Finding Miss McFarland (18 page)

It would have been just as cowardly to taunt a boy like Buckley for his missing arm.

As a child, Griffin had been taught to revere his elders and hadn’t once questioned his mistreatment. In fact, he never told his parents, because he’d been brought so low by his great-uncle that he feared they would also see him as a disappointment.

It was strange to imagine he’d ever felt that way. In this moment, it was as if his eyes were finally open. A change had come over him in recent weeks. It had been so gradual that he’d hardly noticed it. Yet now, he actually felt it stirring inside him.

Fearlessness.

It was bound to happen, he supposed. After all, he’d had an excellent tutor in Delaney McFarland. He credited the beginning of this change to the moment she’d shared with him her hopes for Warthall Place. However, he suspected it had started much sooner. Because of her, he felt strong enough to stand up to the great-uncle who’d been a vicious bully to him whenever they’d been alone together.

“Pity, you say?” He scoffed, and a bit of masticated egg flew onto the table. “You who cannot find a wife willing to accept you for fear of crippled offspring.”

The insult made it no farther than the bit of egg. In fact, Griffin laughed. “Your condescension has no effect on me. I have been liberated beyond your reach and no longer care for your opinion, good or otherwise.”

“How d-dare you s-speak to me in s-such a—” The earl’s words died suddenly. At the sound of his own stammering, his face went ghostly white.

“Do not worry, Uncle. You will receive no abuse from me. Perhaps I’ll even hire a nurse to take care of you until your . . .
ailment
subsides,” Griffin said with a satisfied grin. Without permission, he approached the table and laid the reports he’d brought down on the corner. “And make no mistake,” he added with utter certainty before he quit the room. “
I
am the selective one, and I’ll choose the wife best suited to me, not one who must live up to your impossible standards.”

And he had the perfect candidate in mind.

“F
orgive me for beaming so, Miss McFarland,” Phoebe Croft said as their small group walked the lovely grounds at Springwood House. “I’m still in a state of shock that you chose to join us today.”

“But it’s a very pleased state of shock,” Asteria added.

“I don’t know why,” Bree said with her own grin, as if she shared a confidence with the twins. “After all, it wasn’t your brother who asked. He’s the only person she avoids.”

Delaney gave her sister a hard look. She didn’t want anyone to make too much of her acceptance of Calliope’s invitation. Regardless, she wouldn’t insult them either by telling them the reason was because she had no prior engagements. Besides, even she knew it was more than that. Agreeing to accompany his sisters was the closest she’d come to acknowledging her emerging feelings for Griffin Croft.

Emerging feelings
? She couldn’t lie to herself. The way she felt for him had already surfaced. Only . . . she was too afraid to admit them aloud.

“True. By accepting our invitation, however, your sister is demonstrating a great deal of bravery,” Calliope said, tucking a book of sonnets into a pocket sewn into her blue striped day dress.

“I wouldn’t call it bravery.” Delaney gave a self-derisive laugh. “It isn’t as if you’re a fearsome lot.”

“Oh, but it’s true,” Calliope said with sincere nod. “Griffin said himself that you were one of the bravest people he’s had the pleasure of knowing.”

Delaney might have stumbled if not for Phoebe’s steady arm linked with hers. “He said that about me?”

“Does that surprise you?” Asteria skipped ahead and turned around to face the group as she walked backward. “I don’t see why it would.”

“Well . . .” She hoped the sudden rush of elation didn’t show on her face. “He hardly knows me.”

“That isn’t true,” Bree added. “He’s known you since your debut and that was nearly fifteen months ago. Paulette Hornsby had only known Mr. Lassiter for three days before they were betrothed.”

“Who said anything about betrothal?” Delaney stopped in her tracks, her breath coming up short. She looked to her sister and to each of the Croft women in order to make her point. “Please do not imagine I have any designs or inclinations where Mr. Croft is concerned.”

“Of course not,” Calliope said in a rush. Out of the corner of her eye, Delaney saw Phoebe give Bree’s sleeve a tweak. “I’m sure your sister was merely making an observation. We are all friends, are we not?”

