The words were spoken in a delicate voice, but Ellen heard the steel in her tone.
She was beginning to like the woman more and more. Perhaps even enough to overlook the fact that, next to Maggie, she was rendered exceedingly plain.
“What a pity that we won’t get to know each other better,” she said. “I think I should like you very much.”
“Never discount the future, Mrs. Thornton. Perhaps circumstances will arrange themselves.”
She had been in the woman’s company less than an hour, but she already suspected that whatever Maggie wanted, Maggie got.
That thought led to another: exactly who was the owner of the Mayfair Club? He must be an extraordinarily talented man and one imminently secure in himself. Otherwise, Maggie would’ve had him for breakfast.
Chapter Six
Gordon remained with his father, sitting on the ladder-back chair as Sean fell asleep.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” a voice said.
He turned to see a girl standing in the doorway, a white apron over her dress. Her hair was caught up in a bun that had come loose, spilling bright red curls over one shoulder.
“Who would you be, sir?” she asked softly, after casting a glance in Sean’s direction.
“Gordon McDonnell,” he said, standing and moving to the door. “Sean’s son.”
She bobbed a curtsy, spreading out the apron like it was a ball gown.
“Pardon me for asking, sir. It’s just that he’s under my care.”
They left the room, Gordon closing the door behind him.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?”
She seemed torn, looking at the closed door then back at him.
“It’s a cancer, sir. The doctor says it’s in the bowels.”
Her face pinked up as she spoke, making Gordon wonder if she’d been a nurse for very long.
“What is your name?”
“Sally Farrell, sir.” She smiled, the expression a pleasant one.
“Come and talk to me, Sally, and tell me what I need to know.”
He led the way to the small kitchen table beneath the window. There had never been more than two chairs here. As a child he’d had his meals after his parents were finished. He’d grown accustomed to sitting here alone, staring out the window at the Hall in the distance. He’d always wondered at Harrison and Jennifer’s life in that great house.
Now he pulled out the chair for Sally, and after she sat, he joined her.
“He’s in a lot of pain, isn’t he?”
“The herbs help, of course, and the laudanum.”
Was there more that could be done? After speaking with Sally for a few minutes, he realized that it was probably stubbornness that had kept Sean alive. There was no hope for a cure, according to the Adaire family physician summoned to examine Sean. Something else Jennifer had done.
“We try to make him as comfortable as possible, sir. Plus, people come to visit. Ned comes to see him almost every day and finds a question to ask him. Something about the land or the gardens. Something to make Sean feel as though people care that he’s still here. Everyone needs to feel important, sir, even in the midst of their pain.”
He wondered if Sally was espousing beliefs that she held or if she was parroting what she’d heard. It sounded like something Jennifer would say.
He was rarely at a loss for words, even though there were times when he deliberately kept silent. It was better to let someone wonder at his thoughts than to let them fall on deaf ears. Now, however, he didn’t know what to say to Sally.
Finally, the words seemed to birth themselves.
“Is there anything that I can do? Anything that I can bring him?”
Her brown eyes warmed. “Nothing, sir.” She hesitated before speaking again, but finally did, the words coming slowly. “It’s the knowing of it that’s difficult. It won’t be long now.”
He’d already figured that out for himself. He reached over and patted her hand where it lay on the table.
Standing, he thanked her before making his way to the door.
“What would be a good time to visit him again?”
She turned in her chair and her young face looked suddenly older, more mature. He had a vision of what she might look like as an old, old woman. A lined face, a furrowed brow, but kind, gentle eyes.
“There is no good time, sir. Anytime would be best.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll come after dinner,” he said.
“Moira will be here then. I’ll tell her about you. She’s the night nurse. Miss Jennifer didn’t want Sean to be alone, so there’s one of us here at all times.”
One more reason to thank Jennifer.
Jennifer had planned to have a dinner tray brought to her in her sitting room. However, Lauren had sent word that she’d invited Gordon to dinner.
Perhaps it wasn’t entirely proper for a woman in the last month of confinement to attend dinner with a stranger, but Lauren was determined. Jennifer thought it was a combination of being heartily tired of her room as well as Mrs. Farmer. Plus, she was probably sick of thinking about Harrison. Would he ever come home? Would he ever be a true husband? Questions like that must keep her miserable.
For the first time in her life, Jennifer was going to sit down to dinner at Adaire Hall with Gordon. When Mr. McBain had been in residence, that would’ve been impossible.
As the new Countess of Burfield, Lauren could command anything, and no one would think the less of her.
He was here. After all these years, Gordon was here. The thought echoed in Jennifer’s mind and harnessed itself to her breath and her heartbeat. He was here. Even if he was different, he was Gordon. He’d finally come home. He was here.
Yet he hadn’t returned for her, but for Sean. To do his duty by his father.
She sat at her vanity and stared at herself. She looked tired, but she’d wanted everything done for the celebration of the birth. They’d cleaned Adaire Hall from top to bottom, including all the windows. She was a little too pale, and there was an expression in her eyes that hinted at sadness.
Her life was enjoyable in a great many ways. She had her books, her painting—or her dabbles as Harrison called them. She walked every day, not only around the Hall, but a path into the hills surrounding the house. Sometimes she sketched or painted or read. Occasionally, if her duties allowed it, she simply sat and watched as the sun traveled over a summer sky and the shadows grew deep, leading to the endless days of a Highland summer.
She’d always return home slowly and perhaps a little reluctantly. She loved her home, but she knew, only too well, that it didn’t belong to her. She was here because she had nowhere else to live and no one wanted her. The estate belonged to Harrison, and if his child was a boy, he would inherit Adaire Hall, the title, and all that accompanied it.
That was the way of the world and she understood it. Even though she had always cared so much more about their home than Harrison, she knew she’d never be more than an afterthought in its history. Perhaps a footnote: Jennifer Adaire, the sixth Earl’s spinster sister, was instrumental in managing the estate for a number of years.
Time had been kind to the house. There weren’t many indications that five years had passed as far as the estate was concerned. Perhaps the trees had grown a little taller. There was dry rot in one of the drawing rooms. The roof had been replaced on one of the wings. Other than that, nothing had changed.