Chapter Twenty-six

As Penny stomped to the door of Molly’s brothel, he told himself this was it. He would insist on heading south as soon as this debacle was cleared up. He missed Wintermarsh and the way his boring days taking care of his flowers flowed into weeks and months without a single wall to scale or document to steal or murderer to avoid. By God, if that little garden whelp Lily had hired in his stead had let his roses die, there would be hell to pay.

He’d found enough dead bodies for a dozen lifetimes. He wanted to relax, read some poetry, tend to the garden. He didn’t want to be chasing runaway women to a bloody brothel in the middle of a blustery Scottish winter.

An old lady with a hairy mole answered his knock, and Penny prayed she wasn’t one of the working women.

“Whatcha want?”

“I’m looking for a young lady—”

“Yer here too early fo’ that, sir. They’re all still abed.” She waved him off and tried to shut the door, but he toed his boot in the crack.

Penny looked heavenward, seeking a measure of patience from the almighty. “Let me state that another way. Did a young lady with reddish hair find her way to you this morning?”

A deep voice from inside rumbled. “Let him in, Easterly.”

Easterly opened the door and gestured him inside with an ironic flourish. A man stood at the bar—a worthy adversary by the looks of him. Penny had learned to recognize the loose-limbed stance of an experienced fighter. Hands held to the side to grab a weapon from under a coat or from a boot. Not to mention the man was as big and hairy as a bear.

“What can we do for you this early morn, sir?” the bear asked.

“I’m looking for a young lass with red-gold hair that may have made her way to your door this morning.”

“Who’s lookin’ exactly?”

“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Maxwell Drake.”

“Why didn’t he come himself?” A woman carrying a stack of tinkling glasses appeared from around the corner and walked behind the bar. She was pretty and carried herself with confidence. She met his eyes with a boldness that spoke of a rare intelligence in these parts.

How much should he divulge? He wasn’t dealing with French spies—true—but the desperation in Drake’s eyes that morning had been of the life-or-death variety. “Mr. Drake has been detained on business.”

“More important business than Miss Bryn?” The bear raised his bushy black brows and set his feet a little farther apart, a protectiveness obvious in the man’s voice. The man was ready to champion Brynmore McCann if necessary.

“He’s occupied with the magistrate.” Curiosity flashed over both their faces. They’d hear soon enough. The news would fly from house to house through the servants’ quarters. “Sutherland and Dugan Armstrong are dead.”

The big man plopped down on a barstool. “Dead? Bloody hell. Did Drake…” He waved his hand around suggestively.

“Ah, no. It appears they did each other in. After he discovered Miss Bryn missing this morning, Drake suspected the worst and went to Sutherland’s looking for her but instead discovered a rather grisly scene.”

The silence lengthened until the woman broke it in a cheerful voice. “This news deserves a celebratory drink.” She pulled a bottle of brandy and three cups from behind the bar. “Nothing quite so warming as some coffee and brandy. Would you care to join us, Mr.… I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

“Pendleton. But everyone calls me Penny. And I would love some.”

“I’m Molly, and this is Thomas, my husband.”

After she poured brandy-laced coffee for the three of them, Molly raised her cup. “A toast. To the death of the most depraved bugger in all Edinburgh. May he rot in hell.”

“Here, here,” Thomas seconded as he took Molly’s hand.

Penny took a sip of the bracing coffee, secrets swirling around them. He wasn’t here to discover Molly’s past but to determine Mr. Drake’s future. “Drake sent me to make sure Miss Bryn is well and safe.”

“She’s quite safe,” Thomas said, a protective frown back.

Molly’s half smile was more circumspect. “I realize you may not be at liberty to discuss such matters about your employer—”

“I don’t work for Drake. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Penny said drolly.

“In that case, your friend should know that Miss Bryn is under the impression he doesn’t hold tender feelings for her. Based on his willingness to take on Sutherland, I’m wondering if Mr. Drake might indeed care for Miss Bryn very much.” Molly leaned over the bar on her elbows and waited.

“Mr. Drake keeps his feelings close to the chest.” He met Molly’s eyes. “But I would venture to say he cares for her very much indeed.”

Molly looked over at Thomas. “What should we do, love? Mr. Drake will come here for her eventually. Should we send her on or keep her?”

“Where is she going?” Penny asked.

Thomas ran a meaty finger over his lips. “To her grandmother in Kinross.”

“Perhaps we should send her on. Mr. Drake needs a good kick in the pants. Will he go after her?” Molly asked.

