Chapter Sixteen

T he day had dragged on while Willamina and Finlay were confined to the carriage. The road to Inverness was long and extremely bumpy. Her bottom was sore and by the time their carriage stopped and she was able to get out and stretch her legs, she nearly broke down in tears from the relief.

Beside her Finlay held back a chuckle at her plight. "I shall see to a pillow for ye to sit upon for the ride on the morrow," he jested.

She rolled her eyes as she took the arm he offered and they entered the inn. "I dinna recall the ride to Edinburgh to be so uncomfortable, but I had much on my mind to keep me thinking of other things. I also stopped more often. I didna feel like hastening my arrival," she confessed.

"I can understand that. Mayhap I shouldna have pushed so much today. I thought only one night on the road would be better than multiple."

"'Tis fine." She let go of Finlay's arm while he checked them in and took the time to look around the cozy entry. The wood floors were covered in woven rugs and the walls were papered in blue and gold birds. Off to the right, there appeared to be a dining room. To the left, a set of stairs that she assumed would lead them to their room.

"Welcome, my lord, lady. If ye will follow me I shall show ye to your room," the man behind the desk snapped his fingers and a footman rushed forward, picked up their overnight bags, and waited for them to ascend the stairs before him.

"I have saved a corner room for ye, my lord. 'Tis out of the way and should be quiet for ye both. Dinner will be served in a few hours if ye are hungry." He inserted the key into the lock and twisted, then pushed the door open and stepped aside. "I have taken the initiative to have wine brought in and set up." He gestured to a table containing the decanter and glasses. "If ye require anything else, please call for me." The man bowed and once the porter set down their bags, they left the room, shutting the door behind them.

Willamina studied the large bed. It wasn't as large as the bed they had at Rosewood Manor, but it appeared to be big enough that she could still set up some type of barrier to separate them.

As if reading her mind, Finlay walked over to her and tipped her on the nose. "Ye ken, I can control myself without whatever barrier ye construct betwixt us." He gave her a smile and went to pour himself a glass of wine. "Would ye like one?"

"Please." Barrier forgotten for now, she joined him at the square mahogany table set in the corner, though she remained standing. "We have been stuck sitting for so long, I just want to stretch my legs." She sipped from her glass; the wine was good, even if it was on the slightly bitter side. There was one window in the room and she made her way over to it to gaze outside.

Below them, the street bustled with life. A constant stream of people walked by and she was thankful that they were not on the first floor. Not that they couldn't close the drapes, they could, of course, but she liked seeing outside.

"Are ye nervous about returning home?"

She pressed her lips together. Was nervous the right word? Nay. "I canna say nervous. Trepidatious, mayhap? I wonder how I will be received once word gets out that I have returned." As much as she loved Inverness, and as miserable she was when she'd left, she still hadn't wanted to leave.

She would be happy, holed up in Warton House, whilst she tried to ignore the world going on around her. It wouldn't take long for people to realize she had come back. Or that she was remarried. Especially if Clarice or Viola returned before she and Finlay arrived. And since her husband was someone of influence, higher in title than her late husband, she expected some of her old friends to trip over themselves trying to get back in her good graces. But she had no intentions of falling for that. If they could leave her when she was her most vulnerable, then they were no friends of hers.

Just as Finlay had told her. Funny how she could see it now. Back when they'd abandoned her, she had been too hurt to see it as anything other than a failure on her part.

The snobbiness of society and how people could turn from loving you to shunning you on the turn of a pence was tiring. It was not something she enjoyed, so she was in no rush to enter back into it.

"I always found it amazing how fast news made its way around the city," he quipped. "'Twas as if there were messenger pigeons on each windowsill, just waiting and ready to send the news along to whoe'er was interested."

She nodded. Too many times she had been the topic of such gossip. She didn't want to be thrust into that position again.

Finlay clasped his hands together. "Shall we get ready for dinner?"

After they had filled their bellies with some delicious food, they had returned to their room and Willamina was faced with the same dilemma she thought about earlier.

Barrier or no barrier?

She trusted Finlay, wholeheartedly. But the longer they stayed together, the more she lost trust in herself.

As she dressed for bed, Finlay took up his usual position of staring into the flames of the fire until she was under the covers, and she told him she was ready.

His smile lit up the room when he saw that she hadn't constructed a wall to separate them. But he didn't say anything about it. Just walked to his side of the bed and kicked off his boots before unbuttoning his trousers and sliding them down his hips, baring his buttocks to her.

