Page 83 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
With such fine weather and the roads in relatively good condition and the horses fresh, they progressed quickly on their way. Was time going too fast or tooslowly? Each moment in her presence—with the understanding that they had been doomed from the start—felt an agony. He was all too aware of what he’d wanted and what had been lost.
He kept holding himself back from pointing things out to her as they traveled. A doe and two fawns standing at a creek bed, a child and a man flying a red kite atop a hill, a small market in the village square, and a puppet show that had more adults than children watching the characters’ antics. All these things he knew would bring her pleasure, and, damn him, he still wanted to give her that pleasure. He’d give anything to watch the play of joy brighten her face and make her eyes shine.
But was it kind to either of them to linger on what couldn’t be? Hell and damn, he didn’t know what to do, what to say.
At midday, they reached an inn. “We need to stop,” he said.
“I’ve no appetite,” she answered.
“It was a difficult morning, and we still have some travel ahead of us. You should try to eat if you can, to preserve your strength.”
After they’d handed their horses to a groom, they approached the inn, and a woman of extremely small stature came out. “Take a meal with us, mister and missus?”
He almost bit out that they were not and never would be married, yet that would be the height of truculent foolishness, so he only nodded.
“Lovely table beneath the elm tree,” the tiny woman offered. “Perfect for a romantic meal in the fresh air.”
“We’ll sit inside,” Beatrice said and added a moment later, “please. The taproom.”
Duncan avoided the innkeeper’s curious look. He didn’t want to watch her speculate if the mister and missus were having the kind of fractious quarrel that many traveling couples did.
Their luncheon was wordless. She had always showed such a robust appetite and throughout their journey had been fascinated by the food they’d been served, yet now she picked at her meal.
Falling back on his soldiering habits, he ate quickly and without tasting anything. Better to just have done with this agonizing luncheon and get back on the road. And yet that meant their time together was running out. Neither option was a good one.
Soon after, they mounted up and continued on their way.
Before Duncan could fully prepare himself, they rode beneath the large iron gate that marked the entrance to Lord Gibb’s property. As they neared the house, he wasn’t certain what to expect, given the fact that the next week would see the most unbridled debauchery within its walls. But it was a fine, stately manor house in the style of the last century and seemed as respectable as any large country estate could be.
As they approached the house, Duncan clamped his jaw tightly to keep from asking Beatrice if this was what she truly wanted. She had made her decisionplain, and he possessed enough pride that he wouldn’t once more beg her to be his wife.
It was amazing what shoddy bulwarks could be formed from tattered pride.
More than preserving his pride, he had to respect her choice. Bullying someone into a marriage was unthinkable, and he was no bully.
Two footmen emerged from the house as he and Beatrice neared and then stopped. The servants held the horses while they dismounted, and no sooner had Duncan’s boots touched the gravel than a man with thinning blond hair and a hospitable smile stepped out to meet them.
“Welcome, welcome to my home, Lady Farris.” The gentleman who had to be Lord Gibb bowed politely over her hand, which Duncan distantly thought odd, given that likely within a few hours, they’d both be participating in unfettered licentiousness.
“Thank you for your gracious hospitality,” she said with a smile that, perhaps to someone who didn’t know her very well, might appear warm and happy. But Duncan saw the strain in the corners of her mouth and how her eyes had none of their usual sparkle.
“And you are?” Gibb asked, turning with a curious but friendly look at Duncan.
“Major McCameron,” he clipped and shook Gibb’s offered hand.
The gentleman chuckled. “That’s a formidable handshake, Major. Have you considered crushing coal intodiamonds with it? Could yield a fine supplement to one’s coffers.”
Duncan didn’t want to like this man, but he made it difficult to cling to enmity.
“Will you be joining us, Major?” Gibb eyed Duncan like a captain assessing a new player for his football team. “You’ll be very popular, I can assure you.”
Duncan glanced at Beatrice, but her expression was opaque.
“I’m leaving right now,” he answered.
Gibb’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, but I thought that since you arrived together you would...”
“He intends to go,” Beatrice said simply.