“We can certainly have a pleasant visit away from the pressure of the Season,” Asteria added. “I say we spend the rest of the time talking about the matches that have been made thus far. Phoebe and I have a list. It used to be Calliope’s, but we’ve added to it.”

“A list?” That sparked Delaney’s interest.

“Oh yes, complete with names of all ne’er-do-wells, rakes, and—”

“Fortune hunters?”

Beside her, Phoebe frowned. “Now, that I think on it, I believe we left the list at home. Didn’t we, Asteria?”

Her sister nodded. A look of some mysterious understanding passed between them. “Then perhaps we can all walk to the Gingerbread Cottage.”

“A gingerbread cottage! What fun,” Bree said with a clap.

Calliope smiled. “It isn’t really made of gingerbread, of course. When Griffin and I were little, we used to sneak gingerbread out of our aunt’s house and eat it in secret. Over time, when the twins discovered us—and even more recently, with Tess—the small cottage on the property became known as the Gingerbread Cottage.”

“It’s a very snug structure but tall,” Phoebe said. “I think we can all crowd inside. Would you like to see it?”

Delaney nodded. “I’m too curious by half not to see it. It’s a shame we don’t have a few pieces of your cook’s delicious gingerbread to enjoy.”

She waited for one of them to make a reference to it being Griffin’s favorite as well. Thankfully, no one did.

“That is a wonderful idea. Perhaps our aunt has some gingerbread or biscuits for us,” Phoebe said. “Asteria and I will hurry back to the house to check and meet you there.”

Calliope looked up at the sky. “You’d best make haste, for I believe Mother was right. It does look like rain.”

The twins were off in a flash of pastel pink and yellow.

“I hope Mother doesn’t catch them holding their skirts so high,” Calliope added with a laugh before she turned and pointed further down the path. “The cottage is just up ahead and around that thicket of trees.”

It was a quaint little wood on the Springwood lands, and Delaney found herself immensely glad to have accepted the invitation. Yet she had to admit that she was disappointed—in a very small degree, of course—that her path hadn’t crossed with Mr. Croft’s, other than from the view through the carriage window. In fact, she’d hoped for an accidental sighting of those lake-water eyes.

And just as the thought of water entered her thoughts, a single fat raindrop fell on her nose. She looked up. Yes, it did indeed look like rain.

Bree gasped and wiped a drop from her cheek. “I didn’t dress for the rain, and these are new slippers.”

Delaney hadn’t expected rain either. Being too warm, she’d left her spencer and hat in the house. “It is only a spring rain, more likely to diminish before you’d make it back to the house.”

“True,” Calliope said.

Bree shook her head and stared at Griffin’s sister with the strangest intensity. “I want to go back to the house, but I would feel strange returning without a member of the family with me. Surely, Delaney could go on alone and wait for . . .
us
. You said yourself that the cottage is just up ahead. And then, after the rain has stopped, we may all gather for a celebration of sorts.”

A celebration picnic? Delaney wondered what Bree could possibly want to celebrate here at Springwood House with the Croft sisters. But before she could inquire, Calliope spoke.

“That is the perfect idea. More perfect than even I could have planned.” A slow smile spread over Calliope’s face as if a taper had suddenly been lit inside her. She reached forward and squeezed Bree’s hand before she faced Delaney. “We will join you right after the rain stops. And please, make yourself comfortable. Our aunt usually keeps a blanket and a small stack of wood inside.”

Delaney felt her brow pucker as the exchange grew stranger by the moment. “If what you say is true, then we are all closer to the cottage than to the house. Surely if we—”

Calliope interrupted her and took a step backward in the direction of the house. “This is Pamela’s shawl. If I return it wet, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“We must hurry!” Bree said with a bright grin on her face as well.

Very peculiar. And somewhat suspicious. Yet Delaney was too curious to see the cottage, where Griffin had played as a child, to argue.

Then, no sooner had they set off in opposite directions than a sudden gust blew through the trees. Looking up at the sky, Delaney noticed that it had darkened considerably. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be a typical spring rain after all.

She had her answer within the next thirty steps. Her green muslin was no match for the swirling wind or the heavy drops that started to fall. By the time she reached the small stone cottage, nestled in a thicket of birch trees, she was quite thoroughly drenched.

