there toward the last of her mother’s illness, spending time with Mary, the two women talking in low tones. More than once she’d interrupted them and seen the signs that each had been weeping.
Every day brought a memory to mind. Her mother might have been restricted to her chair on wheels, and nearly blind, but she had an impact on everyone around her. Mary had made it a point to know as much as she could about every member of the staff. She had Cook make special treats for those having a birthday or some other special day of note. She inquired about their families, their health, or things they liked. She had a phenomenal memory and made it a point to ask something important when talking to each person.
To Mary, someone wasn’t just a scullery maid, or a stable boy, or one of the footmen in training. Each was a person, separate and apart from his role in life.
Harrison wasn’t as egalitarian as their mother. There were numerous occasions when her mother would stop and single out a member of staff either because his wife had given birth or they’d done something worthy enough to note or their smile was especially attractive. There would be a look in Harrison’s eyes that made her think he wished to be anywhere but there. Yet he always forced a smile to his face for their mother’s sake and added his words to hers.
Their mother’s death had freed Harrison.
Yet Harrison never seemed truly happy, as if something important was missing in his life. She didn’t know what it would be, since he seemed to have everything a man could possibly want. He’d been born into a title, a fortune, a magnificent home with a history that mirrored Scotland’s. He had a beautiful wife and now a daughter. What more could he possibly want?
What more could anyone want?
If someone looked at her life, what would they say? Before Gordon returned, they would have seen a woman content with her daily occupations, perhaps, but not entirely happy with her life. She had purpose, but no partner. No one to love, to care for. No one with whom to share her life, her hidden thoughts, or her observations of what went on around her. Not one person ever stopped her during the day, put his hand on her arm, and said, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Jennifer.”
No one seemed especially curious to know her thoughts. No one but Gordon. Dear, wonderful Gordon.
Everything had changed since he’d come home.
Now she was no longer going to be a spinster aunt, forever puttering around Adaire Hall. She’d be a wife, and perhaps a mother in time. Her life would be shared with the one man she’d always loved.
They’d live in London, unless Gordon wanted to open some entertainments in Scotland. Perhaps they’d become a well-traveled couple, with homes in both countries.
The world was suddenly open to her. They could do anything they wanted.
He loved her. She loved him. She was going to marry Gordon, and they’d never be apart again.
That thought warmed her as she went about her duties. There weren’t any disagreements between the maids or problems with the footmen or stable boys. Harrison hadn’t issued any impossible demands. Lauren didn’t need her. The baby seemed well and, other than acting like a baby, was thriving.
When Lauren announced that they’d decided to name the baby Mary, Jennifer didn’t hide her tears.
One day, she too would be a mother. She could almost see her little boy, nestled in the crook of her arm. Perhaps she and Gordon would have a large family. A boisterous group of children who filled their home with noise and love.
More than once she caught herself humming as she went about her duties. She greeted and smiled at everyone she saw. If Harrison had appeared, she would have even been cordial to him—that’s how happy she was.
The world was a wonderful place and she was the happiest person in it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Elizabeth Chapel wasn’t named for the period of time when it had been built or for any type of architecture. Instead, it had been named after a previous Countess of Burfield, Elizabeth, who was known to be devout almost to a fault.
Adaire Hall was laid out like a square, although after the north wing had burned down, it consisted of only two wings and the original part of the Hall. Behind the ruins of the north wing were a half dozen fair-sized outbuildings, plus