Chapter Nineteen

Two Months Later

The Fall air was crisp and clear as Ian walked through the streets of Edinburough toward the comfortable home he’d purchased for his mother the year before. It wasn’t an enormous house, but it was sturdy and sound, and she never again had to worry about a fickle landlord.

Ever a woman who wanted to stay busy, Margaret McCullom continued to bake for local households, selling her sweets and meat pies to the maids and cooks she’d come to know throughout her years of service. She’d taken the money she earned and used it to turn the four walls Ian had purchased for her into a home. At least once each week, she would stand in that home and turn in circles, marveling at the fact that her son had provided so well for her—how lucky she was that he loved her as he did. And it brought tears to her eyes every single time. Nothing gave her as much joy, however, as having her son home with her.

Ian had never disclosed his reason for the visit from London, nor how long he planned to stay, only walked through the door, kissed her on the cheek, and stole a morsel from her chopping board like when he’d been a wee lad. He’d promptly unpacked his things in the spare bedroom without a word. Margaret had been considering letting out one of those rooms to a young lady in town so she wouldn’t have to walk so far to work before sunrise, but that could wait until Ian returned to London; he was never able to stay for very long.

In the weeks since his arrival, Ian had remained steadfastly evasive to all her questions. He’d always been a boy of few words—she liked to say he saved them for when they really counted—but it was irksome to a mother who knew when some. Regardless of the reason behind it, she was pleased to have him home; she loved showing him off as her pride and joy.

Each time someone came to pick up an order of her baking, she would make a big show of explaining how her son, the physician, was in town and loved a particular treat, and she’d introduce him as such to anyone who would listen.

One time, she’d commented to him that perhaps he’d like to settle down soon—maybe move back to Edinburough to be near to her when bairns came. He’d only given her a sidelong look and picked up his book.

That day, as Ian was walking the winding city streets of New Town, there was a knock at the door. At first, Margaret was confused—there weren’t any scheduled pick-ups the rest of the day. She set aside her knife, wiped her hands on her apron, and answered the door to find a very beautiful, very exhausted-looking young woman. Her thick, blue-black hair was pulled back beneath a fashionable raspberry-pink hat affixed with gold-tipped pins. She wore a matching traveling gown fitted to her arms with impeccable tailoring, a modest neckline trimmed in pink lace, and thick velvet skirts falling in graceful panels. Her eyes were wide, and remarkably dark and intelligent.

“Aye?”

“Is this the McCullom residence?” the woman asked, not bothering to mask the hopeful note to her voice. Sasannach . And a wealthy one by the looks of her clothing. Margaret had worked in enough households and served enough nobility to know quality when she saw it.

“Aye.” She gripped the door a little tighter, wondering at this woman’s intentions, especially when she hesitated before her next question.

“Are you Mrs. McCullom? Mother to Dr. Ian McCullom?”

She nodded in reply, curious if this woman was a patient of his and how she’d come to find their home, but the young woman’s face lit up in delight, turning her beautiful face incandescent.

“I am so very pleased to meet you! I am a friend of Ian—Dr. McCullom. Is he in?”

Margaret frowned. “Nay. He’s out and, knowing him, he won’t return for several hours. He’s a very busy mon.” The Englishwoman was immediately crestfallen and Margaret was suddenly overcome by the urge to comfort her. Something about the candor in her eyes, she supposed. She was unable to turn the girl away. “Ye sound like you’ve traveled a long way. Would ye like to come in and set awhile? Eat a bite?” She stepped to the side and the woman thanked her graciously as she entered the home that smelled warmly of herbs and buttery shortbread.

∞∞∞

Ian stomped up the front steps of his mother’s home more exhausted from his errands than if he’d set two legs, sewn a dozen lacerations, treated a handful of croupy dowagers, and assisted in the birth of three babes. What he wouldn’t have given for those days…

Instead, he’d spent his time scouting for a new office space and sending messages to his solicitor in London to begin the process of liquidating his London practice. It had been a rather depressing, fruitless day.

Needing some cheer, he’d passed through a market on the way and, while most of the stalls had been closed or picked over, he managed to snag a few good apples and a respectable bouquet of flowers. Arms full, he used the heel of his boot to close the door when he was inside.

