Page 76 of It Happened in the Highlands
His reference to the date wasn’t unintended. Wynne had ended his engagement to Jo ten days before their wedding, sixteen years ago. But he saw no humor in the suggestion of another duel.
“She won’t receive any letter from me today. I am not breaking our engagement. I love Jo. And in case you’ve forgotten, we’re already married,” Wynne told him. “Regarding apologies, her acceptance of mine was the only one required. And she gave her forgiveness freely. She knows what my reasons were then and she shares my feelings now.”
The viscount’s gaze was steady, and Wynne met it without blinking.
“Does she also know, Melfort, that you meant to die that day? You shifted your aim away from me at the last moment. You had no intention of firing your weapon.”
Wynne wasn’t surprised that he’d noticed; Hugh Pennington was a cavalry officer then and a crack shot.
“And you could have easily buried your bullet in my heart,” he replied. “But you didn’t. You chose to spare my life.”
Both men were as tall and as broad as the other. Both were secure and confident.
“I respected you for standing up for your sister’s honor,” Wynne told him. “One way or another, I was leaving her, and I wanted to make sure she had the protection of a good man.”
Hugh considered this for a moment before speaking.
“It took me years before I finally came to a clear appreciation of what war and absence and death does to the one left behind,” he said. “I understand you now.”
Wynne knew Greysteil’s first wife had taken their young son and traveled to war-torn Spain in the middle of winter to be with him. The mother and child had died of the camp fever while Hugh fought to get to them. Jo told Wynne that for many years, her brother lived his life with a death wish. Grace’s arrival at Baronsford was the light that saved him.
“War takes too many innocent lives,” Wynne said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. I truly am.”
A short time later, while they were discussing Jo’s natural father and his road of recovery, Gregory Pennington and Cuffe came hurrying toward them. Wynne saw his son glance over his shoulder as if fearful of whatever was pursuing them.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, drawing him to his side.
“I’m helping him hide from Ella,” Gregory admitted.
Wynne had already met the six-year-old niece of Gregory’s wife, Freya. With enough energy and noise to put a summer storm to shame, the child was a force to reckon with. This morning, upon their arrival, she’d immediately run to Cuffe, declaring that she liked him and asking if she could teach him to dance.
Freya, who was expecting their first child, had been reduced to stammering. Gregory, coloring deeply, had instantly set out to distract the child. From their reactions, Wynne had a suspicion that there was a great deal of confusion with regard to dancing that the couple had no desire to explain.
“What do you think?” Gregory asked Cuffe. “The stables, the kennels, or the lake?”
“Cuffe!” a little girl called from up near the house.
“The stables first,” Cuffe said, taking off on a run. “You can show me the lake after.”
Chapter 26
Seven Days Later
The note from Lady Nithsdale arrived as she had expected. Their neighbor would be calling this morning.
Jo asked Grace and her mother not to receive the woman, but rather to have a footman escort her ladyship up to her dressing room where a seamstress and Anna were putting the final touches on her wedding dress.
She didn’t have long to wait. Anna spotted the Nithsdales’ carriage coming along the drive.
Jo stared at her own reflection in the mirror. The short-sleeve pleated silver dress, embroidered with pearls, was costly in both materials and labor, but her mother had insisted on it. She’d made it known that Jo was her first daughter to marry, and she would have the most elegant dress imaginable, just as she deserved.
Wynne, too, made it clear to everyone that he wanted Jo to enjoy every aspect of preparing for this ceremony, even though they were already married. He wanted the whole world to know about their happiness. He’d gone so far as to have an official wedding announcement printed in all of the London and Edinburgh newspapers, naming the Earl of Aytoun and Mr. Charles Barton as the fathers of the bride, in addition to mentioning the rest of the family.
A few moments later, Lady Nithsdale was announced.
Jo took a second glance in the mirror, surprised at the serenity in her expression. She recalled all the times over the years when she’d feel sick to her stomach in this woman’s company. Lady Nithsdale had made a long career of conveying Jo’s personal history, true or invented, to whomever she could find to listen. She’d never looked forward to receiving Lady Nithsdale, but had borne it with stoic civility.
She nodded to Anna to let her in.