F
ive miles down the road from his uncle’s, Griffin stopped cold beneath the arched entry to his aunt’s house. “You left her out in this?”

Calliope had rushed to open the door the instant he’d jumped off his horse. Now, she was standing just inside the foyer, with worry in her pleading gaze. “We never expected a storm. It was only supposed to be a short spring rain. And besides, she isn’t
out
in it. I assume she made it the cottage.”

“You
assume
!” Now worry lanced through him. A river of water poured from the brim of his hat. It was pointless to waste another moment talking to his sister. “I’m going after her.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

N
estled securely in the thicket of trees, the tiny cottage had managed to stay quite dry. Delaney, however, had not. When she’d first arrived, she was dripping from head to foot all over the hard-packed clay floor.

Calliope had been right on several accounts. The cottage was quite snug and clean as well. A single chair—sturdy but old and flecked with aged red paint—stood by a crescent-shaped fireplace recessed into the stone wall. A basket of firewood and kindling lay at the hearth with a cloth-wrapped bundle of tinder and flint. And a fringed blanket was draped over a peg on the wall.

As the spring rain turned into a storm outside, Delaney made herself more comfortable and started a fire. Yet even then, she couldn’t remove the chill that covered her from head to toe. Her clothes were still dripping wet. She couldn’t very well stand before the fire, expecting her clothes to dry quickly. They needed to be wrung out.

Shivering, she looked outside to the raging storm. Surely neither Bree nor Calliope would venture out in this. And who knew how long the storm would last? Delaney wasn’t about stand there with her teeth chattering the whole time. She stripped out of her dress, petticoat, shoes, and stockings, leaving her clad in only her somewhat dry chemise. She hoped that by the time the rain stopped, her clothes would be dry. To make sure of it, she retrieved a few fallen branches from outside the door, hung her clothes across them, and positioned each by the fire to dry.

When that was all settled, she took the blanket off the peg, gave it a good shake out the door, and then wrapped it around her body, tossing one end over her shoulder and fashioning it like a tartan.

Immensely pleased with her ingenuity, Delaney laughed and spun in a circle. “Anyone who ever doubted my ability to manage the rest of my life on my own should see me now.”

A rumble of thunder answered, causing another shiver to race through her. Moving across the room, she opened the narrow door to appraise the storm. That was the moment, she realized, that it was not thunder she’d heard after all. It was a horse and rider.

And none other than Griffin Croft.

Delaney’s heart raced. What was he doing here? He couldn’t find her. Not like this.

She shrank back from the door, her hand holding the blanket in place. She was suddenly very aware of how it only draped to her knees and left one shoulder exposed, revealing the strap of her chemise.

In a panic, she looked around the room. There had to be something she could use to make herself more presentable or to hide her altogether. And yet, there was nothing. Her clothes were still drying. Even if they weren’t wet, she didn’t have time to don so much as her petticoat.

His horse stopped directly in front of the cottage, and he leapt down in a rush. Water sluiced from his hat and clothes as he hastily tied the reins around a low-hanging branch.

Frozen in dread, all she could do was stand there and watch as he turned and saw her.

T
he moment he glimpsed Delaney McFarland’s bare feet, Griffin halted midstride. Slowly, his gaze traveled up over her slender ankles and shapely calves, to the edge of the russet blanket. He should have looked away, but he simply couldn’t. Greedily, perhaps foolishly, he continued to drink in the sight past the curve of her hips and to that delectably small bosom swathed in a gather of fabric that draped temptingly over one shoulder. Her other shoulder was all but nude, dressed only in a scrap of transparent silk that matched the creamy skin bared to him. Lightning swift arousal tore through him, thickening his blood and making his heart pound hard, laboring for every beat.

Those pink lips formed a round O of astonishment. Her untamable hair framed her face. A few dark curling tendrils stuck to her cheeks and neck, revealing their wetness.

Coming to his senses, he took a step forward to get out of the rain.

However, he hadn’t enough sense to duck his head and collided with the stone frame of the door, hard enough that he heard the thud of his forehead cracking against it. He staggered back a step. In fact, he might have fallen if not for Delaney’s sudden grip on his waistcoat.