Snowy Night with a Highlander (17 page)

Better they think she’d at least found some adventure than that she was well on her way to being the Hadley Green Spinster. “I can find a proper companion.”

Her father had chuckled. “Forgive me, Daria, but your mother is quite right in this. You will stay here at Hadley Green and amuse your mother with your company while I go.”

Even now, seated on her trunk in the middle of a Scottish forest, Daria shook her head. Her parents had never understood how determined she could be. That evening she had told Griswold to bring the carriage around, and off she’d gone to Tiber Park. She’d banged the brass knocker three times, marched into midst of the Scott family, and with frustration still heating her blood, she’d said, “Charity, will you accompany me to Scotland?”

Much to Daria’s great surprise, Charity had looked at her brother and shrugged. “Why not? Scotland is the thing now, is it not? I’ve been at Tiber Park too long, and I think it might be nice to see a change of scenery.”

Daria’s parents had refused this idea, of course, but Charity was persuasive with them. It was agreed that her daughter, Catherine, would stay behind, as the eleven-year-old girl was far more enamored of Lady Eberlin’s new baby than the prospect of Scotland. Further, Lord Eberlin’s closest friend, Captain Robert Mackenzie, would bring them to Scotland aboard his merchant ship.

Charity and Daria had set sail for Nairn a fortnight later, at which point Daria unfortunately discovered she easily became seasick. Despite how much ginger beer she was made to drink to quell her nausea, she’d spent the two-day voyage in her bunk, groaning through wave after wave of illness. She scarcely remembered any of it at all, other than Charity slipping in and out of the room, the scent of her perfume making Daria even sicker.

Even when the ship stopped rocking.

Charity had said, “We are moored, and still you do not rally. I think Mackenzie is right. I think we must send for a physician.”

“We are moored?” Daria had asked, and had pushed herself up, blinking against the bright sunlight streaming in through the porthole.

Charity had given her a rare smile. “I’ve already taken the liberty of going ashore while you recuperated. It’s rather a rustic village, but not without its charm. Oh, and I arranged transportation to your grandmother’s house. It is very near here, as luck would have it. You will have a seat on a private tour of the Highlands that will deposit you in Glenferness. That is where you will find your grandmother.” She had turned to the small mirror bolted to the wall, looking one way then the other as she checked her hair.

“What of a seat for you?”

“I’ve arranged one for me, as well. But on a different coach, for I am to Edinburgh.”

“What?”
Daria exclaimed. “We meant to see Edinburgh together, on the way home from seeing Mamie. That was our plan, Charity.”

“We
will
see it together, of course we shall! You will come to me in Edinburgh when you’ve seen your grandmother. You don’t need me for that.”

It had been too much for Daria to absorb, since even thinking gave her a headache. She’d forced herself up. “How will you get there? What coach will take you there?”

Charity’s smile had deepened a little more. “Captain Mackenzie has kindly arranged it.”

Daria knew in that moment that even Charity would desert her. She truly
was
the last debutante of Hadley Green.

“Don’t look so distressed!” Charity had said. “You are off to a grand adventure! Isn’t that what you hoped for? You will accompany a delightful set of sisters. Mrs. Gant and Mrs. Bretton are both widows and they’ve planned their holiday for quite some time. They are eager to see the Highlands and just as eager to offer you a seat in their coach. They seem quite lively.”

Daria had found the ladies to be lively, all right, but not in the way Charity had meant.

There was a brilliantly blue spring sky on the day Daria boarded the coach. She was cross with Charity for having abandoned her, and she was sure that ten miles would seem like ten days in the company of Mrs. Gant and Mrs. Bretton.

The two sisters, both plump and gray and fond of matching hats, had hired Mr. Mungo Brodie to drive them. After demanding he speak his native language, they realized there was no way to understand what he was saying, so they expressed their desire that he be “as native as he might.”

“Their language is too harsh on our ears,” Mrs. Bretton had confided to Daria, who agreed. The language was too harsh, and the roads too pitted.

