Page 31 of Entrancing the Earl
“No, I thank you for explaining. Perhaps I’ll look for Mary Mike to see if she can provide better directions to this hill.” He continued down the corridor, his stomach grinding as if he’d eaten glass.
If he asked questions, the women would want explanation of his interest. He didn’t have a good explanation, except for the fears Iona had confided and weren’t his to reveal. The sketch was all he had.
He carried the paper into the withdrawing room where Winifred and Simone cut up map pieces they’d glued to sturdy fabric. He’d seen them creating puzzles before, although he had no idea what they did with them.
“I was hoping to find Nan to explain this sketch to me, but I understand she’s left?” he asked idly, studying their puzzle pieces.
He knew from experience that the women only told him what they thought he needed to know. And most of the time, they concluded he didn’t need to know anything. Shouting at them wouldn’t change their minds.
Winifred took the sketch and examined it in the oil light. “Very pretty. That looks like a mulberry tree. Oh, yes, she notes that in the corner. Interesting. No, she didn’t mention this to us, but she left in a bit of a hurry.”
“The market cart couldn’t wait for her to say her farewells.” Simone snapped two puzzle pieces together to see if they fit. “The driver had to be back in the village before dark. I only saw her go because I was in the kitchen. She left us a lovely thank-you note and apologized for her haste.”
Gerard didn’t think pounding them over their pompadours with a piece of paper would help. “She didn’t say why she left? Or where she was going?”
“Of course not, dear,” Winifred said soothingly. “We don’t ask questions. If she wanted us to know, she would have told us. The bees are apparently settled in for the winter, so she may have decided she wasn’t needed here for now.”
Gerard didn’t believe for a moment that one of the witches hadn’t questioned the girl, but he couldn’t accuse his great-aunt of lying. “Very well. Then perhaps I’ll leave hunting for this hill for another time. Tell Mary-Mike that I will be back in a few months to see how she’s getting on. And if she has need of me, to address my man of business in London, as always. He’ll know how to find me.”
He walked off on the non-informative ladies. Two could play this game.
She’d left with the market cart. There was a coaching inn in the village. He may have just missed her. He’d ride out first thing in the morning.
But Gerard had the strong suspicion that she’d gone to her sister—who would be the only person who knew how to reach Iona. And if the letter came from Edinburgh, then that must be where the sister resided—in a nest of Malcolms.
It was also where Rainford and his pack of hounds were sniffing and where the unwanted suitor apparently stayed.
Damn the woman, did she want to get caught?
Of course she did. She wanted to marry wealth and be free to do as she pleased. He ought to leave her to her own devices.
Unfortunately, the piece of paper in his hand was vibrating with a woman’s panic and terror, and Iona had been the last woman to handle it.
Thirteen
Cold,grimy, and exhausted, Iona arrived at the train station in Edinburgh wishing she were wealthy enough to own a private traveling carriage. The journey from Northumberland’s wilderness had involved a series of transfers from coach to train and from one line to another. She’d thought that an advantage when she’d gone to Wystan, believing no one would ever look so far from civilization.
She hadn’t considered the disadvantage ofleavingWystan.
At the station, she made inquiries and set out in the direction indicated. She had coin enough for a room on the outskirts of the city—a long way from the castle she’d been living in. Six months of luxury and security had given her a burning desire to have that forever for Isobel as well as herself.
If marrying Awful Arthur would give her wealth, she could do it.
A neat row of townhouses revealed several Rooms For Let signs. Calling herself Nan Jones, claiming to be a teacher, she found a garret that would suffice.
Miserable, missing her bees, terrified for her twin, Iona wanted to go to Isobel immediately, but it was much too late in the day. She washed, changed her attire, and set out to find food.
While she was wandering unfamiliar streets, she spent a few precious coins on stationery. One did not address a queen or her cabinet with cheap note paper.
Along with bread and cheese, she bought cheap wine, walnuts, and salt. Back in her room, she began the laborious process of dying her distinctive golden-brown tresses to the deepest brown she could achieve. She would almost match Isobel, unless her sister had let hers wash out. If Isobel cut hers, there might be an advantage in playing each other as they had as children.
Accustomed to lonely nights, Iona still missed the company of Wystan’s ladies. She ate her solitary meal, washed, dyed her hair, and let it dry while she drafted letters in her notebook. She would save her precious stationery for the final product. Writing a queen couldn’t be done in a slapdash manner.
She hesitated even more over how to write Isobel. She didn’t want her sister vanishing out of fear, but it had been nearly a week since that last letter had been posted.
Deciding final drafts would wait until morning, when she was less tired, Iona retired to her lumpy bed. Train whistles woke her through the night, and she nearly wept in frustration and fear. It had almost physically hurt to run away from the earl and his promises. She was no doubt better off leaving him behind before she came to rely on him too much.
In the morning, she boiled water for tea, toasted the last of her bread, and copied off the final letter to Queen Victoria. Then deciding she needed to see Isobel before making any further decisions, she wrote a reference letter for Nan Jones, master gardener, and signed it with the name of the Craigmore minister so Isobel would recognize her. Since she only intended Isobel to see the letter, Iona didn’t worry about impressing anyone with proper paper.
