The Devil of Clan Sinclair (21 page)

He regarded her in silence, as if measuring her courage.

“She has survived much, sir,” she said in defense of Virginia. “Her fever was so high I feared she would die, but she rallied.”

Macrath smiled at her, such a beguiling expression Hannah knew, suddenly, how devastatingly charming he could be when he tried.

“I’ll let her see him,” he said. “The day she leaves Drumvagen.”

V
irginia stared at her maid, every emotion, along with every single thought, flying from her mind.

She couldn’t formulate a sentence. She couldn’t string two words together.

Macrath expected her to leave?

“Your ladyship?”

The title was amusing since they were sitting in a cottage in the midst of a Highland thunderstorm, the torrential downpour having found four holes in the thatch roof. The hard dirt floor was liquefying beneath their feet. She breathed in the scent of mud and motioned Hannah to one of the chairs at the table.

“The man’s lost his senses,” she said as Hannah moved around the worst of the puddles to take a seat. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

Hannah didn’t answer, merely made a point of tucking her skirts up so the hem wouldn’t get wet.

“I don’t doubt there are many situations in society similar to yours, your ladyship,” she finally said.

Surprised, she regarded the other woman. “Do you truly think so?”

Hannah smiled and nodded. “There are simply too many convenient births, your ladyship. Society merely nods, and as long as everyone is discreet, life goes on the way it’s meant to. Titles are kept in the family, along with any property and money.”

“Are you aware of what my husband did?”

To her surprise, Hannah nodded again. “Servants aren’t invisible, your ladyship, as much as people would like them to be. We know most of what goes on in the houses where we work. People do talk, you know. Servants hear everything, and there are more than a few of us who like to gossip as well.”

“Did you gossip about me?” When Hannah looked away, she said, “It’s all right. I think I would’ve talked about me, too. Here comes this American girl, knowing nothing about society. She thinks to be the Countess of Barrett, just because her father’s wealthy.”

“We never said anything bad about you, your ladyship. We all felt sorry for you. You were so afraid of everything.”

She nodded, unable to deny those truths.

“I daresay that this journey to Scotland and the one before it were the most courageous things you’ve ever done.”

How odd to see the look of approval on Hannah’s face.

“You don’t think he means to give up Elliot,” she said.

“No, your ladyship.” After a moment she spoke again. “He’s changed Elliot’s name. He’s calling him Alistair.”

She nodded. Another comment for which she didn’t have a response.

“And Elliot? He looks well?”

“Very well, your ladyship.” Hannah smiled. “He seemed to like being in his father’s arms.”

Virginia looked down at the floor, watching the raindrops hit the mud.

“Shall I alert Hosking?” Hannah asked.

Surprised, Virginia glanced at her. “Why?”

“To prepare the carriage for the return to London.”

“If you feel you must return, Hannah, I can’t forbid you from doing so. But I’m not leaving Drumvagen without my child.”

Hannah looked at her wide-eyed. As well she might, because in her timid mouse way, Virginia had just declared war on Macrath Sinclair.

Chapter 23

F
or the first week after arriving in Scotland, Virginia slept most of the time. As she began to recuperate, two thoughts played in her mind: How could she convince Macrath to relinquish her child, and had Lawrence truly done that to her?

Had he paid Paul to bed her? Or was it Paul’s idea? What was the influence Paul had over Lawrence? All these months, they’d thought it was the opposite, that Lawrence had been the Machiavellian one. Now she wondered if they’d been wrong all this time.

She couldn’t go back and remake the past. If she could, she’d save dear Eudora. She’d certainly find a way to prevent her own marriage to Lawrence.

Macrath steadfastly ignored her, refusing to visit the cottage. Brianag checked on her daily, but the housekeeper was taciturn and about as communicative as a stone.

During the second week, Virginia started making battle plans.

First, she had to regain her strength. Every morning she practiced lifting a bucket of water with her right arm, then her left. She bent and stretched, intent on conquering the dizziness she occasionally experienced. As she perched on the edge of the cot, she lifted one leg then the other until she could feel her muscles pull, then trudged through the cottage until she was steadier on her feet.

A few days ago she’d asked Hannah for a mirror, and the maid had come back to the cottage with a small hand mirror. Before she looked, however, she asked Hannah for the truth.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“No, your ladyship,” Hannah said, studying her. “There are a few marks on your forehead and two near your right eye, but that’s all. Your arms and shoulders took the brunt of it.”

She nodded, having seen the scars there.

Courage seemed far away as she lifted the hand mirror, only to see it tremble in her grip. She lowered it, sat there composing herself.

She had never thought she was beautiful. A few scars would not alter her appearance.

Resolutely, she raised the mirror again and stared at her reflection.

