The Holly and the Ivy, page 19
Isaac cleared his throat. He had bought the ribbons for her. He’d been coming back after months away, and the ribbons were part of his plan to get into Kirstine’s good graces. After all, she was the sister to one of his best friends. It wouldn’t have been inappropriate to give her a gift. If anything, he should have done it sooner.
“They weren’t for anyone I was planning on courting. Not unless you count simply trying to get into one’s good graces as courtship.”
“So a lassie has caught your eye.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“What is it like, then?”
He squinted one eye. He may as well tell her. It couldn’t be more awkward than giving them to her, and he had already made plans to do that. “They were for you.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head to one side.
“Yes,” he said. And his voice was steady as he said it.
“Were they pretty?”
He smiled. “Very pretty. I will show you when we get back home.” Home. Glenbeath. With Kirstine’s arm wrapped around his as they whispered in conversation, that word held meaning for the first time. Home. Where he and Kirstine would be friends.
After browsing the store, they left. Once again he opened the door and put his hand at her back as they crossed the street. “The carriage should be coming any moment. Perhaps you should sit down.” Walking around in her condition couldn’t be easy.
“The last thing I want to do is sit. There will be plenty of sitting once we are in the carriage.”
“But you must be . . .” He stopped. His hand was at her back, his attention careful as they crossed the street.
“I must be what?”
“Nothing.” He was a fool. Somehow he had gotten so used to seeing her with whatever it was placed over her abdomen that he had forgotten she was, in fact, a spry young woman in no need of help navigating puddles or making it through doorways.
She narrowed her eyes. “You do remember that my condition isn’t real.”
“Of course.” Of course he knew that. He had simply gotten a bit too involved in their role-playing.
“I don’t need to sit down.”
He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “I know.”
“Even when I am in such a condition someday, I’ll be able to stand around waiting for a carriage without trouble.”
“I know. I know.” With one last tug, he dropped his hand from behind his neck. He was a bumbling idiot. “Forget I said anything.”
But Kirstine wasn’t the type to let something like that go unnoticed. “Did you think my back might be hurting me?” She leaned forward so her nose was only a few inches from his chin. “Or perhaps my joints were getting loose?” Her eyebrows rose, and the corners of her lips quirked up. “If I were your wife, it would have been right kind of you.”
“If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you get away with laughing at me.”
“Ah, you would rule with an iron fist, would you?”
“No.” He leaned slightly forward. “But if my wife came laughing at me, with freckles on that pert nose of hers, and triumph on that mouth—”
Her grin turned into a laugh. “You’d what? Turn her over your knee?”
“No.” His eyes went to her lips. It would only take a whisper of a touch to quiet her laughing. Perhaps she would laugh at him even more for taking their game of pretend too far once again. But if she were his wife and she came to him like this, smiling, laughing, or even crying as she had been in the carriage earlier, he would kiss her.
He would kiss her as if his life depended on it.
Blood rushed into his ears, and he swallowed. This was not how he was supposed to act around Kirstine. They had an agreement. He was helping her get to England. And she didn’t even trust him enough to tell him what she was hiding. But he couldn’t make himself step away. If anything, he swayed closer to her, some irresistible pull making it impossible to do anything else.
Kirstine stepped back, her laughter gone and her eyes wide. Her mouth formed a straight line, one he wasn’t used to seeing on her. His thoughts must have been very apparent. He turned away from her, not allowing himself to betray any more wayward thoughts.
They stood in silence. Down the road he saw their carriage jostle forward. He risked another glance at Kirstine just as the corners of her mouth quirked up into a smile.
“I’m glad to hear you won’t mistreat your wife.”
“I didn’t tell you what I would do.”
“You didn’t need to.” The carriage pulled to a stop in front of them. Matthew jumped down and opened the carriage door. Kirstine turned to Isaac before stepping forward. “I think you will make a fine husband someday.”
He followed her into the carriage. Kirstine groaned and held her stomach, then put a hand behind her to carefully lower herself to the seat. Mrs. Jamieson put an arm on her in concern. “Are you feeling all right, my dear?”
Kirstine gave him a wink. “It is rather uncomfortable riding in a carriage all day in my condition.”
Mrs. Jamieson furrowed her brows.
Isaac sat down with a huff. “Don’t mind that granddaughter of yours. She is simply mocking me.”
Mrs. Jamieson’s forehead relaxed. “Well, that is all right, then. A little teasing never hurt anyone.”
There was plenty of laughter, only some of it at his expense, during the rest of the drive. His faux pas was ruthlessly brought up anytime Kirstine pretended to be uncomfortable, but she didn’t mention, or even allude to, his more serious blunder. If she could forget the fact that he had thought about kissing her, then so could he.
Almost.
His eyes did come to settle more often on her mouth—had it always been so impish and expressive? But only when she wasn’t looking—at least, he hoped that was the case.
