Smitten by the Spinster (22 page)

The lad stood aside and motioned her into the kitchen. “Please miss, you must come through to the front.”

Her authoritative manner a complete bust, she followed him meekly through to a small room, where he left her, hopefully to get Miss Burnet’s uncle. She knew the owners of this house were at the very same party she’d just left, so there was no fear of the lad bringing them to her. She hadn’t meant to come in at all, but now that she was here, she realized it was to her advantage.

Mr Hallifax appeared in the doorway, fully dressed in his butler attire, but looking as if he’d thrown it on, his jacket slightly askew. He bowed, and when she saw his stricken face, she almost faltered in her plan.

“Miss Ferguson, have you come alone? At such an hour?”

“I have a footman waiting outside,” she lied. “It’s about Miss Burnet, sir.” She couldn’t believe she was about to scare an old man, but plowed on. “She’s in a terrible way. She only wants ye, willna speak to anyone else.”

“Is she ill? Where is she?” He turned to rush away, but seemed to remember his manners and stopped, keeping his hands clasped behind him as he waited for more information.

“She’s at the Amberly’s house. Please, do go at once.”

He hesitated and she impatiently reminded him she had an escort to see her home. Glad that he didn’t ask why she brought the message and not the footman, she sat alone in the room, seeming to be forgotten by the lad who’d brought her in.

She couldn’t believe her good luck and peeked into the hall. Empty. Being invited into the house and then left completely alone was definitely fortunate, but she didn’t know what to do now. Sending Miss Burnet’s uncle to detain her was the final step of her plan. She knew according to the letter the exact time to be at the house, but didn’t know what came next.

She ventured into the hall, pulling out the letter and rereading it for the hundredth time, for the very first time realizing it said nothing about Belmary House. She’d only assumed that since it was where Miss Burnet visited her uncle. She stopped in front of another doorway, her stomach in knots and her head beginning to pound. If she was in the wrong location, everything would fall apart. She had to find a clock, or get out of there altogether. She realized she wasn’t cut out for espionage, or secrets. She should have confronted Quinn the same day she found the letter from Lachlan, not started this nonsensical plan. To what end? She couldn’t add up all the lies she’d told in the last weeks. Quinn would never forgive her. The whole of society would and should shun her.

“Miss? Are you lost?”

She looked up with a gasp to hear a very faint Scottish accent. The man was handsome in a severe sort of way, and taking a step closer to her, she noticed his clothes were a bit different than what she was used to seeing. He stopped in front of her and blinked down at her with serious, silver gray eyes. She had nothing else to lose.

“Lord Ashford?” she asked.

“Elizabeth Burnet?” he asked in turn, tipping his head to the side and frowning at her.

She could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips she clenched her fists so tightly. She held the letter out so he could see it and nodded.

“Come along, then. There’s no time to lose.”

Lizzie sat in her room, looking at the quilt, the cloudy old mirror, the basin, the wooden chest she kept her meager belongings in. She knelt on the floor in front of it and tipped it open, digging to the bottom to pull out the shoes she’d been wearing when she first arrived. They were killers, with spiky high heels and razor thin straps. Pretty and expensive, she hadn’t been able to bear getting rid of them, though she discarded her other clothes when Lew brought her new ones that were appropriate to the time. She looked down at the dark blue dress she’d chosen to wear home. She hoped Lord Ashford would have thought to have some clothes waiting for her on the other side.

One hour. She only had mere minutes until she was back in the London of motor cars and electric lights. She closed her eyes and tried to feel some sort of excitement, but only felt empty. Sad.

The past days had been torture, avoiding Quinn as best she could, keeping up appearances for Lady Amberly when she was forced to be around him. The times he’d caught her eye, she’d experienced actual pain in her chest. She found herself staring at his hands, her sides aching to have him hold her. She would have loved spending her last days here in his arms instead of awkwardly dodging him, but couldn’t bear to cause him more pain than she already had. And truthfully, it might have set her over the edge, causing her to make a stupid decision, blinded by lust. She refused to believe she loved Quinn, because she couldn’t. One day she could remember him fondly, and that was all.

She had to focus. When she returned, she would no longer have a place to live, or a job. Her agent and everyone she knew had to have long written her off as dead. Really, modern clothes were the least of her worries. She planned on finding a way to make her eighteenth century money turn into modern money as soon as she could, hoping it was worth more than face value for being so old.

Saying goodbye to Catie had been hard. She’d done her best for her, and the last few days Catie had been nicer to her, almost her old self. Even though Catie had been moody and snippy part of the time, Lizzie had liked her the best of her young charges. She thought back on the marriages she’d helped broker, and wondered with some chagrin if she might have made better use of her time here. She hoped it didn’t speak too poorly of her character, that she’d become what she’d become. She’d been so scared and lost in the beginning. Maybe she could have done better. She prayed she hadn’t hurt anyone with her choices.

The image of Quinn’s face pushed its way into her troubled thoughts. She had to see him again, had to say goodbye. She could do it without seeming obvious, go under the guise of apologizing to him, which she really wanted to do. Selfishly, she wanted him to remember the good times they’d had together. No, she couldn’t leave this time without speaking to Quinn again.

And that time had to be now, she realized, pulling out her tiny watch and squinting at the hands. She looked at the satchel she’d be taking with her, only holding her modern shoes, the few cheap baubles she’d received as gifts from her employers, and her money. She did a slow circle, taking in the room one last time, wondering if she had forgotten anything.

The letter from Lord Ashford! She dropped to her hands and knees and pulled the box from under the bed. When she turned up missing, they’d go through her things. Lizzie couldn’t imagine what anyone might think if they read that letter. She rummaged through the box, then turned it upside down, spreading the papers and shaking out the books. The letter was gone.