“If he does, he’ll have to admit the depth of his feelings,” Penny said. “And if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t deserve her, and she’ll be better off with family than waiting around here for him to swallow his pride.”

The three of them nodded and clinked their cups together once more to bind their pact. He thanked Molly and Thomas and took his leave, curious to see Maxwell Drake’s reaction at his news. Penny hoped the man was smart enough to follow his heart.

* * * * *

It was early afternoon before the magistrate released Maxwell. Penny was in the entry, leaning against a side table and flirting with a maid who was absently dusting and giggling.

“Did you find her?” Maxwell wasn’t up to any polite preliminaries.

“Yes.”

“Where in bloody hell is she?”

“At Molly’s, as you suspected. Tuckered out and upset by the sound of it. Thomas wouldn’t let me see her, said she was sleeping, but he and Molly assured me they would take care of her.”

Anger climbed the mountain of his distress. “You left her? In a brothel? I meant for you to bring her back to me.”

Maxwell wanted to punch the placid expression off Penny’s face. “Those weren’t your instructions. Miss Bryn is a grown woman with an uncommon amount of pluck. I’m not getting paid enough—or at all, for that matter—to kidnap her and deposit her on your doorstep. Sir.”

His last word was imbued with such withering sarcasm, shame flooded Maxwell. Was he any better than Armstrong or Mary or Sutherland?

“Bloody, bloody hell!” Maxwell’s voice echoed through the entry. He ran his hands through his hair and laced them at the nape as he paced. “She doesn’t want to come back to me?”

“As I said, I wasn’t allowed to speak with her, but by now she’s well on her way to Kinross.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best.” Maxwell would retreat to his town house and rebuild something resembling a life without her. He’d offered her everything and still she’d rejected him. Through his own pain, something Penny had said niggled. “Wait. She was upset? What about?”

“You, of course,” Penny said mildly.

Maxwell pivoted to face Penny. “Me? What did I do? We left things quite satisfactorily last evening, and then I woke to find her up and gone. Christ, I don’t understand women.”

“What man does? But I believe it’s perhaps what you didn’t do rather than what you did do that was so upsetting to Miss Bryn.”

A feeling of foreboding washed over Maxwell. “What didn’t I do?”

Penny cleared his throat and looked heavenward a moment before meeting his eyes again. “The lass is under the impression you don’t hold tender feelings for her.”

Maxwell rocked back on his heels. Bryn believed he didn’t love her. After whispering her sweet confession over and over, he hadn’t had the courage to tell her what was in his heart. But he’d planned to. He had. Yet he didn’t. And now it was too late.

Or was it? He’d been desperate for her love but hadn’t understood she might feel the same for his. Maxwell strode toward the door.

“What are your plans, Drake?” Penny asked idly.

“I’m going back to the town house to pack. Then I’ll go after the bloody infuriating woman.” Maxwell only caught a glimpse of the smile that crested Penny’s face before he was gone.

* * * * *

Complications arose when Maxwell arrived back at his town house. All he wanted was to ride like hell for Kinross and beg Bryn to come back to where she belonged—in his arms and by his side—but waiting in his study was his brother. Under the exhaustion writ large on Albert’s face was pride.

Maxwell pasted a smile on his face. Their burgeoning friendship was a fragile thing. “This is a surprise. I expected you’d be on the road back to Cragian this morn.”

“I realized who Lord MacShane is this morning. Me, not my mother. I roused Pickett and demanded to see my father’s will. I have it right here.” Albert patted his breast pocket.

Maxwell sank down behind his desk. “What’s it say then?”

Albert’s smile faltered. “I attempted to plow through it, but it was full of legal folderol. Couldn’t make out what everything meant. Give me a tome on plants, and I’ll devour it, but this”—he pulled out a sheaf of papers and dropped them in front of Maxwell with a flourish—“was Greek to me. No, actually, I understand Greek quite well… It was Arabic to me,” he finished with a chuckle.

Given time, Maxwell decided he could come to enjoy Albert. Maxwell smoothed the papers out on the desk and scanned them for the pertinent information.

“Old MacShane did indeed leave you with the money and estate.” Maxwell flipped through several more pages before a name caught his attention.

Eden Drake. He read through the paragraph twice, unable to speak. His heart and stomach initiated a fistfight.

“What is it? Is it bad? My father could be an arse. Lord knows, there were times—”

“No, it’s… Here. You read it.”

