Page 18 of It Happened in the Highlands
Dermot McKendry was his friend, a man he trusted more than his own brother. But he was pushing his luck.
Before answering, Wynne paused, asking himself why he was finding this conversation so irritating. It should make no difference to him what Dermot knew about Jo.
“Well? Any regrets?”
He stood and made his way around the desk. Seizing a misplaced volume, he slid it back into the bookcase where it belonged. “You arenota spiritual advisor. You, McKendry, are the lowest, deucedest, maggot pie of a sawbones that I ever had the misfortune to sail with.”
“So you do have regrets.”
“None!”Wynne thundered, slamming another book back into the case.
“And now that you two have met again,” Dermot asked, undeterred, “any renewed interest in her?”
Composing himself, Wynne crossed his arms over his chest. He could see from his friend’s expression that the scurvy bastard was enjoying this.
“None,” Wynne retorted. A thought flashed into his brain. One he didn’t want to consider. “Why are you asking? Do you plan to pursue her yourself?”
“I? Pursue Lady Josephine Pennington? Let’s consider that for a moment,” he replied as if it had never occurred to him. The doctor leaned against the frame of the open window.
As Wynne watched him closely, he felt coldness settle in the pit of his stomach. It was the same sensation he felt just before the grappling hooks shot out and secured an enemy vessel. It was the moment before leaping with his boarding crew across the gunwales into battle.
“She’s quite attractive, even pretty in an unpretentious way.” Dermot paused, as if taking stock of the rest of her attributes. “She’s educated, connected, and compassionate. She’s told me already that she appreciates the humane way we’re approaching our work here. She’s a benefactor of charitable causes. And she’s rich enough to support more than a few.”
Dermot, consumed with his plans for the Abbey, had never expressed any interest in marriage until now. Younger than Wynne by six years and handsome in a boyish way, he was certainly an eligible bachelor, now that he’d made his fortune and inherited the Abbey. But only a certain kind of woman would forego the comforts of a normal household to live in an asylum.
Wynne’s hands fisted as he realized Jo might just be such a woman.
“What are you going to do, sweep her off her feet with your renowned wit and charm?” he asked, charging his tone with all the irony he could muster. “Lady Jo is only here for one night.”
“Say what you will, my friend. I know her visit this time is brief, but I’m told many romances begin with a single glance. We can write to each other.” He started toward the door. “Perhaps I’ll invite her for another visit. I might even leave you here to see to things while I travel up north and visit with her while she’s staying with her brother and sister-in-law.”
Wynne used to like Dermot McKendry, but no more.
“But I want you to know I would never convey such intentions if I thought you hadanyobjection to this,” the scoundrel said, pausing on his way out the door. “What do you say, old man?”
Wynne was responsible for her coming to the Abbey. She’d arrived not looking for romance, nor for a husband, but to find a connection to her mother’s past. These were reasons enough to tell Dermot to veer off. But he couldn’t say the words.
“Do as you please,” he said finally. “But remember to treat her with utmost deference. And by God, your intentions had better be honorable. Don’t start down this path even one step unless you’re willing to stand beside her at the church door. Understand me?”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Dermot smiled and bowed before going out the door.
Wynne finished putting his books back where they belonged. Life should be as easy to keep in order, he thought. Cuffe. His plans for the two of them. He shook his head. Nothing ever went smoothly. And now he’d need to accept Jo in the fabric of his everyday life . . . while she was married to someone else.
His eyes were drawn to the open window. He should have pushed Dermot out while he had the chance.
Chapter 7
“You haven’t mentioned a word about dinner, m’lady,” Anna complained as she ran a brush through her mistress’s hair. “Pray, was the company pleasant enough? Did they have many guests? I can’t imagine these country folk entertain quite the way we do at Baronsford.”
Jo smiled. After a lifetime in service, the maid’s benign snobbery was due to her pride in the Pennington family. In Anna’s world, the places she traveled with Jo were not necessarily deficient in hospitality or comfort, it was simply that nowhere could conceivably compare in her mind with Baronsford.
“The food was delicious and well-prepared, Anna,” she told her. “And the company was quite pleasant. We were twelve in number, and although most were strangers to me, the conversations were lively and very interesting. Everyone was kind to me.”
“Well, I should think they would be, m’lady,” the maid huffed. “A wee place like this in the middle of nowhere? I should think they’re thanking their stars to be having such fine company as you.”
Jo laughed. “The Abbey is hardly a ‘wee place.’ It may not be as grand as Baronsford, but I think it’s lovely. Don’t you?”
Anna nodded grudgingly and continued her brushing. “Well, all things considered, I suppose it’s good enough, m’lady.”
