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G unn had done his best to steer clear of Jocelyn since they’d arrived back at the inn the night before.

He found himself caring too much. Consumed with thoughts of what would have happened if he hadn’t come upon her when he did. Of course, it was possible the man was truly being chivalrous, but his insistence led Gunn to believe otherwise.

Today, he’d kept busy in the pub, taking inventory, stacking cases. Any attempt to keep his mind off Jocelyn. He didn’t ken why he cared so much. He didn’t even ken her.

But the pull to check in on her while she worked to ensure she ate was strong. He slammed a crate onto the stack.

“Sir?” Thomas asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Aye?”

“Ye’re going to obliterate the contents if ye keep banging the crates about as ye are. We dinna sell enough liquor to be losing it to broken bottles.”

Gunn bit the inside of his cheek. Thomas wasn’t wrong. They needed all the inventory they had to remain intact.

“Pour me a whisky, will ye,” he said sharply and approached the bar.

Thomas remained silent as he filled a glass and pushed it toward Gunn.

“I apologize. I didna mean to snap.”

Thomas shrugged. “We’ve all got things we are working through,” he said as he turned and replaced the bottle of whisky on the shelf.

The door opened and a few men entered. Gunn had seen them around but didn’t ken their names. They sat at a table by the window, deep in conversation, before gesturing for Thomas to take their orders.

It wasn’t really his job. But, just as he had cut back on Theodore’s and Thomas’s hours, he’d had to let his two server girls go.

“Ye have things handled in here?” Gunn asked when Thomas came back.

“Aye. All is under control.”

Gunn gave him a nod and left the pub in search of Flora. If anyone kenned if Jocelyn had eaten yet, it was her. The young woman managed to be everywhere all at once. If anyone wanted to ken what was happening in the inn, all they had to do was ask Flora.

He found her covered in flour up to her elbows helping Cook knead bread in the kitchen.

“My laird,” she said and a puff of flour floated through the air as she dipped into a curtsy.

“Flora, has Miss Townsend eaten today? Other than when she broke her fast,” he quickly added when she opened her mouth to answer.

“Nay, my laird. Not that I’ve seen.”

“Cook, do ye have some sustenance I can take to her before she collapses at her desk?”

The cook nodded and went about putting a plate together.

“That’s nearly what she did yesterday. I willna have her doing it again today.” He admired her dedication to her work, but he didn’t want it to be at a detriment to her health.

“I can bring her the meal, my laird,” Flora offered.

He should accept the offer. To keep his distance from the woman that was occupying way too many of his mind’s thoughts.

“Nay. I prefer to bring it to her myself. Thank ye, Flora.”

Cook handed him a plate piled high with dried meats, fruit, and bread. It was as if she too believed the lass needed to eat heartily.

He smiled his thanks and left the kitchen.

But when he knocked on the open door, Jocelyn wasn’t there.

Frowning, he entered the room and set the plate on a pile of crates.

Looking at the ledger on the desk, she had been here working.

There were handwritten notes on a piece of parchment paper beside the book.

He noted her neat, delicate penmanship. The swooping curves in the words revealed her delicate femininity.

Where could she have gone?

That’s when he heard it. It sounded like she was retching. He hurried out of the room and around the corner. There was a door that led out into the small garden. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear her getting sick again.

Rushing forward, he burst through the door. “Lass?”

She jumped, straightening quickly, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sir. I was just going back inside to continue working.”

As she moved to pass him, he reached out his hand, grasping her upper arm gently. “Are ye ill?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Oh, no. I am fine. I promise.”

He looked at the evidence on the ground that said otherwise.

“I demand ye to be truthful with me, lass. I heard ye retching. Have ye eaten?”

She blanched, her face losing what little color it had left, and she clasped her stomach. “I am not hungry. I ate this morn.”

“That was hours ago. I brought ye food.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I really cannot. I fear my stomach is unsettled.”

“Should I have Cook make ye a broth of some sort? A light soup, mayhap.”

She smiled, but it was forced. “I, no. She is busy enough, as are we all. I will just wait for my stomach to cease its churning and then will sup.”