“ Mama? ” he called, juggling his purchases. “ Tha fàileadh blasta .” It smells delicious . The house was filled with the sweet scent of pastries and the rich, nutty aroma of browned butter. His stomach gave an involuntary growl. “ Bidh mi reamhar ma dh’fhuiricheas mi an seo fada nas fhaide. ” I will become fat if I stay here much longer. And he would; already his clothing was becoming a touch snug from the consistent, rich, comforting meals only a mother could provide.

Ian stepped into the kitchen and his every muscle froze. The apples nearly tumbled from his arm, but he managed to rescue them just in time.

His mother was beaming so much that the glitter in her dark chocolate eyes was nearly blinding. Her plump cheeks were flushed from equal measures of joy and the heat of the close room.

“ Tha Gàidhlig na h-Alba aig a' chaileag seo, an robh fios agad? ” she tittered like a girl. This girl speaks Gaelic, did you know? “ Tha i math gu leòr airson Sasannach! ” She is quite good for an Englishwoman!

Ian was still struck dumb with disbelief, staring at Juliette as she stood elbow-deep in powdery flour, helping his mother finish some dough for their supper.

“ Tha i gòrach air bèicearachd, ach chan e rud beag a th’ ann nach socraich cleachdadh. ”

“ Mama! ” Ian gasped, his face growing uncomfortably warm as he hoped Juliette hadn’t been able to translate the words: She is shite at baking, but it is nothing a little practice won’t fix. Unfortunately, a small, amused smile on Juliette’s full lips told Ian he had no such luck. He wanted to apologize for his mother’s blunt comment, but his brain struggled to process the domestic sight before him.

Surely his body was lying dead in the street somewhere, because this could not possibly be real.

He watched in fascination as Juliette wiped her hands on her deep pink skirts, likely ruining them, but not caring one whit. His heart stuttered when her eyes met his.

“Hello, Ian,” she said softly, carefully, as if unsure of the reception. How could she not know how every inch of his skin screamed for her, that he was bruising the fragile apples and flower stems in his hands in an effort not to reach for her?

“What are you doing here?” he croaked. How many nights had he lain awake with his heart too heavy to sleep, his arms unbearably empty, his entire being aching for her, mind, body, heart, and soul?

“Ian!” came his mother’s warning voice; it was apparently her turn to remind him of his manners. “ Bi spèis, ” she snapped. Be respectful.

Juliette’s head inclined to mask a coy smile. She’d somehow been practicing her Gaelic in the interminable weeks since they’d last seen one another.

Ian set down his burdens and he and Juliette eyed one another from across the flour-covered table. The weeks of absence and unspoken words simmered in the air between them.

His mother’s eyes darted between them. “It seems ye two have some talking to do,” she said in her rough-hewn English. “I’ll finish in here; you go to the other room and say what needs to be said without Mama in the way. Leave supper to me.”

Juliette flashed a smile of gratitude and led the way from the kitchen. They found their way to the back room Ian had commandeered for his study. It was close and warm with barely enough space to walk around the trunks, small desk, and chair pressed tightly against the walls, but it was far enough away that his mother would have difficulty overhearing them. Both of them refused to sit in the single chair.

Ian cleared his throat. “How fares your brother?” The question was one of the last on his mind, but it was the most polite and least difficult one to ask.

“Well enough to begin barking orders,” Juliette replied with a little laugh through her nose. “He seems less upset about his injuries than the fact that the hunting party had to be cut short because of the accident and Lady Sommerfeld’s condition. It has been dubbed ‘The Cursed Party.’”

“And how is Lady Sommerfeld?” The stilted formalities were killing him slowly, but it was all he trusted himself to do.

“The viscount grows restless to bring her to Bridleton, but he is afraid to move her too soon. My brother and I have made it very clear to them both that they are welcome to stay as long as they need to.”

This last was followed by a prolonged silence.

“Are you going to inquire as to my health?” Juliette ventured. “You have done so for nearly every one of our other mutual acquaintances thus far.”

His mouth tilted in amusement; he couldn’t help it. “And you, Lady Juliette? How do you fare?”

“Miserable.” Her blunt response with its flat affect nearly knocked him backward. “I have been nothing short of utterly miserable, Ian. I have missed you terribly. I thought this time apart might heal the wound left behind, but it seems to have only made things worse.” Ian’s heartbeat increased as she continued. “This is why, as soon as I could be certain my brother was well on his way to recovery, but would not yet be well enough to follow through with his threats to keep an even closer eye on me, I fled.”

