Page 6 of It Happened in the Highlands
And then he saw her.
They’d never been introduced, but he knew her by name. She was unlike so many of the young women being presented at Court for the first time, who fought for every glimmer of attention. Even now, standing by the punch bowl, she had a quiet reserve that hinted at sadness. He wondered if she was affected by stories that were beginning to circulate. He didn’t put any stock in gossip, but the talk of her origins was spreading like flames in a dry August meadow.
Groups of partygoers milled about, and several young women halted beside her.
Wynne knew the moment something was said. The warm blush drained from her pretty face and her back stiffened.
Suddenly, she was off, darting through the crowd with the deftness of a bird in flight, until she disappeared through the doors opening onto the terrace.
What possessed him to go, he’d asked himself so many times. He only knew she was upset, she was alone, and he went after her.
* * *
“I . . .” Wynne began to speak, but the words were too slow to keep up with his drumming heart and his racing mind. “The woman in these drawings is Josephine Pennington.”
Chapter 2
Baronsford, the Scottish Borders
May 1818
The drowsy infant’s contented sigh caressed Jo’s heart like a summer breeze. Holding her niece on her lap, she gazed at the long lashes and the round cheeks and pursed, red lips. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a child more beautiful than the Honorable Beatrice Ware Macpherson Pennington, born just two months ago to her brother Hugh and his extraordinary wife, Grace.
“The resemblance is astonishing.”
Jo tore her gaze from the angelic bairn and watched her sister-in-law peruse the portfolio of sketches that had arrived only yesterday from a private asylum in the Highlands.
“These must be drawings of you at a younger age,” Grace asserted, holding one of the pages up to Jo’s face.
Relief rushed through her. Her sister-in-law confirmed what she too had seen. The image definitely bore a close resemblance to her.
“Look at the tilt of the eyes. The shape of the brow. The reserved smile. Even the expression on her face as she looks away. You do the same whenever you’re the center of attention.”
Everything Grace said was true. Upon opening the parcel, Jo had been dumbfounded. She couldn’t recollect when these sketches might have been done of her. But she’d quickly noticed the differences. The loose curls that draped over the woman’s shoulders. The dated style of her dress, long before Jo’s own time. One of the drawings depicted a worn mountain peak in the background. At no time in Jo’s youth had she ever visited such a place, though of course, it might have just been a whim in the mind of the artist.
But the similarities were undeniable, and Jo was struggling to repress the buoyant feeling of hope rising in her chest. The possibility existed that these sketches might lead to an answer she’d been pursuing all her life.
“But you don’t think they’re pictures of you?”
Jo shook her head. “No, I’m certain they’re not.”
Grace paged through the drawings, looking at each one. “And these were sent by whom?”
“A physician named Dermot McKendry,” she replied. “He writes that he’s the director of the Abbey, a licensed private asylum near Aberdeen. His letter refers to an elder gentleman under his care. The man doesn’t speak, nor does he acknowledge anyone around him. He simply spends his waking hours rendering likenesses such as these.”
“Of other people as well?”
“No. His mind is apparently fixed on this particular woman.”
Grace laid the pictures aside and leaned toward Jo to adjust the soft blanket framing the baby’s face. “Did Dr. McKendry mention the name of his patient?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Jo’s nerves were getting the better of her. Grace, well aware of her friend’s need to move when she was troubled or thinking, took her daughter back. Jo immediately rose to her feet.
“But what made this doctor think that these were likeness of you, aside from the obvious resemblance? Do you know him?”
“I don’t believe so. But even though he doesn’t explain in his letter, we’ve had many women who’ve come through Baronsford, staying at the Tower House until they were able to find employment. Many came from the Highlands and returned there. Any number of them could have found a position at the Abbey.”