Granny spent the journey recounting stories of Stephen and Kirstine’s escapades, all of which Mrs. Jamieson remembered with acute accuracy. When she started on the story of how Kirstine stole Stephen’s boots and gun, Isaac had the pleasure of retelling that one from Stephen’s point of view. By the time he was done, tears were streaming down Kirstine’s face. But this time, he had made her cry from laughter.
He leaned back against the carriage and straightened his shoulders. To make a woman cry twice in one day wasn’t something he should be proud of, but somehow he was.
Chapter Nine
It was their third day in a carriage, and finally Mr. Parker and Granny were both asleep at the same time. Kirstine could study his face at her leisure. They had been in the carriage only an hour this morning. Had Mr. Parker had a hard time sleeping? She hadn’t even teased him about their room arrangements, like she had at the previous inn.
Mr. Parker had his head pressed against the window. He slept soundlessly, a bit of rosy color staining his cheek. Was it from the cold? Each side of the carriage had a heavy wool blanket, but once again, he had handed his coat off to Granny to use as a cushion for her head. He had offered his suit jacket for Kirstine to use, but she wasn’t about to let the man freeze in his shirtsleeves so that her head could be more comfortable.
They had passed Gretna Green not long ago, and any minute now, they would be on English soil. As soon as they made it to Bripond, she and Granny would proceed to Grandad’s grave, and she would finally be rid of her loaf.
It was about time she told Mr. Parker exactly what she was hiding. He had proved himself to be more than useful on the journey. It was hard to continue to hate someone once you knew more about him. Somewhere along the journey, he had become a soul, with hopes, dreams, and kind eyes. Hating the man who continually gave his coat to Granny was impossible, even for someone as hardheaded as Kirstine was.
A carriage rushed past them going the opposite direction. The horses jostled, and Mr. Thompson cursed loud enough for her to hear through the carriage roof. Mr. Parker jerked awake, his eyes searching out the window to find the source of the commotion. Was it some English couple running off to Scotland to get married over the anvil? She smirked. They were running to Scotland to escape English law, and she was running to England to escape—well, not Scottish law anymore. Not for the past one hundred years. But Scottish sensibilities.
What a strange world they lived in.
For all of their travel together, she and Mr. Parker had never spoken of what would take place once they arrived in Bripond. Kirstine and Granny would stay with Great-Aunt Gill for a week. Mr. Thompson and his carriage would return to Scotland, and she would hire a different one to take them home. It made the most sense for Mr. Parker to return home with Mr. Thompson. What would he do at Aunt Gill’s home for a week? Over the past few days of riding in a carriage together, silences had become more comfortable, but so had speaking.
“Mr. Parker, what are your plans once we reach Bripond? Mr. Thompson will be leaving to return to Dumfries. There won’t be a need for you to remain a part of our party.”
Mr. Parker pulled his face from the window and straightened. “Trying to rid yourself of me?”
Kirstine pulled an arm out from under her blanket and waved it aside. “Oh, I stopped doing that a day ago.”
The smile that broke out on Mr. Parker’s face should be banned in Scotland. It was definitely doing funny things to her chest. The two of them had spent much too much time confined in a carriage together. That was the only explanation.
“I just wonder what you will choose to do. I have interrupted your plans, and I feel it is my duty to make certain you can return to them as soon as possible. We can make up an excuse for why you need to return with Mr. Thompson. I’m not sure he is going to want to part with your footman as it is.”
“And we have established I cannot live without my footman.”
“Yes, I believe that was established.”
Mr. Parker leaned forward. “You know it isn’t true though. I didn’t have a footman with me on the continent.”
“I know. You only said that so—” She stopped.
“So I could spend time with you.”
The silence that suddenly filled the carriage was different from the previous comfortable ones. This one wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It was simply thicker, deeper, and held meaning.
Perhaps Mr. Parker had spent too much time in a carriage with her as well.
“You should stay in Bripond for a few days. Aunt Gill is a wonderful hostess and would be happy to have you.”
He tipped his head to one side. “And what would her niece think of having me?”
Granny snorted in her sleep, one side of her mouth quirking up. That sneaky woman. How many times had she pretended to be asleep so she could eavesdrop on the two of them?
Mr. Parker must have been thinking the same thing, for he reddened. “I mean, having me as a guest of her aunt’s, of course. I know what we have been doing is all pretend, even if at times I have gotten a bit confused.”
Confused? Did he mean the time his hand rested on her back as she crossed the street? Or did he mean something more? Did she want him to mean something more?
Granny’s foot slid on the carriage floor and kicked her toe. It was obvious Granny would be happy to see something more become of the two of them. How many times had she mentioned to Kirstine that the best marriages were those between a Scottish and an English partner? It keeps one on their toes, she would say.
Mr. Parker happened to be the only Englishman in their village, so of course Granny would push the two of them together if she had the chance. But that wasn’t all. Granny liked Mr. Parker for who he was. He was a gentleman, and despite Kirstine’s teasing him about smelling of biscuits and being prudish, something about his propriety and sense of duty was charming.
Charming. Was Mr. Parker trying to charm her?
Mr. Parker’s eyes went back and forth between her own. When enough time had passed that he must have been certain she wasn’t going to answer him, he settled against the back of his seat and closed his eyes.
