Gail Eastwood (17 page)

After breakfast Gillian paced listlessly as the trio waited for their carriage down in the stable yard. The earl stopped her with a touch on her shoulder.

“You will wear yourself out before our day’s travels have begun,” he cautioned.

The girl nodded, crossing her arms and hugging herself as if she were chilled to the bone. She was clad once again in her traveling cloak, its hood raised against the morning mist, but its open front failed to conceal her gesture.

“Cold?” Brinton asked, painfully remembering another time when he had asked her that.

“I suppose,” she answered him distractedly.

The weak promise of sunshine seen at the end of the previous day had not been fulfilled; the morning was gray and dark, the mist heavy but not quite rain. Still, the air lacked the bite it would have held in earlier weeks. The earl suspected that Gillian’s chill came more from her emotional state than from any external discomfort.

“We will have them close in the front of the carriage,” he said, studying her. “That will help to keep out the dampness, although I am not altogether convinced that will help you.”

She sighed and began pacing again. After one full circuit, she stopped beside him. “I should apologize for being such a peagoose. I am never good at hiding my feelings. Now that we have come so far, I am ashamed to admit I am terrified.”

“What? This from the woman who has braved robbers and Bow Street and the rigors of traveling four hundred miles?” He turned to Gilbey, who appeared quite at ease, lounging against a hitching block. “Cranford, what are we to do with her?”

Gilbey gave him a weak smile. “Why, Brinton, no one has ever been able to do anything with her, that’s just the problem.”

Brinton took Gillian’s hand and linked her arm through his. Following the invisible track she had already begun to wear into the paving stones, he walked with her.

“Miss Kentwell,” he admonished her. “You have come so far, I cannot believe your courage is flagging now. What obstacles have you left to overcome? A paltry few miles, and an aunt you have never met, the Countess of—what is it?”

“Aunt Elizabeth is Countess of Culcarron.”

“Right. Now, I have come to know that you are a woman of rare determination. There is nothing that will stop you from covering those miles today, so that leaves only your aunt to overcome. You do not know that she will not welcome you warmly, but even if she should not, I have every confidence that you will win her over. Is she not your mother’s sister? How much of an ogre could she be? You must summon the courage that has temporarily deserted you and hold up your head with confidence. You must sail up to her door like a proud ship under full canvas, not like the sad, shredded remains of a shipwreck.”

“You are right,” she sighed. “I shall try to do better.”

***

It took the trio three hours to reach Dumfries. Mist obscured their surroundings and spoiled the views of the Solway and the Cumbrian Mountains to their south. Only the peculiar odor of turf smoke was distinct along the way, drifting over the hedges of privet and sweet willow.

They did not tarry, although there was much to admire in Dumfries. They hired a landau and sat back against the cushioned squabs of its closed interior, leaving the damp job of navigation to their postboy. They crossed the River Nith and soon found themselves following it northward into the hills. The mist seemed to dissipate, settling into unseen crevices and valleys.

Gillian’s attempt to rally her spirits had succeeded quite well, Brinton thought with a peculiar mixture of heartache and satisfaction. He sat facing her and Gilbey, so he missed none of the expressions that flitted across her face. She peered out the window of the carriage constantly, only turning to him or her brother occasionally to comment on what she could see. For his own part, he preferred the sweet torture of watching her, although he, too, occasionally looked out at the passing countryside.

“Is this more like what you imagined Scotland would be?” Brinton asked her.

The smoothly rounded hills were gaining stature as the carriage continued northward, resembling waves in a rising, rolling sea. The touch of spring was slow here, and a pale, infant green was just starting to creep up from the valley meadows into the velvet patchwork of bronze and tan on the slopes.

“Yes,” she answered, a little breathlessly. “Do you not find it beautiful?”

He had to agree that it was. He could easily imagine hunting grouse among these hills, or walking the hilltops just for the pure pleasure of the views.