Albert cleared his throat and read aloud. “I acknowledge I begat a son onto an innocent maid at Riverwalk. I wished to set the girl up as a mistress and take care of the child, but my lady wife forbade such actions, instead forcing me to cast her out. It is my greatest shame. I sent money through the vicar to buy the boy a commission, with the understanding he was never to know it was from me. As death stalks close, I confess my sins and bequeath to Maxwell Drake, my natural son, a parcel of land that includes the cottage in which he was raised and a yearly stipend from my estate. I hope this token of penitence will gain his forgiveness.”

Maxwell contemplated their father’s words from the grave. Forgiveness? Not yet but perhaps one day.

“I wish I had done more,” Albert said haltingly.

“You were a child. Please don’t carry a guilt that is not yours. And the commission our father bought me changed my life. Got me out of Cragian and into the world where anything was possible.”

“That’s some prime land he left you, Drake. Good for sheep, if you’re so inclined. Or you can croft it out. The cottage is quite nice,” Albert said.

Maxwell barked a laugh. “That cottage was falling down around my ears even as an adolescent. The thatch had more holes than a sieve.”

“Not anymore. Miss McCann had it repaired for your mother. Didn’t you know?”

Maxwell stared at Albert. “Where did she get the money?”

Albert looked down at his father’s will. “The vicar would know for certain, but my guess is it was from our father.”

Maxwell could foresee a trip back to Cragian sooner than he’d planned—which had been never.

After seeing Albert out the door, he ordered hot water and climbed the stairs, the memory of Bryn drawing him into her room. He averted his gaze from her bed and opened her wardrobe. The beautiful blue gown she’d worn the night before had been hung back up. He fingered the delicate fabric and brought it to his face, searching for her scent and warmth but finding little solace.

“She’s gone then?”

Maxwell dropped the dress as if it was on fire. Mrs. Winslow meandered into the room. Maxwell had dismissed her as a distracted, ineffectual chaperone, but her gaze was dagger-sharp and threatened a slow, painful evisceration.

“Aye, she’s gone,” he said solemnly.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You must go after her. You’re bloody well in love with her.” She propped her hands on her hips.

Why was it everyone else could see so clearly while he was stuck looking through frosted glass? He sputtered a few choice words before saying, “It’s none of your business—”

“She’s my charge, isn’t she? I’ve come to care for her and admire her spirit. Come now, Drake. She loves you so. You mustn’t let her escape.”

Maxwell cleared the lump from his throat. “She’s left for Kinross and her grandmother.”

“See that you don’t tarry too long before you claim her.” She ran her fingers over all the dresses Maxwell had commissioned for Bryn. “Since you no longer require a chaperone, I’m going back to the earl and Lionel. Should I direct Gertie to pack up Miss Bryn’s dresses and send them on?”

“No,” Maxwell said forcefully. He was being selfish. She deserved fine things even if she chose never to see him again. “Yes. That would be kind of you, Mrs. Winslow. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Mrs. Winslow cocked her head and gave a slight nod. “Of course, my dear boy. We’ve all become very fond of you and Miss Bryn. Will you write and let us know how you got on?”

Her offer felt almost like… friendship. How the last months had changed his life.

Maxwell ran his hands over his face. His love for Bryn surpassed his fears. The hot water arrived, and he bathed and dressed in riding clothes, self-consciously tugging at his waistcoat and examining himself in the looking glass. A shot of optimism quickened his movements. His first stop would be Molly’s. Transportation to Kinross would be hard to come by in the winter. Could she still be there? Was there time to right his foolishness?

He was too serious and dour for a sprite like Bryn, but babe or no babe, he loved her and meant to make her his. Forever, if she’d have him.

* * * * *

He rapped sharply on the door to Molly’s. An old crone with thin gray hair and a bitter, downturned mouth cracked the door open.

“Whatcha want?”

“I’m looking for a young lady—”

“It’s a bit early, ain’t it?” She looked him up and down but waved him inside. “What color hair are you interested in?”

Maxwell nearly choked on his tongue. “I believe you misunderstand me. I’m looking for a particular young lady who made her way here this morning with red-gold hair.”

“She’s gone. Can I not find another girl that might satisfy you?”

Maxwell’s stomach dropped to hang at his knees. “Is Thomas or Molly available?”

“Wait here.” The lady shuffled off, which left Maxwell pacing the floor like a trapped wolf.

Both Molly and Thomas followed the old woman back into the room, and Maxwell approached them warily, not sure if they were friend or foe in his quest.

