Forgetting the Scot Page 31

  Garfield entered the study holding a silver salver containing an envelope. “From Dowager Lady Rodham, my lady. Her footman waits for a reply.”

  “I hope she isn’t cancelling our luncheon with Mrs. Pennyweather tomorrow.” Having the same keen interest in helping London’s foundling children, Lady Rodham had agreed to become a chief benefactor of their project. Her support would encourage others to consider becoming a patron.

  Virginia took the parchment from the salver and opened the handmade envelope bearing Lady Rodham’s signature pink sealing wax.

  “Will you still be needing the carriage this afternoon, my lady?”

  “Yes, thank you, Garfield.”

  Jemima swept into the room as Garfield was leaving. “Feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Are you certain you want to sell your father’s house to me? I love it but I feel wretched taking it from you.”

  Virginia tore herself away from the letter. “First of all, it’s no longer my father’s house. It’s mine to do with as I please. As such, it’s my desire to sell it and my good fortune that you wish to buy it. For a very generous price, I might add.”

  Jemima settled into the cushions of the settee. “Fine then. We’ll make arrangements with Mr. Snowdon today but only if you promise you’ll live here as long as you like because I’m not sure I can do without you.”

  Virginia had returned to her letter and as she read, Jemima’s conversation receded into the background while the content of Lady Rodham’s letter caused her to frown in concentration. She reread the words a second time and then a third.

  “Bad news?”

  “Yes.” Virginia looked up, startled by Jemima’s question. “Lady Rodham reports that her man of business has made inquiries about Mrs. Pennyweather and believes she is not all that she claims to be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not certain.” Virginia continued to read. “She asks to bring her man with her to luncheon tomorrow so that he might explain directly.”

  “Do you think he’s discovered something untoward about Mrs. Pennyweather’s financials?” Jemima asked.

  “I simply can’t believe it. I met with her just last week to discuss whether we should rebuild a current structure or start new. She did say she and the children were in a sorry state, so I gave her a small amount of money to maintain them for the time being.”

  “I’ve heard of people who pretend to do charitable deeds, when in fact the only people they help is themselves.”

  “No. There must be some mistake.”

  Jemima stood and crossed to the desk. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get everything sorted when we see Lady Rodham and Mrs. Pennyweather tomorrow afternoon.” She bent and examined Virginia like a physician. “Are you certain you’re feeling well enough?”

  “Stop fussing. I told you, it was just something I ate. Probably a bad olive.”

  Jemima smiled and straightened. “If you say so. I’m going to talk to Cook about the menu for tomorrow’s luncheon. Do you think Lady Rodham would like salmon or smoked sardines?”

  At the mention of sardines, Virginia turned and vomited into the ash bin.

  At precisely one o’clock, Sam left them at the office of Richards, Begley, Sorenson & Snowdon, Esquires. So that was the reason for Mr. Snowdon’s busy schedule. He’d been made partner. Good for him. A young man who introduced himself as Lindley took their wraps and ushered them into the office that had once been Mr. Begley’s.

  Mr. Snowdon came around from behind his desk. “Welcome Lady Langley, Lady Ellington.”

  “Congratulations on your good fortune, Mr. Snowdon.”

  He blushed and shuffled back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. “Yes, well, they more or less had to, I suppose. Bull—I mean to say Lord Bulford and His Grace are now my clients. I’ll be representing the legal interests of the Gael Forss partnership, as well. And with you and Lady Ellington…”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

  “My thanks. Please, have a seat.” He helped both Virginia and Jemima into chairs facing his desk. “Can I get you tea before we begin with business?”

  “Thank you, no.” Virginia withdrew a letter from her reticule. “Mr. Snowdon, I’ve received a troubling note from Lady Rodham this morning expressing concern over Mrs. Pennyweather’s circumstances. You are aware of my desire to establish a business partnership with Mrs. Pennyweather. I must ask, do you know of any reason for me to question the wisdom of such an endeavor?”

