Page 17 of The Scarred Lyon

God’s blood. He had been so long without a woman’s company (one who was not his stepmother or stepsister) that he had forgotten how to act. Once upon a time, he had been charming, confident, and flirtatious. Those skills had abandoned him here. Duncan needed to clear his head. He ventured outside and took a deep breath of cool, autumn air, then exhaled. Perhaps a walk around the property would clear the cobwebs from his confused mind. As he walked, he glanced at the night sky. The storm clouds were gathering, as Briggs had observed. He could only hope the rain would remain light.

Duncan had no idea how much time had passed, but when he finally slipped the key into the door, he stepped into a darkened room. The fire burned low, but Augusta was not seated in front of it. He listened and heard her even, deep breathing. She was asleep. So much for any conversation tonight. Duncan moved toward the oil lamp on the sideboard across the room. He poured a tumbler of scotch, stirred the embers in the fireplace, and quietly set another log on the banked fire. The flames sprang to life, so he added another log, then sat before the hearth, stretching out his legs and slowly sipping his whiskey. When his eyes grew heavy, he set the glass on the table beside him.

“Duncan!”

He woke and rubbed his eyes. Soft light seeped into the room through the nearly closed draperies. He looked at the mantel clock; it was a quarter to seven in the morning.

“You did not have to sleep in the chair,” Augusta murmured.

“I hadn’t meant to. The fresh air from my walk made me nod off by the fire. Is anything the matter?” Augusta remained in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.

“Would you mind terribly if we waited a few hours before we departed? I cannot get out of bed.”

Duncan leaped to his feet. “Are you well? Is it the pain from your courses?”

She nodded, her vulnerability tugging at Duncan’s heart. “I am sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. What can I do? Would you like me to mix you some willow bark powder?”

“Thank you, yes. It is in my case, there.” She pointed to the bench on the opposite wall.

Duncan quickly found the powder, poured a glass of water from the pitcher, and mixed it. “Would you like it now?”

“Please place it on the table by my bed. If I could trouble you further, could you please ask Mrs. Jemison or one of her maids to attend to me? I need assistance.”

“At once. I will go inform McGloin and Briggs of the delay. At what time do you expect to be ready?”

“Perhaps around twelve of the clock?”

“I will see that some food is sent to the room at half past eleven.”

“You are most kind—just tea and toast. I do not think I could handle much else. But you all have a hearty meal. Again, my apologies. I know you wanted an early start.”

“You rest.” After Duncan handed her the willow bark water, he turned and headed downstairs. He met McGloin in the front foyer. The area was bustling with people, either entering or leaving the dining room. Trunks were carried outside as many prepared to depart. The enticing aroma of bacon and sausage filled his senses.

“McGloin, there will be a delay in our departure. The duchess is unwell this morning. I must locate Mr. and Mrs. Jemison. Find Briggs and reserve a table for the three of us. We will break our fast here. Start by ordering tea, and I will join you directly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He found Mrs. Jemison overseeing the kitchen. “I know you are preoccupied with your duties, but could you send one of your maids to the duchess? She is not feeling well. Where is your husband?”

“Yes, Your Grace, right away. Hannah?” A young woman turned to look at them. “Go to the Duchess of Allenby and help her. She’s unwell.” The maid hurried off. “My husband is out front, overseeing departures.”

“Thank you.”

Duncan waited until a couple of carriages had cleared the area. He caught Jemison’s attention and waved him over. “We will not be leaving until twelve. Will that be a problem? The duchess is unwell.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace. But it is no problem at all. The next guests won’t arrive until three this afternoon.”

“If we had to stay another night, would that be an inconvenience?”

“Well, um, there are no rooms available tonight, but I might be able to double up some of the guests—”

“Do not change your arrangements, Mr. Jemison. I do not want to inconvenience any weary travelers. We will depart between twelve and one this afternoon. Rest assured.” Another carriage pulled up in front of the entrance. “I will see you later to settle the bill.”

A drop of rain hit his forehead, then another. Duncan glanced at the sky. How long would the heavier rain hold off? Given the look of the clouds, they could expect a downpour. Blast it, traveling was a necessary annoyance, and in November, inclement weather could complicate matters. The past few winters had been rough; he could only hope this one did not start early. Grumbling under his breath, he headed into the dining room. Patrick had secured seating by the fire.

A maid came to their table, bringing a teapot and large mugs.