Their slow progress along the narrow road into the hills allowed the sisters the opportunity to pepper Daria and Mr. Brodie with several questions. That was when they were not demanding that Mr. Brodie come to a halt so they might pile out of the coach, dragging Daria along with them. They shared a pair of opera glasses to have a look about, and liberally pressed them into Daria’s use so that she might view the birch and oak that grew so thickly beside the road, or try to see the crossbill birds seated high in the trees, or catch a glimpse of the ospreys flying overhead. They would then climb back into the coach, and off they would go, inching along for another few yards.

As the day crept by, Daria began to fret. She didn’t want to spend an entire evening with these women, but they had yet to see any signs of civilization, and they hadn’t met a soul on that road. Daria was peering out the window with the hope of seeing a village ahead when the coach suddenly came to a halt, sagging to one side as Mr. Brodie came down. A moment later, he opened the door. “Glenferness.”

The sisters looked at Daria.

But they were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around them but forest.

Daria’s heart climbed right into her throat. “Pardon?” she croaked.

“Glenferness.” He walked away, and Daria could hear him unlashing her trunk.

Now Daria’s pulse began to pound. “Oh no—there must be some mistake.” She hastily climbed over the sisters’ legs and leapt out of the coach. “Mr. Brodie!”

He appeared from the back of the coach with her trunk on his shoulder, then dropped it like a bundle of hay at the side of the road. “Aye?”

“There is no house here,” Daria said, gesturing to the forest alongside the road.

“Aye, there is. Just a wee walk.”

Daria looked at the thick wall of trees. “A wee walk to
where
? I see nothing but forest.”

“There,” he said, and pointed.

Daria saw it then—a path no wider than a rabbit trail.

“You can’t possibly mean there is house on
that
path.”

“Ach, lass, walk up the road, then. Ye’ll find it well enough.” He reached for her smaller portmanteau and placed it on top of her trunk.

“But what of my things?” Daria asked, panicking now. “Is there no footman? No conveyance? Am I expected to walk through those woods in these shoes and carry my own things?”

“Brodie lads will come round and bring the trunk, miss. No time to dawdle, now—I’m to have the ladies to Piperhill Inn by nightfall, and we’re a wee bit behind schedule.” He walked to the head of the coach.

“Good day, Miss Babcock!” Mrs. Gant called, sticking her silver head out the coach door. “Our regards to your grandmother!”

“But . . .”

Mrs. Bretton gave her a cheery wave as they rolled away.

That was how Daria had come to be utterly alone on the side of the road, thinking unkind thoughts about Mr. Brodie and Scotland.

“Quite a deep pit of muck you’ve walked into, Daria,” she sniffed. She glanced at the rabbit trail that passed for a road here. She’d never believed herself one to wilt at the first sign of trouble, but she felt on the verge of doing just that. She reminded herself that if Mamie—elegant, sophisticated Mamie—had come to Scotland and managed, then so could she. She had only to decide whether she would remain seated on the road for marauders and murderers to come along or do as Mr. Brodie suggested and walk up that tiny, overgrown trail.

She stood up and looked at the dog. “Do you intend to accompany me? Or will you sleep the day away?”

The dog sat up, his tail wagging.

“Very well. But you must be responsible for yourself. I am not a nursemaid,” she warned him, and picked up her portmanteau. She took a deep breath, muttered a small prayer, and stepped onto the rabbit trail, almost toppling over when the dog rushed past her in order to be first on the path.

Also by Julia London

The Seduction of Lady X

The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

The Year of Living Scandalously

One Season of Sunshine

The Summer of Two Wishes

A Courtesan’s Scandal

Highland Scandal

Book of Scandal

The Dangers of Deceiving a Viscount

The Perils of Pursuing a Prince

The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

Guiding Light: Jonathan’s Story

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2008 by Dinah Dinwiddie

This work was previously published in
Snowy Night with a Stranger

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