Page 62 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
She drew close to him and pressed her fingers against his cheeks. The whiskers there were thicker now, closer to a beard than stubble, and she loved the prickling sensation against her skin.
Softly, as sweetly as she could, she kissed him. She adored how readily he opened to her now, no more tentativeness between them.
She pulled back slightly. “Thank you. For taking such good care of me. And for being vulnerable with me, too. Your trust is something precious, and I will do my utmost to protect it.”
He said nothing, but there was gratitude in hiseyes, and his throat worked as though he swallowed emotion.
After one more kiss, she exhaled and put more distance between them. “Shall we keep moving?”
They reached a village shortly, finding the avenues strangely quiet for the morning. The majority of activity seemed concentrated around the church, where people were coming and going at top speed. Many of the women carried armfuls of ribbons and flowers, but the expressions they wore were pinched, as though they were pressed to be in ten places at the same time.
“What on earth can be happening?” Duncan muttered as they stood and observed the frenetic commotion.
“I suspect it’s a wedding,” she answered flatly. Weddings were part of life, and she’d been to many before, during, and after her own, yet it was difficult to throw herself into a celebratory spirit when she knew how her marriage had turned out. “So long as we can get on the next mail coach, it shouldn’t impact us much.”
A girl carrying more masses of flowers trotted by, but she stopped at Beatrice’s comment. She had a mass of curly black hair and appeared to be about nineteen, though her eyes were weary.
“Won’t be catching a mail coach here in Beaumont,” the girl said. “They stop in Shermer, the next town over.”
Beatrice fought the urge to grind her teeth in frustration. Heavens above, it seemed every obstacle in theknown universe kept falling in her path, keeping her from Lord Gibb’s.
“We’ll hire someone to drive us,” Duncan assured her.
“Not today you won’t,” the girl said tartly.
“Why not?” Beatrice tried to keep the aggravation out of her voice, but judging by the girl’s arched eyebrow, she hadn’t been entirely successful.
“There’s a wedding,” the girl replied. “Not just any wedding. An alderman’s son is marrying my sister. Got half the town working to make the church look suitably grand, and the rest of Beaumont is getting the grange hall ready for the wedding breakfast.” She rolled her eyes.
As tired, grimy, and frustrated as Beatrice was, she couldn’t help but notice how there was a little bit of hurt in the girl’s eyes when she talked about the town’s preparations for the wedding.
“Forgive me, my dear, if I’m overstepping,” Beatrice said carefully, “but you seem decidedly unenthusiastic about the prospect of your sister’s nuptials.”
The girl’s expression turned crestfallen. “It’s only... today’s my birthday, and everyone seems to have forgotten.”
“Oh, child,” Beatrice said earnestly, hurting for the young woman, “I’m so sorry. Speaking from experience, I know that it’s terrible to be overlooked. Let me be the first to wish you a very happy birthday.”
“Aye,” Duncan added. “Happiest of birthdays.”
The girl beamed, and Beatrice’s heart swelled.
“Is there a special Scottish birthday custom we can do for her?” she murmured in Duncan’s ear.
“A smack on the arse for every year,” he answered. “But I don’t think she’d much appreciate that from us.”
“Not without a proper introduction,” she whispered, fighting a smile. Turning back to the girl, she said, “I’m Mrs. Frye, and this is Mr. Frye. What’s your name?”
Beatrice had no intention of giving the girl’s behind any swats, but she also didn’t want to be rude and not call her by her name.
“Louisa, but everyone calls me Lou.” The girl shot a wry glance over her shoulder toward the church. “Think my family wanted a boy, but they got me instead.”
“May I again wish you a very happy birthday, Lou.”
The girl blushed and said bashfully, “I’m sorry you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to hire a ride to Shermer. In the meantime... why not come to the wedding?”
“Us?” The thought of attending a wedding and pretending to be happy, even for strangers, seemed too much. She was too weary to manufacture excitement over another woman’s loss of autonomy.
“Thank you, Lou,” Duncan said quickly. “Mrs. Frye and I are in need of a little rest and a bath, if you’ll just point us to an inn.”