  “Em, yes, actually. If you’ll allow me…” Mr. Snowdon crossed to his office door. “Gentlemen, please come in.”

  Out of curiosity, Virginia turned toward the door. “Lord Bulford, what a pleasant surprise.”

  Bulford stepped inside wearing his customary good-natured grin. “Good afternoon, Lady Langley, Lady Ellington.” His gaze locked onto Jemima with heated interest.

  In the next instant, the office doorway filled with a startlingly large but breathtakingly familiar body. Virginia inhaled every inch of air in the room and floated upward, dream-like, hovering unsteadily above her chair. “Magnus,” she whispered.

  He dipped his head and stepped through the doorway. His face revealed nothing. No emotion. No thought. Nothing. Bulford, or maybe it was Mr. Snowdon, was talking but she couldn’t hear clearly because her heart was thundering in her ears. The edges of the room darkened as though someone had extinguished the lamps until only Magnus’s handsome face was visible, his handsome and suddenly alarmed face.

  “Virginia.” Odd. Why was Jemima calling to her?

  And then Magnus rumbled, “Wake up, lass. You’ve had a spell, but I’ve got you.”

  He held her in his arms looking exactly as he had that first morning on board the Tigress, shocked and pleased. Magnus. Her champion. Was she dreaming? “Are you here to save us?”

  Magnus chuckled. “Aye, love. We’re here to save you.”

  Mr. Snowdon entered the room, breathless. “I’ve got a brandy for Lady Langley. Will she be all right?”

  Magnus settled her into her chair and helped hold the glass of brandy while she sipped.

  “Thank you, Mr. Snowdon. I’m much revived.”

  “Would you like Sam to drive us home?” Jemima asked. “You look as though you could use a lie down.”

  “Thank you, no.” Virginia pushed the brandy away and collected her wits. “Magnus, what are you doing here? Didn’t you get my message?”

  Magnus’s brow furrowed, and then he shot a look at Bulford.

  Bulford scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, yes, that. I, um, neglected to give you Lady Langley’s reply the day Gael Forss departed.”

  “You said she left before—”

  “Sorry. That wasn’t exactly the truth. Things weren’t going well for either of you so…”

  “So you came up with another one of your doaty ideas?”

  “Stop. Both of you, please. What does any of this have to do with Mrs. Pennyweather?” she asked.

  Bulford placed his hat on the desk and leaned against the bookshelf, claiming the space as his own just as he did everywhere he went. “Believe me when I say, it gives me no pleasure to inform you that Mrs. Pennyweather is not the well-meaning reformer she has made herself out to be. After receiving questionable references, Magnus and I conducted our own investigation into the woman’s do-goodery only to discover that the business in which Mrs. Pennyweather engages in is purely skullduggery.”

  Virginia felt lightheaded again. “But the children, I saw them.”

  “She hires a cast of characters from the streets to play-act when a prospective benefactor comes to visit.”

  “What happens to the boys and g-g-girls…?” Tears clouded her vision. All this time, she’d assumed the woman was saving children. She’d comforted herself thinking someone was doing something to help them.

  “From what I deduced, she feeds them something and sends them on their way once she’s finished with the
m. Nothing more sinister than that, but Mrs. Pennyweather is a charlatan. There’s no truth in anything she’s told you that I can discern. Lady Rodham must have conducted her own inquiry and found similar results. I’ve passed my information on to the magistrate, and a constable is on his way now to apprehend the woman. I am sorry to be the bearer of this disheartening news.”

  “No. Please don’t be sorry.” She turned her attention to the man kneeling by her chair—Magnus—who had been regarding her intently, his handsome brow knit with concern, his lips pressed together. “I suppose you stayed in England to make certain I didn’t throw my money away.”

