Page 5 of Romancing the Scot
He opened the door, but before Nithsdale could go out, a dark-haired woman appeared.
“Lady Josephine.” Nithsdale stepped back as Jo came into the study.
“M’lord. I heard that you and Lady Nithsdale had returned from London. I hope you found the entertainments of the Season enjoyable.”
“To be honest, I’m happy to be back in Scotland. But it’s always a challenge dragging my wife away from the social whirl. She would stay till the bitter end, as you know.”
“Well, I’ll be calling on her, so I’m sure I’ll hear all about it.”
“Indeed you will.” The earl threw a glance at Hugh. “I, however, have some very important business to attend to down at the Tweed. Good day to you both.”
With a bow, the earl went out, and Hugh went back to his desk. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Jo.”
As he sealed the letter for Darby’s release, his sister moved to the window and looked out at the rain. Hugh went to a side door, called for one of his clerks, and handed him the order with specific directions.
“This was all due to the fact that Mr. Darby is of African descent, isn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, despite the law, bigotry lay at the heart of this case.”
Hugh joined her at the window. Long before he’d entertained any thought of becoming a judge, long before his time at Eton and Oxford and the years before his service as a cavalry officer during the French Wars, personal values regarding the rights of men held by him—and his four Pennington siblings—had been firmly fixed. If he didn’t stand up for men of different races, who would?
“And I see you still have your spies in the local jails,” Jo continued, her dark eyes dancing with pride. “Ensuring that justice is not tampered with.”
“Well, not trampled on, at any rate. And not only the local jails.”
“Who told you about Mr. Darby’s misfortune?”
Hugh shook his head. He never divulged the sources of his information, even to his family. He noticed the rain spotting Jo’s dress and changed the topic.
“Two days back from Hertfordshire and you’re already restless? Out walking in the weather, were you?”
“Not a walk. My supervision was required for a certain shipment that has just arrived. I wanted to make sure it was delivered to the old carriage barn and not carried into the ballroom.”
Hugh started for the door. “At last. I’ve been mad with worry that it would be lost.”
“I’m glad you admit there is madness involved here.” Jo hurried to keep up with him. “You do understand that I was sent up here with a dozen directives to stop this insane hobby of yours.”
“This is not madness, and it’s not a hobby,” Hugh reminded his sister. “Ballooning is a sport. A passion. It’s the future.”
“I believe the residents of Bedlam use much the same terminology for their interests.” She put a hand on his arm as they walked. “You must concede that there is an element of risk in this latest ‘sport’ of yours.”
“You said the same thing when I took up pugilism.”
“True, but this is worse,” she asserted. “Looking at your bloodied and battered face after each fight and wondering how long it would take you to come around after so many bare-knuckled blows to the head is not quite the same as planning your funeral.”
“You’re only a year older. That doesn’t make you my keeper.”
“Keeper, sister . . . call it what you will,” she said softly as they reached the door to the yard. “I wish you’d put a stop to this death wish of yours. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Flying reminds me that I’m alive, Jo.” He pressed his sister’s hand. “But for your sake, I promise to be diligent about my safety. And wait until you see this basket. It’s built by one of the best craftsman in Antwerp.”
She scowled as Hugh accepted an umbrella from one of the footmen and pushed it into Jo’s hand.
“If anything happens to you,” she grumbled, “our parents will be holding me accountable, to be sure.”
Her dark eyes reflected her unease with the way he chose to spend his free time. He couldn’t lie, not to Jo. He wouldn’t deny to her that he invited danger, welcomed the risk of death. And they both knew the reason. Eight years had passed and he still mourned. Of all his siblings, she understood most clearly all he’d been through. His past and the pain that accompanied the loss of those he loved.
But Hugh had no true death wish, in spite of the dangerous pastimes he enjoyed. With fighting, he lost himself in the speed and physicality of the sport. Flying provided a different kind of thrill. Soaring into the sky allowed him to leave behind the clutch and grind of daily life. It provided a sensation like no other. And far above the earth, he was reminded of his own insignificance in the face of the majestic splendor of nature.
