Page 57 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“You’ll be taking care, then?”
“I will,” he said.
“Then go on with you. We’ll be fine. But you should worry about us a little and come home quickly.”
“A Scotsman’s never as much a Scotsman as when he’s abroad, Brianag.”
“I’ve no knowledge of that. All I do know is Drumvagen will not be the same without you. Aince awa, aye awa.”
He wasn’t given to demonstrations of affection, but he leaned forward and put his arms around Brianag, who stiffened first, then reached up and patted his cheek.
A strong woman of long bones and firm muscles, she smelled of spices. And maybe Scotland, with hints of fresh wind and heather. Damn if he wasn’t going to miss their confrontations.
Drawing back, he said, “I’ll be back before you start to miss me.”
“You’re a good man, Macrath Sinclair. It’s guid ti hae yir cog out whan it rains kail.” When he looked at her, she translated: “You go, make the most of your opportunities. We’ll be here, waiting for you.”
He said farewell to the rest of the staff and found Mairi and Fenella standing by the carriage. Glancing back at his home, he marveled, once again, at the beauty of Drumvagen.
When he’d first seen the house, half done and abandoned, he couldn’t imagine how anyone could have walked away from the majesty being built. Yet here he was, doing the same. Not for the sake of his purse as much as his well-being. Perhaps once aboard thePrincess,he’d be able to sleep at night. He’d be about creating his future and living his life.
Perhaps he’d even forget about a certain countess.
Chapter 15
London
March, 1870
If the weather were better, Virginia could have escaped to the garden. But the March morning was cold and wet, hinting that spring would be delayed this year. She settled for retreating to the conservatory.
Over the last year, Eudora had ordered topiary bushes to be placed around the fence, and they hid the carriage house and drying yard from sight. The honeysuckle vines were just starting to flourish after the winter, further shielding Virginia from the curious looks of her neighbors.
She was, after all, in the last stages of her pregnancy and not to be seen.
In her condition, she was expected to be invisible. Hardly possible since she was so large she could barely walk or lever herself out of a chair. But she didn’t want to be confined to her bedroom. Nor was she going to sit in the parlor and be conversed to death.
She’d never realized how much her in-laws liked to talk.
Laying her hand on the protruding mound of her stomach, she said, “Soon, my son.” From the beginning, she’d known this child was a boy.
Ever since midnight she’d been feeling uncomfortable. Her child, as if knowing, had ceased moving. Her back ached and from time to time she got twinges across her stomach, signs that her time was near.
She wanted her son to be born yet she knew the moment he was he’d be whisked from her and belong to others. Enid would ensure the world thought her a doting grandmother and Lawrence’s sisters warm and loving aunts. As his mother, however, she would be ignored from then on, her main task having been performed, providing the heir.
She stared longingly at the garden, sighed, and sank into the settee in the middle of the conservatory, the book of poetry Ellice had purchased for her in her hand.
Eudora possessed an uncanny ability for growing things. The lush plants surrounding her were deeply green and vibrant, smelling of fecund earth. Three plants had already begun to bloom, white peppery blossoms reminding her of spring.
Once again she lay her hand on her stomach. How fitting her son would be born in the season of renewal, the winter having passed.
For a few minutes she simply enjoyed the oasis of silence in a house of sound. She hoped the respite would last, that no one would suddenly say, “Oh, where is Virginia? She mustn’t be alone.”
She opened the book, thumbed through the sonnets, and started to read.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
