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.
Adaire Hall was known throughout this part of Scotland. First of all, it was the largest of the great houses. Secondly, it was the seat of the Earls of Burfield, men who’d been prominent in Scottish history for generations.
The house spread out below him like one of the queen’s castles. The sprawling red brick Hall was the third structure to grace this particular spot, the first having been razed in battle in the eleventh century, and the second torn down to make way for the new home in the fifteenth. This version of Adaire Hall was only three hundred years old, but looked to last a thousand years.
Over the years the red brick had deepened in color. The white of the window trim had dulled like an old lady’s white lace collar fading to a pale yellow.
The oldest part of the house was the largest, with two wings built later, making the Hall look like three sides of a square. The north wing had been destroyed years earlier and never rebuilt. In the middle of the open space was yet another garden, one he knew well. To the rear of the Hall was the river and beyond that Loch Adaire, a spot that had been a haven during his childhood.
Two dozen chimneys spewed clouds of smoke into the pristine Highland air. Hundreds of windows watched him in the afternoon light, seeming to blink in the gold reflected glare.
He’d never had a future here, but when he said that to his father one day, Sean had turned on him angrily.
“What do you think you’re going to do with your life, then, boy?”
“I’m going to be rich,” he’d said.
The sound of Sean’s derisive laughter echoed in his mind.
He was no longer Gordon McDonnell, gardener’s boy. He was McDonnell, wealthy, successful, and, according to the gossips, ruthless. A Highland rogue, someone who was determined to succeed at whatever he chose.
He was back for more than one reason. He’d give his father whatever he needed before he died,