Page 43 of My Highland Rogue
Jennifer hadn’t responded. She was already madly, deeply, and passionately in love with Gordon. Just because she hadn’t confessed that fact to Ellen didn’t change the reality of it.
However, arguing with Ellen was a losing proposition.
The only time she’d wanted to get a new wardrobe was after her mother had died, but Ellen had been adamant about honoring Mary’s wishes.
“Wearing one color or another will not make you mourn your mother more or less. Besides, she was insistent that you not wear mourning for more than a month. You know that well enough.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” Jennifer said at the time.
“It was right for Mary. It was her only wish. She didn’t want to see you buried beneath yards of crepe. How does that show respect?”
She had looked at her godmother. “Then why did you wear black for Colin for so many months?”
“That was entirely different.”
Even though she thought she’d been rational, she’d lost that war with Ellen.
This dress was emerald, a shade of green she especially liked. The collar was lace, as were the cuffs. Although it was three years old, it was still flattering, accentuating her waist and both the curve of her hips and her bosom.
She did her hair herself, pulling it up and pinning it so that it fell in a cascade. If she was more talented with curling tongs, she would’ve used those, but every time she tried, she burned herself. She didn’t want to mar this evening by being in pain.
A touch of rouge to her lips and a final inspection and she was done.
How had she lived without seeing Gordon every day? How had she been able to sleep, rise, do all those tasks that needed doing without the promise of being able to talk to him, embrace him, and kiss him?
The Hall was too large, too filled with people, too oppressive and demanding. It required sacrifice and she’d done exactly that for years. Now she was tired of it, and pushing back for the first time.
She didn’t want the responsibility any longer. She wanted Lauren to have her baby and take over her rightful duties as the Countess of Burfield. Jennifer didn’t want the staff to come to her with problems or issues.
All she wanted was to be with Gordon.
He had already told her so much about those missing years, but she wanted to know everything. Whom he met, the people he employed, what he did every day—she wanted to share every aspect of his life.
Everything in her life had changed in the past two days. It was like living in a world filled with clouds, and all of a sudden, the sun shone through. Or having no hope, and suddenly being suffused with it.
She smiled at herself in the mirror and left the room, anxious to see Gordon again.
Instead of going into the drawing room to wait for Jennifer, Gordon remained at the base of the stairs. He felt strangely out of place in this Adaire Hall. Five years ago he’d known every inch of the place. He and Jennifer had haunted the upper floors, explored the attic, and as children, had taken over an unused room as their own private domain.
The countess had never fussed at him for being here. Or at the both of them for being hooligans in the house during rainy or snowy days. Instead, she would ask what they were playing at, and he would stop to explain.
He was only five when the earl died suddenly. All he knew about that time was that the countess took to her rooms and didn’t leave them for two years. It was Harrison who’d coaxed her out of her hermitage, but not out of kindness or concern. He’d been expelled from his father’s alma mater and sent home in disgrace.
Gordon had often wondered if the countess had put all three of them together in the schoolroom to force Harrison to behave. Jennifer loved reading and had a natural ability for recall, often putting the two boys to shame. He was better with numbers and mathematics. Harrison’s talent was in feeling slighted. As the new Earl of Burfield he made sure that everyone knew of his elevation in rank. Even as a child he’d been insufferable.
The countess had once been a beautiful woman. One side of her face was unmarred by the fire that had nearly taken her life. The other resembled a melted candle. He’d been fascinated by her scars as a boy, had wanted to reach up and touch her face, but had never done so. He had asked her, once, if it hurt.
She’d tilted her head and regarded him through her one good eye. He knew that she couldn’t see well enough to read, although she could discern shapes and colors.
“Not now,” she said. “It did in the beginning.”
She’d been his tutor in many things, giving him an education he hadn’t received from eitherof his parents. She taught him how to speak to people properly, to treat a woman with respect, and even corrected his table manners.
Evidently, he’d reminded her of her younger brother.
“He was as stubborn as you,” she often said. “Impatient, too. As if he couldn’t wait for life to start for him.”
“Does he live in Edinburgh?” he’d asked.