How strange. The color was the same, but there was a world of knowledge in her eyes. She blinked at herself. What other changes would she find?

Two more scars Hannah hadn’t mentioned sat near her hairline. Her face was thinner, her chin and nose more pronounced. Her mouth seemed larger. But it was the change in her eyes that fascinated her. She looked worldly. Experienced. Like she’d seen the suffering of the world and understood it.

Had smallpox done that to her? Or had giving birth changed her in some way?

Slowly, she lowered the mirror.

“I’m different, aren’t I?” she asked.

Hannah smiled. “You’ve been sick, your ladyship. That’s what you see.”

“No one could be a more diligent nurse,” she said. “Or a more caring one.”

“You were a good patient. Except when you were going off on a journey just when you were making a turn for the better.”

She gave Hannah a rueful smile. “It might look foolish, but I couldn’t do anything else.”

“I know, your ladyship. But if you injure yourself, Elliot will be without a mother.”

Virginia smiled. “You’re very wise, Hannah.”

“My mother used to say I had an old soul. She also said I was a bossy thing, forever giving people orders, even as a child.”

“It must’ve been difficult for you to go into service.”

“Why would that be, your ladyship?” Hannah asked, frowning.

“You didn’t find it so?”

“We were all trained to go into service. What else were we to do? Oh, we could have gone to work in one of the mills, but I think it’s a better position to be your maid then to stand for eighteen hours in a dusty factory.”

She’d never once considered that going into service might be something to be preferred. Nor had she ever had to worry about food or housing—at least until Lawrence died.

T
he morning of her assault on Drumvagen, Virginia sat at the table as Hannah prepared to leave, as she did every day. She hadn’t told the other woman of her intent, and now watched her fill an earthenware container with heather, the scent perfuming the air.

“Do you think he’ll change his mind today?” she asked her maid.

Hannah only glanced at her and shrugged.

Each day, through Hannah, she’d sent word to Macrath that she had recuperated and would like to see her son. Each time, he’d sent back a note with only four words on it:
When you leave Drumvagen.

At least he’d not starved them. Every morning and evening a wagon appeared in front of the cottage. Hannah would come back inside with a large stew pot filled with something smelling wonderful. She’d be accompanied by either a maid or a young man bearing a small crate filled with other items like tea, pudding, jars of preserves, and a loaf of bread.

Hannah kept the small stove at the end of the cottage fueled with firewood delivered every few days. Now, on the fateful morning she would make her assault on Drumvagen, Hannah placed a cup of hot tea in front of her.

“You’ll be drinking it,” she said. “And I’ve some hot broth with chicken.”

“Are there no end to your abilities?” Virginia smiled at her. “You can deliver babies, be a nurse, and now you cook.”

“I try to be of use,” Hannah said, turning away, but not before she saw the flush on the maid’s cheeks.

“You have been,” she said, sipping her tea. “What would I have done without you?”

Besides her other capacities, Hannah acted as intermediary with Macrath, who allowed her to check on Elliot and speak with Mary and Agatha. Each day when Hannah returned, Virginia asked the same questions and Hannah dutifully answered. Had he grown? Was he well? Did he smile? Has he learned anything new? Did Mary or Agatha express any concerns?

She hated having anyone be proxy for her, even dear Hannah.

Every day for the past two weeks Hannah had gone to Drumvagen and was allowed into the nursery, a converted guest room on the second floor. Evidently, Macrath did not want his son relegated to an upper floor. That was the first thing that surprised Virginia. The second was that Macrath was in the nursery every day, either supervising his son’s care or simply being with him.

“He looks at him, your ladyship,” Hannah had told her, “like he can’t believe Elliot is there and half expects him to disappear any moment.”

She knew the feeling well, having experienced it herself in the weeks after Elliot’s birth.

How was she to know Macrath would be as captivated by their son as she? His affection only complicated the situation.

Macrath must understand Elliot was the eleventh Earl of Barrett. The world recognized him as such. His future was assured.

“How can I convince him if he won’t meet with me?” she asked Hannah now, just as she had every day. Her maid only shook her head, as always.

“Give my little boy a kiss for me,” she said.

Her maid smiled. “Yes, your ladyship.”

She watched Hannah leave the cottage, close the door behind her, then she moved to one of the cottage windows to track her progress.

Hannah sauntered with a bounce in her step, nodding at the flowers lining the road. Was she happy here?

Drumvagen was almost an enchanted place, silent but for the branches of the trees swaying in the gusty breeze. The whispering sounded like the trees were talking, discussing the day and the weather.

White filmy clouds skittered across the sky while the horizon was gray, the color of Drumvagen’s bricks. They’d had their share of storms lately. The morning after, however, the air sparkled like it was touched by magic.

