Page 45 of A Bonny Pretender
“I need to get settled myself. I hope you will offer again.”
Another older man came from the back of the house. He wore a sullen expression and a woolen cap over faded reddish-gray hair. With a grunt of greeting at the postillions, he turned up the corners of his mouth at Lady Brecken. Frank wondered if this was his version of a smile.
“Evenin’, Miss Evie,” he said and doffed his cap before jamming it back on his head. “Tell me which ones are coming down.”
“Mr. MacGregor! It’s so good to see you.” Lady Brecken rushed to the man and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.
MacGregor dropped his head, hiding a face that had turned the same color as his hair. “We’ve missed ye too.”
While she and the maid directed which bags stayed, Mrs. Douglas resumed the conversation. “Today is Friday. We always have Sunday dinner here. The more the merrier, I always say. Ye’ll have to come, so I can thank ye properly.”
“My grandmother has a cook but likes to do much of it herself. Wait until you taste her shortbread. Gah! My mouth is watering at the thought.” Evie pulled her maid forward. “Grandmama, you remember Louella, don’t you?”
“Of course. Yer rooms are ready. Rose will be back soon, and ye can have a catch-up.” Rose had been Fenella’s maid and had come with her to Glasgow. She’d liked the town and Mrs. Douglas so much that she’d stayed after Fenella married.
Evie turned to Frank. “We’ll meet you promptly at three tomorrow. Whoever you don’t meet then, you’ll see on Sunday.”
Frank bid them farewell and followed the post-chaise to The Black Bull Inn. The streets were still crowded, but it wasn’t the usual London type of scurrying about. He liked to keep abreast of the current politics and had read about the widespread strike. Factory workers and skilled artisans had petitioned time and again for Parliamentary reform. Wages had been halved during the war and increases had been non-existent afterwards. What little relief had been provided by England’s government was hoarded by the factory owners. Between a growing population, miserable wages, and cholera outbreaks, the working man’s plight was dismal.
Remnants of rebellion lingered as he trotted along the cobblestone streets. Ripped, stained, or burned posters hung in tatters on street corners and poles.
STRIKE IN SCOTLAND APRIL 3
or
BE HEARD ON APRIL 3
Hundreds had gathered, armed and passionate, and stood for their cause. While he sympathized with their plight, he knew that raising arms against a government was never a way to victory. The English called it treason, and the consequence would be hanging. Names had been mentioned in the articles, and trials would be held over the summer.
Frank shivered. Entitled noblemen who hated change versus the common folk who only wanted a decent life. It wasn’t fair. Then again, he’d learned long ago that most things rarely were. He was thankful they hadn’t arrived a week earlier.
The yellow post-chaise turned onto Argyll Street. They stopped in front of a large four-story stone building. Nine windows ran across the second and third floors, while the attics had only half the windows. A large sign with a black bull heralded the entrance. Several carriages were parked in front with more around the side of the building. The inn was a bustling stage-coach post, and he preferred the travelers and drivers to the soldiers and magistrates at the other hotel.
Barker directed the baggage, while Frank procured the rooms. Once they were settled in their lodgings, the valet produced a decanter of brandy.
“You are a magician, Barker,” he said, his mouth watering at the sight of the amber liquid.
“No, sir. You will be charged for it.” He busied himself with unpacking the viscount’s luggage. “Dinner will arrive shortly. I hope roasted fowl will be to your liking.”
“If it’s hot and edible, it’s to my liking.” Frank sighed and sank into a leather wingback chair. He swirled the tawny liquor in the glass and took a sip.
It had been quite a learning experience today. Homecomings had always been quiet affairs, the less ripple in the water the better. But his companions were far from discreet. He thought of Brigid’s squeal and the lady waving halfway out the window. When he’d delivered Lady Brecken, it had been the same. Joy, excitement, hugs, and kisses. The most extraordinary reunions he’d ever witnessed. The obvious affection was overwhelming. Ridiculously demonstrative. And his soul longed for such a homecoming of his own.