For a moment he was seduced into imagining coming back here to visit her, but he knew that was a foolish delusion. He knew he was right to step out of her life—he could never force the requirements of his own future upon such a free spirit. There was something special between them—something very like love had actually started to grow. The only way to stop it was to cut it off completely at the root, before it was too late for either of them to recover.

The carriage halted quite suddenly. Brinton stuck his head out to discover what was the matter.

“We’ve come to the split at Carronbridge,” their postboy called back from his perch on the lead horse. “Would you wish a quick turn up the road, to see the Duke of Queensberry’s estate?”

“No,” replied Brinton after a confirming glance at his companions; despite the pleasures of the beautiful countryside, there was tension within the carriage, and a trace of strain could be discerned in both twins’ faces. All three travelers knew that they were now within minutes of arriving at their destination.

The landau began to move again, following the other road up out of Nithdale. The land to the right gradually began to drop away into a ravine, and the carriage turned left up a steep drive lined with trees.

Gillian and Gilbey craned their necks to catch a first glimpse of Carron Park. Through the trees and mist, it appeared like a pink toy castle. The house itself was of modest proportions, as the trio discovered when the landau pulled up to the door. Its stables and outbuildings had been cleverly designed to appear as integral parts of the turreted structure. A double stairway led up to an imposing entrance, but a smaller door set between the stairs was opened by a bewigged footman as the passengers stepped down from their carriage.

Brinton stayed behind a moment to attend to the unloading of their luggage, so he did not see the diminutive, gray-haired woman who emerged from the doorway. When he turned around, she was already there, inspecting the twins who stood silent and still, quite as if rooted to the ground. The first thought that flew into his mind was,
why, she is no bigger than Gillian
.

“Lady Culcarron?” he inquired with well-schooled courtesy. When the woman nodded, he continued. “May I beg leave to present your niece and nephew?”

“Hmph,” she said unencouragingly. “You may, but first tell me who the devil
you
are.”

The earl was so surprised that for a moment no sound came out of his mouth. Lady Culcarron’s voice was distinctively low, and her gruff manner was completely at odds with her delicate appearance. Quite from nowhere came the sudden question whether this would be Gillian in thirty years. Brinton consciously closed his mouth and smiled. He was quite sure he could detect a small gleam of mischief and curiosity in the countess’s eyes.

“I am Julian Rafferty deRaymond, Lord Brinton, at your service, my lady, I am pleased to present your nephew, the Viscount Cranford, and your niece, Miss Gillian Kentwell.”

At the sound of her name, Gillian seemed to suddenly revive. “We must beg your forgiveness for arriving at your doorstep in this fashion,” she began. “There was no time—”

“You may come in,” her aunt interrupted. “It is too damp to stand out here conversing in the drive.”

The trio followed her inside, entering a modest antechamber with a tiled floor and dark, paneled walls. Several doors opened off it and a small stairway led upward against the wall to the right. A variety of trunks and boxes were stacked near the entrance. Silently, the countess led her guests up the stairs.

“You are very kind to receive us,” Gillian began again. “I am sure it is a shock to have us descend upon you so—”

“It is all right, child. We were expecting you.”

The countess had stopped in front of a massive pair of double doors in what was obviously the main reception hall. Gillian stopped also, but Brinton guessed it was more from the shock of surprise than to avoid a collision. He and Gilbey halted just behind her.

“You were expecting us?” the twins echoed in unison.

The countess pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a moment, as if shutting off any further response. She inclined her head toward the doors in front of her.

Gilbey stepped ahead and, pushing down the brass handles, swung the doors open. He and Gillian preceded their aunt and Brinton into the room, where they came to another sudden halt.

“Uncle William,” breathed Gillian.

Chapter Seventeen

The twins stood frozen in stunned disbelief. Gillian was certain that her heart had stopped.

“It cannot be,” she moaned softly.

