Page 31 of It Happened in the Highlands
She would have tossed the topic off as being in keeping with the jocular nature of the family, but Wynne’s fierce demeanor across the table told her that he too had bought into the misconception.
It shouldn’t have mattered. She could have ignored it and allowed the conversation to follow its delusional path until it ran its course and dissipated into nothingness. However, having her name ensnared or even bandied about in rumor never sat well with her. Jo held the doctor in high esteem, but she wanted it known to those around the table that no understanding existed between the two of them.
“Doctor,” she said during a momentary lull, “I hope I’m here long enough to meet this exceptional young woman your family is so exceedingly enthused about.”
McKendry was about to speak, but she cut him off.
“I can just imagine her virtues.” She paused for only a moment, feeling the company’s eyes upon her. “Aside from her beauty, I envision her as a young lady in the spring bloom of life. A man of your age and position would certainly want a partner who shares his desire for a houseful of children.” As opposed to a spinster getting to an age beyond childbearing years, she thought. This was a fact of life she’d accepted. “I’m also thinking she must be a local lass from a good family, for I’m certain the isolation of the Highland winters could prove wearing on one not as hearty as the McKendrys.”
Jo raised her glass of wine. “If I may be so bold . . . To the McKendrys.Slàinte mhath . . . Slàinte mhòr.”
Surprised laughter and comments immediately followed her tribute to the family and to their Jacobite ties. She’d hoped her words would lay the subject of matrimony to rest and redirect the conversation, but the doctor raised his glass in her direction.
“The lady I have my eye on is beautiful indeed. Regarding age, whether she be in the spring or autumn of life or anywhere between, it makes no difference to me. I seek no heirs, Lady Josephine. I’m committed to this hospital. My time is consumed by patients who need my care and attention.”
“Hear, hear,” the vicar began. “A man’s work is—”
Dermot interrupted his uncle and continued. “My future wife’s qualities of intelligence and empathy for others are unparalleled. In all my travels, I’ve never met another lady quite like her.”
Rather than feeling flattered by the compliments directed at her, Jo was embarrassed and disconcerted. Dermot’s family, however, having received all the encouragement they needed, only ramped up their matchmaking efforts.
Dinner’s conclusion could not have come soon enough.
Later, while the women waited for the men to join them in the drawing room, Jo stood by the windows staring out at the gardens. She couldn’t bear to join Mrs. McKendry and her guests for fear of becoming the victim of foolish questions regarding her phantom engagement.
Ridiculous, she thought, gazing at the shrubs and hedges in the dying light. But there was no point in scolding Dr. McKendry about any of it. Everything he said was innocuous; it was only in the perceptions of the listeners that his words gained specific meaning. Besides, she’d be gone by the end of the week.
Jo had already been here six days. Sending another letter south to Baronsford and one north to Torrishbrae, she’d promised her family that she’d continue on her journey in a few days. It pained her that there’d been no improvement in Mr. Barton since the first day. He stared at her. He drew. He held her hand. Still, deep in her heart, she felt a connection between them. Or she imagined it.
Jo’s trip to the village and her talk with the vicar had produced no information. No record of the Barton family history existed at the kirk in Rayneford. Tilmory Castle was four miles away, but the estate had a small village and a church of its own where births and deaths and marriages were registered. As much as she wanted to, though, she had no right to go there and inquire into the family’s private affairs.
The men entered the drawing room just as Jo espied the distinctive figure of Captain Melfort outside in the gardens.
Her desire to speak with him edged out any concern about courtesy toward the others. Not wanting to make a grand exit, she whispered a hastily made-up excuse to Mrs. McKendry and escaped.
Hurrying out to the gardens, Jo saw him down a long alley of tall privet. She half ran, half walked to catch up to him.
He must have heard her, for as she turned a corner, she ran straight into his broad chest. His hands caught her, steadying her.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I needed to speak with you.”
His face was concerned but calm, and she was struck by the similarity of this situation to another long ago. Jo suddenly became aware of his touch on her arms. In spite of the long sleeves of her dress, she tingled where he held her. Heat from his hands traveled through the velvet as if it were gauze, caressing the skin beneath.
They were too close. With little effort, he could draw her to him in the fading light, press her against his chest.
Suddenly, she wanted it to happen. She wanted to raise her lips to his and discover if the taste and texture of his mouth was as she remembered. She wanted to feel his body move against hers. She wanted to hear the rumble of desire in his throat.
Her face grew hot and flushed as she realized, regardless of what she said or how she acted, she was still under this man’s spell. And she wanted him.
“What do you need to speak to me about?”
Perhaps it was her imagination, but his fingers traced a slow intimate path down the length of her arms before his hands dropped to his side.
She moved back a step and was relieved to find a stone bench near them. She sat down, distrustful of her knees. She held her palms to her cheek to cool the burning.
“Are you unwell?” he asked moving closer. “Should I call for help? Should I get Dermot?”
