Читать книгу Sinful Scottish Laird - Julia London, Julia London - Страница 12

CHAPTER SIX

TWO DAYS LATER, Daisy folded Arrandale’s freshly laundered handkerchief and tucked it in her diary beside the two crushed rose petals and the letter from Rob.

She dipped her quill into the inkwell.

The garden at last has been cleared, though sadly nothing salvaged. I shall bring on someone to see it through the winter with the hope that a viable garden will emerge next spring, God willing. I should like to see it one day, but I suspect a husband shall divest himself of a Scotch Highland lodge, particularly one so terribly far from England.

Ellis has not yet found Auchenard to his liking. He is without humor and very pale and does not sleep well, as he has heard tales of creatures in the forest that have frightened him. Mr. Tuttle informs me that Ellis no longer has any desire to venture beyond the wall around the lodge.

A nest of mice was found in the settee in Belinda’s bedroom. She is convinced that there is an infestation the likes of which cannot be contained but with fire.

Daisy looked at the handkerchief. She touched it, her finger tracing lightly over the fine linen.

Arrandale is a brute. He is given to believing gossip and speaking to women in his acquaintance with a decided lack of decorum. He voices what thoughts are on his mind with little thought for my feelings. It vexes me terribly, but all in all, I rather appreciate it. I am at least assured that he is speaking true. Nevertheless, as he does not know me, he might have extended me the courtesy of believing the best of me. Not every woman is in search of a husband! Well... I suppose I am, but he must realize I’d not search for one here! I shall invite him and my other neighbors and give the rooster quite a few more assumptions to make.

I have not yet broached the subject of a supper party with Belinda and Uncle. I think they shall not be favorably inclined.

She touched the handkerchief again, thought of the man who had bandaged her hand. She closed her eyes, imagined him taking her hand that day, pulling her to him, removing her hat and kissing her.

God help you, Daisy. You’re such a little fool, dreaming of intercourse with him when you’ve only months to find a husband.

She opened her eyes, closed her diary. She felt as if a clock were ticking inside her, relentlessly counting the moments until she was under the rule of a man again. She thought of Robert—her memory of him a bit hazy now—and sent up a silent prayer that he would reach London in time to save her.

Her writing finished for the day, Daisy wandered out to the garden to survey it under an overcast sky. It was not a beautiful garden. It was a desolate one, with scarcely any adornment, and a fountain that could not be made to work, no matter what Uncle Alfonso and Mr. Green had tried.

She put her hands to the small of her back and arched backward, closed her eyes and listened to the breeze rustle the treetops. It was so peaceful at Auchenard. So blessedly removed from the bustling world of London, of even Chatwick Hall in Nottinghamshire. How she wished her family would come to see Auchenard as she did, but alas, they did not.

They’d done all that they could to the lodge without benefit of builders and masons. Daisy was proud of the work they’d done, and the idea of the supper party, blurted in a moment in which she’d sought a reason to keep that wretched Arrandale about, had taken firm root in her. Perhaps her family might find Auchenard more to their liking with a bit of society. Daisy would very much like to meet her neighbors. She would like them to see what they’d done to the old lodge.