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Authors: Kathleen Kirkwood
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stay at Sherringham."
A smile rose from the depths of her heart and found her lips. But no sooner than she made the pronouncement, a deathly cold sliced straight through her, stealing her breath away.
Chapter 4
Adrian rode out, his exchange with Lawrence still burning in his brain.
Perhaps he'd been too harsh with his brother yesterday. Perhaps their wires had passed one another, as Lawrence insisted.
Adrian pressed on, feeling the power of the stallion beneath him as the steed's hooves ate up the road. He passed rapidly along the lane, leaving Sherringham, with its brooding towers and pinnacles watching from behind.
His anger remained, unabated, boiling in his veins. Word of Aunt Gwen's death had not reached him for nearly a week. A week! Thank God for Cameron Kincaid. His friend had appeared on his doorstep late at night, bearing Lawrence's telegram which Cameron's uncle had forwarded from the moors of Scotland.
"Did I do wrong to dispatch the wire to Glengyle?" Lawrence had challenged when Adrian took him to task over the matter. "Last we spoke, you were to be salmon fishing with the brother of that runner with whom you've become chums."
"I was with his uncle , and Cameron Kincaid is not a 'runner' as you put it, but an inspector with Scotland Yard."
Lawrence waved away his words. "Whatever his post, how the devil should I have known you left Glengyle for London?"
"By the telegram I sent you when I learned of Kincaid's discovery." Adrian moved around his desk. "I expected you to meet me."
"Well, when I didn't appear, you might have assumed I failed to receive your telegram," Lawrence countered, then rested back in the deep, cushioned chair, lacing his fingers. "Presumably, my man Wilfred forwarded your wire to Hadleigh Hall where I was grouse shooting. As luck would have it, I left prematurely. Word came from Sherringham that the tiles had arrived from Italy—the ones that are to line the upper fireplace in the Orangery. I departed straightway to inspect the shipment, never having received your missive."
Lawrence rose then and began to pace.
"As it was, I was but a day at Sherringham when a lad from Hereford appeared, delivering Mrs. Wynters’ telegram. I needn't tell you, Auntie's death came as quite a shock. I drafted messages to you and our sisters and instructed your butler, Timmons, to wire them on. I then set off for Paris to assist Mrs. Wynters in the bitter task of transporting Auntie home."
He stopped his pacing and faced Adrian.
"I suppose I should have waited for you, brother. I was stricken and not thinking rightly. You were so blasted far away. I simply dashed off to the rescue, as it were. That is what family does in a crisis, after all, especially when one of their own has fallen on foreign ground."
That and, in your case, rush to succor beautiful young women in distress , Adrian added hotly to himself.
Instantly, he upbraided himself. The accusation was undeserved. How did the thought even burrow into his head? True, Lawrence had a weakness for a pretty face, but he had no way of knowing Mrs. Wynters was so exceedingly comely.
Adrian frowned at his own admittance, again wondering from whence it sprang. He expelled a breath, then fixed Lawrence with his gaze.
"Fortunately, Laird Kincaid sent your wire on to his nephew at the Yard and, in turn, Cameron delivered the news to me personally."
And barely in time, Adrian thought to himself as he spurred his horse on. Despite his brother's explanations, he still felt somehow dissatisfied with his meeting with Lawrence.
Leaning into the great black, he welcomed the wind in his face.
He would have never forgiven himself had he missed Aunt Gwendolyn's funeral altogether. It was damnable enough that he hadn't been the one to secure her remains or to arrange or even attend the services for her. He keenly felt the need to have overseen every detail. It mattered.
A smile rose from the depths of her heart and found her lips. But no sooner than she made the pronouncement, a deathly cold sliced straight through her, stealing her breath away.
Chapter 4
Adrian rode out, his exchange with Lawrence still burning in his brain.
Perhaps he'd been too harsh with his brother yesterday. Perhaps their wires had passed one another, as Lawrence insisted.
Adrian pressed on, feeling the power of the stallion beneath him as the steed's hooves ate up the road. He passed rapidly along the lane, leaving Sherringham, with its brooding towers and pinnacles watching from behind.
His anger remained, unabated, boiling in his veins. Word of Aunt Gwen's death had not reached him for nearly a week. A week! Thank God for Cameron Kincaid. His friend had appeared on his doorstep late at night, bearing Lawrence's telegram which Cameron's uncle had forwarded from the moors of Scotland.
"Did I do wrong to dispatch the wire to Glengyle?" Lawrence had challenged when Adrian took him to task over the matter. "Last we spoke, you were to be salmon fishing with the brother of that runner with whom you've become chums."
"I was with his uncle , and Cameron Kincaid is not a 'runner' as you put it, but an inspector with Scotland Yard."
Lawrence waved away his words. "Whatever his post, how the devil should I have known you left Glengyle for London?"
"By the telegram I sent you when I learned of Kincaid's discovery." Adrian moved around his desk. "I expected you to meet me."
"Well, when I didn't appear, you might have assumed I failed to receive your telegram," Lawrence countered, then rested back in the deep, cushioned chair, lacing his fingers. "Presumably, my man Wilfred forwarded your wire to Hadleigh Hall where I was grouse shooting. As luck would have it, I left prematurely. Word came from Sherringham that the tiles had arrived from Italy—the ones that are to line the upper fireplace in the Orangery. I departed straightway to inspect the shipment, never having received your missive."
Lawrence rose then and began to pace.
"As it was, I was but a day at Sherringham when a lad from Hereford appeared, delivering Mrs. Wynters’ telegram. I needn't tell you, Auntie's death came as quite a shock. I drafted messages to you and our sisters and instructed your butler, Timmons, to wire them on. I then set off for Paris to assist Mrs. Wynters in the bitter task of transporting Auntie home."
He stopped his pacing and faced Adrian.
"I suppose I should have waited for you, brother. I was stricken and not thinking rightly. You were so blasted far away. I simply dashed off to the rescue, as it were. That is what family does in a crisis, after all, especially when one of their own has fallen on foreign ground."
That and, in your case, rush to succor beautiful young women in distress , Adrian added hotly to himself.
Instantly, he upbraided himself. The accusation was undeserved. How did the thought even burrow into his head? True, Lawrence had a weakness for a pretty face, but he had no way of knowing Mrs. Wynters was so exceedingly comely.
Adrian frowned at his own admittance, again wondering from whence it sprang. He expelled a breath, then fixed Lawrence with his gaze.
"Fortunately, Laird Kincaid sent your wire on to his nephew at the Yard and, in turn, Cameron delivered the news to me personally."
And barely in time, Adrian thought to himself as he spurred his horse on. Despite his brother's explanations, he still felt somehow dissatisfied with his meeting with Lawrence.
Leaning into the great black, he welcomed the wind in his face.
He would have never forgiven himself had he missed Aunt Gwendolyn's funeral altogether. It was damnable enough that he hadn't been the one to secure her remains or to arrange or even attend the services for her. He keenly felt the need to have overseen every detail. It mattered.
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