Page 1 of A Scottish Lord for Christmas
Chapter 1
England, October 1911
Rowena Pepperwirth dashed along the lawn of the winter-browned grass of the Hampton House gardens. A gust of wind wrenched her hat from her head but she didn’t stop running to chase it. Terror gripped her heart and blood pounded a violent tempo in her ears.
There was only one thing that mattered. A little girl in a blue dress and white pinafore, who could not be older than three, was climbing onto a stone fountain edge about fifty feet away. A fountain Rowena had seen up close only yesterday and which she knew with dreaded certainty had a very slick ledge…The icy water inside was thickly dotted with lily pads. If the child fell, she could drown as she scrambled to get free of the watery vegetation.
A distant roar filled her ears and her palms slickened with sweat as she raced down the garden path.
Please don’t fall, please…She prayed she could reach the little girl in time. The distance between her and the fountain seemed infinite. The child could die if she wasn’t fast enough…
Leaning forward, Rowena pushed her legs until they burned as she sprinted toward the child. She slid straight into the stone base, her knees smarting from the impact, but she ignored it while she grasped the girl by the back of her dress.
The surge of fear didn’t fade immediately. Hands shaking, Rowena was immobile, holding the child above the water for a second before she recovered from the shock.
The little girl bounced and squealed, clapping her chubby little hands and peering into the fountain.
She was safe.
Rowena tugged her back into her arms, wrapping herself around the child protectively. Her hands shook and she had trouble breathing. It was all right. She’d gotten there in time. Shutting her eyes, she held the girl close, never more thankful she was fast on her feet.
“Fishes!” The little girl jabbed a delicate little finger at the water.
Rowena smiled and nuzzled the girl’s cheek before kissing her. “Indeed, there are fish when it’s warmer, but we mustn’t catch them. You might fall in and then what would happen to you?” She feathered her fingers through the girl’s curls, marveling at the way the light played upon strands as perfect as spun gold.
“No fishes?” the child queried solemnly, looking now at Rowena in a knowing way.
“No fishes.”
“Thank ’eavens, miss!” A middle-aged nurse trundled round the corner of the nearest hedgerow, her face red and her breath uneven as she struggled to speak. “Wee bairn escaped me, she did.” The woman’s Scottish accent caught Rowena by surprise. Scots were common enough in London but in the countryside they were rare. She’d known that one of the guests at the Earl of Hampton’s house party was Scottish, but she hadn’t realized he’d brought a nurse with him or that he had a child. Then again, mentioning one’s children in the midst of a house party wasn’t done. Babes stayed in the distant nurseries, which saddened Rowena. She adored children. One of her dearest dreams was to have a brood of children running about her house someday.
“It’s quite all right. I have her. She’s safe.” Rowena curled an arm around the child’s waist, smiling as the little girl bounced excitedly and pointed at the few solitary fish that had so far survived the increasingly cold weather. Their sleek silver bodies ducked and dove in the murky depths of the fountain, and she watched them in fascination and single-minded determination.
“Papa!” the babe pronounced excitedly, and jabbed a little index finger toward the house.
“Is your papa here, little one? I’m sure he’d be worried to know you ran off without him. Fathers worry about their daughters. You must take care not to frighten him.” The child’s eyes, a soft dove gray, fixed on Rowena as though considering seriously what she’d said, and then she dropped onto her bottom on Rowena’s lap, content to simply watch.
The nurse eased down onto the lip of the fountain base beside them, her face still flushed. “The wee one has fast legs, just like her father did when he was a bairn. Could never catch that child.” The nurse’s face was gentle with tenderness as she said this.
“Is she Lord Forres’s child?” Rowena queried.
It had to be the man she’d met at dinner the previous night. The quiet, well-spoken, and all-too-handsome Earl of Forres had been the object of quite a few stolen glances from the ladies over the various courses at dinner. Rowena, only eighteen, was certain it wasn’t proper for so many women to be sneaking looks at a man far down the table from them. But as this was her first official house party since her come-out in London a few weeks before, she wasn’t quite sure if the social rules were different between London and the country. Naturally that meant she’d been glancing at him too. It was impossible not to. He was incredibly handsome, with intense eyes and a soft smile that did strange things to her body whenever he’d met her gaze. And the way he moved—in that graceful yet powerful way—had drawn every female eye to him over and over again.
“Aye, she’s his all right.” The nurse chucked the little girl under the chin and the child giggled.
Rowena held her breath as she stared down at the girl. She shared her father’s serious gray eyes, but her light blond hair was a contrast to her father’s dark brown locks. Did she take after her mother, then? Rowena didn’t know much of Forres except that he was twenty-eight and well in-laid when it came to property and money.
That did not matter so much to her. Rowena’s family was well off and titled, so she had no need to look for a wealthy husband. This left her free to enjoy meeting someone she would like to marry. She focused on the men themselves and not the social positions she could gain. She wanted to be viewed equally, as a partner, not a subordinate. Unlike her sister Milly, who dreaded the idea of marriage, Rowena looked forward to the challenges of sharing a life with someone and raising children, but she knew she had to choose the right person. Someone who would see her value and trust her to bring something to their marriage besides simply childbearing abilities.
That was why Forres had intrigued her the previous evening. When he spoke, his rich, dark voice had an enticing Scottish lilt that seemed to curl in the air like a slow, dancing plume of smoke, mesmerizing her. The candlelight had illuminated his eyes and she hadn’t been able to look away as he talked. His opinions on politics and social issues were well informed and he approved of women being equal to men. He was neither proud nor so opinionated as to alienate anyone during polite conversation. Even Milly, Rowena’s older headstrong sister, had been impressed with Forres.
“I didn’t know Lord Forres had a child. I thought he was unmarried.”
There certainly hadn’t been a wedding band on his finger. Little whispers had traveled down the table, escaping from behind the edges of water goblets as the ladies had passed along their observations to each other. The fact that he wasn’t married had provoked quite the discussion among the women after the men had gone off to smoke cigars and drink. She’d taken to looking at him, and more than once his eyes had touched upon hers, making her feel dizzy. There was something about him, the curve of his lips in a hint of a smile, the intensity of his gray eyes as he watched her. It had made her body flush with heat.
“Aye, he’s only got the one. Our countess passed a year ago and my lord’s been sore for missing her.” The older woman’s face was somber as she spoke, and for a moment she was quiet. But then a little smile crept back onto her lips. “But now he’s wife hunting.” The nurse winked at her conspiratorially.
Wife hunting? She could just picture the darkly handsome earl prowling through the underbrush, rifle at the ready to hunt ladies who fluttered in autumn-colored gowns like a dozen pheasants. The image was silly enough to make her bite her lip to hide her smile. But then she focused on what the nurse had said. Forreshadbeen married. His wife had died.
