Page 84 of The MacGregor's Lady
“You’re sure?”
“She said you looked like travel hadn’t agreed with you, and I wasn’t to slam the door for my own entertainment.” The fellow smiled and winked, for which Fenimore would likely have fired him.
Fenimore, who welcomed death.
When the countess reappeared some minutes later, the same footman was in tow, no smile in evidence. He set an enormous tea tray down on a table before the hearth. Draper looked away from all that gleaming silver and the sandwiches and fruit sitting upon it.
When the footman had withdrawn, the countess turned a dazzling smile on her guest. “Now, Mr. Draper, my every instinct tells me you’ve had an adventure. I shall be desolated if you don’t share it with me down to the last detail.”
Unlike the sunshine, the glaring floors, or the gleaming silver, the countess’s smile did not hurt Draper’s eyes. Her smile, so full of benevolence and good cheer, beckoned to him and offered a promise of comfort and consolation. She was the sister of two MacGregor spouses, after all, and cousin to Augusta, Baroness of Gribboney, who was married to a third MacGregor.
The countess’s smile was the smile of a family member welcoming a prodigal home. Draper glanced up at a corner of the room, where a fat cherub swaddled in oaken clouds was wielding a wooden bow aimed directly at the tea set.
St. Louis had not deserted the weary traveler after all.
“Well, your ladyship, there was a card game, you see. On the train. In the convivial spirit of the impromptu gathering, my flask made its usual appearance.”
Her gaze filled with commiseration. She poured a steaming cup of tea, added a dash of sugar and a dollop of cream. “Do go on, Mr. Draper.”
By the time he’d downed three cups of very fine oolong, and even managed a nibble of buttered scone, he reached the part about arriving in Manchester, of all the godforsaken destinations, without the very flask given to him by his own dear granny, and without his wallet either.
“The flask, of course, was the greater loss,” he observed.
“Of course it was, you poor man.”
Whereupon the Earl of Spathfoy joined them, forcing Draper to start the whole miserable tale all over again, though this time he began his story from the point where he’d come upon Theobald MacDuie’s smallholding north of Berwick-Upon-Tweed.
Seventeen
The pain was like a brutally laced emotional corset, offering discomfort from every direction, impinging on Hannah’s every thought and impulse. While the wheels of the train rumbled rhythmically beneath her feet, Hannah stumbled about mentally, trying to grasp that Asher MacGregor had procured them a license to marry.
Which was the reason—the only reason—he’d gifted her with his intimate favors. She watched him in the close confines of their railcar as he played cribbage with Ian.
Were Hannah to marry Asher, such a sight would become prosaic, commonplace. She would not notice that he looked tired, that with his sleeves cuffed back, his exposed wrists had a particular masculine appeal.
She would not notice that his brothers and sister watched him in stray moments, as if making sure he were still among them.
“You are a thousand miles away, Hannah Cooper.” Augusta’s voice was kind, offering distraction, only if distraction would be welcome. Her observation was quiet, too, the noise of the train ensuring an odd measure of privacy.
“I’m wondering why my grandmother’s letters have grown so sparse. She’s a reluctant correspondent, but reliable.” If two letters a month could be considered reliable.
“The elderly must be allowed their crotchets. I certainly intend to indulge in them when Ian and I are getting on.”
She kissed her baby on his fuzzy head, the infant apparently content to sleep anywhere, provided he was held in loving arms.
Another jab at Hannah’s heart: she’d never have children with Asher MacGregor. Never catch him looking at her the way Ian regarded his Augusta when she tended to the child.
“How is it Asher spent years in the Canadian wilderness?”
Augusta’s expression didn’t change, but her violet eyes filled with sympathy.
“He wasn’t in the wilderness for the entire duration. For at least the last few years, he was mostly on the coast, enjoying the blandishments of civilization. I’m told your father was in the fur trade as well.”
Hannah managed a nod. She missed her grandmother, she missed her mother. She missed her half brothers, too, with an intensity that was surprising. Lately, though, realizing what she’d leave behind in Scotland, realizing a small part of what her parents had shared and what her mother had grieved, Hannah had also missed her papa.
“Hannah, are you well? You look as if train travel might not agree with you.”
No, she was notwelland never would be again. “I’m fine. When do we arrive to York?”
