Page 53 of It Happened in the Highlands
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Because a group of army officers traveling through had already engaged the private dining room at the coaching inn, Wynne and Jo were seated in the public room, which suited them perfectly. He’d convinced her that they should have their dinner in Garloch before making a final decision about staying or going back to the Abbey.
“But what about Cuffe?” Jo asked, speaking over the noise of the villagers, as well as a crowd of travelers who’d stopped to eat while the coach horses were being changed.
“The lad will be fine. I left Dermot in charge of him, and the good doctor takes that responsibility very seriously. I didn’t mention it before, but thanks to you and his success reading in the ward, Cuffe has agreed to follow Dermot about as he attends to his duties.”
“I imagine Dr. McKendry would be an enthusiastic teacher.”
A waiter arrived with their steaks and fish.
Wynne was tempted to make a humorous comment regarding his former rival’s enthusiasm, but he could no longer do it. He had Jo’s affection, and that was all that mattered.
“Dermot can be relied upon to give my son every attention.”
As they ate, Jo grew silent, and that worried him. He didn’t interrupt her thoughts, though. He knew her mind had to be roiling with everything that had happened today—from their conversation in the carriage to the information they’d collected at the rectory. And with regard to her mother, she still had no definitive answers.
He’d proposed and she’d accepted. He was only moderately concerned about her family accepting their decision, but they needed to consider how they were going to arrange their lives together. He didn’t want her to feel she must make a sacrifice to adapt her life to his, but he didn’t want to set the dust of the past swirling about her either. And that would happen if they were to live in London or the Borders.
Sixteen years ago the uncertainty of her birth was the source of her unhappiness. Today they were looking at many doors, and Wynne would do whatever was necessary to help her open every one.
“If we were to stay, meeting all these people tomorrow could produce nothing,” she said finally, laying down her knife. “All I can ask them is what happened toyourJosephine. But what would induce them to answer such a question? I have nothing to offer in return for their family confidences.”
Wynne could understand her hesitation. Still, he found himself arguing against it.
“You might never come this close again,” he told her. “And time will inevitably diminish your chances of finding the truth. Tomorrow—if we stay—we can attend the service, go through some introductions, ask the questions, and return to the Abbey. I’ve already spoken to the innkeeper, and he’s put aside two rooms for us if we choose to take them.”
Jo began to say something, but stopped. Her gaze was fixed on something behind him and a faint blush was rising into her cheek.
“I’m being stared at.”
Wynne turned and looked. Sure enough, a middle-aged woman stood by the door, clutching a large canvas bag and gaping in their direction.
“I believe she knows me,” Jo said, getting to her feet.
Wynne stood as the woman approached.
“My apologies for being so forward, m’lady. Captain.” She curtsied, and they learned she was Mrs. Clark.
“I happened to run into Mr. Kealy just now, and he told me about yer interest in the name. Told me ye’d likely be here. Naturally, I had to take a peek.” The woman pressed a hand to her chest. “Laying eyes on ye from a distance, m’lady . . . for a moment I was dead certain. You’re so much younger than her, of course. Ah, but I know it must be a mistake. My eyes ain’t what they once were.”
“Would you care to join us, Mrs. Clark?” Wynne offered his seat.
She glanced back at the door. “Thank ye, Captain, but no. I’ve two more deliveries that need to be made, and my old man is waiting outside. The curate said ye might be coming around to the service tomorrow. Perhaps we can chat then.”
“Will you at least tell me who it is you thought I resemble?” Jo asked as the woman turned to leave.
Mrs. Clark studied Jo’s face in silence for few heartbeats before she spoke.
“Josephine. Josephine Sellar. A lass from my childhood years.”
The older woman shook her head and held up a wrinkled hand before either of them could ask more.
“I’m sorry, m’lady. But it’s all just an old woman’s fancy. She can’t possibly be any relation of an English lady. Can’t possibly be. Never mind my foolishness. Till tomorrow, then.”
Without another word, she hurried off and disappeared through the door, ignoring Wynne’s entreaties to stay.
When he looked back at Jo, tears were running unchecked down her face.
