Page 37 of Romancing the Scot
“Why is she coming?”
“Her note makes me believe she knows about Grace.”
“How could that be?”
“She could have heard it from Dr. Namby’s wife. She and Lady Nithsdale are confidantes.”
Too many people passed through Baronsford. There were few things that remained secret, and the news of Grace was too extraordinary to expect anyone to keep it to themselves.
“I need to receive them. And I don’t want Grace here.”
“No sense throwing her unprotected into a den of vipers,” he agreed.
She motioned to the door. “Which means you barely have enough time to change and have breakfast before meeting our lovely guest outside.”
“You’re assuming that I am going.”
“I saw the way you were looking at Grace yesterday.” Jo’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “You’re definitely going.”
“Only as a favor to you.”
Hugh knew his sister saw through the lie by the look she gave him.
“But you might want to keep in mind that, any day now, we could have a husband showing up at Baronsford to claim her.”
* * *
It wasn’t for fear of losing the Pennington family’s protection that Grace tossed restlessly in her bed for much of the night. It was because of her own imprudence in speaking out when she’d hardly been provoked.
She could have let the viscount’s opinions on James Macpherson drop unchallenged. The writer was dead and buried; he needed no protecting. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be riled. Who was she to lecture him on justice in this country? She was an accidental trespasser in these people’s lives. A former member of the French emperor’s court. An enemy. How Hugh Pennington dispensed the law, equitably or not, should not have mattered to her at all. She’d given him the credit he deserved, but she had no right to be so critical.
Guilt’s sharp-edged teeth continued to rip away at her. Considering all the good he did and continued to do, the charges she leveled at him were unfair. She’d been petty in striking out at him. Her passionate nature had once again run away with her. With all the good things she’d inherited from her father, she’d also been cursed with his temper.
As she descended the steps to the door, her thoughts turned to the diamond that sat in Baronsford’s iron chest. The jewel had brought violence and sorrow to her door. She had no possible use for it, either. She couldn’t even use it to secure a passage out of Scotland without bringing far too much unwanted attention on herself.
She’d be content never to see it again. Joseph Bonaparte had with him in America a fortune in jewels like this one. In sewing that diamond into her dress, they had lied to Grace and used her. Far worse, her father was dead because of it. It didn’t matter to her if the diamond was a gift from Joseph to his wife. If she were ever fortunate enough to make it to Brussels, she’d tell the Bonapartes it had been left behind with her dress. Lost. Gone forever.
Stepping outside, she breathed in the fresh morning air and shrugged off her troubles. Grace would have liked nothing better than to walk away from Baronsford today, but she had to bide her time and do it in a way that would allow her to reach the Continent. This ride would give her a clearer understanding of the countryside, and that would help her to escape when the time came.
She was too early for her ride with Jo, so she walked around the corner of the house and up a slight incline to where the gardens lay glistening in the morning sun.
Wandering along the green paths between bordered beds filled with flowers, Grace breathed the scent of thyme and peonies. In one large section, the rosebuds on dozens of plants were getting ready to open, and a sundial gleamed at the center. Two gardeners were busy digging in a far corner, where spring cutting flowers of every hue were in bloom. In a protected corner, she found a section of azaleas ablaze with red and pink flowers.
Slowly, she retraced her steps. She was to meet Jo by the stables at nine, and she was still early. Walking down the path, she passed the carriage barn and remembered the basket inside. She was alive, she told herself. She’d survived. Now it was time to take control of her future.
Grace thought about the viscount, wondering if he’d told his sister that he wasn’t riding with them. She blushed to think he might have already told Jo about the lecture he’d received from the ungrateful woman they snatched from death’s door.
In the yard across from the stables, a blacksmith was shoeing a huge Irish draught horse. He was a beautiful horse, chestnut-colored with a white blaze and half stockings. The smith came around the animal and tipped his cap to her, and she smiled back. This had to be the new man Anna told her about.
As she watched him work, a groom came out of the stables leading a small gray. Exchanging pleasantries with the man, she stepped toward the pretty mare. The mount turned her head to Grace, and her ears pricked forward alertly.
“She’s a lazy old girl, mistress,” the groom said. “But she likes the exercise, and she’s kindly enough with a body who don’t know riding.”
Grace held out her palm and waited until the mare stretched down to smell it. She was not new to horses or riding. As the only daughter of a cavalry officer, she’d learned to ride at a young age and was an able rider. She glanced dubiously at the sidesaddle on the horse. Death traps, Daniel Ware used to call them. He would never allow her to ride one. She always rode cross saddle.
For what she wanted today, Grace decided it made no difference. This was her first opportunity to travel any distance from the castle. She was hoping she could convince Jo to forget about taking her to the loch, and instead perhaps ride to Melrose Village.
“Would ye care to give her a treat?”
