Page 87 of Sinful Scottish Laird
“Her husband is a drunkard, you know,” Uncle Knox whispered conspiratorially as he rummaged around a drawer in the desk. “Ah, here it is! The key to your kingdom, as it were. At least the key to my London townhome. I’ve not been there in an age, and I’m afraid you’ll have to make do without a proper staff, but old Bussey is there, and he’ll mind you. I’ll just dash off a note of introduction. We have much to discuss, naturally. You’ll need some letters of introduction, lest you encounter some corrupt business. There are those who don’t care for Scotsmen.”
“Aye, I am aware,” Cailean said.
Uncle Knox handed the key to Cailean, then glanced down at Cailean’s clothing. He wrinkled his nose.
Cailean looked down, too. “It’s the dirt of the road.”
“It’s not that, my good man,” Uncle Knox said. “It’s yourdress.You can’t dress like a Highland savage here. Don’t take offense. You’re certainly not a savage, but they willthinkyou are. I’m sure I’ve something that will suit you. Come along, then. My valet is probably diddling a maid downstairs. We’ll go and have a bit of fun, won’t we, make him pull up his breeches and outfit you properly? We’ll make an Englishman of you yet!”
Cailean’s head was spinning. He was hungry and fatigued, and he was not exactly besotted with the idea of appearing as an Englishman. He followed his uncle out of the room and forgot to notice Poppy at all.
Three days later, properly outfitted, with a fresh horse, and letters of introduction tucked into his coat pocket, Cailean started for London.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ITFELTTODAISYas if the return voyage to England had taken twice as long as the voyage up, when in fact, it was two days shorter in length. Robert complained about the ship’s navigation—it lacked the finesse of the Royal Navy—but he addressed the MacDonalds and their crew with restrained civility. He kept his sword at his side and said he slept poorly, as he expected to be set upon by the Scotsmen in the night.
But he was attentive of Daisy and her family, and as they neared England, Daisy tried, she really did try, to rekindle the feelings she’d carried for him for so long, to put aside her misgivings about his true intentions. What did it matter? His intentions were the same as every other man’s in London. At least she knew Robert. At least she knew what to expect from him. What did it matter that his touch now left her cold, or that he instructed Ellis at every turn? It could be much worse with a stranger, couldn’t it?
But it was no use—Daisy couldn’t think of anything other than Cailean.
“Does the voyage make you ill?” Belinda had asked her from the cramped cabin they shared aboard the ship.
“Ill? No,” Daisy said, slowly shaking her head as if trying to dispel a heavy sleep.
Belinda didn’t say more—in fact, she was unusually quiet during the journey to London—but she kept a fretful eye on Daisy. That only made Daisy’s agony worse. She wanted only to wallow in her misery, unnoticed, uninterrupted. But she felt as if she had to maintain her composure so that her family, and Robert, would not worry, would not ask her at every turn if she was all right. She would never be all right. She would never be the same again.
It was a gusty night when they at last reached London and the Chatwick town house on Audley Street at half past eleven. Daisy was exhausted, and she allowed Robert to carry Ellis up to his room, where one of the chambermaids was on hand to put him to bed. Belinda excused herself, too, and wearily climbed the stairs.
Robert joined Daisy in the salon. He didn’t show any signs of fatigue. It was as if he’d never journeyed at all and had been waiting in this salon for her for days. “You are fatigued, my poor little dear,” he said. “Now, I want you to get a good night’s sleep.” He clasped her shoulders. “I’ll call on you on the morrow, and we will speak of our future.” He smiled, as if that ought to send her off to sweet dreams.
“Where are you going?” she asked curiously. He’d been under her roof for so long now that in some respects, it felt as if they’d already said their vows.
“To the club. It is one thing to be your guest in the backwater hills of Scotland, but it wouldn’t be proper for me to remain under the same roof with you here.”
She was too tired to argue and merely nodded, accepted his kiss and walked him to the door.
Daisy was exhausted, but she did not sleep well. Her bed felt too soft somehow, and she tossed and turned in it. She dreamed that she and Ellis were in her garden at Auchenard, and she was planting new roses. Cailean was there, too. But in that state between sleep and consciousness, she realized it wasn’t a dream; it was a wish. She wasn’t asleep at all—her sorrow kept her floating above the surface as her unspoken wish played out in her mind’s eye.
She did eventually find sleep, however, because she was rudely startled awake by a shake to her shoulder. It was Belinda looming over her. “Dearest!” she whispered. “Are you unwell?”
“No. I don’t think so,” Daisy said groggily and pushed herself up, forcing Belinda back. She winced at the pain behind her eyes. “Why?”
“It’s two o’clock. Captain Spivey is calling at two, and Bishop Craig sent word that he shall call at half past two.”
Daisy opened her eyes. “What?” she exclaimed and scampered out of the bed.
“I hope it is only fatigue,” Belinda said as she threw open Daisy’s wardrobe and began to search for a gown. “And not some horrible foreign disease. Those ships carry them round like cargo.”
“I’m not ill. I’m...” Daisy’s voice trailed off.
Belinda paused what she was doing and glanced over her shoulder.
Daisy swallowed back a sob. “Resigned,” she said softly.
She scarcely had time to dress and to eat a little something before Robert arrived. He had on a fresh set of clothing and had donned a periwig. He strolled into her salon with his tricorne tucked up under one arm. His smile was ebullient as he clicked his heels and bowed formally. “How do you do, Lady Chatwick? You look well,” he said. “London agrees with you.”
She thought she looked gaunt and weary. “Thank you,” she said, peering at him uncertainly. “You look as if you’ve dined with the king.”
