Page 44 of It Happened in the Highlands
Cuffe’s astuteness constantly surprised him. In fact, the more time Wynne spent with him, the more he saw how far advanced the lad was for his ten years.
“She’s hoping to find out who she is. It’s possible someone in that village can explain the linkage between her mother and Mr. Barton.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because she still needs to know where she came from. It matters greatly to her, even though she was raised in a family that loves her deeply.” Wynne recalled his son’s fear of forgetting his grandmother. “You and I know where we came from and who our parents are. That knowledge anchors us in some way. It gives us a bond with a certain place and certain people. Lady Jo would be greatly heartened to have a portion of what you and I have.”
“She’s a good person,” Cuffe said. “I see how upset she gets sometimes when she is sitting with Mr. Barton and he doesn’t respond. She’s always trying, always asking questions. But he’s in a world of his own.”
He sat cross-legged on his bed, studying Wynne in silence. In recent days, the difficulties of others had been injecting themselves into the lad’s life. He’d begun to help McDonnell with his letters, reading them to the blacksmith at first. But he was now answering the mother on the man’s behalf, and that was no easy task. In addition, the vicar told Wynne that his son had been asking about others who were in need in and around the village. He seemed particularly keen on helping old women, and young mothers who didn’t have enough food to feed their families.
“Just the two of you should go to Garloch, Captain,” Cuffe said finally. “And maybe while you’re there, you can convince her to stay at the Abbey. I think that’d be good for her and for you. For all of us.”
The following morning, as he packed his sword with his pistols under the seat of the carriage, Wynne was still thinking of his son’s encouragement to pursue Jo.
No doubt existed, in either his mind or his heart, that he wanted her. He’d dreamed of her a thousand times. Since her arrival, he continually sought her out or kept an eye on her whereabouts at all times. She was back in his life, and her effect on him was stronger than it had been sixteen years ago.
His blood pulsed each time he recalled riding back from the village with Cuffe and coming upon the pandemonium at the fish pond. When he heard her name cried out with such anguish along with the heartrending entreaties to save her, he’d become a madman himself until he saw her standing upright and wading through the water.
Later, her announcement that she was leaving wreaked havoc in Wynne’s mind. He was struck with the fear that he’d found her only to lose her again. He dreaded that once she returned to the protective arms of her family, his connection with her would be severed forever.
As a widower at his age, with wealth and a place in society, Wynne could probably have entered into marriage again. But he’d never been prepared to take that step. He would never consider a foolish match. He had no desire for a child bride, regardless of her dowry or her position. His sights had always been set higher. His devotion to his son dictated that he choose a woman with a strong mind and a kind heart.
On the list of women he wanted, Jo Pennington occupied the first and only place.
Leaving the driver and groom with his coach and four, Wynne went back up the half-dozen steps into the north annex.
Jo was the woman for him, but he feared a proposal right now would only invite rejection. He could make his feelings for her known; he could reveal the true workings of his heart, but their future lay in her hands. He’d withdrawn from her already when they were young; this time it was up to Jo whether they should try again. All he could do was to be here; she needed to decide if a future with him was worthy of a second chance.
As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, he saw Jo coming down the stairs alone.
“You’re not bringing your maid?” he asked, after they’d exchanged greetings.
“As you know, sir, I’m well past the age of thirty,” she answered lightly. “I have little need to worry about a damaged reputation.”
“Your courage does you great credit, Lady Jo,” he said in mock seriousness as he led her out into the courtyard.
“And you, Captain? Are you worried?”
Wynne pretended he was resigned to fate as he handed her into the carriage. “On more than one occasion, Dr. McKendry has said I’m a delicate flower in matters of my own reputation. But in your case, m’lady, I’ll make an exception and try to bear up.”
Climbing in and sitting across from her, he admired the smile tugging at Jo’s lips. She was a woman who seemed ready for any situation. The black velvet hat and the deep-green carriage dress she wore beneath her cloak were as handsome as they were sensible, he thought.
In spite of the early hour, she was fresh-faced and ready for their adventure. Today was an unexpected gift. The two of them alone together on the road.
The serving men climbed up top, and the driver was heard calling to his four-in-hand, “Walk, walk on.” As the carriage rolled on, Wynne saw Jo looking out the window back toward the Abbey.
“Please don’t tell me that moonstruck suitor of yours is running after us in his nightshirt?”
“Don’t tease me,” she scolded, although the reprimand didn’t reach her deep-brown eyes. “The doctor is not moonstruck. At least not because of me. And he isnotmy suitor.”
“Well, he’s mastered the woeful look,” he told her. “I’m sorry to tell tales out of school, but last night after you ladies left the dining room, the rogue tried everything he could think of to get the vicar to givehimthe letter of introduction. His performance would have outshone Garrick himself.”
“But you were able to get the letter?”
“Happily, I still have the ability to outwit McKendry.” Wynne patted his pocket with the letter. “I promised the vicar I’d bring him a new set of Denholm golf clubs the next time I come back from Edinburgh.”
“You didn’t,” she gasped. “You need do no such thing. I’ll see to it. I’ll make the arrangements to have the clubs made as soon as I get back. I’m so sorry to impose on—”
