Page 3 of Death at a Highland Wedding (Rip Through Time #4)

THREE

While Alice repacks the linen closet, I go to help Isla change and settle in, as her “companion.” As soon as she releases me, I go in search of Gray. I have questions. Time to stop detecting and start asking.

I’m lucky enough to find Gray and McCreadie in the hall. Lucky because my only other option would have been to casually hang out until I heard one of their voices. I’m thinking of an excuse to speak to Gray alone when McCreadie saves me from the lie by saying he needs something from his room, and we can meet downstairs later.

“I need to speak to you,” I say. “In private… but not too private.”

He gives a soft sigh. A year ago, I’d have thought he was annoyed by the request. Now I understand it’s the “not too private” part that annoys him—the fact that we can’t even talk without risking scandal.

Both Gray and Isla chafe at the restrictions of their world, and while it’s tempting to enable that, I’ve learned that wouldn’t help them in the long run. Social rules are so much more rigid here—especially for their station—and rebelling against them risks ostracism.

The Gray family is known to be eccentric, and that’s tolerated as long as it’s tempered with era-appropriate manners and mores. Yes, you can raise your husband’s illegitimate son. Yes, you can educate your daughters. You can even let those daughters “dabble” in chemistry and business. But you must otherwise acquit yourselves in a proper fashion, raising that brown-skinned boy to be a perfect Scottish gentleman and those girls to make good matches and be good hostesses and engage in all charity work expected of their social standing.

For Gray to take on a female assistant raises brows in a world where even secretaries are men. But he is eccentric, so it’s allowed. However, when that assistant turns out to be young and pretty? Of course everyone thinks that’s why he hired me, which means that outside the town house, we can’t be shutting ourselves up together in private conversation.

“I hear there are gardens,” I say. “Shall we find them?”

He waves me toward the stairs. As we descend, he says, “We could take a ramble.”

“Not allowed.”

He gives me a hard look. “Yes, I realize I said we must be careful. As long as we stick to the paths, we should be fine.”

“The housekeeper said guests are restricted to the gardens. For our own safety.”

He grumbles under his breath.

“Agreed,” I say.

There is a door right at the foot of the steps, and we duck out that one, avoiding what sounds like Cranston’s booming voice in the next room. Once on the drive, Gray shades his eyes and then points.

We make our way to a kitchen garden. Even Edinburgh’s far enough north to limit the sort of produce one can find in the market. A kitchen garden helps. Also, there’s little need for flowers when they bloom all around us, the rhododendron bushes loaded in riots of color from red to purple to white. They’re gorgeous, and I feel a pang of guilt thinking that, because from our gardener—Mr. Tull—I know they’re invasive. He rightly refuses to plant them at the town house.

I make sure no one else is around. Then I say, “I have a question about something that’s none of my business.”

Gray’s lips twitch as he relaxes. “The best sort of question.”

“No, the most awkward sort because, until now, it really has been none of my business. But now I need to know at least the basics, so I don’t make a mistake and offend someone I care about.”

His brows rise. “Now I am curious.”

“It’s about Hugh’s family situation. I’m not fishing for gossip. Just the essentials are fine. Whatever will keep me from saying or doing something that might embarrass him.”

“It is hardly a secret. How much do you know already?”

“Uh, nothing.”

He glances over, frowning.

I push aside a hanging tendril of beans. “I’ve gathered a few clues. I know he’s estranged from his family. I know he’s still fond of his sister—the bride—and she’s fond of him. I know he was engaged, and now I’ve met his former fiancée. I wonder whether the estrangement has anything to do with that, but I don’t want to presume.”

“Then I must apologize for not being forthcoming about the situation. I suppose I presumed Isla would have said more, but now I realize that, unless it came up in conversation, she would not.”

He glances at the house and then lowers his voice. “Hugh will not mind me discussing it. He would rather you knew than be wondering whether he did something heinous to deserve the estrangement.”

“I find it hard to imagine Hugh doing anything heinous.”

Gray gives a soft laugh. “Do not tell him that, or he would be quite insulted. Yes, Hugh is one of the few people who I can say, without hesitation, would not have done anything so scandalous or abhorrent that it deserves banishment from his family. Except… he did.”