Lord Pembermore sprawled casually at one end of a rosewood sofa in the middle of Lady Culcarron’s drawing room. His spindly form appeared quite at ease, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his elbows stuck out to either side of him, looking rather like crow’s wings. He was sipping tea from an absurdly small cup while he balanced the saucer in his other hand. When he looked up, a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he exclaimed heartily, fitting his teacup into its saucer. “So you are finally arrived at last! You have had a long journey and, I’m afraid, all for nothing.” He rose from his seat and began to walk toward the twins.

Gillian took an involuntary step backward. She had been merely numb with horror at the first sight of her uncle. Now, the addition of sound and movement to the nightmare set off quite another reaction. All the emotions she had felt during the interview with her uncle the day he had announced his plan came boiling back to her at the sound of his voice.

She had been disgusted by his transparent attempts to win her and Gilbey’s cooperation that day. He had cajoled, flattered, and threatened. He had tried to sever the twins’ loyalty to each other, and he had lied. She had felt betrayed, but worse, she thought she had felt true hatred for the first time in her life.

Now the bubble of anger and revulsion inside her rose up into her voice and burst out in anguished denial. “No!” she cried, balling her hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms. “No!” she cried again, and this time the sound reverberated through the room. “Not here! You cannot be here!” Her voice dropped off to an agonized whisper. “Not this. It is too much to bear.”

Lord Pembermore stopped in midstride and raised his quizzing glass to examine his niece. “I can see that I have surprised you,” he said with the contrived smoothness she hated so much, Gillian shivered and began to feel sick.

Gilbey glared at his uncle and put an arm around Gillian’s shoulders. “Stay back,” he said angrily. “I tried to warn you of what could happen, that first day, but you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t listen two days later when I called on you at Brentwood, either.”

“Yes, it seems I did rather misjudge your sister,” the baron sighed, drawing his brows together. “Such a great deal of trouble—trouble and expense. But then, you both seem to have underestimated me, as well.” His smile returned. “You were very foolish to try to defy me, Gillian. Did you really believe you would succeed?”

He reached a hand out toward the girl’s face, and she struck his arm away furiously.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, shaking with the force of her anger. “You have no right.” Gilbey steered her toward a chair.

“
Au contraire
, my dear,” Pembermore answered calmly, eyeing her coldly and rubbing his arm. “As your guardian, I have every right.”

“I believe even guardians have some limitations,” Brinton said, stepping forward at last. “Their fitness can be challenged in a court of law, for instance.”

Lord Pembermore looked at him with obvious surprise. “And who might you be?” His eyes narrowed. “We have met before, I think.”

The earl sketched a bow. “Lord Brinton,” he said tersely.

Recognition dawned in Pembermore’s face. He looked quite pleased. “I recall you now, Brinton. You are Grassington’s nephew! How interesting that you should arrive with these two. Have you been escorting my nephew and niece? I really must thank you for delivering them safely.”

A small cry of protest escaped from Gillian’s lips when she heard her uncle’s words. Must he twist everything to his own purpose? What could Brinton possibly have stood to gain to rescue her and Gilbey from so much, only to deliver them to her uncle? He could not have known her uncle would be here, could he?

At Gillian’s reaction the baron paused, seeming to warm to his idea. “Why, I should think your uncle will be more than pleased, Brinton,” he added, grinning broadly. “Perhaps he will ask you to stand with him as his groomsman at the wedding.”

The earl growled and looked as if he were about to seize Pembermore by the throat.

“Gentlemen, please! Shall we not all sit down?” Lady Culcarron interrupted. “More tea will be here momentarily, and rooms are already being made up for my new guests. I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”

Gillian watched as the male members of the little gathering selected seats at their hostess’s insistence. Only after they had done so did the countess seat herself, choosing a wing-backed chair between Gillian and the fire.

For a moment Gillian studied both her uncle’s and Brinton’s faces in turn. Lord Pembermore’s bore an uncanny and, to her mind, regrettable resemblance to her father’s, rather like an artist’s cruel caricature, even though the two men had been only half brothers. Just now the expression registered on it seemed to her to reflect great disdain and a rather supercilious hint of triumph.

