Page 80 of Wild Wicked Scot
“Welcome, my lord,” Quint said to Arran.
Arran nodded.
“Shall I have your luggage taken up?”
“Please,” Margot said. “To the green suite, if you please. I’ve always admired the view from there.”
“Yes, madam.” Quint stood back so that they could enter the foyer. Margot was first inside, and she paused in the middle of the grand entrance, looking around at the marble tile floors and the high painted ceiling. At the staircase bannister polished to a gleam. And above her, a massive crystal chandelier. It was an entirely different world from Balhaire, one of finery and sophistication. “Is my father at home?” she asked Quint as she removed her grimy riding gloves and handed them to the butler.
Quint glanced at her gloves a second longer than necessary, no doubt wondering why she’d not had them properly cleaned. “His lordship and Master Bryce have called on Mrs. Sumpter, who has taken quite ill. I’ll send a messenger with the news of your arrival.”
“Thank you,” Margot said. “And Knox? Is he at home today?”
“I beg your pardon, madam. I cannot say. I have not myself seen him since yesterday morning. Shall I ring for tea?”
“Please.”
Quint bowed his head and moved toward a corridor, presumably to order tea.
“Pardon,” Arran said.
Quint halted and turned back. “My lord?”
“Can you tell me where I might find my man Dermid Mackenzie? He was a frequent guest here for a time, aye?”
Quint looked at Arran strangely, as if he thought Arran should know where Dermid was. “I couldn’t say where, my lord, no.”
“But you can give him a message, can’t you?” Margot asked. “When he comes in—”
“He has gone from Norwood Park, madam,” Quint said.
Chasing after her, Margot assumed.
But Arran seemed concerned. “Did he say where he might have gone?”
“Not to me, my lord. I had supposed he returned to Scotland. He’s been gone quite some time.”
“We’ll inquire of Pappa when he comes. Thank you, Quint.”
He nodded and set off again.
Arran watched the butler go, his jaw working as he clenched it.
“Don’t fret, Arran,” she said. “Dermid Mackenzie has gone in search of me, that’s all. There is nothing troublesome about it. Come,” she said, and took his hand. “There is something I want to show you.”
She led him through the grand house to the back terrace and the vast sweeping lawn behind it, down a flight of flagstone steps and into the garden. Margot turned right at the large fountain and led him down a path between rosebushes that were taller than she. When she reached an ivy-covered stone wall, she dropped his hand.
“What is it?” Arran asked.
Margot found the small latch she was looking for. It was rusted, and she had to jiggle it into life, but she managed to lift it up and shoved the hidden gate open. It creaked loudly as she pulled vines away with her hands so she could push it a little wider.
Arran peered curiously into the gap.
“Come,” Margot said, and slipped through the gate, into a secret garden her father had built for her many years ago. It was wildly overgrown now; roses climbed the wall untrimmed and untended. A birdbath had been overturned. Vines as thick as her finger spread along the raised beds. But the swing still hung from a tree, and the child’s table and chairs were still in the middle of the garden. Just beneath the table was the little carriage that she would hitch to her spaniel and laugh with delight as he pulled it down the path.
Arran fit himself through the opening. “What is this, then?”
“My secret garden.” She smiled at the memories she had of this garden. Of playing here with Knox for endless afternoons while their governess nodded off in the corner. “Pappa built it for me when I was a small girl. Isn’t it delightful?”