Ian experienced the most curious sensation as simultaneously, his stomach plummeted and his heart soared.

“You fled?” he questioned the obvious—for how else could she be standing there before him if she hadn’t escaped her brother?

She nodded. “Allowing you to slip away and hide here in Scotland would have been too easy for you.”

“It sounds as if Meredith planted that seed,” he said, shaking his head incredulously. “You must know this is a terrible idea, Juliette; you must return home before anyone knows where you have gone.”

“Ethan will have found my letter by now, so returning would be useless.”

“A note?”

“Isn’t it the done thing to leave a note when one runs off to elope?”

“Elope?”

“My, but I did not realize you made such an excellent parrot, Dr. McCullom.” Ian’s mouth snapped shut at her amused comment. “I love you, Ian,” she continued more soberly. “And I know you don’t find the prospect of marriage to me abhorrent in the least. I know you care about me; I see it in the way you watch me when you think I am not paying attention, how you are so thoughtful, and how you gift me with your cherished childhood possessions.” She pulled his small book from a deep pocket in her skirts and held it out to him. The sight of the battered cover made his chest throb. “Or have I read you incorrectly?”

“You know I want you,” he began roughly; “but we simply are not meant to be. You were born to be someone’s gently bred wife, not the partner of a man who works long hours for a living. Fate never would have started us on such different paths if our lives were ever meant to intersect.”

“Why can I not decide one thing for myself?” Juliette demanded. “All my life, I have been groomed and sheltered, but I knew all the while something was missing. You showed me what it meant to have meaning in one’s life. Real meaning. Is it really so bad if I decide you are my destiny?” Ian’s arm darted out and he pulled her roughly to him, but she continued to speak as her powdery hands curled in his lapels. “I want to help you realize your dreams. I want to travel with you as you make the world a better place. We’ll go to the Continent where you learned your techniques. We will live in foreign lands and put our linguistic skills to the test.”

Heart racing, Ian knew he had to temper her excitement. “Your life would be very different than the one to which you have grown accustomed; your brother may never forgive you or welcome you home with open arms again.”

There was a flicker of pain in her eyes which told him she’d considered all of this and had weighed her choice with no little amount of effort. “Despite what you say, I know you are no pauper; I trust with my whole heart that you will provide a safe, comfortable life for both of us. I will be home wherever you are, whether it be Scotland, London, or Constantinople.

“As for Ethan…he will undoubtedly be furious with me, but I do not doubt in my heart that he will eventually forgive me. We are two halves of the same whole; neither can live too long without the other. Besides, I expect he will come to terms with the fact that a happy sister is far preferable to a miserable one beneath his thumb.” Juliette’s hand slid up Ian’s chest, past his cravat, and the pad of her thumb traced the line of his jaw and then the curve of his lower lip, igniting a heat deep within his loins. “ Tha gaol agam ort ,” she whispered in Gaelic, thrilling him beyond reason. I love you. “And,” she added in English; “I have taken the choice out of your hands. If my reputation hadn’t been tattered before, it is well and truly obliterated now. You have no choice but to make things right, do the honorable thing, and keep me as yours forever.”

His heart incredibly light in his chest, Ian finally bowed his head to capture Juliette’s mouth with his. Their lips and teeth and tongue met with furious need built up over the past several weeks.

“What have I ever done to deserve you,” Ian murmured against her lips.

Breath unsteady, she pressed her forehead to his. “Consider it a reward for all the lives you have saved, and have yet to save.”

Ian threw back his head and laughed before kissing her once again. He easily swept her slight frame up into his arms and quit the room to head for the stairs. However, their progress was stopped quite abruptly by the sight of Ian’s mother blocking their way, hands on her hips, a stern tilt to her mouth, though her eyes twinkling with barely contained joy.

“Now, it’s all well and fine that you’re planning on gettin’ married, but you’ll not be doing anything untoward beneath ma roof.” She eyed her son. “No matter how old Ian is, I am still his mother. You can wait a couple of days until we’re able tuh have a proper ceremony. As me only son, you at least owe me a wedding.” Ian felt Juliette’s arms tighten around his neck. “Ye don’t need to wait for the banns to be read in Scotland, but ye need to postpone everything ‘til after Sunday.”

Ian emitted an uncharacteristically pained groan; the woman in his arms laughed melodiously and rubbed a conciliatory hand on his chest.