Or, he had hired them back once she wed and learned she would be returning.
Finlay noticed her breathing had quickened the closer they got to her estate.
With a hand on her knee, Finlay leaned in and whispered, “Relax. No one kens ye are back yet. All will be well.”
She nodded and gave him a small smile before wringing her hands in her lap once again. “The house does appear to be awaiting our arrival.”
He patted her leg. “Indeed it does. Shall we?”
Her eyes darted back and forth between the house, the interior of the carriage and Finlay. As he waited for her to prepare herself for her return, he studied the house. Taking in what he could see in the torchlit yard.
It was built of gray stone, and appeared to be three stories. The outside was rather plain with two steps leading to the front door, which was painted red. No other real discerning designs were apparent. Mayhap he would see more in the light of day.
Willamina took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through her teeth. “I believe I am ready.”
He pushed the door of the carriage open and exited before turning and offering her his hand for assistance.
Her eyes swept the house, and her hesitancy rolled off her body in waves. Finlay understood that. From everything she had previously said, any happy memories she may have had here were far and few between. It was one of the reasons he insisted they come—to replace the bad with the good. No one should harbor hard feelings perpetually. They had a way of eating one up from the inside out. ’Twas not a healthy way to live.
He bent to her and whispered in her ear encouragingly, “Take all the time ye need. I’m here.” Whether his presence offered her any solace, he knew not, but he hoped so.
As eager as he was to get off the street and inside the house, Willamina was not. He studied her face. The plethora of emotions playing across it was heartbreaking and for a moment he wondered if he’d made a mistake in insisting that they honeymoon here.
With a final heave of breath, she squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and moved forward. She paused at the doorbefore turning the knob and walking inside, and he followed on her heels.
The entry was high-ceilinged and bright. An older man rushed forward from one of the back rooms to greet her. “My lady,” he looked over his shoulder up the stairs, concern creasing his already wrinkled brow, surprise making his eyes wide. “We werena expecting ye this eve.”
“Aye, Harold. Good eve. I apologize for not sending advance notice. We planned this visit at the last moment.” She paused, and then her cheeks flushed. “Och, my manners. Harold, please meet my husband, Finlay Primrose, Earl of Rosebery.”
“My lord,” the butler dipped his head in greeting.
“I am sure ye need some time to freshen things up at such late notice, so Finlay and I shall wait in the parlor. If you could have Mrs. Fitz bring tea and whatever might be available to eat. ’Tis been a long journey and an e’en longer day.”
“My lady, er,” Harold looked nervously toward the stairs again.
Finlay got the feeling that something wasn’t right. He narrowed his eyes as he assessed the butler. Mayhap he was the only staff on hand. “Harold, if ye are alone, we can make the tea. ’Tis no issue.”
“Nay, my lord.” The poor man looked a tinge green in the collar.
Finlay narrowed his eyes. “Whate’er is the issue, then?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what was happening. “Do ye require more time to ready the room?”
“N-nay.”
Finlay was beginning to think that the butler suffered from some type of affliction that prevented him from speaking any words other than nay suddenly.
“Then what is it?”
Willamina had cocked her head to the side as she studied her butler. “Truly, Harold. What seems to be the issue?”
The man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I am afraid that I canna ready your room at this time, my lady.”
Willamina nodded as if she understood. “’Tis of the late hour. I understand.”
“I dinna think ye do, my lady. Ye see—”
“Harold!” A male voice called from above. “What is this ruckus that I am hearing?”
Willamina stiffened at his side, her eyes wide in shock, her face suddenly void of all color.
“Mina?” he put his arm around her shoulders to steady her as she began to sway for fear she may faint.
A man in a night robe appeared at the top of the stairs, his hands on his hips. “What the hell is going on down there, Harold?”
“Gerard,” Willamina gasped, and went limp in his arms.
Gerard? As in her husband? Herdeadhusband?
