The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(70)

Claire huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t always old. I was in love once too.”

“Were you? What happened?”

“He married someone else, of course.”

Given her tone, Elizabeth decided not to pry any further. “Oh, look,” she said. “Pies!”

They made their way to the vendor hawking warm meat pies and paid for two, and then they strolled along the stalls as they nibbled away. They stopped to watch performing ponies and a man toss knives with frightening accuracy. In the center of the cacophony was a string quartet playing Beethoven.

“This is lovely,” Claire said.

“It most certainly is.”

The older woman sighed. “It reminds me of a Frost Fair I attended when I was a girl.”

“A Frost Fair?”

Claire smiled. “The River Thames froze over and a carnival sprang up on the ice. Dancing, food, entertainments . . . It was great fun.”

“I imagine it was cold.”

“Oh, yes. It was,” she said with a fond smile.

“I much prefer this.” Elizabeth tossed back her head and the warm spring breeze danced through her hair.

“You know, I think I do too.”

“Shall we sit down?” Elizabeth suggested when she saw her companion was tiring.

“That would be nice, dear. All this up and down does take a toll.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That is does.” But when one lived in a village perched on a steep cliff running down to the sea, there were hills.

She found an out-of-the-way bench and they both sat and watched the crowds frolic.

After a while, by mutual consent, they headed back to their cottage. By the time they arrived, night had fallen.

“I enjoyed that immensely,” Miss Claire said, “but I am exhausted, my dear. Do you mind if I turn in?”

“Not at all.” Elizabeth smiled. “Can I bring you some tea?”

“I don’t think I could stay awake that long.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Thank you though.” And then, yawning, she headed to her bedroom.

What a pity that Elizabeth was not tired in the least. She had counted on Claire’s chatter to keep her distracted from her deep thoughts.

Now that her body had accepted the pregnancy, she no longer even had her nausea to divert her attention.

Naturally, thoughts of Hamish came flooding in to fill the void. For once, she allowed them. She sat by the crackling fire and closed her eyes and thought of him. Remembered his touch, his voice, his kiss.

She knew she was one of the lucky ones, to have known such love.

It was petty and small of her to have wanted it all. Wasn’t it?

Now that scandal no longer mattered to her sisters, she could have had him, as hers, forever, if he had wanted her.

But he hadn’t.

He’d preferred her. That other woman.

She stilled. He had come back from Scotland, though. Did that mean anything? Perhaps it did, and perhaps it didn’t. If he felt obliged to return with Mary, he would have done so. If he felt obliged to the Duke of Caithness to stay until the end of the season, the same applied.

It would be foolish for her to assume he’d come back for her.

A part of her railed in exasperation. Because honestly, how would she know unless she asked him?

She owed it to him to ask him, didn’t she?

Of course she did.

She owed it to him to tell him about the child too, but even as the thought descended, she knew she would wait until she knew how he really felt because she did not want him to conclude he was obligated to marry her.

Knowing she’d trapped him into a marriage he didn’t want would be worse than never seeing him again.

But she had to see him again. She had to ask him if they had any chance together.

And she would.

It was surprising how quickly peace descended on her soul when she made the decision to return to London. Not forever, certainly, and not publicly. Even though Twiggenberry had left town, the hubbub about her disappearance would still be swirling.

But she had to speak with Hamish one more time. To be sure there was no hope for their love. And if there was . . . Oh. If there was.

She would tell Miss Claire first thing in the morning. Perhaps she would be inclined to make the journey to her childhood home too.

With that decision made, Elizabeth stood and headed for her room, but before she got far, there was a knock on the door.

She and Claire rarely had visitors, other than Lord Hamlyn, so Elizabeth was curious as to who it could be. When she opened the door, her heart stopped.

There, standing on the front step, was Wallace Twiggenberry. And he did not look happy in the least. In fact, he looked rather ferocious.





Chapter Twenty-Four


“I told you we should have taken the packet,” Hamish grumbled as he stared at the broken axle on Moncrieff’s coach.

“The coaches are faster,” the duke insisted. Again.

Aye. When they dinna break down.

“We’re close to Woolfardisworthy,” James, the Earl of Darlington, said.

Woolfardisworthy? Hamish snorted. And these people thought the Highlands were the back of beyond?

“Let’s send the women in the other coaches to town and have them send back help.”

They had all come on this journey. This holiday. All ten of them. Hamish, McCloud, Lady Esmeralda, Victoria, the earl and his countess, the duke and his duchess, and, of course, Mary and her footman. It had been something like a traveling circus. Four coaches, three maids, and two grooms to boot.