He wasn’t convinced she was speaking truthfully.

“I promise. I will eat when I am able.” She took a deep breath. “I feel better already.”

“Are ye being forthright?”

She chuckled. “Of course. I must have just eaten something that didn’t settle well earlier. I will be fine in a bit.” Her eyes lit up. “I want to show you something.”

Allowing her to change the subject, he followed her to her desk where she stood in front of an open ledger and pointed to an entry. “Do you see this?”

He bent and read the line where her finger rested. There was no transaction title, but a comely amount was withdrawn from the coffers.

“Do you know what this was for? I cannot account for it with any corresponding order or receipt.”

“I dinna ken.” He looked at the writing. It was Theodore’s.

“That is not the only one.” She flipped to a previous page. “Here.” She pointed to another entry.

He read the entry, again, no transaction, but a hefty amount had been withdrawn. Also in Theodore’s script.

“And here.” She pointed to another page and Gunn couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“When did these start?”

“The beginning of February 1812.”

That was when he was away. Serving the country. Was Theodore skimming off of his business while he fought? Would he really do that? Was he the cause of his business failing?

Nay. He refused to believe it. Even so, that still wouldn’t explain why people had stopped coming to the pub. Or the inn.

There had to be something more.

“Can you keep a listing of all similar entries along with the dates and amounts?”

She held up a piece of parchment paper and smiled. “Already have. I thought you might find them of interest.”

“I do. Aye. Good work. But ye’ve worked enough for the day. Go freshen up.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t fight with him to work longer.

Sticking the paper in the ledger as a placeholder, she closed the book.

“My friend and his wife should be arriving soon. I would love it if ye would join us for dinner this eve.” He was treading a thin line. She essentially was his employee. Someone he had hired to work for him. Mixing work and pleasure was never a good idea.

“Are you sure?” she asked uncertainly.

Was he?

“Aye. I believe ye and Lizzie will become fast friends.” What the hell was he saying?

“If you insist. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Ye canna intrude when ye’ve been invited, lass.”

She smiled. “I will see you at dinner then. Thank you.”

As she passed, he handed her the plate of food. “Ye dinna have to eat it now, but in case ye get hungry before dinner.”

He watched her walk out of the small room, then fixed his gaze on the ledgers. Anger welled up inside of him. If Theodore was truly the cause of his business failing, he didn’t ken what he would do. Gunn had entrusted the businesses to him whilst he was away. Believed he was trustworthy.

The more he thought on it, the more he couldn’t fathom why he would do such a thing.

But if he found out he was indeed the cause. The man better run for if Gunn got a hold of him, he’d wish he’d never crossed him.

*

Jocelyn wished she had a different colored gown to attend dinner with Gunn and his friends. The gray was fine while she was working, but to entertain guests? It was not worthy of that.

Never mind that the style was woefully out of fashion.

She laughed out loud in her room. Listen to yourself. Entertain guests. As if they were her own.

No, Gunn was just showing kindness by inviting her to join them.

A knock sounded and Flora announced herself. “Miss? May I come in?”

“Yes, please.”

She was relieved to see the young girl. Mayhap she could help her look more presentable and worthy of dining with the laird and his friends.

Oh no. A new thought entered her mind. Was his friend a laird as well? Or something more. Oh dear. She would appear dreadfully underdressed.

“What is it, miss? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”

“As I’m sure you know, I’m to meet the laird for dinner tonight, along with his friend and his friend’s wife.”

Flora nodded. “Aye, the earl.”

“Pardon?” She gulped.

“Aye. Malcolm Kennedy, the earl of Cassilis. He’s verra nice. His wife as well. Ye will like her.” She paused, her brows drawn down. “Are ye well, miss?”

Jocelyn threw her hands up in frustration. “How am I to meet people of such high-standing when all I have is drab, gray gowns? They are certainly not made for high society.”

Flora shushed her. “Ye needna worry. They arena like that. Your gowns are fine. Quality made.”

“But they are ugly.”

