that you have the manners of a gentleman. She’s just left for Edinburgh and expressly asked me to convey to you that she would like you gone before she returns. She’s not the only one who’s anxious for your departure. The Earl of Burfield feels the same way.”
The Earl of Burfield. That was a laugh. Jennifer’s brother had always been an idiot. In the past few years he’d coupled his idiocy with being an ass.
“I might add that your father agrees.”
Was he supposed to be surprised at that news? He and Sean had clashed ever since he was a child.
“Maybe my father and Harrison want me gone,” Gordon said, “but not Jennifer.”
Just last night they’d met at the loch, spent hours talking, and ended the night by kissing. She couldn’t have changed her mind in a matter of hours. Not Jennifer.
“She’s not going to return from Edinburgh until you’re gone. Your father has packed your belongings, McDonnell. The sooner you’ve left, the better for everyone. You’ve been a disruptive influence around here for too long. Unfortunately, the countess didn’t agree with my assessment of you.”
Evidently, he had one more reason to be grateful to the countess.
“Neither of your parents have expressed a wish to see you before you leave. Nor has the earl. There’s a carriage at the front door. It will take you to Inverness.”
“I’m not leaving until I talk to Jennifer.”
McBain approached him slowly. “Understand this, McDonnell, Lady Jennifer doesn’t want anything to do with you now or in the future.”
Gordon faced the older man down. He was nearly a foot taller and bigger than the advocate. He wasn’t intimidated.
When he didn’t speak, McBain continued. “She regrets meeting you at the loch, McDonnell, and allowing you to kiss her. Is that plain enough for you? Face it, man. You were an amusement and now you’re not.”
McBain’s tone had softened, and there was something that sounded like pity in his voice.
Had he been wrong? Was it possible that Jennifer felt that way? No, McBain was an idiot to think he’d believe that of Jennifer.
The advocate returned to his desk, reached into the drawer, and pulled out a stack of notes. Gordon immediately knew what they were. He and Jennifer left notes for each other all over Adaire Hall. In the coop, in the forks of a tree they’d learned to climb just beyond the house, in a loose brick in the fireplace in a room adjacent to the schoolroom—anywhere they could find that would be private. If Gordon couldn’t meet Jennifer after his work was done, or if she couldn’t join him because of her obligations, they always communicated with each other.
Jennifer told him recently that she’d kept all of his notes to her, that she considered them precious.
No longer, evidently.
McBain amused himself by reading some of them aloud. The silly poetry Gordon had written for Jennifer seemed even more foolish now.
It was the ultimate act of betrayal.
McBain didn’t say a word as Gordon left the study. Less than an hour later he was in the carriage on the way to Inverness, a letter to the bank in his pocket detailing his bequest. For the first time in his life he had some wealth, but it was balanced by the empty feeling in his chest.
May, 1867
Adaire Hall, Scotland
It had taken nearly three months to get the information Jennifer needed, but now that she had it, she sat at her secretary staring down at the blank piece of stationery.
How could she possibly write this letter?
How could she not?
Ever since Gordon had disappeared, she’d been filled with anger, despair, and disillusionment. For two years there’d been no word. No inkling if Gordon was alive or dead. She didn’t know whether to wish him to perdition or pray for his safety.
Some months ago her brother had let something slip, and she’d had the first hint that Gordon hadn’t left the Hall of his own accord.
All he’d said was, “McBain got rid of the bastard.”
When she’d questioned him further, all he’d said was, “McDonnell isn’t coming back. Ever.”
“What do you mean, he’s never coming back?”
Harrison hadn’t answered her. Nor had Sean been any more forthcoming. All he’d said was, “The boy wanted more from life than Adaire Hall. More fool he.”
Consequently, she’d written Mr. McBain asking him how, exactly, Gordon had chosen to leave Adaire Hall. Mr. McBain hadn’t answered her questions, either, which was all she needed to know. Something had happened. Something had precipitated Gordon’s departure.