Page 26 of Death at a Highland Wedding
I could never have imagined the other Violet with McCreadie. Could I imagine this one with him? Yes, but only in the sense that it wouldn’t have been a completely awful match. Except it would have been, because if you’re in love with one person, it doesn’t matter who else you marry—it will be awful.
McCreadie belongs with Isla, and I will admit, my little matchmaking heart had pitter-pattered at the thought of them spending this week together. Weddings are great for breaking through repressed romances. But when your former fiancée—whom you jilted, presumably on account of this other woman—is also in attendance? Yeah, I’m not going to be finding ways to nudge McCreadie and Isla together on this trip.
Dinner had been at eight, which means that by the time we’ve spent a couple of hours drinking and talking, we’re ready to retire. Tomorrow, the bride’s and groom’s parents will arrive, and then serious wedding preparations will commence, with the ceremony the day after tomorrow. Then it’ll be done, and we’ll be on our way home, and I will be able to declare—I think—that as terrible as this trip had looked yesterday, it might actually not be so bad.
And, as if to reward me for my positive thinking, I’m walking down the hall when Gray is passing the other way—deep in conversation with Sinclair—and slips me a note. I need to stifle my grin at that, while I continue on as if I hadn’t even noticed him. Then I duck into the spot under the stairs and open the note.
If you anticipate trouble sleeping, meet me at midnight by the sundial, and we shall slip out for a clandestine visit to your coos.
I smile, read it again, and roll my eyes. Gray really needs to be more careful about things like this. I know that he doesn’t mean anything “clandestine” inthatway—only that we aren’t supposed to be walking around the grounds. Someone reading it, though, and wanting to see scandal, would find it in that note. Even the part about visiting the “coos” could be seen as… Well, I don’t know what, but when people want to read something dirty into a word, they have no problem using their imaginations.
Between the whisky and my lack of sleep, I don’t anticipate trouble drifting off. But am I going to tell Gray that? Hell no. And since I can’t set an alarm, I’ll be staying awake. Why? Because I’d hate to miss a chance to see the cows, obviously.
No, I’ll be staying awake because I’d hate to miss the chance for a moonlit walk with Gray. I don’t expect anything “clandestine.” I’m honestly not sure what I’d do if the outing turned in that direction. It won’t, and so I’m safe. Disappointed? Sure. I no longer lie to myself about that.
I have feelings for Duncan Gray that go well beyond friendship, but it’s not the sort of situation where I’m only accepting friendship in hopes of it developing into more. I’ve had enough guys pull that bullshit with me in my time. I acknowledge that I have feelings that aren’t reciprocated, and I deal with that, which means I expect nothing from this walk except his company, and I will jump at the chance for that.
I spend a bit of time chatting with Alice in our room. She’s been doing fine. She’s the youngest of the servants, but she’s been hanging out alternately with Simon—in the stable with the other grooms—and one of the older maids who seems to have taken Alice under her wing.
Soon Alice is asleep, and I’m lying in bed, pretending that I plan to do the same while keeping my eyes open so I don’t drift off. I have my pocketwatch clutched under my pillow, and when it hits eleven thirty, I’m up and changing.
I can’t just wear my wrapper to walk with Gray. I wear my petticoats instead of my crinoline, but I still have all the layers. I pull the corset stays just tight enough to get into my dress.
I started thirty minutes pre–meet time because it takes so damned long to get dressed, especially while trying to be quiet. It’s nearly five to midnight when I arrive downstairs. I peep in all the rooms as I pass. It’s not late enough to guarantee that everyone has gone to bed, but they seem to have. I poke my head in the cloakroom and then slip outside.
Gray waits by the sundial, as promised.
“Cranston is out and about,” I whisper as I join him.
His brows rise.
“His coat isn’t with the rest,” I say.
Gray curses under his breath. “I did not think to check that.”
“His is the only one missing. Of course, that only applies to the men—the women have their cloaks and shawls in their rooms. Cranston’s coat is very distinctive, though, and it’s definitely not there. It was when we went to bed. I checked then, too.”
“You were far more thorough than I,” he says. “I ought to have been more considerate of your reputation.”
It’s notmyreputation I’m concerned about. I wish I knew a way to keep people from presuming Gray has hired a bed-buddy rather than an assistant. Of course, that’s particularly awkward when I kinda wish—
Okay, I absolutely do not wish that was why he hired me. I just mean that it insults Gray to presume that. Yes, fine, it probably insults me more—implying that’s my only use. But while he worries about my “reputation,” I neither have one nor need one. He has one and needs it.
I’ve considered workarounds. Like a fake boyfriend. I even spent some time working on a story. My beau would be a medical student that I met through Gray. He’s working in a London hospital right now, but we are betrothed and will wed someday. Once he has a job and is settled.
I broached the idea with Isla. She rolled her eyes and walked away. I take it that means it wouldn’t help. Which I suppose it wouldn’t. My fake fiancé would only become some poor besotted lad who thinks my relationship with Gray is platonic. Not only would Gray be sleeping with his assistant,but he’d be cuckolding this innocent young man. And, really, while I hate anyone thinking Gray only hired me for sex, at least half who believe that also commend him for it. Getting a pretty young thing to “help” with his work? The lucky dog.
“What do you want to do?” I ask as we move toward the shadows. “I’d still like that walk, but I really don’t want to bump into Cranston and have him needling you about it for the rest of our visit.”
Gray tilts his head, considering. “I believe, if I am being perfectly honest, that Archie would be relieved to discover you and I are having an affair. It would knock me off my high horse, as he would say.”
True, given what I overheard. But do I want to give Cranston fodder?
Fodder for what? Snide comments and jabs? He already does that to Gray. He’s not going to make crass comments in front of the ladies.
“Let’s just be careful,” I say. “I don’t care what he thinks, but I’d prefer to have a quiet walk without his particular brand of bullshit.”
Gray’s lips twitch. “So what brand of ‘bullshit’ do you want on your walk?”