“What?”

When Gray glances over, his face is impassive but his eyes glitter in amusement. “Yes, I fear our Hugh was a right cad, thoroughly humiliating his family not once, but twice. They forgave him, grudgingly, for the first. But the second offense was too great.” He lowers his voice. “Do you want to know what he did?”

“Used the wrong fork at dinner?”

Gray’s brows shoot up. “Certainly not. Hugh knows exactly which fork to use, and to insinuate otherwise is most offensive, Miss Mitchell.”

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”

“The first offense was…” He leans to my ear. “He became a policeman.”

“Okay. That makes sense. I’ve gotten the impression his family is well-to-do.”

“They are indeed. His father is the third son of an earl, which means while Hugh carries no title, he is, point of fact, nobility. At least by blood.”

“Seriously?”

Gray waves us down a side row. “Moreover, his mother comes from a wealthy shipping family, which means when my father became friends with Hugh’s father, my father was the one climbing the social ladder. For me to go into medicine was perfectly respectable for my family and my situation. If Hugh had done the same, his family would have been less pleased, but they would have tolerated it. A police officer, though? He might as well have said he was joining the night-soil collectors.”

“Night soil” is a euphemism for sewage, particularly the solid-waste component that can’t just be dumped out onto the ground.

“But they didn’t disown him,” I say.

“No, in that case, he was saved by the fact that his future father-in-law did not object.”

“Hugh was already engaged?”

Gray plucks two pea pods and hands me one. “Hugh had been engaged for most of his life. To Violet Cranston. They were betrothed as children.”

“That’s still a thing among the nobility?”

“Mmm, actually, it’s more a thing among those who model themselves after the nobility.”

“The upper middle class.”

“Yes. Hugh is the eldest son of a family with both noble blood and vast business interests. The Cranstons also have noble blood and vast business interests. The two families are close, and they saw this as a mutually beneficial union.”

“Beneficial to them. How did Hugh feel about it?”

Gray sobers as he waves me to a bench near the rear of the garden. We sit facing outward, looking across the lawn abutting the forest.

“To be honest,” Gray says, “Hugh did not think much of it either way. It was a fact of his life from an early age. He would marry Violet who is, like Hugh himself, sweet-natured and kind.”

“Also gorgeous.”

“Is she?” He tilts his head. “I suppose so. We grew up together, so it is hard to see her impartially. But yes, there was nothing objectionable in the match. So Hugh did not object.”

“Wait.” I twist to face him. “Isla said he proposed to her once. She wanted to learn under a famous chemist in Yorkshire, and she couldn’t do that on her own, so he offered to marry her and accompany her.”

“Ah. That. Hugh, as you may have noticed, can be impetuous. If Isla had accepted, it would have been a terrible scandal, with Hugh already being engaged. But Isla presumed the proposal was merely a kind but foolhardy offer.”

I meet his gaze. “And was it?”

“Of course not.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. Gray and I both know how McCreadie feels about Isla, and I’d suspected that the proposal was, yes, impetuous and foolhardy, but also honest.

When Gray speaks again, his words come slow. “I do not think Hugh truly realized how he felt about Isla until…” His gaze fixes on those distant trees. “Until it was too late. Or, I should say, on the cusp of being too late. Had I known it myself, I would have acted. But I was absorbed in my studies. Young and self-absorbed and, as you would say, clueless.”

“I can see that.” When he looks over sharply, I smile. “Sorry. I mean that in that situation, I can understand a person not noticing that two people had feelings for each other, especially when they didn’t seem to realize it themselves.”

“Yes, well, things came to a head with Lawrence.”

“The asshole husband. Your college friend.”

“ Not my friend,” he says with a hard look. “Classmate and acquaintance only. But, yes, Isla met Lawrence through me, and I did not mind sharing a pint with the man, but I absolutely did not want him marrying my sister. Hugh hated him. He saw dangers that even I missed. But, of course, Hugh was betrothed to Violet, and as Isla grew older, she had begun treating Hugh more as her brother’s friend than her own.”

“Distancing herself.”