  Bulford launched himself toward Magnus. “Mr. Sinclair and I had business to conduct. A transaction of sorts. You see, I had considered investing in the Gael Forss partnership, but then I thought better of it. I mean, what do I know about sea trade? However, I know plenty about the horse trade. Mr. Sinclair and I have decided to partner in a matter of breeding. I’ve taken a keen interest in Percherons, of late and—”

  “Stop.” Magnus rose to his full height, never taking his eyes off her. He gave Bulford a light rap on the arm, and Bulford took it as a signal to back away. Magnus swallowed hard. “I ken what the home for children meant to you, how much you wanted to help the wee ones. News like this would hurt your heart, and I didnae want you to be alone.”

  He didn’t want her to be alone? She wanted to scream, Then why did you leave me? But she could see he was in pain, probably even more than she was. He needed her. Needed her to hold him. She could see the longing in his eyes.

  “You once told me there are lads and lassies like Peter, hundreds of them, who need looking after. Wee ones who need love. And, I was thinking that I could give them a home. I can raise children just as well as horses, aye?”

  “What are you saying, Magnus?”

  “I’m saying that, I would do anything to make you happy. I would build you a home for foundling children right here in London, if that is what you wish. I’ll take in as many wee ones as you like. You can have them all, if you want. They can be yours—yours and mine—and I’ll claim them as my own.”

  “But you hate London.”

  “Aye, but I love you more. And I’ll love the wee ones, too. I will. I’ll love them like I love you.” Magnus took one step toward her. “Will you marry me?”

  …

  The room was deadly silent, the air thick. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he had trouble drawing in enough breath to keep his heart going. Virginia had gone quite pale, and the other three stood still as rabbits. He had taken a wild risk based entirely on Bull’s recommendation.

  After a few agonizing moments, he asked, “Virginia, love? Did you hear me?”

  Her eyes went wide, like a startled fawn. “I beg your pardon,” she said, and bolted from the room. His heart tore from its mooring and fell to his boots. Why had he listened to the bampot, Bulford? He knew from experience the English toff was an idiot. He felt as though he’d been cut off at the knees. Worse, he’d just made an already painful afternoon for Virginia into something so intolerable she’d had to run away.

  “You mustn’t despair. She’s been ill since morning.” Lady Ellington rushed off after Virginia.

  Mr. Snowdon mumbled something similar and exited. Magnus just stared at the chair where Virginia had been seconds ago.

  Bulford cleared his throat but Magnus held up a hand to silence him. If Bull said the wrong thing right now, it might be necessary to kill him.

  Snowdon reappeared. “Good news,” he said as if he’d run a half mile or more. “The ladies are on their way back to St. James, but Lady Langley asked that you join them there as soon as possible. She said, and I quote, ‘Tell Mr. Magnus I’m not done with him.’”

  …

  A narrow escape. Magnus had just asked her to marry him, and she’d nearly answered him by casting up her accounts on his boots. She made it outside in time. By then though, the wave of nausea had passed. Jemima hustled her into the barouche, but not before she gave Mr. Snowdon a message to pass on to Magnus.

  Once they had returned to her father’s house—soon to be Jemima’s house—Virginia took immediately to her bed. She was exhausted, ached in spots that had never hurt before, and the queasy feeling in her stomach would not abate. The news about Mrs. Pennyweather had made her physically ill. Jemima brought her tea and buttered toast, the only thing she thought she could keep down.

  A short time later, Jemima arrived at her bedchamber door with the physician. Virginia fumbled for her spectacles, put them on, and pushed herself to a sitting position. The room spun for a moment, and her head felt as though someone had filled it with sand. She suffered the doctor’s prodding and questioning without irritation until he asked, “When were your last menses?”

  She froze in place, acutely aware that her mouth gaped open. The last time she remembered bleeding was…damn and bollocks…the last time was before she’d returned to England, when she was still living at Balforss. She shot a look at Jemima, then at the doctor.

  He nodded as if she’d already answered his question then buckled his medical case shut.

  Jemima cast her a concerned look before offering to see the doctor to the door.

  Left alone in the room, Virginia sat on the edge of her bed reeling. Pregnant. She was pregnant with Magnus’s child.

  …

  When their hack arrived at 28 St. James, Bull withdrew his timepiece and announced unnecessarily that the time was half three. Magnus damn-well knew the time. He had his own internal clock. It was called his stomach, and it said he was overdue for his dinner.