“Hmmm.” Flora cocked her hip to the side and scratched her chin. “I may have a solution. There is a chest downstairs in storage that has gowns in it.”

“Why would the laird have a chest full of gowns?”

Flora giggled. “They arena his, obviously. But things get left behind, either on purpose or by accident. It doesna make sense to throw them away. Let me check to see if one might be fitting for ye for dinner.” She spun and rushed out of the room before Jocelyn could tell her not to go through any trouble.

But she was gone. Intent on her mission.

Jocelyn sat at the vanity and pinched her cheeks, trying to get color into them. It was no use. Her usually pale skin wouldn’t hold any color other than the faint yellow that was left from her bruises.

Mayhap Flora had access to some cosmetics she could borrow. She shook her head. That may be a bit too much to ask for.

Picking up the brush, she ran it through her hair, continuing with long strokes until it shone under the lantern light.

Then she pinned it into her usual chignon at the base of her neck.

She should probably try a different style, but honestly, it was the only one she was comfortable doing.

It was the same way Victor had insisted she wore her hair. Simple, naught fancy.

That alone made her want to change the style.

Frustrated, she pulled the pins out and let her hair topple over her shoulders. It had a slight wave to it, with streaks of honey mixed throughout the blonde.

Flora returned, her arms carrying multiple gowns and she paused.

“Your hair is beautiful.”

Jocelyn felt her cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you. I wish I knew how to style it properly.”

“Well, let us find ye a dress that fits and mayhap I can help ye with that. I canna promise ’twill be perfect, but I can try.”

“It’s a deal,” she said happily and hopped up to look at the dresses Flora was laying out on the bed. They were all gorgeous gowns. “Women left these behind?” She asked in astonishment. “I couldn’t imagine doing such a thing.”

“Ye’d be surprised the things that get left behind. Gowns, shirts. Shoes, slippers. Hair pins, barrettes. All sorts of baubles.”

“That is amazing.” Jocelyn ran her hands down a gold-colored gown, with a green sash. The satin was butter soft to the touch.

“That would complement ye well. ’Twill bring out the honey streaks in your hair.” She lifted it up and shook it out. “This one was left recently.” She gave it a sniff. “It doesna smell as if it has been closed up. There isna any mustiness to it. Let me help ye get it on. I believe ’twill fit.”

Once Flora fastened the last button, Jocelyn moved to the looking glass. The gown was a little big on her small frame, but it still looked better than her gray gowns.

“Ye look beautiful.”

“Thank ye. I will pay ye for it when I receive my first payout.”

“Pfft.” Flora waved a hand in front of her in dismissal.

“Ye will do nay such thing. ’Tis no’ my gown.

As I said, someone left it. ’Tis yours now.

Ye can do with it as ye please. If we had more time, we could have brought it to the modiste to have her take it in, but I think in a pinch ’twill work well. What do ye think?”

“It’s very nice.” She ran her hands over the satin. “And so soft.” It had been a long time since Jocelyn had felt so pretty.

Flora finished tying the sash into a pretty bow at her waist. “Now, sit, and let’s get your hair styled. Remember, ’tis no’ my area of expertise, but I will try.”

Jocelyn laughed. It was hard not to be happy in Flora’s presence. She was so cheerful, it was contagious. She sat in the chair as Flora brushed, pulled, tied, and pinned. By the time she was done, Jocelyn almost didn’t recognize herself.

Flora had pinned her hair in soft waves that piled high on her head, with soft curls that fell over her ears. She’d fastened a jewel-encrusted barrette in the center.

Stepping back, she studied her work and smiled. “Well, it took a while, and I’m no ladies maid, but I must say I think I did a fair good job of it.”

“You definitely did. I can’t remember a time when I’ve had my hair styled so nice.” And she couldn’t. Her wedding day, mayhap.

No, not even then.

“The laird is going to have a hard time keeping his eyes off of ye.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said shyly, dipping her head to hide her blush.

“Mark my words, he will. He may seem gruff on the outside, but he’s actually quite nice.”

She’d noticed, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Flora.

She almost didn’t want to admit it to herself.