Page 102 of The Highlander Is All That

“Not Lord Pennington,” the countess said. “Eleanor’s first husband was a beast.”

Lady Pennington took a sip of tea. “Helena, you are being unkind to beasts.”

“My apologies.”

“Just so,” Kaitlin said.

Helena smiled brilliantly. “Perhaps you could convince another man to make you pregnant?”

Lady Pennington raised her hand. “Also one of mine.”

“How did that work?” Elizabeth asked. It sounded like a wonderful plan. She had just the man in mind.

“Again, not recommended,” Lady Pennington said.

The duchess ticked off another finger. “You could always run away.”

The countess made a face. “I tried that one. I would not recommend it.”

“It worked for you,” Kaitlin insisted.

“Only by sheer chance. It is far too dangerous in this day and age.”

“Not if we helped her,” the duchess said with a smile. “And we would. Wouldn’t we?” She fixed her attention on Elizabeth. “You just came out of mourning, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” After three years of blacks and lavenders.

“Perfect. Let’s get started. If Twiggenberry follows through with his threats, we shall have no time to waste.”

Chapter Twenty

Anne found the journey to the north quite trying. For one thing, when the weather was good, the men rode their horses alongside the coach, leaving her alone, which was mind-meltingly boring. And then, when the weather was poor, they both climbed inside with her and slept. It was a symphony of snores that rattled the windows.

Occasionally one of them would stay awake and deign to speak to her. When this happened to be Hamish, the topic was always Elizabeth, but it was clear that the poor man was suffering.

While it warmed her heart to realize he truly cared for her sister, the fact that the two of them had been ripped apart was difficult for all of them.

Hamish, of course, blamed English society and went on about it endlessly.

Now and then, Anne found herself kicking Ranald in an attempt to wake him and, hence, change the topic. She had never been fond of the strictures of English society, but since she’d never intended to follow those rules, her displeasure did not signify.

The only break to the monotony was when they stopped to eat and sleep, and for Anne, these respites became the highlight of her day.

By the time they reached Yorkshire, she was going stark-staring mad. It was a relief to climb out of the carriage—even though her knees threatened to collapse—and enter the inn, which was a cheery place filled with locals and travelers enjoying a meal and the songs of a minstrel who was performing for his dinner.

“This is nice,” she said to Ranald as he came up behind her. It was certainly nicer than some of the places they’d stopped.

He grunted and guided her to the innkeeper’s desk, away from the common rooms.

She frowned at him. “I was enjoying the music.”

His expression darkened. “We will eat in the private dining room.”

“But why?”

Ranald blew out a breath and shook his head. “You are so naïve.”

It took some effort to hold back a laugh. “I most certainly am not.”