  Garfield met them at the door. The Whitebridge family butler had developed a tolerance for Bulford but took an uncharacteristically chilly attitude toward Magnus. What had he done to offend the man?

  “The physician is with Lady Langley at the moment, but Lady Ellington will join you for luncheon.”

  “Is the viscountess unwell, Garfield?” Magnus asked.

  “I will leave that to the physician, sir.” Garfield made a tight bow. “Follow me, please.”

  Lady Ellington entered the dining room as Garfield was leaving. Magnus raced to her. “What does the physician say? Will she be all right? Is it my fault? I didnae mean to upset her. I’ll leave if that’s what is best.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, you will have to step over my lifeless body before I allow you to leave this house again,” Lady Ellington said sharply. She whipped her gaze in the direction of Bulford’s sudden burst of laughter, her curls vibrating with anger. “I will not put up with your nonsense today, Bulford.” Bull’s laughter cut off abruptly.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship,” Bull said. Apparently, Lady Langley held some power over Bulford because Magnus had never heard the man so contrite.

  Redirecting her rage back to Magnus, she said, “Yes. Lady Langley’s condition is entirely your fault, and if Bulford doesn’t call you out, it will be pistols at dawn for you and I.”

  “Why…what condition…is she?” Bloody frigging hell.

  He took the stairs three at a time, practically bowled the wee maid over, flung open Virginia’s door and, standing at the threshold panting, he saw her sitting on the bed, smiling, glowing, weeping. He went to her, walking blindly because something was in his eyes. And because his legs were shaking uncontrollably, he crumpled to his knees before her, laid his head in her lap, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “My darling,” she said. “My beautiful, darling man. I love you.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Do you really mean it? You’ll build me a home for children?”

  He raised his head and answered her with a kiss—a long, desperate kiss, a kiss to make up for all the missed kisses since they’d been apart.

  Virginia broke the kiss and sighed. “Does Scotland have lost children?”

  He nodded.

  “I miss Balforss. It was the only place I was ever truly happy. Will you take me home, Magnus? Will you build our home for childre
n in Scotland?”

  He smiled and at last he found his voice. “Aye. And I reckon a horse farm can use plenty of helping hands. Scotland has too many lost children in need of good homes. We’ll find them all, and we’ll raise the best bairns and the best draft horses in the country.”

  “You will need to marry me, of course. You won’t mind, will you?”

  …

  Late October 1817 Balforss, Scotland

  They’d had their ceremony at Balforss because that’s what Virginia wanted. Flora, Lucy, and his mother arranged a wedding breakfast that lasted well into the afternoon. When at last they said their goodbyes, Magnus bundled his wife into her cloak, and they set off for his old cottage where they planned to spend their wedding night. Fitting, he thought, as that was where they’d first kissed.

  Peter stumbled out of Balforss house carrying a basket and calling, “Wait! Mrs. Swenson’s made a parcel of food for your supper.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Peter.”

  Peter handed Magnus the basket and screwed up his face. “Are you going to go kiss now?”

  “That’s none of your—”

  “Yes, but we’re married so kissing is allowed,” Virginia said patiently. She slipped her arm through Magnus’s. “Husbands and wives can kiss anytime they like, and it’s perfectly acceptable.” She gazed up at him, her wee spectacles glinting in the afternoon sun. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

  God, she was beautiful.

  She rose up on her toes, and he bent his head. Whether they kissed because she wanted to or he needed to or because they both wanted to vex wee Peter, it didn’t matter. She tasted like raisins and rum pudding, and he wanted to lick every inch of her.

  “Yeck!”

  “Take your narrow arse oot of my sight before I thrash you,” he bellowed.

  They laughed at Peter’s retreating figure then strolled down the Seaward Path toward his cottage, which, to his recollection, he had left clean and tidy enough for Virginia’s company.

  “I can’t believe we’re truly married,” Virginia said.

  “I cannae believe we’re finally married,” Magnus said.