Page 98 of The Texan Duke
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that, Your Grace.”
And so on and so on.
“Are you any closer to finding a buyer for Bealadair?” he finally asked.
“I’ve sent inquiries to a number of solicitor friends, Your Grace. Finding a suitable buyer who has the wherewithal to purchase an estate the size of Bealadair will take some time, I’m afraid.”
He’d studied the man, wondering if Glassey had his own reasons for delaying the sale.
“Do what you can to hurry it along,” he said. “I want to go home.”
The instant he said the words, Connor felt them spring back, almost as if they were on a cord. Yes, he wanted to return home, but he would miss some things about Scotland. Not the weather, certainly, but Addy, who was a damn fine cook. Perhaps she could be persuaded to come and live in Texas. He’d gotten to know his cousin Muira a little better and thought that she might get along with his sisters well, especially Eustace.
He carefully avoided thinking abouther, the woman who was tying his guts into knots. The same woman who just up and left Bealadair without a by your leave, or any kind of notice. The same woman who’d invited him to her bed and the very next day left as if she hadn’t been a virgin and it hadn’t been, well, a night he’d always remember.
What about her?
Evidently it hadn’t been as important as her jaunt to Inverness.
Three days? What was she doing in Inverness that took three days? Glassey wouldn’t tell him. Addy didn’t know. If Muira knew, she was better at lying than anyone he’d ever met.
He found himself haunting the stable. He’d go and visit with Douglas midmorning and then again around four, just before dark. On the morning of the fourth day, he was there every hour on the hour and had given up any pretense that he was oiling his saddle or admiring the horseflesh or examining the tack room. Everybody knew—and he wasn’t really concerned that they did—that he was waiting for Elsbeth.
Waiting, and not in the best of moods.
Elsbeth sat in the carriage on the way back to Bealadair, occupying herself with her notebook, writing down anything she could think of that needed to be done before the ball. The event to welcome Connor was to be held tomorrow. Thank heavens the weather had held. That meant that most of the people who had been invited would attend.
She needed to spare some time to endure Rhona’s lecture. After all, she’d gone to Inverness without the duchess’s permission. She wasn’t truly a servant, although there were times she felt like one. Even though she’d made arrangements for everything to be taken care of in the three days it would take to travel to Inverness, conduct her business, and return, that wouldn’t be good enough for the Duchess of Lothian.
No, Rhona would lecture her on propriety—why hadn’t she taken a maid with her? If she had, she would no doubt have had to endure a lecture about taking one of the staff away from her duties. And she was certain that Rhona was going to take this opportunity to inquire about her success at seduction.
That was the topic she did not want to discuss, now or in the future.
She could tell when they were getting close to Bealadair. The great brick wall that encircled the house and its gardens ended in a magnificent wrought iron and brick gate manned by one of the footmen. Only a little farther and they would be stopped, the driver would nod and identify himself, and the bell would be rung in the gatehouse that signaled those in the house that a visitor was approaching.
Not quite a visitor, though, in this case. But perhaps she would be shortly. She had met with the solicitor Mr. Glassey had recommended, and there were several properties that matched her requirements and her budget. All she had to do was choose. She’d been able to visit two of them and although each was exactly what she had envisioned before coming to Inverness, she hadn’t yet made a decision.
One thing kept occurring to her, and it was something she had never thought of until this trip. How was she to bear the loneliness?
At Bealadair, when she wished to be alone, she went to her suite and closed the door. Even the duchess gave her privacy in her own rooms. Otherwise, she was surrounded by people all the time. The staff of Bealadair were, even in the sad months following Gavin’s death, of a kind and cheerful nature. There was something about them that she knew made them different from those people who worked at other great houses. Perhaps it was Gavin’s insistence on educating their children or considering them part of the clan, even if they came from Inverness to work at Bealadair.
There was most definitely a feeling of family.
Did Connor know what he was going to do? Did he realize that he was disbanding a clan? Did he care about the people who would be scattered to the four winds if the new owner didn’t wish to keep them on? Would the house be left unoccupied for the most part, only to be visited by an absent owner a few times a year?
What would Gavin say?
Appeal to his logic, Elsbeth. He is an intelligent man. After all, he’s a McCraight.
The problem was that she could completely understand why Connor would want to sell Bealadair and return to Texas. He was born there. That was his home, his country. Although his ancestors were Scottish, he didn’t feel a kinship to Scotland.
How was she to bear it when he left? That was a question she should have asked herself earlier, before she allowed herself to be fascinated by him.
She rested her head against the padded seat and closed her eyes. When he left, she’d feel an acute sense of loss. But he was an anomaly, a moment out of time in her life, an experience she had and would never have again. He was simply a stranger who’d shown up one snowy night and would disappear soon.
She wiped away her tears and counseled herself sternly. She never wept, or at least not as often as she had for the past three days. Nor had she known when it would happen, an embarrassing situation since it had occurred once when she was speaking to the solicitor and another time when they were going to see one of the properties he’d selected for her.
Something had reminded her of Connor. Some simple remark, some item recalled him to mind—and she’d acted like a schoolgirl.
