Chapter Twenty-Three

The wager was eventually won by the Reverend, and as he watched the Blackmore carriage clatter into the courtyard, less than four days later, he couldn't help reflecting that mayhap he knew his daughter a little better than he'd previously thought.

As soon as Grace was helped down from the carriage, Jennifer blinked back a sudden onset of tears and ran over to embrace her mother. Indeed, by the time they stepped apart, both women were crying unashamedly.

As Peter stepped forward to greet his father, he too felt like bursting into tears. Instead, he gave a small bow and held out his hand. But Nicholas was having none of it. Without saying a word, he stepped forward and enveloped his son in an embrace that spoke volumes. ‘That was the longest journey of my life,' he growled.

Grace turned towards Felicity who'd been hanging back, allowing their graces the time to reassure themselves that their offspring were not missing any limbs. The Duchess held out her hands, and with a smile, the matron stepped forward and clasped them in hers. ‘Thank God you were here, Felicity,' Grace breathed.

‘Err, excuse me, dearest Mama,' Jennifer objected, ‘I am not entirely bacon brained you know.'

Felicity laughed and gave the young woman an arch look. ‘I've taken the liberty of asking Mrs. Darroch to bring a pot of tea and some of the cook's wonderful shortbread into the sitting room,' she told Grace. ‘Though I think perhaps Nicholas might wish for something a little stronger by the time he's heard the whole story…'

Grace nodded gratefully. ‘I remember Mrs. Allen's shortbread,' she enthused. The three women linked arms and headed inside.

‘I don't need to have the whole story now,' Nicholas was saying to Peter and Malcolm, ‘but can you just tell me whether there is anything I need to be truly concerned about?'

Malcolm shook his head. ‘I dinnae think so, yer grace. Yer son here did ye proud.'

‘There is of course the slight problem of twenty-two children residing in the main stable,' Peter interrupted with a grin.

∞∞∞

It took them until late afternoon to relate the whole story, and at the end of it, her father was certainly paler than he had been when they started. However, all he'd said was, ‘Obviously, I don't like the idea of being held to ransom, especially by someone I have no knowledge of. Is this Duncan MacFarlane likely to keep to his promise?'

Malcolm shrugged. ‘I dinnae think he'll be any worse than Alistair MacFarlane.' Nicholas nodded slowly and turned to his son.

‘You handled things as I would have done,' he stated simply, and for that you have my thanks.' From his father, ever a man of few words, it was high praise indeed. Peter reddened slightly and sat a little taller in his chair.

‘Goodness, don't say anything further,' Jennifer laughed. ‘He won't be able to get his head through the door.'

‘You are equally deserving of my thanks, Jenny,' her father continued seriously. He paused before adding, ‘As are you Augustus, and you Felicity.' His voice had turned a little husky, and Grace gripped his hand tightly. ‘I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know that you've all come through such an ordeal unscathed and that Caerlaverock was and is in such capable hands.'

To Jennifer's relief, he said nothing about her impetuously taking off after the traitorous footman on her own, but she had no doubt the lecture would come…

‘Are ye ready fer a whisky yet, Nick?' Malcolm grinned, clapping his hand on his old friend's shoulder.

The Duke gave a rueful laugh and nodded. ‘So where is our new steward and his err … intriguing father?' he asked. ‘I had thought they would be here.'

‘I might call Dougal Galbraith many things,' the Reverend snorted, ‘but intriguing is definitely not one of them. Likely he's currently helping himself to some of Mrs. Allen's tablet.'

‘Brendon is down at the old boathouse I believe,' Jennifer added. Remembering the intimacy they'd shared there just two days earlier, she felt herself going pink and knew well her mother would not have missed it.

‘It hasn't been used in years,' Peter explained, ‘and the only reason the boat in there hasn't sunk is because it's resting on the bottom of the loch. I asked Brendon to make the whole thing safe in case any other waifs and strays should think to spend the night there.'

‘Are there any foundlings left in the area?' Nicholas questioned drily.

Jennifer drew in her breath. This was it. The perfect time to bring up her plan. She gripped her hands together nervously and gave a small cough. When all eyes had turned towards her, she swallowed and managed, ‘It's interesting you should say that, Papa… In truth, I… I've actually had an idea…'

∞∞∞

Both her parents had been cautiously optimistic about the idea of building a boarding school on the estate, providing someone could be found to manage such an ambitious project. Indeed, Jennifer was gratified when everyone in the room began enthusiastically contributing their opinions about the best way forward.

‘Have you asked Brendon Galbraith what he thinks about the idea?' the Duchess asked suddenly.

‘Naturally we have spoken about it,' Jennifer stammered, ‘but like you, he thinks it will take a lot of planning…'

‘Not to mention money,' her father added wryly.

‘I believe it's Brendon's wish to use some of the money from the jewellery found on Inveruglas to help fund the building work,' Jennifer clarified carefully. ‘But that's only if the jewels are found to be genuine, of course.'

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think I would like to talk to our new steward – sooner rather than later.' He turned to Peter. ‘Would you object if I asked him to finish his work for the day and return to the house to speak with me?'

Jennifer's heart slammed against her ribs. Peter was nodding his head. ‘I think it's an excellent idea,' he answered. ‘I'm certain you'll be most impressed with Brendon. Truly, Father, we could not have rescued the children without his help.'

