Indiscretion (14 page)

22

S
ir
Wallace cornered Anne again at the bottom of the stairs early the next morning. She gave a start as he loomed out of the shadows, his cane and bonnet in hand.

"I shall have to forgo our day at the fair, Anne. I'm rather afraid Flora is not feeling quite herself this morning."

She was embarrassed by the scene in her room the night before last. It was a wonder she could still look at the man without blushing in mortification. "Don't worry about me, Wallace. I won't be alone."

He frowned. "You mean your butler is accompanying you?"

"Yes. And Nellwyn. Sutherland is doing the shopping." Which was a sight Anne could hardly wait to see—Patrick haggling over a head of lettuce. "We shall have to work day and night if we're to be ready for the annual party in under a fortnight."

His frown deepened. "Do you really think you
should? It seems rather a load of trouble for a party, and with the fuss—"

She searched his face. "My goodness, Wallace, surely
you
are not thinking of Gracie's raving about a ghost at the loch?"

"Of course not," he said, looking offended as he took her arm, leaning into her. "Be honest with me, Anne. I am a man of the world. There is something going on between the pair of you, isn't there?"

She backed into the balustrade. "Between me and the ghost?"

"Your butler. He's not the bacon-brain he appears to be, is he?"

She paused. "Well, I wouldn't say that."

"Is it blackmail, Anne? Does the scapegrace have some hold over you from a past sin or indiscretion that David committed?"

She reflected briefly on the unintentional irony of his words. Patrick did indeed have a hold over her due to their past indiscretion, but David, poor David, had been
entirely innocent of any wrong-
doing.

"I know how to deal with blackmailers," he added in a solemn voice. "I've had a bit of experience in that area myself."

She regarded him in surprise. "Have you?"

"Well, not personally; I've met more than a few unsavory characters at the track, though—it is blackmail, isn't it? My God. David was such a shy sort. Still, one can never tell. What was it, Anne, an
affair
with a chambermaid or minister's daughter?"

"No."
She vented a sigh. "It was the Queen."

He blinked in astonishment. "Queen Victoria? David conducted a liaison with Her Majesty?"

She burst into laughter. "David didn't have an affair with anyone, at least not that I know of. I'm talking about my butler, Sutherland."

He frowned in annoyance. "You surely don't expect me to believe that the Queen was carrying on with a servant, a Scotsman at that?"

"Don't be a ninnyhammer, Wallace. I never said the Queen was carrying on with Sutherland. You did. I meant she had given him a sort of personal recommendation." She sighed again. "And of course I was obligated to take it."

"Of course." He looked impressed. "So the Queen recommended him. Old family retainers, and that type of obligation, I suppose. His father probably served the royal family faithfully, and Sutherland, well, he
is—"

"—a
pain in the neck," she said forcefully.

He raised his brow. "Yes, but one can hardly ignore a royal recommendation, my dear. This puts matters in a rather different light."

"I hate him," she burst out.

"Yes, yes, dear. He does get on the nerves, but if Her Majesty recommended the fellow, he must have his points."

"Two of them," Anne said. "The pair of horns on his head."

"As a butler, he is rather a breath of fresh air, Anne."

"He's a breath of sulfur and brimstone," she said darkly. "As in a genuine devil."

"But the Queen likes him."

"I don't," Anne said.

He gathered her gently into his arms, his head lowering to her
s. "Then perhaps you need a hus
band to manage such matters for you. Perhaps it's time to
take—"

"Tea?" Patrick inquired dryly, steering the trolley toward them like a gladiator in a Roman chariot.

Sir Wallace and Anne broke apart, like a pair of children caught in a naughty conspiracy. It was clear by his dark expression that Patrick disapproved of finding them alone together. It was also clear they stood in genuine danger of being mowed down by a breakfast cart.

"Your carriage is waiting," Patrick called over his shoulder to Sir Wallace. "Sorry you won't be staying for breakfast. We're having fresh currant buns, too."

Sir Wallace's lips tightened. "Royal recommendation or not, something has to be done about that man, Anne. He has more gall than an entire army of Highlanders."