Granny settled deeper under the blanket, and once again, the carriage was silent. Half an hour later, another carriage passed them at breakneck speed, confirming her suspicions that the first one had been a couple eloping. The second carriage was traveling at a faster pace, but the first was quite a bit ahead.
She didn’t know what to hope for, since she didn’t know those particular people’s story, but a little bit of her hoped the couple made it to Gretna Green in time.
As long as the groom was a gentleman.
Kirstine leaned forward. “I don’t think Aunt Gill’s niece would mind you staying for a few days. Perhaps . . .” She lowered her voice, even though Mr. Thompson was far above them atop the carriage. “You could celebrate Christmas with us.”
Her heart pounded. She had said nothing about Christmas to him. Her previous concerns about him telling Mr. Thompson about the Yule bread seemed ridiculous now. Of course Mr. Parker would never do anything to hurt Granny. But still, their trip being about Christmas had been a secret. And bringing Mr. Parker into her confidence made her nervous. Not because she couldn’t trust him but because she did.
The edges of Mr. Parker’s lips turned up, but he didn’t raise his head from the back of the carriage. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy, almost as if he were half asleep. “If I am invited to stay, then I will.”
Kirstine nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. How could the man sleep right now? Kirstine was more awake than she had been in years. She wanted to shake him and let him know that her invitation was important, that it meant something to her. How could he be so unaffected?
Mr. Parker swallowed, and the movement brought her eyes to his throat. With his head leaned back, each muscle and sinew of his neck was in clear contour, even in the dim carriage. Everything about him seemed to scream that he was completely relaxed, but his pulse told a different story.
It was racing faster than the carriages that had been on their way to Gretna Green.
Mr. Parker was better at pretense than she had given him credit for.
Chapter Ten
Isaac placed a hand underneath Kirstine’s elbow and helped her alight from the carriage. Her aunt’s home was a well-taken-care-of cottage on the outskirts of the small town of Bripond. The three days had flown by, and he was selfishly not ready to say goodbye to Kirstine. He followed behind Kirstine and Mrs. Jamieson. The two had locked arms and were making great time reaching the door. How would he go about getting an invitation to stay from Aunt Gill?
A crunching on the path behind him made him turn. Mr. Thompson, red with chapped cheeks from the cold ride, trotted up to him. “I don’t suppose there is a footman here ye could use? I could use the help of your man on the way back to Scotland.”
Isaac cleared his throat. He doubted Aunt Gill would have an extra footman lying about. “I can make do.”
Mr. Thompson’s face split into a smile, perhaps the first Isaac had seen on the man. “Thank you, sir. We will be off in the morning, and I will be staying at the inn in town if ye need anything until then. I’ll bring the luggage into the house.”
Mr. Thompson assumed he would be staying here. Of course he would. Why would a husband stay anywhere other than with his wife? Isaac had exactly one evening to convince this Aunt Gill that he was trustworthy enough to invite as a guest. Otherwise, he might as well be on his way back to Scotland.
He jogged forward to catch up to Kirstine and Mrs. Jamieson. Kirstine was holding her shawl in front of her, the way she had when she had first shown up at his door. This was to be the end of their ruse, then. She didn’t want her aunt to think she was increasing. He would finally hear what was so important that she had to hide it on their way to England. The door to the home opened just as he reached the bottom of the steps.
“Lucy!” a woman behind the housekeeper exclaimed. The two frail women rushed together and embraced. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“We would never miss our visit,” Mrs. Jamieson said. “It is the best time of the year.”
“Come in. Come in!” Kirstine’s aunt motioned for them all to come inside, out of the cold air. Isaac followed Kirstine and was enveloped in the warmth of the home. After over a week of traveling, first to Scotland and now back to England, it was comforting to imagine staying here for more than one night.
“And who is this strapping young man? Kirstine, have you gotten yourself married and not told your Aunt Gill about it?”
Kirstine glanced behind her to where Mr. Thompson and Matthew were unloading her trunk. A servant from the household had joined them. “No, Aunt Gill,” she whispered.
“No, you haven’t married, or no, you haven’t told me about it?”
The two men were headed toward them. Surely they would bring the trunk through the back entrance. Kirstine opened her mouth to speak but stopped. Mr. Thompson was within hearing distance, and they hadn’t come all this way only to have him figure out it was all a ruse now.
Aunt Gill motioned for everyone to step aside. “Our kitchen and back entrance are undergoing some renovations. I’m afraid we will have to allow the trunks to come in this way. Now, what were you saying, Kirstine?”
Mr. Thompson turned to the housekeeper, who was still standing by the door. “Where would you like Mr. and Mrs. Parker’s trunks?”
Aunt Gill’s eyes widened at that, and Kirstine glanced around fran-tically. She had obviously planned on letting their pretend marriage end before setting foot in this door. Really, Mr. Thompson was the only person she was concerned about convincing, but why? What was so important that she would risk her reputation by traveling as though she were married and expecting a child?
