Now, if only she could find a way to attend the Railway Convention happening tomorrow…But that felt like more of a castle in the air dream than a simple castle in the air itself.
Besides the fact that the logistics were a nightmare, there was also the question of how her father would manage in her absence. How would she travel there? How would she gain entrance? Who would go with her? How would she pay for it?
No, it was not meant to be. Castles did not exist in the air. And tavern daughter’s did not attend annual Railway Conventions.
Chapter 2
EGANSATMOTIONLESS,WATCHINGhis friend, George, jostle with the swaying carriage. George tried to discreetly grip the bench for some stability.
“How about that wedding?” George asked to distract Egan from his white knuckled grasp of the squabs.
“It was a fine wedding.”
“As fine as they come, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?”
“For it being the wedding of the woman my man of business accidentally proposed to on my behalf, it was fine.”
George belted out a laugh. “Yes, there’s that I suppose. But she turned out to be a lovely lady and married quite the chap.”
“Just another duke.”
Another short burst of laughter from George. “Well, there’s not that many of you. And not all dukes are so great.”
“True. I’ll admit that she found a good one.” Egan crossed his arms over his chest, steady as a rock.
The carriage swayed hard to the right, and George banged into the door. Thankfully it was locked. Egan just stared at him.
“I think it’s about time we take a break, don’t you, Egan?”
“We’ve just begun our journey.”
“And such is the most suitable time for a drink. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Aye, I suppose it’s about that time.” His Scottish burr came out in tiny pieces, and rarely at that, because his mother being fully English didn’t quite wipe out his father’s influences. Nor did the years at English schools eradicate his Scottish heritage. Hence the kilt. It was a statement. Perhaps so was the hair down to his shoulders, often worn loose, along with the always close cut Garibaldi.
The fact that the kilt attracted the female population en masse didn’t hurt either. And Egan had never deprived the kilt of its power.
He rapped on the ceiling of the carriage, and once stopped, gave instructions to the driver to stop at the first tavern.
As the carriage pitched forward in motion again, Egan braced his left leg on the floor of the carriage and winced. He massaged his thigh with his thumb for a moment before George asked, “Does it bother you much?”
“No.” He quickly placed his hands back in his lap despite the dull ache in his thigh. He had no intention of allowing his best mate to incur any more guilt for the accident.
The accident that had changed everything. George and Egan had been hunting at Dunbarshire Castle, as per their usual habit. Egan had gone off trailing a pheasant. Upon his return, George had shot him, explaining later that he thought he was a poacher. That was George, acting first, thinking later.
That wasn’t the worst part of it though. Of course, the gunshot wound was pretty awful. Not only had it been excruciating, but it also had residual effects. Some days the pain was nigh unbearable. But at least he could walk. It had taken months to sort through the pain and learn to move it again. But still, that wasn’t the worst of it.
No, the worst part of it was that after being shot in the leg and dragged home, slowly, since George was about two thirds his size, he had been received by the physician who paid him all his attention. That was expected. What wasn’t expected was his father’s apoplexy at the same time that went unnoticed because all eyes, ears, hands, and minds were preoccupied with Egan.
No, indeed. The worst part wasn’t being shot. The worst part was that him being shot was the direct cause of his father’s untimely death.
The former duke had been Egan’s role model. He admired his father, Hamish, in every possible way. Hamish had raised him with a close eye, firm hand, and soft heart. It hadn’t been the most traditional upbringing, but it had been a loving family. When his father passed away, he knew his mother resented him for being the only one to survive the incidents of the day. She had never said it, but he knew. He could never forgive himself for that.
Hamish had been the epitome of health. If the physician had been able to tend to him, Egan was certain he would have recovered. As it was, it had probably been a couple of hours before anyone noticed Hamish wasn’t around inquiring as to his son’s wellbeing.
So Egan had inherited the dukedom decades earlier than he had planned. George felt enough guilt for having shot his best mate, Egan needn’t heap it on him any more than that. He carried enough guilt for more than the two of them.
It was a bitter truth to accept, but it was fortunate, at least, that the physician had been sharing a meal with his parents at the time of the hunting accident. Since the castle perched itself upon the rocky cliffs of Berwickshire and its neighbor the North Sea, likely too much time would have passed between sending a messenger and returning with the physician.