Brinton’s, on the other hand, was closed, betraying absolutely nothing. She had to stifle an urge to go to him and beat on him with her fists. She was upset and confused, angry and very much shaken by what had occurred. It would have helped so much to have some sign of what he was thinking or feeling. How well she recognized by now the mask of utter control that had dropped down over the earl’s handsome features. How much she hated it at this moment!

A loud pop from the burning embers in the hearth punctuated the fleeting silence and brought Gillian out of her thoughts.

“Better,” pronounced Lady Culcarron, surveying her separated guests. The rattle of dishes at the door announced the arrival of a footman bearing the supplemental tea tray, and silence resumed for another moment while the countess supervised the distribution of its contents. Once the tea and cakes had been served, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

“Lord Pembermore, it seems you were correct in your assumption that the twins were coming here. Now that they are here, pray tell, what are your plans?”

Gillian’s heart sank, for it seemed apparent that her aunt intended to turn them over to her uncle. Her mouth was dry, and despite the long hours that had passed since her last meal, she could not bear the thought of eating. The tangy lemon smell of the little cakes gracing the plate beside her did not tempt her, but only added to the queasiness she was already feeling.

She thought the tea might help. She attempted to raise her cup, but that was a mistake. Her hand shook excessively, and the scalding tea sloshed into her saucer and splashed onto her dress. She hastily replaced the cup and, setting it aside, brushed at the droplets on her skirt. As she glanced about to see if anyone had noticed her clumsiness, she noted Gilbey wolfing down his food as if he had not eaten in days.
How can he?
she wondered. Was he not as upset as she was?

“Naturally, we shall not remain here imposing upon your gracious hospitality,” Lord Pembermore was saying to her aunt. “I have every intention of taking them home straightaway and proceeding with the marriage. If anything,” he added, aiming a malicious look at Gillian, “we shall speed up the usual procedure, perhaps applying for a special license.”

“Never!” Gillian exclaimed, leaping to her feet. She glared at her uncle. “I will never go back with you, and I will never wed Lord Grassington. I would sooner die in a workhouse!”

“Now, now, my child, that is a bit extreme,” the countess said mildly. “Please sit down again.” She looked from one twin to the other and back again. “I would like to hear what the two of you had planned to do once you reached here.”

Gillian and Gilbey looked at each other.

“Gilbey,” directed their aunt. She pointed to him with the piece of lemon cake she had just picked up.

“We were hoping you would take Gillian in,” blurted Gilbey. “She hoped to start a new life here. I was to return home.”

“I see,” said Lady Culcarron.

Gillian did not see how her aunt could see at all. Put so bluntly, her well-intended plan sounded distressingly presumptuous. Gilbey’s three spare sentences didn’t even begin to explain anything!

“Why did you choose to come here, to me?”

“We had thought to get beyond the reach of English law,” Gilbey began gamely enough. He cast a despairing glance at his sister, who straightened her damp skirt and nodded.

Gillian knew Gilbey could not explain her reasoning beyond the obvious point of legal jurisdiction. “It wasn’t Gilbey’s idea to come,” she said earnestly, defending him. “He knew he could never have stopped me, so he did the most sensible thing under the circumstances.” She sighed, hoping she could make her choice sound sensible. “Our mother used to talk about Scotland a great deal, you must understand,” she continued.

“No doubt filling your head with romantic rubbish,” commented Lady Culcarron. “And?”

“Well, she used to talk about you, Aunt Elizabeth. I know it sounds impertinent, but it made me feel as if I knew you. And she had these wonderful old collections of songs, and we used to sing them together sometimes. . . I foolishly tried to bring them with me.”

She paused, looking down at her lap, staring beyond the small, wet tea stains to the days just past. Did anything really matter now? She had lost so much more than just the books, and all for nothing.

