Much to Blair’s discomfort, Mrs. Drummond’s face sagged with shock and then hardened to stone at his words. Even without speaking plainly, she clearly understood his intentions now. Aye, and by the way she was looking at him, she’d identified him as the enemy.
“Speaking of Lady Lavinia,” Blair said, eager to break the suddenly frosty silence. “Where is my ward?”
Mrs. Drummond shifted her gaze to the side. “She is…likely nearby somewhere.”
Blair’s brows lowered. An odd answer. “I noticed the stairs in the entrance hall, which I assume lead to the rest of the keep’s chambers. Might she be up there?”
“Ye can of course look, milord.”
Blair puzzled over that second strange reply as he followed Mrs. Drummond back to the entrance hall. They wound their way up the stairs, which ended one storey up.
Mrs. Drummond guided him past several private chambers. Blair glanced into the open door of one, which had been fashioned into a schoolroom where Lady Lavinia apparently took her lessons. The housekeeper also indicated Lady Lavinia’s bedroom, but the girl was nowhere in sight.
By the time Mrs. Drummond had concluded the tour with a gesture toward the wing of servants’ quarters, Blair was beginning to lose patience.
“Perhaps ye should fetch Lady Lavinia now. I’d like to introduce myself.”
Mrs. Drummond fiddled with her brown woolen skirts. “There is just one problem, milord.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“Lady Livie, that is Lavinia, she…I cannae say exactly where she is.”
Blair stared at the housekeeper for a long moment. “But ye said she was nearby.”
“Och, aye,” Mrs. Drummond hurried to say. “She is in the manor somewhere, I am sure of it. It is just…I dinnae ken precisely where in the manor she is at the moment.”
Through gritted molars, Blair said, “Please explain.”
“Milady likes to hide. She kens every nook and cranny of this keep, ye see, and she disappears from time to time. But dinnae worry, milord, she always reappears eventually.”
Blair felt a headache coming on. “Who was responsible for the lass before I arrived? Ye?”
“Oh nay, milord. Her governess, Miss Amelia Harlow, ensures that Lady Livie is well looked after.”
“And where is Miss Harlow now?”
Mrs. Drummond’s gaze landed on everything but Blair. “She is…out, milord.”
“Out where?”
“When Lady Livie’s lessons are done, she often pays visits to the nearby crofts.”
Blair glanced out the window at the end of the hallway. His tour of Glenrose had eaten what little had remained of the overcast day, and now the sky was turning blue-gray with gloaming. What was more, a soft but persistent rain pattered against the glass.
“Does she take a carriage on these visits?”
“Nay, milord, she always goes on foot.”
“Alone?”
“Aye, milord.”
All the budding fondness Blair had begun to feel for Glenrose’s cozy, old-fashioned manor evaporated then. He shouldn’t have let himself grow sentimental over this place, even for an instant, for it seemed his task would be even more troublesome than he’d initially anticipated.
Apparently he’d inherited not only an invisible ward, but a wayward governess. Miss Harlow could only be one of two things—a dolt, or an indolent shirker of responsibility. Nothing else could explain her decision to leave her charge unattended and go wandering about the Highland countryside at dusk. On foot. In the rain.
“In which direction did she set out?”
“Southwesterly, I believe, milord.”
Blair barely managed to suppress an oath. He’d ridden in from that direction, and if memory served, he hadn’t seen any crofts dotting the rolling landscape for miles before he’d reached the manor.
It seemed he was not only expected to get the estate’s ledgers in order, but also its staff. With a curt nod to Mrs. Drummond, Blair descended the stairs and strode into the master suite, retrieving his coat, hat, and gloves. Then he headed directly for the manor’s double doors.
“Milord, where are ye going?” Mrs. Drummond called after him.
“To fetch the governess,” he replied over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Three
Rain dripped from the rim of Amelia’s hood and onto her nose. She hunkered deeper into her cloak and quickened her pace as much as the muddy, uneven path would permit.
This was her fourth winter in the Highlands, but it never ceased to surprise her how rapidly—and how early—dusk fell at this time of year.
She’d lingered at the Timms’s croft, for Isla, Hamish, and Mary had all trudged just as far as she had to join Rabbie for his lesson. She would never deny them a moment of daylight with their readers and slates just to avoid a gloomy, damp walk home.
Still, the thought of a cup of hot tea, a thick blanket, and a seat by the drawing room’s hearth had her hastening her steps even more. She lifted her skirts out of the way as her boots squelched and slid in the thick mud.
At the hedgerow marking the corner of Glenrose manor’s grounds, she gave up all propriety and clambered faster. She ducked under the dripping hedge and built speed, preparing to dash the final stretch across the open slope leading up to the keep.
Just as she broke free of the hedge, a dark blur loomed over her. A horse’s agitated neigh pierced the air, followed by a rough, low curse.
The breath caught in her throat. Amelia skittered backward, nearly slipping on the wet grass. Somehow she managed to keep her feet, but the horse’s abrupt halt sent clumps of mud and grass dashing across her skirts.
Amelia blinked up through the rain at the horse and its decidedly fuming rider. He cut a dark figure against the charcoal sky behind him. Rain dripped in rivulets off the brim of his black top hat. Beneath the hat,