“Perhaps. She asked for our parents’ permission to marry Lawrence. Our father was fine with the union, but our mother was not. That was when Hugh broke off his engagement. Again, it was typical Hugh, which means he led with his heart rather than his mind, and he made a hash of it, unintentionally humiliating Violet. Isla had already gone to the coast with a friend, and when she returned… we discovered she had not only been with a friend.”

“She’d eloped with Lawrence.”

“Yes. That left Hugh with a rather spectacularly broken engagement, furious parents, and furious future in-laws. Still, the Cranstons—and Violet—were fond of him. They had overlooked his career choice and they would have overlooked this, too, if he had reversed his decision.”

“He didn’t.”

“Another man would have. After all, Isla was married and beyond his reach. But Hugh is damnably honorable, and I believe he’d realized he could not offer Violet a proper marriage, and so he refused to mend the rift. His parents disowned him. He is not welcome in their home. He has money from his grandfather, who left him a sizable inheritance. Fiona—the bride—still adores him. His parents will not even be staying here because Fiona insisted on inviting Hugh. They will come for the wedding only.”

“And the Cranstons?”

Gray sighs. “While Violet’s parents were fine with a policeman for a son-in-law, after the broken engagement, they tried to use their political leverage to have Hugh removed from his position. You will meet them, unfortunately.”

“And we can run interference between them and Hugh?”

“That is the plan. Isla will want to help, but it’s best if she does not. While Hugh has never said anything about Isla—not even to me—I believe his feelings for her are obvious.”

“To Violet as well?”

He stretches his long legs. “I do not know what Violet suspects, but while I sympathize with Hugh, his treatment of Violet was… unfortunate. He was kind, of course, but she cared for him and expected to marry, and while it has been ten years, she is still hurt by his actions.”

“I could tell.”

His shoulders slump, as if he’d hoped he was mistaken. In a situation like this, the best everyone could hope for is that Violet would emerge better than ever. Find a wonderful man, if that’s what she wanted. Or simply move on and realize she’d dodged a bullet, not spending her life wed to a man who didn’t want her.

I clear my throat. “What about Archie Cranston? I can tell you and Hugh know—” I stop as movement catches my eye. Then, seeing what it is, I smile. “Seems the estate has kitties.”

Gray follows my gaze. Right at the edge of the forest is a brown tabby. I walk to the edge of the garden and crouch lower, carefully with my corset, as I drop my fingers and psp psp at the cat, who stares in wary confusion.

“Careful,” Gray says, coming up behind me. “You could lose those fingers. That is a Highland tiger.”

My lips twitch. “A man-eating one?”

“Probably not,” he says. “But nor is it a domestic feline. It’s a Scottish wildcat. Otherwise known as a Highland tiger.”

I blink at the cat as I remember a trip north with my nan, when she’d talked about seeing Scottish wildcats as a girl. Hunting and habitat loss had nearly wiped them out, the remaining wildcats interbreeding with domestic ones until, in my time, they’re considered functionally extinct.

If I’d ever seen a photo of a Scottish wildcat, I don’t remember it, and even if I had, I’d pictured something the size of a lynx. This isn’t much bigger than a house cat, with slightly longer limbs and a bigger head.

“ That’s a Scottish wildcat?” I say.

“It is.”

“A young one?”

“No, full grown, I would say.”

“Huh.” I maneuver in my skirts to get lower for a better look. “Smaller than I expected, and it really does look like a—Oh!”

Two small heads peek up from the grass.

“Babies!” I say.

“In Scotland, we call them kittens.”

I ignore him and creep forward. The mother disappears, the kittens vanishing before I can get a good look at them.

I sag. “Damn it. I wanted to see them.”

“Well, then, I believe we have a perfectly valid excuse for venturing into the wilds.”

I look up to see whether he’s serious. Of course he is. We’ve been here less than an hour and already found an excuse to break the rules.

I should be the responsible one and say no. But there are kittens. Adorable wildcat kittens.

I glance toward the house. Everyone is inside and the blinds are drawn on this side of the house, where the sun beats down. We won’t go far enough to get into trouble.

“Are you offering me a tiger hunt, Dr. Gray?”

He smiles. “I am.”