Three quarters of an hour after James and the Wilson sisters had left her at the station, Lucy sat huddled on a bench as the sky darkened and the air grew chillier by the minute. She’d been smart enough to tuck a scarf into her valise and wrapped the soft knitted length around her neck, burrowing into its comforting lavender scent.
She thought back to the telegram she’d sent her aunt and was certain she’d listed the correct time. Besides, the express arrived once a day, so the train’s arrival wasn’t any great secret if Aunt Cassandra or her driver had misplaced her telegram.
Lucy cast her gaze one way down the lane of carriages arriving and departing in front of Waverley Station and then looked the other direction, just as she’d done dozens of times in the last thirty minutes. She had no notion of what Aunt Cassandra’s conveyance might look like, but no one could ever mistake her aunt.
Her beauty and the rich auburn shade of her hair made her stand out in a crowd.
Where are you, Aunt Cassandra?
Lucy stood and groaned at the stiffness in her legs and back. Shehadbeen sitting too long, and waiting in the cold was pointless. She’d never been one to wait on someone else fixing her dilemmas.
Lucy strode toward the line of carriages, and as she did, a weathered growler pulled to the curb and the driver immediately climbed down. He scannedeach gentleman and lady outside the station as if searching for someone.
“Are you seeking a passenger, sir?” Lucy called as she strode toward him.
“Lady Lucy Westmont?”
“Yes!” Lucy rushed toward the driver, some of her worry and weariness ebbing away. “You were sent by my aunt?”
“Aye, my lady, hired by Lady Cassandra Munro.” The man removed his hat and clutched it to his chest, offering her a nod. “Forgive my late arrival.”
“What matters is that you’re here now.” Lucy indicated her trunk. “I’m ready to depart immediately if that suits you.”
The old man looked off into the night sky. “You’ll arrive long past dark, my lady.” He nudged his chin toward Princes Street in the direction the Wilson sisters and Mr. Pembroke had headed. “Could take you straight to a hotel and collect you for the journey at first light if you prefer.”
“Please, sir. I’d like to go now. This evening.” She was eager to see her aunt and desperate to properly start her Scottish holiday.
The man stared down at her a moment, and Lucy held his gaze. Both their breaths puffed out in front of them. Everyone she’d met on her travels so far—starting with Papa—had underestimated her. Except perhaps Mr. Pembroke. She willed the driver not to do the same.
“Very well.” Within a few minutes, the burlyolder man had the trunk strapped to the back of the carriage and offered a gloved hand to help her inside.
“You’ve no other luggage?”
“This valise.” Lucy lifted it high with a bit of a groan. She really had packed too many books.
“Name’s Tavish, my lady. We’ll make the journey in a couple of hours if the weather holds.”
“Thank you.”
“Use the blanket there to keep yourself warm.”
The moment Lucy settled into the carriage, the exhaustion of the day’s events settled over her in a wave of fatigue. She felt an ache in her shoulder from when Nichols had grabbed her arm, and there was a taut soreness in her knuckles.
But then a warmer memory came—the gentleness of James Pembroke’s touch as he’d tended to her and held her hand. They’d been so close, spoken to each other softly, and she’d been near enough to memorize the shape of his mouth and note the lighter silver flecks in his dark blue eyes.
All those memories and she’d only known the man a day.
It was foolish to think on him.Give one’s energies to what one can reasonably achieve rather than fueling whimsies, as Mrs. Winterbottom would say.
James Pembroke was a man who liked his privacy and seemed determined to share nothing of himself. True, she’d been reticent to mention herfather, but if he’d truly wished to know her, he would have made an effort to do so.
Her holiday had only just begun. In the days to come, she’d find a great deal to do and see, and the events of her train ride to Scotland would be overtaken, surely.
She closed her eyes and tried to push aside the memory of James Pembroke’s smile, his pine and spice scent, and the fact that he’d touched her more intimately than any man ever had in her entire life.
Chapter Seven
James blinked at the velvet sky above his head and then realized, as he sat up quickly, that it was the upholstered ceiling of the carriage he’d ridden in from Edinburgh. And it was no longer moving.
