home, he would have done so by now.
Tears gathered under her eyelids, but she fisted her hands and held them back, furious with herself. What good would tears do her now? She was at a shabby inn in Gretna Green, ankle-deep in vomit. It was too late to change her mind now, and even if she could, she wouldn’t. In the end, her decision to come to Scotland had been a simple one. She needed Fitzwilliam’s help, and as surely as she was his dearest friend, he was alsohers.
SheknewFitzwilliam, from the exact shade of his blue eyes right down to the size of his boots. She knew every corner of his heart. She couldn’t explain why he hadn’t answered all her letters, but she knew he’d never turn his back on her.
She only had to find him.
Juliana opened her eyes and blinked against the sun. The commotion in the yard had died down, but Stokes still hadn’t turned up. Perhaps she’d just go on to the stables then, and fetch him herself. That way she could be sure he’d secured apost chaise and horses for early tomorrow morning.
She straightened from the wall and had taken two steps toward the stables when a man walking across the inn yard caught her attention. She had no reason to think he was coming toward her, yet she stilled, her breath held, unable to look away.
He was some distance still—far enough so she couldn’t properly see his face, but he was tall and broad, with a headful of long, rather unruly dark hair. Perhaps he was handsome, but Juliana had spent too much time among thetonfor a handsome face to unsettle her. London was rife with Corinthians, bucks and dandies, gentlemen of fashion and taste, of intelligence, grace, and uncommon beauty. She’d long since considered herself immune to even the most striking of male specimens.
But there was something about this man—
He looked up then, and Juliana froze, her heart stuttering in her chest. The angular jaw, the strong cheekbones, the square chin—there was only one man in the world with such an arresting face.
Fitzwilliam.
Had she said his name aloud? Had she shouted it, or whispered it?
He was coming toward her, and every part of her tensed to run to him. Every muscle, every nerve screamed at her to throw herself into his arms, but something held her back. Some instinct she couldn’t explain kept her feet rooted to the ground.
He didn’t call her name, or run to her. Why did he hold back? He’d be shocked to find her here, and perhaps angry with her for coming so far. She’d written and told him to expect her, but perhaps he hadn’t received her letter yet, or…
Alarm darted down Juliana’s spine. He didn’t hold himself like a man who was angry, or one who was in shock. He wasn’t stiff, but loose-limbed and graceful—the sort of man accustomed to physical activity, and comfortable in his body.
