Page 23 of Who’s That Earl

She lifted her gaze from the table to the window, scanning the sky for the slate-colored clouds that would be welcome harbingers of more snow. But the sky was clear, a brilliant cerulean blue, and already the snow that had gathered in the corners of the window ledge had begun to melt.

The truth was, it would be good for the people of Balisaig and the surrounding farms to have the attention of their landlord after all this time. It was only she who had cause to dread his arrival.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Higginbotham?” Mrs. Abernathy seemed to understand that his arrival would not necessarily be a cause of celebration for everyone.

Jane started at her friend’s touch on the back of her hand. “Of course. Just surprised.”

“Mr. Ratliff is in Edinburgh, you said? Then he must know, I suppose. I wonder at him not sending you word.”

“I—” Jane had to pause for a fortifying gulp of tea before the words would come. “When he’s involved with his work, he often loses track of more mundane matters.”

One delicate golden-brown eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Mundane matters? But if the earl comes and decides to stay, you’ll all be turned out of Dunnock.”

Oh, God.

Behind her, the mantel clock gave a tinkling chime, reminding her of the passage of time. If she didn’t collect the dogs and leave Balisaig soon, she’d be forced to walk once more with Thomas. And she needed to be alone, to think, to prepare. Her lease on Dunnock expired within a matter of days, and she was not fool enough to imagine that the new earl’s timing was a coincidence.

To think, she had almost let that other letter rattle her. This was the real threat. She was going to have to start over.

Again.

“I have to go.” She rose abruptly and would have sat down again just as quickly, but she refused to give in to another episode of this uncharacteristic wobbliness in her knees. She had never been missish, even when she was a miss.

The sudden movement nearly upset the tea table. But Mrs. Abernathy, evidently prepared for such a possibility, laid one hand on its fluted edge to steady it, then rose and gripped Jane’s hands in hers. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Higginbotham. Dinna fash yourself. Mr. Ratliff surely has matters well in hand.”

A burble of hysterical laughter rose in Jane’s chest, but she managed to check it. “Oh, yes. He’s very clever.”

Together, they gathered Jane’s things, and Mrs. Abernathy preceded her down the stairs. When they passed Mr. Abernathy’s work table, he glanced up to wish her a good morning. Though he, unlike his wife, was not noted for his perceptiveness, Jane could see worry flicker into his eyes as he peered over the tops of his spectacles.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Abernathy,” she said in her calmest, most reassuring voice. It would be all through the village by midday if she gave in to tears.

They were prickling behind her eyes, though, and stinging in her throat, and the pressure grew worse when Mrs. Abernathy picked up the package of stockings and wordlessly pressed them into Jane’s hands.

“I haven’t got my reticule,” Jane protested. “I cannot pay for them.”

“A gift,” Mrs. Abernathy said. Everything about her demeanor declared the stockings an effort to atone for her having been the bearer of upsetting news.

Jane nodded and tucked the thin package into her muff. If she was going to have to refashion her life, she could do so in a pair of new stockings, at least. “Thank you, my friend. Truly.”

On the street, she was nearly run down by a laughing Mary MacIntyre, who was looking over her shoulder at the contents of the handcart she was pulling, rather than where she was going. Inside sat the two dogs side by side, fur wet and paws muddy, tongues lolling in exhausted enjoyment. The baby bonnet had disappeared. Jane hoped it had not been ingested.

“I’m afraid I have to be heading home now, Mary,” she said, laying a hand on the girl’s head to slow her progress. “So I’ll be taking Athena and Aphrodite.”

“Aww, not yet, Mrs. Higginbotham.” Mary looked up, her pleading brown eyes framed by a tangle of red-brown hair. “I’ll bring them home later, I promise.”

For just a moment, Jane considered relenting. The dogs were worn out, and she could not face the thought of having to carry them up the hill. Then Aphrodite, ready to be free, stood on her hind legs, nearly upsetting the delicate balance of the little two-wheeled cart. Jane lifted her out and smiled consolingly at Mary. “I think it’s for the best if they come with me.”

Besides, the longer she delayed, the more likely she would have unwelcome companionship. Her eyes darted to the pub, whose door thankfully—though curiously—remained closed. It ought not to have taken so long to ask about the mail. Perhaps Thomas had found old friends inside. He had said, after all, that Balisaig was his home.

A sudden chill swept through her that had nothing to do with the ankle-deep snow.

Home.

He’d said that Dunnock was his home, hadn’t he?

Other snippets of conversation came rushing back to her, fitting together more neatly than she wanted to admit. Thomas’s obvious lie about what had brought him to Balisaig. Mrs. Abernathy’s revelation that the title had been claimed by someone who’d come from abroad. Mr. Donaldson’s speculation that it was only a matter of time until the earl showed up in the village.

Jane did not realize her gaze had narrowed until she felt a cold, wet nose nudge at her exposed wrist. When she glanced down, she had to relax her hard-eyed squint to focus on Aphrodite, dangling from Mary’s thin arms. “Are ye all right, ma’am?” the girl asked, worriedly.