Julia London 4 Book Bundle (127 page)

Except Scotland.

Arthur did not fare as well as Kerry in the course of his interview. Adrian was up immediately once the ladies left the room, pacing like a wild animal as he apparently tried to gather his thoughts. Arthur waited patiently for the barrage he knew would come, quietly finishing a most excellent custard pudding.

Just as he pushed the dish away, Adrian turned from a rigid stance at the windows overlooking the lake and pointed a long finger at him. “You’ve lost your bloody mind, you know that,” he said flatly.

Arthur shrugged, signaled the footman for port.

“You cannot be serious, Christian! Have you any idea a’tall as to the sort of scandalous rumors that will circulate about London? Did Kettering’s troubles teach you nothing? Arriving in London with this woman from Scotland? The
ton
will label her a whore! She will be ruined, you
must
know that!”

Arthur was well aware, probably more so than Adrian, that Julian’s forced marriage and sister’s elopement had been the greatest scandal the
ton
had seen in some time. But this was different. He accepted the port from the footman and sipped before turning to look at Adrian. “Would you sit? You are disturbing my digestion with all that bellowing.”

“I should like to do more than bellow, my friend,” Adrian growled.

“Yes, yes, I know you would. Come, sit, and at least consider the dilemma from my point of view, will you? Here I have had the bloody misfortune to grow quite attached to the woman and she cannot go back to Scotland, not now, at least. I am therefore left with the option of hiding her away at Sutherland Hall, or taking her to London and letting the world know that I, for one, cherish her. If I leave her at Sutherland Hall, I am quite certain it will extinguish the light in her.”

“That
light
,” Adrian spat, “will quickly be snuffed in London! Arthur, think! What in God’s name do you intend to do with her?” When Arthur did not answer and sipped again at his port, Adrian stalked angrily to his seat and fell into it, ignoring the port the footman placed in front of him. “You are a sentimental fool! Look here, I know you are overly fond of her, but you must admit the facts! You
cannot
keep her at Mount Street without ruining her! You
cannot
marry her, for God’s sake. You’ve no choice but to find a suitable situation for her, something that puts her out of harm’s way and the sooner the better. But I would kindly suggest that whatever situation you may choose, it is
not
in London and
not
associated with your good name! Think of your family, man!”

“What, do you think my brother will not accept her? Do you think my mother afraid of a bit of scandal? Good God, Adrian, Hannah
urged
Alex to break his engagement to Marlaine Reese in favor of Lauren Hill, and she was hardly solvent! Alex has spent the last ten years building on reforms designed to help people just like Kerry! How could he possibly find fault with me for loving a poor woman?”

“It is not Kerry’s poverty that offends, Arthur. It is her
birth
—she is of common Scottish stock.”

Adrian said it with such disdain that Arthur inwardly shuddered. Is that what he was? Did he, too, judge people on the basis of their birth? “Are you offended?” he asked quietly.

“No! Of course not! But I have known my share of hardship and the
ton … 
God, Arthur, they would sooner cut you as accept her into their circle.”

Arthur supposed that was true for Adrian. But Adrian was not a Sutherland, and Adrian didn’t know Kerry. He didn’t understand how a man might move mountains to see her smile, or plow a field to hear her laughter, or sit in one place for hours hoping that she might dance. He had hoped Adrian would understand, but perhaps it was asking too much.

As it had been since the day he had first encountered Kerry, everything was uncertain, unreal, unbelievable. What he thought he knew, he no longer understood. In the last weeks of his life, he had not been able to do more than greet each day and hope for the best. But he was
certain
his family and friends would learn to accept her, class be damned.

He smiled at Adrian.

Adrian groaned, rolled his eyes.

“You really don’t understand, Albright. Please allow me to explain again …”

————

They argued well into the night, long after Lilliana and Kerry had retired, consuming more whiskey than they ought to have done. Somewhere in the early hours of the morning the debate changed from what was best for Kerry to a hodgepodge of faulty memories and events that had made up their lives. It amused Arthur greatly to learn that Adrian had somehow gotten it into his brain that Phillip had once thought to join the ranks of naval officers.