A
nne could not postpone going to market for her party, even though it rained the entire way to the fair, and the driver had to labor along an old coffin road to keep from getting lost. Patrick complained
so
loudly about sitting up on the box that Nellwyn
overrode Anne's
feelings and invited him to travel
inside
the
carriage.

Anne was not happy about the situation. She couldn't believe what appeared to be happening between them, and she was afraid of what it meant. "Your coat is wet," she told him in a crisp tone. "I
would appreciate it if you could move to the other side of the seat."

Nellwyn looked at her. "Someone must not be getting enough sleep at night."

"Well, I wonder why," Anne said, staring outside as he settled down beside her, a man who had no intention of being ignored.

They passed fairgoers on shaggy Highland ponies with dogs running alongside them, and stone cottages in which candles burned against the morning gloom. Crows took shelter from the storm in the dripping pine woods and clouds clustered over the Grampians, which stood like ancient gods above the bare hills below.

Patrick stretched his legs on the seat. "That lock certainly took a lot of trouble to open the other night."

"Especially considering the fact that either one of you could have exite
d through the closet to the con
necting room whenever you chose," Nellwyn said.

Anne sat forward. "How could you possibly know that? Were you listening to us the whole time?"

"David gave me a tour of the lodge before he bought it," Nellwyn said bluntly. "And I don't see what all the fuss is about, for that matter. In my day, a man and woman didn't go to such bother to hide their attraction to each other."

Patrick grinned at her. "Your generation will go down in history for its admirable honesty."

Anne narrowed her eyes at him. "Must you encourage her?"

Nellwyn graced him with a smile. "What a nice
boy you are. I can't imagine why she hasn't fallen in love with you."

"Neither can I," he said.

Anne laid her head back against the cushions. "I think the driver is slowing to park, Patrick. Tell him I would like to stop at the dressmaker's shop before we go to the fair."

"Life is short, Anne," Nellwyn said, repeating her favorite theme as Patrick stepped outside. "You and I have lost both husbands and parents. We have no children to indulge and keep us company. Are you going to spend the rest of your days running from my nephew because of some imagined slight in the past? I know he was rather a rogue, but anyone can see he adores you."

"Is that what he told you, that 'some imagined slight' was behind all this?"

Nellwyn frowned. "Actually, he has never said much of anything on the subject. He is obstinately protective of your feelings, but now you've worried me. Was there more to your past association?"

Anne shook her head. "Let the past stay buried, Auntie Nellwyn. Please."

Nellwyn nodded, looking distressed. "As you
wish,
dear. It's just that I care for you and Patrick
both so deeply.
If I could bring you together, I
believe
I
could die at peace
with the world."

"I'm sorry. It just isn't to be."

"
'
To be or not to be,' " Patrick said with a grin as he vaulted back into the carriage. " 'That
is—'
" He stopped his teasing rendition of the soliloquy the instant he felt the tension between the two women.
"—obviously not the question." He settled down beside Nellwyn. "The atmosphere in here is as thick as the mist outside," he said lightly. "Ladies, the rain has stopped, and this is supposed to be a day of relaxation and enjoyment."

Anne gave him a tight smile. "Not for you, Sutherland. You have to help Mrs. Forbes do the shopping."

"The marketing?" He looked so horrified at the prospect that she started to laugh. "Madam, you have been misinformed. Men do not market."

"Butlers do." Nellwyn said, staring thoughtfully at Anne. "You behave yourself, Sutherland. Do what the mistress tells you."

"She told me the night before last to go to hell."

"And did you?" Nellwyn asked dryly.

"I certainly did," he said. "I spent the rest of that night in an agony of longing for her company. Hades could not have been worse."

"Just wait, you joker," Anne said. "Because when you do die, you're going to find out exactly how bad it can be. You're going to feel just how hot th
ose flames can burn
."

Nellwyn looked from Anne to Patrick. "And to think I had envisioned the beginnings of true love between you."

"True love," Anne said, staring out the window, "is kindness, loyalty, and trust."

"It takes a heart to love," Patrick added, his grin fading. "Anne, apparently, doesn't have one."

