Page 89 of My Highland Rogue
“It’s only because he was brilliant that he got away with it, of course,” Michael McTavish said. “He was smarter than all of us.”
“I used to ask him if he ever studied,” McNair said. “He answered that he did, sometimes. Hardly ever, though.”
Over the next several hours, Gordon was regaled with stories of Alex’s generosity, too. How he’d spent many sleepless nights quizzing friends for exams. Or how often he’d loaned money to a classmate and never asked for it back.
All four of them had gone to Adaire Hall for his funeral and even now missed him.
It was odd to be examined so closely, especially when they pretended not to be looking at him. Evidently, even some of his gestures were similar to his father’s.
Each man had an abundance of Alex stories and insisted on telling them. By the end of the evening, he was filled with regret that he hadn’t known the man they knew and never would.
Gordon had, however, acquired four new friends, men who promised to help him find property for sale if he wanted to expand in Scotland. From what he’d been told, Edinburgh would be the perfect venue for a new music hall.
He managed to say enough to indicate his interest, but not why he would probably never come back to Scotland to live. That confession was too raw; that loss too much to bear.
He finished his whiskey and nodded when asked if he wanted another. One thing alcohol could do: erase your memories, at least temporarily.
“I love him,” Jennifer said.
Ellen turned to see her goddaughter standing in the doorway, dressed for bed.
“I’ve always loved him. I dreamed of being his wife. I wanted to share the rest of my life with him. I wanted to bear his children. I was used to sharing my thoughts with him, and hearing his. A day wasn’t right without him being there.”
“Gordon?”
Jennifer nodded. “When we were children, we never tried to keep our friendship a secret. There was no need. My mother liked Gordon very much. She spent a lot of time with him. I think she saw him as a good influence for me. Or hopefully for Harrison, although he and Gordon never got along.”
Ellen went to Jennifer’s side and gently pulled her into the sitting room. She’d been ready to retire for the night, but not now, especially in view of Jennifer’s distress. She could feel Jennifer trembling and wanted to hug her, but instead led her to the sofa.
“When we got older, Mr. McBain began to object to my seeing so much of Gordon, so it was just easier to slip away to meet him. Harrison always tried to remind me that he was the gardener’s boy, never realizing that Gordon would always be more than that for me.”
Jennifer had left her rooms barefoot. Now Ellen draped a throw over her goddaughter’s feet.
“I knew he would eventually leave Adaire Hall, but not the way he did.”
Ellen wanted to hurry her goddaughter along, to ask her what had gone so bad between them, but she had the feeling that the story had to be told in Jennifer’s way, not hers.
She grabbed one of Jennifer’s hands, disturbed at how cold it felt.
“And then he went away. For two years, I didn’t know anything. Harrison kept telling me that Gordon had left because he was tired of me, that he was bored. That I had misinterpreted everything, that I’d been played for a fool. I never believed Harrison, but I still wondered, simply because there was no word from Gordon. Then, when his mother died, I got his address from the bank and wrote him.”
Two tears fell down her face. Ellen wondered at the power of those tears. They had the ability to etch a path through her heart.
“I wrote him every Christmas and on his birthday, but he never wrote me back.” Jennifer looked over at her. “He said he didn’t get those letters.”
Ellen kept silent.
“I wanted him to come back. I was desperate for him to come back, but he didn’t.”
“Is that why you never wanted to meet any young men when you came to visit?”
Jennifer nodded. “I was waiting for Gordon.”
“But he never returned to the Hall.”
She shook her head. “Not until recently. I wrote him again and told him about Sean, who was dying.” She glanced at Ellen again. “He wanted to be a success when he returned to Adaire Hall. He wanted to prove that he could make something of himself to Sean and maybe Harrison.”
“But never to you?”
