She had ordered a wheel of cheese, to be cut by Mrs. Farmer after the baby was born. In addition, she’d given orders to the cook and her staff to prepare a selection of currant loaves. One loaf, along with a bottle of Adaire whiskey, would be given to each visitor to the Hall for a month after the child’s birth.
A great many other traditions—or superstitions, depending on your opinion—accompanied the birth of a baby.
Mrs. Farmer, being the renowned midwife that she was, should depend less on superstition and more on her medical expertise. That was not, however, a comment Jennifer was going to say to the esteemed lady. Mrs. Farmer also had a temper.
The woman excused herself, no doubt to go and badger the cook or Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper.
Lauren had dropped off to sleep again, being nearly to term. She slept a great deal, which was, according to Mrs. Farmer, a good sign for a propitious birth. Jennifer had every intention of leaving the room without disturbing her sister-in-law, but when she reached the doorway, Lauren spoke.
“Are you going to leave me to Mrs. Farmer?”
Jennifer glanced back at the bed, then at the doorway.
Mrs. Farmer had unexpectedly shown up on their doorstep two weeks ago and announced that Hamish Campbell, Lauren’s father, had hired her to care for his daughter. Since Jennifer had been under the impression that Mr. Campbell was in America, she’d been surprised, at least until talking to Lauren.
“My father plans everything,” she said. “He leaves absolutely nothing to chance.” She’d smiled down at her burgeoning stomach. “Not even his grandchild.”
That is how Mrs. Farmer had come to rule their days and nights. Both Jennifer and Lauren were somewhat in awe of the woman, who didn’t seem to understand the word no. Nor did she accept excuses, regardless of the topic. Therefore, it was just easier—for Jennifer—to avoid the woman.
Poor Lauren had no such escape.
Jennifer walked toward the bed. Lauren scooted over so she could sit on the edge of the mattress.
Her sister-in-law was petite, nearly dwarfed in the massive four-poster. Her hair, black and normally lustrous, had dulled in the past few months. Her distinctive blue eyes were rarely filled with laughter now.
Jennifer put that down to Harrison’s absence. It had been obvious from the beginning that Lauren adored her husband. Unfortunately, it had been as telling that Harrison barely tolerated his bride.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Lauren smiled. “Like I’m all baby and nothing else.”
“Mrs. Farmer said that the baby should be born shortly.”
Lauren sighed. “I do hope so, if for no other reason than not to disappoint her.” She levered herself up, then swung her legs off the bed. “I feel that everything I do is somehow wrong.”
“Nonsense, you’re perfect. I’m the one who gets lectured every hour of the day. Adaire Hall is too large, too sprawling, too cold, too hot, too isolated, too filled with strange noises. We have creatures, in her words. Animals creeping past her window all hours of the night.”
“She’s in the room next to me,” Lauren said, her brow furrowing.
“Exactly. How can anything creep past her window on the second floor?”
Lauren’s smile was delightful to see. “Maybe it’s a bat.”
“Or a bird. Maybe some type of Highland monster ferret with wings.”
“She truly doesn’t seem to enjoy the Highlands very much,” Lauren said.
“Or Adaire Hall.”
“Silly woman. It’s a beautiful place.”
Jennifer smiled at the other woman, feeling in perfect accord. She loved her home, and it had been evident from the beginning that Lauren had taken to the Hall as well.
She’d been as surprised as anyone when her brother announced, two years ago, that he was about to be married. She’d learned later that Harrison had met Lauren because of an introduction from Jennifer’s godmother. Normally, he went out of his way to be unpleasant to Ellen whenever she visited Adaire Hall. However, Ellen knew a great many people in Edinburgh, with the result that Harrison had married an heiress, the only child of a wealthy Scottish industrialist.
From the moment Jennifer was introduced to Lauren, the two had been friends. In all honesty, she thought Lauren was a better wife than Harrison deserved. The fact that he had ignored his bride for the past eight months was proof.
Jennifer helped Lauren on with her shoes. Although Mrs. Farmer would have been content for Lauren to remain in bed until her confinement, the younger woman refused. She very carefully navigated the grand staircase once a day and back up in the evening. Although the trips were becoming more difficult, Lauren had a streak of stubbornness that was nearly the match of Mrs. Farmer’s.
“How long do you think she’ll stay?”
“After the baby is born?” Jennifer asked. When Lauren nodded, she added, “Much longer than we want her to.”
It was the perfect moment for Mrs. Farmer to enter the suite again.
“I’ve been told to tell you that a carriage is approaching, Lady Jennifer.”
She glanced at Lauren. Her eyes were lighting up even as she reached for the brush on the table beside the bed.
With any luck it was Harrison, having remembered he was about to be a father at last.
Chapter Two
Gordon had dreamed of returning to Adaire Hall in triumph like Caesar home from a successful battle. In his imagination he saw all of them standing at the front entrance: his father, his mother, McBain and Harrison, as well as all of the servants from the lowest to the highest. Most importantly, Jennifer would be there, smiling at him.
He would drive up in his new carriage, ebony with dark blue upholstery, four brass lanterns hanging on the outside. The horses would be two matched pairs with the driver resplendent in livery. He would be welcomed with awe and apologies.
The only plausible item in that daydream was his carriage.
Peter hesitated at the top of the hill as if Gordon had instructed him to stop there.
Five years ago, the carriage carrying him to Inverness had stopped in almost this exact spot. He’d looked back for long moments, the sense of loss nearly suffocating him. Not for the house or even most of its inhabitants. Only for Jennifer.
For him, the grand house in the glen had been the source of all the misery in the world.
He tapped on the grate and waited for Peter to open his side of the window.
“I’ll get out for a few minutes,” he said.
Peter, like all well-trained servants, didn’t question him further. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d requested something odd from his driver. Peter had been in his employ for the past three years, ever since he’d begun to make his mark on the world.
He’d never thought that his driver would take him this far from London, however. He couldn’t help but wonder if Peter thought it odd as well. However, bringing his own carriage on a flat car from London was easier than having to rely on a hired vehicle.
After opening the door, he kicked the steps down and strode to the middle of the road.
The gardens his father had worked on all his life were dormant now in the autumn of the year. Yet the approach to the Hall was carefully manicured, laid out over plans executed in the last century. The oaks had been planted decades earlier and created a shadowed approach for the visitor.