He howled, clumsily wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You cannot be serious, Albright! Rothembow abhorred the sea! Do you not recall when we escaped to France in ’20 that we feared he might be permanently affixed over the railing? The lad puked himself into a fevered delirium!”

“No!” Adrian loudly disagreed. “That was most certainly Julian! Kettering couldn’t stomach a boat across the Thames!”

“What, have you lost what was is left of your feeble mind? Julian was a frequent visitor to Southwark—across the Thames. Think hard, old chap, and you will recall the bit of trouble he got us into there.”

Adrian frowned with concentration, and slowly, the light of his memory dawned on his face. “Ah yes … Kettering,” he said as a slow smile spread his lips. “The imbecile almost had us killed that night.”

“Yes,” Arthur laughed. “
That
was Kettering. And you will recall that Rothembow was a bit green around the gills for the entire event.”

Adrian sobered a bit, looked into his empty whiskey glass. “It seems another lifetime, does it not? I scarcely remember what Phillip looked like.”

“I remember. I still see him so often in my dreams.”

That brought Adrian’s head up. “Do you?” he asked quietly. “I can say that, thankfully, I have not dreamed of him since my son was born. I know it sounds rather strange, but I have often thought that Richard’s birth somehow freed him … or me.”

Arthur said nothing, drained his whiskey. He would give anything to have his dreams free of Phillip, but he had a macabre suspicion that he would never be entirely free of him.

“So there is nothing I can say that might change your mind?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This foolish notion you have of going to London. You’ll not change your mind?”

With a heavy sigh, Arthur put his glass down. “Tell me truly, Adrian, what choice do I have? My home … my
life
is in London. I made my choice the moment I took her from Scotland. I will now face the consequence of having done so. I just need time to think what to do, that’s all.”

“God grant you the time then,” Adrian said on a sigh. “But it may already be too late.”

L
ONDON,
E
NGLAND

A
RTHUR’S AUNT PADDY
gave Kerry a thorough once-over as they stood in the cheerful morning room of his house on Mount Street. The bundle of tight ringlets over Paddy’s ears bounced like a child’s toy as she nodded her approval of the last gown the modiste was fitting to Kerry.

“Absolutely
perfect
,” she chirped.

“Absolutely,” agreed Lady Paddington’s constant companion, Mrs. Clark.

Lady Paddington clasped her pudgy hands together and cocked her head to one side, squinting at Kerry. After a moment, she shook her head. “The hair, my dear. I’m afraid it simply won’t do.”

That her hair was unsatisfactory hardly surprised Kerry—it was, after all, the only thing remaining that was truly her. Everything else had been hastily created in the last several days. A half-dozen new gowns from the finest dressmakers in London, drawers and chemises made of silk, slippers so delicate that she was afraid to walk in them—these new things replaced her sensible woolens, her sturdy shoes, her cotton undergarments.

These things had replaced Kerry McKinnon—she hardly knew who she was anymore.

“Please turn, madam,” the modiste said.

“Yes, do turn! Let’s have a look from behind!” Mrs. Clark said.

Her arms held perpendicular from her body, Kerry dutifully turned and let the women examine her for any defects as the modiste marked the hem.

“Perhaps a lovely plum for a walking gown, do you think, Paddy? A lovely plum would so compliment her pale complexion, I should think.”

“It’s true there isn’t as much sunshine in Scotland,” Lady Paddington quickly agreed, and Kerry looked heavenward for strength. She was beginning to despise her circumstance. It wasn’t that she wasn’t extremely grateful and humbled by Arthur’s generosity; the magnitude of his largesse shocked her, as did his wealth. The moment they had arrived in London—only a few days past, she reminded herself—he had immediately sent his butler, Barnaby, on a mission to bring modistes and milliners and purveyors of all things feminine to his magnificent home. And at first, she had been pleased; wearing Lilliana’s clothes made her feel like a poor relation. The finery was enticing—what fool
wouldn’t
have enjoyed the opportunity to wear such wonderful things?