‘Aye,' added Malcolm, ‘the lad's a rare one. I'd trust him wi' ma life. Indeed, I did – on several occasions. Ye'll like him, Nick.'

And though she desperately wished to be privy to the conversation, Jennifer found herself outside the room without quite knowing how she'd got there.

Damn, she'd forgotten how good her parents were at acting in unison when they wanted to be rid of someone…

Jennifer was drying her hair by the fire when there was a knock on the door. She'd been expecting it for some time. She had not seen Brendon, despite lurking upstairs on the landing while he was closeted in the sitting room with her father. She'd then spent the whole of her bath wondering what they had spoken about. Had she figured at all in the conversation? Somehow, she doubted it.

What she didn't doubt was her mother's absolute awareness of what she hadn't said – hence the knock.

Sighing, Jennifer climbed to her feet and went to the door. As she expected, her mother was standing on the other side. With a rueful smile, Jennifer stepped to one side, and her mother, every bit the Duchess, swept into the room. It was clearly going to be one of those conversations…

∞∞∞

‘She wishes to remain at Caerlaverock,' Grace declared, walking back into their bedchamber.

‘Why am I not surprised. I take it she also wishes to marry the steward?' Grace nodded, lying down on top of the bed next to him. In truth, she didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

‘What is he like?' she asked instead.

‘Honourable. In fact, if he had any more honour, he'd be unable to sit down.' Nicholas shook his head and sighed. ‘I'm being unfair. The truth is, I liked him. Very much. And had I not known he had designs on my daughter, I would be ecstatically happy to leave Caerlaverock in his capable hands.'

‘I think the boot is actually on the other foot,' his wife commented drily, ‘and be honest dearest, if Jennifer has set her heart on him, the poor love doesn't stand a chance.'

‘He's hardly what I'd hoped for,' Nicholas responded. ‘He lives in a rundown tower with his father, who is, according to Augustus, a mutton-headed chawbacon.'

‘Truly, it takes one to know one,' Grace answered tartly. She turned on to her side, facing her husband. ‘We've always known that Jenny would never settle for someone too high on the instep, and as difficult as it is to say this, we both know that Caerlaverock suits her. She's never looked so well.

"She doesn't want the life of an indolent aristocrat, Nick. She wants to make a difference.' She gave a general wave around the room. ‘Here, she can do that, and I believe Brendon Galbraith will stand right beside her.'

Nicholas was silent for a while, his eyes half closed, deep in thought. In truth, he'd long been troubled that he did not have more time to spend at Caerlaverock. The estate deserved much more attention than he was able to give it. A school for foundlings was an admirable idea. He was consumed with sudden awe for his spirited daughter. Truly, she was one of a kind.

He opened his eyes and turned his head towards Grace. ‘Caerlaverock was built on what was, once upon a time, Galbraith land,' he commented mildly. ‘Mayhap it's time the two families finally took possession together.'

∞∞∞

The next day, Nicholas sent for Jennifer just after breakfast. As she entered the room, seating herself gracefully opposite the desk at which he sat, Nicholas experienced a momentary pang. His daughter was a beautiful woman and would have been an asset to any drawing room in the land. Soon, he guessed, she would be attired in clothes much better suited to the lifestyle she'd chosen. Never again would she sparkle in the ballrooms of the ton…

Abruptly, Nicholas's thoughts screeched to a halt. What the bloody hell was he thinking? He couldn't even remember a ball where Jennifer had actually sparkled – except perhaps the one last November which had purportedly been held to remember the gunpowder plot over two hundred years earlier. As he remembered, Jennifer had set one of the drapes alight, and it had cost him a pretty penny to replace them – especially as the Baron in question was a penny-pinching, old toad-eater who'd last replaced the curtains at the coronation of King George III.

He found himself chuckling as Jennifer looked at him enquiringly. Strange how when one stopped trying to manipulate life, it very often worked out exactly as it was supposed to…

‘May ah remind ye that ah've nae actually asked ye tae marry me,' was Brendon"s comment an hour later."

Jennifer waved an airy hand. ‘No matter, I'm perfectly happy to do the asking,' she responded with a chuckle.

‘Ye'll dae nothin o' the sort,' he retorted, glaring down at her in outrage. ‘Ye tell me their graces hae given their permission, but they hae nae gaen it tae me. Ah'll speak wi' yer da this eenin…' He broke off with a whoomph as she threw herself at his chest. His lips quirked as he looked down at her, his eyes plainly revealing his happiness.

‘But dinnae be thinking ah'll be sharing yer bed until we be handfasted…'

∞∞∞

The handfasting took place a mere three weeks later. It was a simple ceremony during which both Brendon and Jennifer wrapped a piece of cloth around their clasped hands and declared their wish to be husband and wife in front of two witnesses.

Unfortunately perhaps, the two witnesses they chose were Brendon's da and Jennifer's grandfather. A muttering of, ‘Deuced heathen practices,' and, ‘Ah dinnae ken what the world be coming tae, wedding a bloody Sassenach,' certainly didn't do much to encourage the romance of the moment. Nevertheless, both men had to concede that they'd never seen a couple look so happy.

And while the wedding breakfast was suitably formal as befitted the marriage of the Laird of Caerlaverock's daughter, the ceilidh that came afterwards was anything but. Indeed, with Dougal's instruction, the Reverend discovered a hitherto unimagined flair for Highland dancing and what's more, he vowed to teach Agnes as soon as he was back home in Blackmore…