Page 22 of Never Kiss a Scot
“I shall leave after dinner. Once I’m at Castle Kincade, I will send for you and you may bring the rest of my wardrobe.”
“Yes, miss.” Julia helped her seal up the bag. They both stilled at the knock on her bedchamber door.
“Answer it,” she whispered, and then carefully blocked her bag from view, lest whoever was there was not Brock. Julia opened the door, and Brock slipped inside.
“You have your bag, lass?” he asked quietly.
Joanna nodded and spun to pick up her bag. It was fairly heavy given the tightly packed contents, but Brock took it from her with one hand easily. He winked at Joanna and quickly walked away without another word. They could not risk being seen together tonight. She dressed for dinner early, her nerves making her feel wild and on edge.
“Remember to breathe, miss,” Julia reminded her as she styled Joanna’s hair in a sensible chignon. It would suit her well for traveling.
Anxiety formed a tight knot in her belly, gnawing away at her confidence until it was time to go down to dinner. She sat at the table surrounded by friends and her family, all except for Rafe, who wasn’t there. He’d left Hampshire to return to London. He’d left shortly after the wedding ceremony, riding north to heaven knows where. He was quite free to do anything he pleased, and when she thought of that it revived her determination to run away with Brock. She tried not to let herself be distracted by the romanticism of their plan.
He wants a wife; I need a husband. It’s not about love. At least, not yet.
She looked down the length of the table, feeling a sudden surge of pride at keeping her plan a secret. No one knew that in three days’ time she would be a bride herself. For a brief instant, melancholy struck her. She would be married all alone save for a few local witnesses in a faraway Scottish village. Her mother and brothers would not be there to see her, and Ashton would not be there to give her away.
But what choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here any longer and let life pass her by.
She had to act, and she wanted Brock as a husband. If that meant sacrificing the wedding she’d always imagined she would have, then she would find a way to bear it. Brock would also be alone, his brothers and sister staying here. At least they would share their loneliness.
When dinner was over, Joanna lingered in the parlor with the ladies while the men went to drink port and smoke cigars. She glanced at the clock on the mantel of the fireplace and saw it was half past nine. Brock had said to be in the stables by ten o’clock. Joanna approached her mother, who was in an animated discussion with the lovely young Duchess of Essex and the Marchioness of Rochester.
“Mama,” she interrupted gently when the conversation fell into a natural lull.
“Yes, dear?” Regina smiled at her. She was quite happy today, now that her eldest child was finally married.
What will she think when she discovers I am gone? That I married without her?She fought hard to keep the tears from coming.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” She placed a hand to her lower abdomen, hoping her mother would make the assumption she was suggesting.
“Oh dear! Then you must go and rest.” Her mother gently touched her shoulder and nodded.
Joanna started to leave, but she couldn’t seem to go without one last embrace. She turned and hugged her mother fiercely.
“Goodness, what on earth…?”
“Have a good night,” she murmured, wanting so much to say more but knowing she could not.
“Good night, my dear.” Regina hugged her back and let her go. Joanna tried not to rush from the parlor. She was crying by the time she changed into her riding habit, but she wiped the tears away. She had to be brave now.
This is my choice, my future. It is time to grow up.
She waited in the shadows while Julia helped her sneak out of the house unseen by her family and the other wedding guests.
She reached the stables and panicked when she didn’t see Brock. Had he changed his mind? Had he decided he didn’t want her after all? Her heart splintered, and dizziness swamped her. She’d been abandoned?
“Brock!” she called out, her cloak wrapped tight around her, praying he would answer, that he hadn’t just left her.
“Here, lass!” Brock stepped out of an empty stall, and she nearly collapsed with relief. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to steady herself and focus on him. If she didn’t, the world might start spinning again.
He wore dark clothes, a heavy greatcoat, and a hat, blending into the shadows of the stables. He walked up to her and reached for her hands, bringing them to his lips. Brock’s tender touch nearly undid her in that moment. He hadn’t left her.
“You’ve been crying,” he said as he studied her beneath the lamplight.
“I’m fine,” she lied. She did not want him to think she was some silly young girl who was afraid to leave home. He wrapped his muscled arms around her, holding her close as he had done earlier in the church.
“I’ll ask one more time, lass. Are you sure you want to go with me?”