But as the number of gowns and shoes and hats and gloves began to mount, the more disturbed she became. The fine clothing, the furnishings, the people to do her slightest bidding were terribly alluring on a base level, but she was acutely aware that she had begun to resemble a woman she did not know. This, she thought miserably as she glanced down at the green-and-blue gown, was not Kerry McKinnon.

This was a woman Arthur Christian could love, a woman who should be used to the best the world had to offer, worthy of such splendid attire.
Oh, Arthur.

It was so plainly obvious how very proud he was to give her such beautiful things. He beamed with joy each time he saw her in a new gown, all of them commissioned at a premium so that he might have them in days instead of weeks. And truthfully, it made her feel
beautiful—every time he looked at her, she felt desirable, sensual, worthy of his affection—all the things she had never felt with Fraser.

Yet no matter how much she enjoyed his attentions and the clothing and a world that glittered with crystal and gold and beeswax candles, she could not ignore the little voice inside her with the Scottish accent. The voice that reminded her she was a fraud, a woman more comfortable in coarse wool than silk.

Even Arthur was different now. A perfect coif had replaced his thick, wavy long hair. Gone were the linen shirts and buckskins, replaced by silk waistcoats and neckcloths and fine woolen coats. His ruggedness was fast fading into the softness of the aristocracy.

“If you would turn again, madam,” the modiste said.

“Ooh, how very—”

“Fetching!” Mrs. Clark interrupted.

“Fetching!” Lady Paddington agreed.

“There you are, madam. Does it meet with your approval?”

Kerry dropped her arms and looked down. Of course it met with her approval. Aware that the women were waiting for her response, Kerry tried to find her voice, but to her horror, the bitter taste of tears welled in the back of her throat, and she could not speak for fear of suddenly weeping.

Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark exchanged a look; Lady Paddington looked at her again, her cheerful countenance soured. “I should
hope
you do indeed approve of the gown, Mrs. McKinnon, as I assure you, my Arthur paid quite handsomely for it!”

“That is China silk!” Mrs. Clark added, folding her arms across her chest.

The modiste peered up at her as if she might be ill. “Madam? Is there something not to your liking?”

“No. I mean
aye.
I mean, I
adore
it, I do!” Kerry quickly assured them. “I didna mean to seem ungrateful, I suppose I’m a wee bit overwhelmed.”

Lady Paddington’s expression softened. “Well of
course
you are, dear! And having come such a long way in a short amount of time, too! Mrs. Clark and I journeyed to Alnwick one summer—which, although in England, is really just the same as travelling to Scotland—”

“Well not
really
the same,” Mrs. Clark interrupted Lady Paddington. “But very close by—”

“Extremely close by!” Lady Paddington echoed, “and it took us one fortnight and four days plus!”

“Aye,” Kerry said wearily, accepting the modiste’s hand to step down from the fitting stool. She allowed the modiste to undress her as Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark prattled on at length about what sounded like an afternoon outing gone awry. As she let the modiste settle a blue-and-white-striped day gown over her head, Kerry wondered what it must be like to have so little to occupy one’s time that an afternoon trip could turn into a fortnight. How did these women move through their lives with nothing more than chatter?

In London only a few days now, Kerry already felt as if she might claw her way out of her own skin. She was accustomed to working from sunup to sundown, tending to a house, and animals, and crops, and
people.
She was
not
accustomed to sitting and contemplating which gown should be worn to supper that evening. And as she was not allowed to leave Arthur’s home except for a daily walk in Hyde Park—
“It’s the propriety of the thing, darling. A woman wandering about alone like that, well, really, it’s just not done”
—there was nothing to keep her occupied, nothing but her thoughts of Scotland, Charles Moncrieffe, Thomas, May, and Big Angus.

Lord God, what was she doing here?

It was time, she thought numbly as the modiste tied a blue satin ribbon around her waist, to speak with Arthur. She could not continue this farce much longer.

————

The moment Arthur arrived home that evening, Lady Paddington eagerly sailed out, informing her nephew as she did that she would be off to South Hampton on the morrow, and he therefore needed to be about the business of finding another chaperone. “This evening’s supper and opera are my last engagements until the Christmas season, you know.”