“Mr. Drake, how lovely to see you again.” Molly’s voice was friendly and welcoming, but behind her, Thomas’s bared teeth counteracted any hope they would help.

“Where is she?” Maxwell’s desperation colored his voice.

Thomas stepped forward crossing his arms across his chest. “Gone to Kinross. I put her in the coach meself.”

Maxwell ripped his hat off and beat it on his leg. “You knew I was looking for her. Penny must have made that clear. Why didn’t you keep her here until I came for her?”

“Mr. Drake, no one knew when or if you would come.” Her tone sympathetic, Molly cocked her head to the side, a master at soothing men. “Her intention is to set you free to find someone you can love.”

“But I love her. How could she think I don’t? Why would she leave me after… I don’t understand.” Maxwell dropped in a chair.

“Her courses started,” Molly said so matter-of-factly it took Maxwell a moment to process the implications.

When he did, he leaned back in the chair and ran a hand over his jaw. “She’s not with child and means to release me from our agreement. How long has she been gone, and what did she take? Is there any hope I can catch her?”

“A mail coach,” Thomas said. “You don’t want to be on the road at night. You’ll freeze to death or get accosted. Anyway, she’s about to meet her grandmother, Drake. You don’t want to stop that reunion, do you? It was hard for Miss Bryn without a family who cared for her growing up. She needs this.”

Maxwell stared into Thomas’s understanding eyes. “Dammit, I know you’re right, but I hate to think Bryn is out there thinking I don’t…” He swallowed. Expressing his deepest feelings wasn’t easy considering he’d spent the past dozen years attempting to deny he had any feelings whatsoever. “I love her. Very much.”

Molly’s smile was kinder than he deserved. “Tell her that, and I have the feeling all will be right with the world.”

Jamming his hat back on his head, he rose and crossed to the door but stopped short of leaving. These two unlikely people had been true and kind to Bryn. And him, in their way. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

Thomas said gruffly, “O’course. I would do anything for Miss Bryn after what she did for my family. Kept us from starving, she did. Don’t know where we’d have ended up without those baskets.”

Maxwell swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and turned to face Thomas. “What did you say?”

“Baskets. Miss Bryn would leave us baskets full of food, even some clothes and shoes for the little ’uns. Saved our lives after Papa died. There were too many mouths to feed on the meager coin I earned. It was a while before I caught her at it. Stayed up for three nights in a row until I spied her creeping up the lane. At first I truly thought she was a fairy, but we both nearly screamed the house up when I grabbed her arm. We kept it a secret from Ma. Didn’t want to hurt her pride.”

His world spun and clicked into place. It had been Bryn. It had always been Bryn.

In Thomas’s eyes was a shared experience. He must have felt something very similar to Maxwell when he’d opened his door to find that first basket.

“I got baskets too,” Maxwell said.

“Aye. I know. I asked her once what made her start helping people like she did. Most people would want the recognition. But she said the first boy she helped had too much pride. That he wouldn’t have accepted help if she’d tried to give it freely, so she snuck him baskets. Said he was special, and she didn’t want him to die.”

“She was so young… How could she…”

“Loads of people have helped her with her little project through the years. Cadell, Mrs. Kidd, old Busby, Vicar Mitchell, me—once we were back on our feet. She has people on the lookout for shoes for the children, clothes, books, whatever their need.” Thomas raised his bushy black brows. “Surely you’ve noticed the way she has with people.”

“Of course. She charms them.”

Thomas laughed. “That she does. And she chose you. Of course, my Molly would call it destiny.” He held a hand out to her, and she strolled over to lay a buss on his cheek.

“That’s right, Drake.” Molly smiled. “She saved you, and then you come back and save her in a different kind of way. She’s your destiny. Just the way Thomas is my destiny.” Turning serious, she laid a hand on Maxwell’s arm. “Go after her.”

Maxwell took Molly’s hand and squeezed it. “You should count yourself a lucky man, Thomas, to have such a lady as Molly by your side.”

Thomas put his arms around Molly’s waist and pulled her close. “Don’t you worry. I know how very lucky I am.”

At that, Maxwell took his leave of the brothel, unsure of his destination. Selfishly he wanted to ride for Kinross and bring Bryn home, but Thomas was right. Bryn needed to reconnect with her grandmother after a lifetime apart.

The business about his father’s bequest weighed him like an anchor. Before he could claim Bryn, he needed to break the chains of his past. Then with nothing but possibilities ahead of them, he would win her back.