Part 26 (1/2)

Much later that afternoon, the squire realized the depths of his daughter's determination to, as he put it, ”ruin her life.” He had followed Mrs. Bloom's heavy coach for most of the day, frustrated at the lack of speed. At this rate, they'd have to spend another night in an inn, which distressed the squire no end. He'd been dreaming of staying in his own town house, with its fresh sheets and thick mattresses and the services of a cook directly from York, where he'd been born and raised. Soon he'd have Elizabeth safely tucked away from her ill-conceived pa.s.sion, and life could resume normality.

Mrs. Bloom, for all her irascible ways, had shown herself to possess a generous heart. The one time they'd stopped, Elizabeth had remained huddled in her corner of the carriage, the hood over her head, a hand pressed to her forehead as if pleading a headache. The squire thought she was merely engaging in histrionics, but Mrs. Bloom was inclined to believe she was suffering from overexcitement, first at being removed from her ”fiance,” then by their accident and the days of being confined to the inn. Elizabeth had eventually fallen asleep, her head drooping, the cloak hood covering her face and blocking the unwanted light. Mrs. Bloom had become quite protective and had refused to allow anyone to awaken her.

A wooden sign proclaimed another inn ahead. The squire sighed when Mrs. Bloom's plump hand extended from the window, waving a white handkerchief to signal that she wished to stop once more.

Good G.o.d, the woman must possess England's smallest bladder. Grumbling to himself, he waved agreement, hoping they wouldn't be long. The carriage turned smartly into the yard, and the squire followed, deciding to remain outside while Mrs. Bloom did what she must and sampled the tea dishes.

He informed Mrs. Bloom of his intentions as her groom opened the door.

”Very well,” she said airily. ”Although it's bad for your digestion to miss tea.”

”I am certain I shall survive. Has Elizabeth been better company?”

”La, no! The child has done nothing but sleep. She sleeps as quiet as a mouse, too. Why, if I couldn't see her breathing, I wouldn't know if she was alive or not. I do hope she'll feel better for her nap.” With that, Mrs. Bloom went into the inn, where she was welcomed by the innkeeper and his wife, both heartily hoping she would leave a pot of vales in her wake.

The squire leaned in through the coach window and peeked at his daughter. She was exactly as Mrs. Bloom described, covered head to foot in her blue cloak, sound asleep, not a sound emanating from her but deep, even breathing. Poor child. He had been a little rough on her, but it had been for her own good.

He had led his horse to the front of the carriage, checking the wheels and equipment, when the sound of approaching horses made him turn.

Three men rode into the courtyard on horses that made the squire envious. The first two men were very large, dark-haired, and dressed in somber black. The last was blond and more slender, his clothing of a dandified cut, his coat and boots clearly from London.

They pulled up at the inn door, and one of the dark-haired men swung down, removing his hat as he did so. The late sunlight filtered over him, highlighting the streak of white in his hair and outlining the planes of his face.

The squire blinked. He knew that face, that defined nose and chin.

The squire moved forward. ”Good afternoon, gentlemen! I don't wish to intrude, but are you perchance related to Gregor MacLean?”

The man standing by his horse sent a quick glance at his companions before nodding. ”Yes, we are.” His voice was thick with a Scottish burr. ”Gregor is our brother. I am Hugh MacLean. These are my other brothers, Alexander and”-Hugh nodded toward the blond man-”Dougal.”

”Actually, I know Dougal MacLean from a business endeavor. I am Squire Higganbotham. I was hoping to learn Lord Gregor MacLean's address so that I could thank him for the service he did for me and my daughter.”

Dougal swung off his horse and came forward, his green eyes bright. ”Did you say our brother had performed a service for you?”

”For us all. We were stuck in an inn because of the snow. He a.s.sisted us in getting the carriages repaired, he and his man healed the injured horses, and he helped make certain our luggage was well tied. He was quite helpful.”

Hugh rubbed his forehead as if struggling to understand something. ”Helpful? Are you certain it was my brother? He has a scar-”

The squire traced a line down the left side of his face.

”Hmm.” Hugh shook his head in wonderment. ”I cannot believe 'twas him.”

”Why not?” the squire asked, puzzled.

”It is rather out of character for Gregor to be so helpful.”

Dougal edged forward. ”Did Gregor appear injured in any way? A wound to the head, perhaps?”

”No.”

”Hmm. I thought that might account for such a change, but perhaps it was Miss Oglivie's influence.”

”Oglivie? Who is that?”

Dougal's brows rose. ”A woman about this high?” He held out his hand to his shoulder. ”Brown hair? Gray eyes? A bit plump? She would have been with Gregor, along with a man named Ravenscroft.”

”Why, yes! You are talking about Lord MacLean's charges, Mr. and Miss West.”

A tense silence ensued.

Alexander scowled so heavily the squire took a step back. ”I beg your pardon,” Alexander growled, ”but did you say the Wests?”

The squire nodded.

The men exchanged glances once again, sending a ripple of unease through the squire. ”You seem surprised, and I don't understand. Who is this Ravenscroft? And who is Miss Oglivie? I've never heard of her, yet you seem to think she looks exactly the same as Miss We-”

”Och, good squire!” Dougal smiled, coming forward to shake the squire's hand mightily. ” 'Tis just a piddly little family matter. I don't suppose you know where our brother was heading?”

”Mr. West said they were to visit Miss West's grandmother in Stirling.”

”We know the estate,” Alexander said, appearing less than happy.

”Good.” The squire paused, his thick brows drawn. ”That's odd. I don't know why it didn't dawn on me before, but Mr. West spoke of the grandmother as if he wasn't related to her.”

Dougal shrugged as he turned to remount, his brother Hugh doing the same. ”I happen to know Mr. West very well, and he's a bit of an idiot.”

”Thank you for your a.s.sistance,” Alexander rumbled, turning his huge horse toward the road. His brothers followed suit.

”Good evening to you!” Dougal called over his shoulder.

”Wait!” The squire hurried forward, but the men were gone, the thunder of hooves proclaiming their hurry.

What was going on? Why were MacLean's brothers in search of him? And why had they seemed surprised to learn of his wards? Surely, if they were his brothers, they would know of his wards?

The squire glanced at the inn, wis.h.i.+ng Mrs. Bloom had been there. She had spoken with Miss West quite a bit, as had Elizabeth-Ah! His daughter might know something about the now-mysterious Miss West. They had shared a bedchamber, and women tended to tell one another things.

He hurried to the carriage and opened the door. His daughter was still deep asleep, her breathing quiet- The squire's own breath caught in his throat. No sound? Elizabeth had snored since she was a small child. Even sitting upright, she snored and gasped as if fighting for breath.

He reached for her cloak. If he didn't know better, he would think- Mrs. Bloom heard the bellow from where she sat before the fireplace in the inn, lifting her first cup to her waiting lips. Regretfully setting down her tea, she gathered her pelisse and hurried to the innyard.

Standing by the carriage, his hands clenched in fury, face almost purple with rage, was the squire.

And before him, swathed in a familiar blue cloak, was not Miss Elizabeth Higganbotham but her brown-haired maid.

”You-you-you-” The squire couldn't seem to find the words.

Mrs. Bloom hurried to his side. ”Really!” she said to the wretched girl. ”How could you? Where is Miss Higganbotham! Tell us this instant!”