She enjoyed this nightly ritual. Mayhap more than she should. She was sure that he knew she watched him, but he never said anything to her. He slipped his shirt over his head, the light playing off the planes of his muscles, and then snuffed the candle before slipping into bed.

And every night, she listened to his breathing even out and slow. He fell asleep so easily. She was a bit jealous of that. She had never been much of a sleeper. But it allowed her to watch him all the while fighting the urge to reach out and stroke his strong jaw. To push her hands through his hair.

She sighed, settling into her pillow, wondering how long she would be able to fight her feelings for her husband.

*

Night had fallen when they finally arrived at Warton House. Candles lit the windows and the house seemed to be alive. It didn't appear to be abandoned as Willamina worried. Gil must have ensured that the staff stayed on board while she was away.

Or, he had hired them back once she wed and learned she would be returning.

Finlay noticed her breathing had quickened the closer they got to her estate.

With a hand on her knee, Finlay leaned in and whispered, "Relax. No one kens ye are back yet. All will be well."

She nodded and gave him a small smile before wringing her hands in her lap once again. "The house does appear to be awaiting our arrival."

He patted her leg. "Indeed it does. Shall we?"

Her eyes darted back and forth between the house, the interior of the carriage and Finlay. As he waited for her to prepare herself for her return, he studied the house. Taking in what he could see in the torchlit yard.

It was built of gray stone, and appeared to be three stories. The outside was rather plain with two steps leading to the front door, which was painted red. No other real discerning designs were apparent. Mayhap he would see more in the light of day.

Willamina took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through her teeth. "I believe I am ready."

He pushed the door of the carriage open and exited before turning and offering her his hand for assistance.

Her eyes swept the house, and her hesitancy rolled off her body in waves. Finlay understood that. From everything she had previously said, any happy memories she may have had here were far and few between. It was one of the reasons he insisted they come—to replace the bad with the good. No one should harbor hard feelings perpetually. They had a way of eating one up from the inside out. 'Twas not a healthy way to live.

He bent to her and whispered in her ear encouragingly, "Take all the time ye need. I'm here." Whether his presence offered her any solace, he knew not, but he hoped so.

As eager as he was to get off the street and inside the house, Willamina was not. He studied her face. The plethora of emotions playing across it was heartbreaking and for a moment he wondered if he'd made a mistake in insisting that they honeymoon here.

With a final heave of breath, she squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and moved forward. She paused at the door before turning the knob and walking inside, and he followed on her heels.

The entry was high-ceilinged and bright. An older man rushed forward from one of the back rooms to greet her. "My lady," he looked over his shoulder up the stairs, concern creasing his already wrinkled brow, surprise making his eyes wide. "We werena expecting ye this eve."

"Aye, Harold. Good eve. I apologize for not sending advance notice. We planned this visit at the last moment." She paused, and then her cheeks flushed. "Och, my manners. Harold, please meet my husband, Finlay Primrose, Earl of Rosebery."

"My lord," the butler dipped his head in greeting.

"I am sure ye need some time to freshen things up at such late notice, so Finlay and I shall wait in the parlor. If you could have Mrs. Fitz bring tea and whatever might be available to eat. 'Tis been a long journey and an e'en longer day."

"My lady, er," Harold looked nervously toward the stairs again.

Finlay got the feeling that something wasn't right. He narrowed his eyes as he assessed the butler. Mayhap he was the only staff on hand. "Harold, if ye are alone, we can make the tea. 'Tis no issue."

"Nay, my lord." The poor man looked a tinge green in the collar.

Finlay narrowed his eyes. "Whate'er is the issue, then?" he asked, genuinely curious as to what was happening. "Do ye require more time to ready the room?"

"N-nay."

Finlay was beginning to think that the butler suffered from some type of affliction that prevented him from speaking any words other than nay suddenly.

"Then what is it?"

Willamina had cocked her head to the side as she studied her butler. "Truly, Harold. What seems to be the issue?"

The man cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I am afraid that I canna ready your room at this time, my lady."

Willamina nodded as if she understood. "'Tis of the late hour. I understand."

"I dinna think ye do, my lady. Ye see—"

"Harold!" A male voice called from above. "What is this ruckus that I am hearing?"

Willamina stiffened at his side, her eyes wide in shock, her face suddenly void of all color.

"Mina?" he put his arm around her shoulders to steady her as she began to sway for fear she may faint.

A man in a night robe appeared at the top of the stairs, his hands on his hips. "What the hell is going on down there, Harold?"

"Gerard," Willamina gasped, and went limp in his arms.

Gerard? As in her husband? Her dead husband?