“I just always thought I would like to come here one day,” she finished, unable to keep the bitter disappointment out of her voice. “It seemed like the perfect solution.”

She thought she could not bear to hear her uncle’s barking laughter, and surely he would laugh. “Uncle William, how did you know we would come here?” she demanded. She had to know how they had failed. She sat ramrod straight, her hands balled at her sides.

Lord Pembermore positively smirked. “Did you think Mr. Worsley would not mention that you had been to call on him? He is my solicitor as well as yours, after all. He was most surprised when I told him the full extent of your reluctance to go along with the betrothal. It seems you had left him with the impression that you were putting together a list for the announcements! It did not require great mental acuity on my part to guess where you were heading, once I learned whose address he had supplied to you.

“I dispatched some fellows to try to track you down, and I even engaged the services of Bow Street, but you have obviously managed to elude them all. I sailed from Plymouth on the first northbound ship I could book, precisely to cover such a possibility. As the wind and tides were quite favorable, I have been enjoying your aunt’s hospitality for two days now.”

Two days
, thought Gillian despondently.
Plenty of time for him to pour whatever stories he pleased into Aunt Elizabeth’s ears
.

“Lord Brinton,” said the countess. “You have remained silent. I feel justified in asking what role you have played in all this? Do I understand that it is your uncle who wishes to marry my niece?”

Brinton cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced at Gillian. He had easily read her despair and confusion. He could see that his aloofness wounded her, and that recognition deepened the agony in his own heart. To hurt her was torture, but worse, that his behavior could do so proved she held at least some regard for him. If only he were able to offer her the kind of life she wanted! If only their two uncles did not stand in their way!

He wanted nothing so much as to go to her and offer compassion and comfort, but he did not dare. He had seen immediately that any hint of the affection he had for her would only give her uncle another tool to use against her, and possibly against himself. Lord Pembermore was clearly a ruthless, deceitful, determined man. If Rafferty and the twins were to extricate themselves from the tangle they were now in, they would have to proceed with caution and ingenuity. There had not yet been time to consider this new turn of events, and the earl did not wish to show his hand. Unfortunately, concealing his thoughts and intentions from Pembermore meant, for now, concealing them from Gillian as well.

“My involvement in all this was, unbelievably, quite accidental,” he said, getting up from his chair. He walked away from the gathered company, his hands clasped behind his back, and approached a small cabinet displaying upon it a black Grecian urn. The vase depicted what appeared to be a quartet of semiclothed lovers pursuing each other in perpetuity. The earl stared at it briefly, considering what else he should say. Pacing back again, he paused, facing the fire in the grate rather than any of his audience.

“Cranford and Miss Kentwell ran into some difficulties with which I was able, by chance, to assist,” he said truthfully. “I had no idea who they were. As I was heading north myself, we decided to travel together for part of the journey. We ran into some further difficulties, and finally it just seemed appropriate to see them all the way here.”

He gave up staring at the fire and looked quite intentionally at Lord Pembermore instead. “As for my uncle, I am not privy to his current state of mind,” he added.

The baron opened his mouth to make some remark, but the twins’ aunt spoke first. “What are your plans now that you are here?” she asked the earl.

Brinton faced her and made a little bow. “That is a very reasonable question. We are all literally strangers who have descended upon you without notice. I hope you will accept my apology. My original intention had been to go home.”

“And now?”

Clearly, Lady Culcarron was not going to allow him to avoid answering her question. He sighed. “Now, I really do not know.”

As the earl took his seat again, the countess surprised him by chuckling. “I am not at all surprised,” she said. “We seem to have reached a stalemate.”

Her gaze swept over the group gathered in her drawing room before she went on to address them. “I hope that you, Gillian, have learned that running away is seldom the solution to problems. On the other hand, Lord Pembermore, you may rest assured that I will not permit you to abscond with my unwilling niece out from under my own roof.