"She has a heart, all right," Nellwyn said. "But she's keeping it under guard, and I begin to wonder why."

23

A
nne jumped out of the carriage the instant it came to a full stop at the village fairgrounds. An elderly piper with a long white beard played the bagpipes on the hill above, an obscure clan tattoo whose magical notes intertwined with the mist. Young people were swirling in kilts on the green, and a band of gypsies hawked unbroken ponies, sealing their sales with a hand-slap. There was a tantalizing odor of an ox roasting in a pit, and everywhere one looked stallholders offered cheeses, gingerbread, and laces.

"I'll leave you to plot your conspiracy in private," she said over her shoulder, and
then she slammed th
e door.

Nellwyn wished now she had kept her thoughts to herself. "I don't know where her spirit comes from, do you? Is it inherited, I wonder."

Patrick watched An
ne from the window, his mouth tightening as a crowd of young bucks outside the tavern stopped their conversation to admire her. "I don't know. She does not speak often of her family."

"No wonder,"
Nellwyn said. "Her parents were unsociable and absolutely puritanical in outlook. Anne's grandmother committed suicide when her mother was only ten, leaving the woman to be raised by her aunt."

His eyes darkened as Anne disappeared into the dressmaker's shop. Even when he was at the height of his hell-making, he had known his father loved him.

"Still," Nellwyn said, "such things are part of life, and somehow Anne has managed to survive. Although—you have never done anything to hurt her, have you?"

There was a spell of silence inside the carriage, broken by the cheer of spectators at a wrestling contest on the common. If there was one person in the world he knew he could trust, it was Nellwyn.

"If you want the truth," he said, slowly turning his face to hers. "I seduced Anne seven years ago before I joined the infantry. I never understood until recently what a beautiful girl like her would see in a rogue like me, and had I known better, I would have found a way to take her from her family until I returned. It was a thoughtless act, Auntie Nellwyn, not heartless. I have always regretted that our affair did not lead to something lasting, but her father would never have let her marry a man like me. Not in those days."

"My, my," Nellwyn said. "And now she's making you pay for your youthful mistake."

"She certainly is. Actually, both of you seem to be enjoying her revenge."

"Believe it or not, I am on your side, Sutherland."

He grunted. "Good. I'm a man who needs all the help he can get."

"I can see that," she said, motioning in amusement out the window at the knot of servants who stood awaiting his company with Mrs. Forbes, who held the basket he would use to carry their purchases.

P
atrick escaped Mrs. Forbes when she met another housekeeper and got into a debate over a receipt for haggis. The older woman was driving him mad, a mother hen determined her chick would come to no harm.

He wandered around the fairgrounds until he found Anne, surrounded by a circle of old friends. Still, he was only a butler, and the best he could do was lean against a gingerbread stall, his gaze thoughtful, a basket of eggs over his arm as he waited for her.

He narrowed his eyes as one of the young bucks from the tavern s
auntered up to Anne and reintro
duced himself, claiming a past acquaintance. He saw her give the man a warm smile, and he wondered what would happen if he hit the charming boy in the face with an egg.

Mrs. Forbes bustled up behind him. "Oh, there you are, Mr. Sutherland. I'll be needing your help selecting a nice goose."

He didn't say anything. He'd just noticed that the
young buck had grasped Anne's hand and was drawing her over to a puppet show. She looked as if she were resisting, but he knew how damned polite she was, and suddenly eggs didn't seem like a strong enough weapon to discourage his suit.

"Have you been drinking, Mr. Sutherland?" Mrs. Forbes asked in a disappointed voice.

He turned to her as Anne managed to shrug off her admirer. "No, but a drink is a good idea, now that you mention it."

"You can't—"

The rest of her reply was lost in the sudden roar that erupted behind them. A fight had broken out at the cheesemonger's stall. A man in a worn jacket and trews writhed on the ground, dodging kicks and blows.

Patrick grabbed a young boy who ran past him. "Why are they beating that man?"

"Stole some cheese."

Patrick handed his basket of eggs to Mrs. Forbes and joined the group of fairgoers rushing to watch the fight. He'd seen that man earlier at the marketplace, looking for work; he belonged to a small group of unemployed crofters from Easter Ross who'd been evicted from their homes by financially desperate landlords.