Had she put it in the box in the first place? The past month had been a whirlwind of activity and she’d actually been drunk a few more times than she should have been. Did she take it out to read it and put it somewhere else? Perhaps she’d thrown it away. A prickle of dread started at the base of her spine. She knew she hadn’t thrown it away, and felt strongly that she hadn’t put it anywhere else. She wouldn’t have been absentminded about something so important.

Her first thought was to the cook, who she’d bribed that one time. Maybe she’d come back and searched through her things, looking for ways to blackmail her. But she’d never blackmailed her, or threatened her in any other way, the only reason she’d have to steal the letter. Lizzie could almost hear the ticking of her little watch. She didn’t have time to keep looking for the letter or worry about its whereabouts, not if she wanted to speak with Quinn.

Scooping up her bag, she left the room for the last time and hurried down the stairs. Before she could knock on Quinn’s door, it flew open and he burst through, looking like a hurricane about to blow down the whole of London. For a moment, his blue eyes went from wild to relieved when he saw her. He grabbed her shoulders to keep from bowling her over and gently moved her out of the way as he rushed past.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Quinn, what is it? Something’s wrong.” She blushed at calling him by his first name after how she’d acted.

He looked over her head as if he wanted to be gone, but stopped and nodded. “Aye.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket. “I found this on my bed. I dinna know how much time I have, or if I’m already too late.”

She took the paper from him, and saw it was a short letter from Catie. “Oh no,” she said after reading it. “Eloping? How foolish can she get?”

Lizzie felt sick, sure she was at least partly to blame for this. She’d tried to warn Quinn about Edwin, causing him to refuse permission, and now Catie’s reputation would be in tatters.

“Verra foolish apparently,” he said. He slumped, losing a bit of his frantic energy. “I dinna know what to do, Miss Burnet.”

The knife that lodged in her heart just from looking at him, twisted when he used her name so formally. She wanted to help him, and couldn’t stand the thought of that weasel Hollingsborn ruining Catie’s reputation, but she had no time. Taking his arm, she pulled him into his room and quickly reread the letter.

“We need to find out where they were to meet,” she said, casting around for who would have the best gossip. “The party she went to tonight will just be a cover. She may not have gone at all. You must go and ask to speak to her friend Dahlia. Try not to frighten her, but she’ll know where Catie’s going to meet Edwin.”

“Dahlia,” he repeated. “Ye’ll not come with me?”

She forced herself to look at his hopeful face, no matter how much it hurt, because it was the last time she’d see him. “I’m sorry,” she said, flinching when his eyes turned cold. “I promised to visit my uncle this evening. I …”

He nodded, softening a little. “I shall see ye later tonight with that wee delinquent sister of mine.”

“Don’t beat her, Quinn. She’s in love.” She put her hand on his chest, unable to stop herself. Surprisingly, he covered her hand with his own.

“Aye, love makes ye do stupid things,” he said bitterly, and she knew he didn’t speak only of Catie.

Time, she didn’t have any more time. She could have spent an hour, a day, trying to explain to him why she’d rejected him, but she didn’t have that kind of time. So instead of using a bunch of hollow words, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder and trying to make all her senses remember him.

“I do love you,” she whispered so softly, there was no way he could hear, and held on tight for the remaining moments that she had.

A second or two passed before he slowly raised his hands to close around her back, soon holding her as tightly as she held him. He kissed the top of her head, her cheek, her mouth. The door to his room was open and she didn’t care, sliding her fingers through his hair and responding joyfully to his kiss. What a fool she’d been to waste the last few days. Just because she couldn’t have him forever didn’t mean her love wasn’t real. She’d been wrong to deny herself, deny them, as much time as possible together.

It was agony to pull away. “You have to go,” she said, holding back tears. She clung to his jacket, finding it hard to let go. “Go bring Catie back. Be understanding.” She pushed away, her throat closing up. She couldn’t cry. He would know something was wrong if she cried and might not leave. And she had to go.

“I promise. I shall see ye tonight?” he asked. The question went deeper than merely wanting to see her later that evening. He smiled at her and the hope in his eyes told her he was asking if she’d changed her mind, if she would accept his offer of love and a place in his home.

The smile was almost enough to make her return to her room and unpack her bag. She didn’t want to blink and miss even that much. With a nod, she reached up and touched his face as he moved past her into the hall. This was how she wanted to remember him.

“Goodbye, Quinn.”

***

Quinn plowed through the streets to the party where he’d been told he could find Catie’s accomplice. On the way, he thought about Lizzie’s change of heart, and even through his rage at wee Lord Hollingsborn and worry about Catie, he felt a soaring happiness. He’d gone over again and again the way she’d acted when he first professed his love, and though it had hurt, and badly, he forgave her.

It had been sudden, and he’d probably frightened her, asking her straight away to live in the wilds of Scotland when she’d lived in London her whole life. If he could, he would move down here in a heartbeat, if it meant being with her. For a split second he felt a begrudging understanding of Lachlan, leaving the clan for his true love. Then it was gone, because Quinn couldn’t, so he wouldn’t. He and Lizzie would just have to work it out.

He knew they would. He believed in their love that much, that it could withstand something even as great as the distance between the Highlands and London.

At the grand house, he waited to be announced, then made his way to different groups of young people trying to locate Dahlia. He swore they were giving him the runaround, first pointing in one direction or telling him to speak to this person, then starting the whole thing again. He’d tried not being scary, and it was getting him nowhere, and he suspected some of the scoundrels were laughing at him. Finally, he took the closest lad by the collar of his jacket and lifted him until he dangled on the tips of his toes.

“I dinna want to have to ask one more person,” he said. “So ye are responsible for pointing out the lass named Dahlia to me. Can ye do that?”