Virginia knew she needed a bit of magic now, and prayers wouldn’t hurt, although she wasn’t certain petitioning the Almighty was a wise thing to do. After all, she’d sinned in many egregious ways.

If God couldn’t forgive her, how could she expect Macrath to do so? But God wasn’t an unyielding Scot like the owner of Drumvagen.

She left the cottage then, closing the door behind her. For a moment she simply stood on the path, hands clasped in front of her, looking down the road to Drumvagen. To her left, Drumvagen Wood hid the river from view. To her right was the ocean. Straight ahead was the house that held her son—and Macrath.

The day was cool, hinting at chilly, and she didn’t have a shawl. In London, planning this journey, they’d thought it would take a few days at the most. Neither she nor Hannah had expected to be in Scotland for more than a fortnight.

At least Hannah had made friends with the laundress at Drumvagen, which meant their clothing and bedding were clean.

Of all the decisions Enid had forced on her, hiring Hannah had been the best. What would she have done without the woman? Hannah was courageous and kind, and had become much more than a servant.

Virginia had dispensed with a hoop that morning and worn only one petticoat, which meant her skirts dragged on the ground. Resolutely, she grabbed her skirt with one hand and started walking.

She knew, well enough, that if she went up the broad staircase to the front doors of Drumvagen, Macrath would refuse her admittance. Even though Brianag had pronounced her free of disease, he’d been adamant about not letting her see Elliot.

Would her son even remember her?

She could petition Macrath once more. The result would be one more terse note:
When you leave Drumvagen.

Did he think she would walk away from her child? If so, he was even more mistaken than she had been. Yes, she’d sinned. Yes, she’d taken advantage of him. Yes, what she’d done was wrong. Whatever he wanted to say about her was probably true.

She was not, however, going to desert Elliot.

Even if Macrath thought she was the most venal woman to have ever lived, she wasn’t going to abandon her son.

In America, she’d been left at Cliff House for years at a time, her father only visiting at Christmas and once in the summer when he brought friends to party. Even with the full staff and her governess, she was alone, a privileged, wealthy orphan.

Elliot would always know she loved him. There would never be a doubt in his mind about how she felt. He wasn’t an impediment. He wasn’t an inconvenience. He wasn’t someone about whom she thought periodically, then dismissed.

He was her darling little boy, and she wasn’t leaving Scotland without him.

She would have liked Macrath’s understanding, but that might be too much to expect. She was heartily sorry for what she had done. She regretted using him. She should have, somehow, communicated with him, even if he was on the other side of the world.

But she could never regret Elliot.

She wiped her palms against her dress, straightened her shoulders, and kept walking, intent on finding a way into Drumvagen. In the last two weeks, she’d devised a plan, one she hoped would work.

The sun glittered off the ocean, nearly blinding her. Several stubborn late summer flowers bobbed their heads at her. At another time she would have marveled at their bright yellow color or the sweet scent accompanying her walk. Now, however, she was intent on her plan.

Drumvagen hugged the coastline, perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. There must be a way to reach the beach, get into the grotto, and from there climb the passage into the house.

Now, she saw to her surprise a few outbuildings north of Drumvagen, structures she hadn’t noticed or known about on her earlier visit.

As she approached, she saw a large stable, three other buildings, and a structure that looked like a barn except taller. They sat between Drumvagen and the road she was on. At least a dozen people were working, and several gave her curious glances. She smiled in greeting, pretending she belonged there, and passed them, intent on finding a way down to the beach.

A quarter hour later she found a spot that looked well traveled, tiptoed to the edge and peered over the side. A narrow path led from the road down to a crescent-shaped beach. The descent was dangerously steep. She drew back, fighting a sudden wave of dizziness.

She could stand here being afraid or simply ignore the feeling and go on with her plan.

She grabbed her skirt in one hand, the other outstretched to give her balance.

Did Drumvagen boast mountain goats? If so, this path was created by them, going in one direction then abruptly turning in another, forming a Z on the face of the cliff.

Halfway down, sand covered the rocks, the narrow path becoming even more treacherous. Twice she almost fell and caught herself by gripping clumps of gorse. Each time she uttered a quick and fervent prayer, hoping God would forgive all her previous transgressions in favor of saving her now.

Her heart was pounding and her breath coming in sharp pants. She could only concentrate on her footing, not the ocean’s nearness or the tide.

She jumped the last foot or so, landing on the beach. Glancing back the way she came, she knew she’d have to find the grotto. She wouldn’t be able to retrace her steps up the steep incline.

Never would she have thought she’d do something as adventurous as climb down a cliff. But then, since Lawrence’s funeral she’d done a great many things she would never have imagined. She’d seduced a man, borne a child, survived smallpox. Now she was trying to gain entrance into Macrath Sinclair’s home.