Aunt Ree smiled beatifically. “There’s been a little change in plans. Our dear Hester has agreed to provide escort to Spathfoy and Fiona on their journey. It seems the nursemaid cannot join them in Aberdeen. We’ll send a bag along for you on the very next train, Hester.”
Ian’s brows crashed down. “The
“Ian.” Augusta spoke softly and leaned closer to her husband. “We cannot spare your son’s staff on such short notice.”
Ian studied his wife’s countenance for a moment. “Of course we can’t, not when the lad might be coming down with a cold. Hester, does this plan truly have your consent? You need not stay in Northumbria for long.”
Hester wanted to hug him, right there in the train yard, for his protectiveness. While the womenfolk were happy to consign Hester to Spathfoy’s continued company, Ian alone hesitated.
“If I go with them today, it will make Fiona’s transition easier and allow us a spy in the marquess’s camp for a time, won’t it?”
Dark brows rose. “That it will. Your Scottish heritage is showing, lass. Mind you write often, and here.” He extracted a missive from his pocket. “Fee is to put that in Con’s own hands. He’ll be coming to call on his niece and her relations, with Julia in tow, within the week, and the letter contains as much as I know of the situation.”
Fee piped up from her place at Ian’s side. “I had a letter from Mama. She wrote from Paris again.”
Ian glanced at his niece. “Are you sure it’s from Paris? They’re not supposed to be in France now.”
“She’s right, Ian.” Hester watched as Spathfoy made a proper fuss over his brave beast, who was now in the livestock car, gazing down the ramp uncertainly. “I saw the letter myself. It was from Paris.”
“Which explains why certain wires are not meriting any replies. Wife, remind me to stop by the telegraph office once we’ve seen Fiona and Hester off.”
And with no more ado than that, Hester soon found herself in a private compartment with Fiona and Spathfoy, watching as the child waved madly out the window while the train pulled away from the station, and Spathfoy kept a dignified silence at his niece’s side.
Tye had just completed a lengthy discussion with his horse about the need to develop fortitude regarding train travel—they’d be coming back to Ballater; on that point, Tye was already quite determined—when Balfour informed him Hester was accompanying Fiona to Northumbria. Hester would make the journey with them, and stay long enough to see the child settled in.
Balfour’s tone had carried a distinct sense of, “Don’t be fookin’ this up, too, laddie.”
Tye sat back and regarded a woman he was sure would rather be anywhere than in a private compartment, knee to knee with him. He’d kept his powder dry until Fiona was asleep with her head on a pillow and her feet in her aunt’s lap.
“Why did you change your mind, Hester? This journey cannot be something you contemplate willingly.”
She didn’t even turn her head, but answered while the scenery hurtled by beyond the window. “Fiona guddled me. Don’t expect me to stay long in Northumbria.”
“I do not understand.”
Now she did look at him, her expression one of bleak humor. “She tickled my sympathies, and I would likely have told her to go to blazes with her big green eyes and pleading looks, but I do not trust your father to treat her well, Spathfoy.”
Tye didn’t either, not now that he’d met the child. “You don’t trust
She averted her eyes again, which Tye felt somewhere in the middle of his chest as a desolating loss.
“Your father has not treated
She asked, but her tone was bored.
“I will not disrespect my father by answering that, Hester, and the subterfuge, as you call it, was mine. I fully intended to collect the child the morning after I met her, and be on my way, but then Lady Ariadne offered me hospitality, and it struck me I ought to familiarize myself with Fiona’s circumstances, and then…”
The Deeside scenery was beautiful. No wonder Her Majesty had chosen the Highlands for the private castle she shared with her handsome prince.
“Then, Tiberius?”
In for a penny… “Then I met you.” Met his own personal tempest ready to rage him into submission over the well-being of a child she wasn’t even related to.
Silence, while they passed through Scotland’s beautiful countryside. When they reached Aberdeen, the wisdom of having Hester accompany them became apparent. Fiona needed to use the necessary, she needed to fidget, she needed to cling and whine and generally carry on like a fretful child while Tye oversaw the transfer of their trunks—and his nervous horse—for the next leg of the journey.
And fortunately, they had no more transfers to make before reaching Newcastle. This left Tye hours to regard the woman he still hoped to marry, and to consider his options.
First and foremost, he hoped she was pregnant with his—their—child. She would marry him if that were the case, he was certain of it. Even Balfour would encourage the match if a child were involved.
Second, Tye could strive mightily to convince his father to return Fiona to her family in Aberdeenshire, and forget whatever crotchet had prompted this wild start in the first place. This option had dubious chances of success. The marquess was not one to back down once he’d taken a position.
Not ever.
The third option was the one Hester had suggested: to find some means of compelling his lordship to reconsider his schemes. Tye had been reluctant to speculate regarding what leverage he could find to put the light of sweet reason in his father’s eye.
Such machinations seemed disrespectful. Almost as disrespectful as presenting oneself as a guest when one intended to comport oneself as anything but.
Fiona sighed in her sleep, her second protracted nap of the day. “Shall we wake her?”
Hester brushed the child’s hair back off her forehead, the gesture tender and, to Tye, unsettling. “To what purpose?”
“So she isn’t keeping you up half the night when you’re obviously fatigued from looking after her the livelong day.”
“I’ll manage.”
With two words, she might as well have kicked Tye out of the compartment, so vast was the indifference she conveyed. She put him in mind of his mother after a particularly vexing donnybrook with his father.
“Hester, I am not your enemy.”
“No, you are not.” She studied him for a moment in the dim light of the compartment. “You are not my friend, either.”
The hope he’d been guarding for a hundred miles curled up under his heart with a weary whimper.
But it did not die. He was nowhere near ready to allow it to die.
They arrived to Quinworth well after dark, though even by torchlight, Hester could see the place was imposing. The facade was a vast expanse of pale blond stone, the same shade as Alnwick Castle, but modernized to boast many windows, and terraces abundantly graced with flowers.
Fiona would delight in exploring the place.
“Is she still asleep?” Hester kept her voice down, lest the child slumbering in Spathfoy’s arms waken.
“Out like a candle.”
“I can take her.”
“Get out of the coach, Hester. She’s too heavy for you, and you’re dead on your feet.”
He sounded amused and so damnably patient, Hester had no choice but to comply. A liveried, gloved footman assisted her from the carriage and stood by while Spathfoy managed to maneuver himself and his burden out of the