"Dinna get involved," Sandy called after him.

"They're going to kill him,"
Patrick said. "Over a piece of cheese."

Mrs. Forbes tugged on his jacket. "I know it isn't right, mister. It breaks my heart, too. But should a shopkeeper have to pay because a greedy landlord
somewhere has thrown the poor man from his home? We all suffer hard times, but we don't all steal."

"I'll pay," Patrick said.

"On a butler's wages?" Graci
e squeezed in beside him. "Dinna cause trouble, mister. They'll arrest you."

"They'll think we're a band of them Chartists," Mrs. Forbes said with a shudder of fear. "Not that I disagree with their grievances, mind you. But I draw the line at inciting a riot."

Sandy bumped against her. "My brother in Wales got himself put in jail last year. The Rebecca riots, they called 'em, with the men dressing as females."

A gap opened in the crowd, and Patrick dove through it, propelling his way to the man begging for mercy on the ground. He leaned down to shield the man, and a boot
ed foot kicked him in the cheek
bone; he looked up into the smirking face of the young buck who had been flirting with Anne.

"Oaf."

Patrick stared at him for a few seconds, trying to remember where he had seen that fa
ce before. Perhaps at a gaming cl
ub, or a race. Lord Andrew Tynan. Patrick was good at remembering names.

"Get out of the way, cl
odpate," Tynan said. "The man is a thief and a mental deficient."

Patrick didn't move. He didn't care if Tynan recognized him because then he could challenge him on open ground.

"Are you deaf, giant?"

A housewife was trying to drag the beaten man to
safety, but four or five other fairgoers had scented blood and wanted to fight. As one of them swung at Patrick, he leaped to his feet, aided by Fergus, one of Anne's footmen, who was young enough to fight for a principle he really didn't understand. Then another man in servant's livery joined the fracas, grinning in sympathy at Patrick before he threw a punch.

Patrick hit the man who had swung at him. Then he sent Lord Tynan and two of his friends staggering into a stall of cabbages and turnips at the precise moment Anne reappeared in the crowd.

"Send for the sheriff's deputy," someone shouted. "This big fellow is gone wild."

Anne pushed forward, and she was shaking. "There's no need to send for help. I'll take care of him, and pay for whatever he's damaged."

"He's yours, Lady Whitehaven?" the cabbage vendor said in disbelief, and even Patrick was impressed at how many people knew and liked her.

"Unfortunately, yes." She gave him a prod in the ribs. "Come on, Sutherland."

He bowed mockingly. "Yours to do with as you wish."

They walked away from the hubbub, toward a gypsy fortuneteller's wagon, heading for the grassy knoll. Patrick juggled a pair of turnips in the air; he figured that if Anne had paid for them, he might as well take them home for soup, domestic-minded as he was becoming these days.

She stopped in her tracks and hit the turnips out of his hand. She glanced around; the injured man
had been taken under the wing of several good Samaritans. "What I really wish," she said angrily, "is that you would behave yourself for once."

"I'm not going to watch a mob beat a man to death whether he deserves it or not."

She walked away. He watched her skirts swish back and forth for several moments, the movement seemed at once sexual and prudish, inviting and off-putting, the essence of Anne.

He strode up behind her, grinning. "Forgive me?"

She glanced at him from the corn
er of her eye. "Did it occur to you that you might have gotten injured in that fight?"

"Me? Hell, no. Although I think I might have bruised my tea-pouring hand."

She looked up at him after a long silence. "You have a horrible red mark on your cheek. I cannot believe that I left you unsupervised for a mere two minutes and you got into a brawl."

"There's a solution for that."

"Oh?"

"Don't leave me alone. Obviously I need you." He smiled into her eyes. "Let's have our fortunes read for fun."

She gave him a half smile. "I might be better off not knowing the future, if my past is any indication of what's in store. Anyway, I have to pay for the damage you caused with your fighting. Can you stay out of trouble for a few minutes?"

"I don't know," he said. "You had better hurry back just to make sure."