A Midsummer Bride (12 page)

Thornton stepped lightly up the crumbled stairs to the ruined castle above Thornton Hall. A light shone from the windows of one of the outbuildings. It was five in the morning. No staff was supposed to be there. No houseguest would be awake for another four hours. Miss Redgrave had unfortunately taken ill. Whoever was there could only mean trouble.

Thornton was a peace-loving man by nature but a Highlander by blood, a fact made plain by the claymore sword he swung over his shoulder. Marchford may have preferred a brace of pistols—he was English like that—but nothing beat the sheer intimidation factor of a sword almost as long as he was tall.

He slowed a bit as he approached the castle. The sky had shed the inky blackness of a cloudy night to the cool gray of predawn. Morning came early to the Highlands in the summer. The fog settled itself comfortably around the castle and the candle through the window shone in an orange halo through the mist. Silently, Thornton approached the outbuilding, the old kitchen of the ruined castle. Straining against the muffling effect of fog, he froze, trying to place the faint sound emanating from the building. It was… humming.

Edging up to the building, he peeked inside and, through the illumination of several candles, saw the odd laboratory of Miss Redgrave. The room was even more filled than when he had seen it last. Bottles, boxes, books, and papers lay about in a haphazard manner. Small piles of rocks and metals and heaps of powders were lined up on an old table on one side of the room. Many tiny, oddly shaped bottles with cork stoppers were scattered across another table on the opposite side. A small fire was burning in a metal dish, with a bottle propped over it, held up by a strange metal contraption. What kind of lass was Harriet to have such an unusual interest?

Suddenly, Harriet’s face appeared in the open window, inches away from his own. He pulled back instinctively and lost his balance, setting him down hard.

“Hello! Oh, I say, I am sorry. Did I startle you?” Harriet added further insult to his humiliation by hopping through the open window like a gazelle and offering a hand to help him up.

“I am fine, thank ye. Nay, I dinna need help to stand.”

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“I am fine!” he answered more harshly than he intended. “What are ye doing here? I thought ye were ill.”

She smiled at him, and he suddenly realized she was in a rather natural state. Her auburn hair was down and framed her face with gentle curves. Her hair was surprisingly thick and long, much different than the sensible knot she typically wore. She wore a long wool coat, but peeking from underneath he could swear she wore nothing but her chemise. Unlike her sensible dress during the day, this Harriet Redgrave was a wild thing, at home with the fey creatures of the Scottish Highlands.

“The duchess started a rumor I was febrile to explain my behavior yesterday. I feel fine but I could not sleep. I am doing some testing and I could not wait any longer to find the results.” She clapped her hands together and her green eyes shone with an ethereal glow in the mist. “Besides, it is almost dawn. I am shocked at how society feels the need to sleep away half the morning.”

He had felt the same way many times, having an innate affinity for the morning his friends did not share. “I am glad to hear ye are well, but it is still dark and ye shoud’na be here alone.” The thought of any harm coming to his Harriet made his stomach roll—though when she had become “his” Harriet, he could not say.

Harriet shrugged. “You are right, I suppose. But have you ever had something you were so passionate about you could not wait to get back to it? Like an excellent book or Christmas morning or returning home after a long absence?”

Thornton hesitated, considering the question. He liked books, but not to the point where passion came into play, Christmas had been largely banned by his grandmother, who feared it would spoil him to be given any presents, and the only thing he felt in returning home was dread. “What has captured your passions, Miss Redgrave?”

She gave him another smile. “Come and see.”

He followed her into the old kitchen, thankful she chose the door this time instead of the window. She described her experiments with a rousing passion. She picked up odd-shaped bottles and pointed to powders. She explained her equipment with odd names like
alembics
,
curcubite
, and
pelican
. He had difficulty following her narrative, but he had no trouble appreciating the fire in her eyes when she spoke.

“Interesting,” he said, knowing it was insufficient for the excitement with which she described her work.

Harriet sighed. “I think ‘interesting’ must mean something different than I thought, because every time I hear it, I know the person does not wish to talk any more about my experiments.” She turned back to stirring something in a metal tin.

“It must be lonely to have a passion for something so few people share.” He loved his horses, but it was a passion shared by many. He was not alone in it as she was.

She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “It can be lonely. There are not many who share a fascination with chemistry, and fewer still with whom I can discuss it.”

“And here, ye have no one at all.”

Harriet returned her focus to the fire in the tin plate. “Yes, you are right.” Her voice was soft.

He cursed himself for making her sad and attempted to remedy the situation. “Chemistry is an unusual hobby. How did ye start?”

The change of subjects earned him a smile. “My father’s brother was fascinated by it. He refused to go into the navy as expected and instead charted his own course. Most of the family tried to pretend he no longer existed, but he was always welcome at our house. He had a way of making children laugh, and he showed me all his chemistry experiments. My father kept the boys away from the potential evil influence of science. I suppose he thought it could do me no harm. He was wrong, as you see. Of course, when my uncle invented a new form of gunpowder that made firing a cannon easier and safer on ship, he was hailed as a hero of the family.”

“It is certainly not a hobby for the weak-minded person. I am impressed by yer dedication to the science, though I hope ye are not currently looking for a new recipe for gunpowder.”

“Not yet,” she said absently, her focus on the contents of the bottle over her makeshift fire. It was hardly the rousing reassurance he had wished to hear. “I am doing experiments in luminescence. In this regard, it is helpful to work in the dark to see if I can find something that glows.”

He watched her for a moment, impressed by whatever she was doing, measuring this, adding that, until a whoosh of blue flame blasted from the plate, sparking the thatched roof and popping into a cloud of black smoke.

“Oh dear,” said Harriet, and dissolved into a fit of coughing.

Thornton pulled Harriet out of the way then grabbed a stick and batted at the burning embers on the thatch roof until they were all out.

“I’m so sorry. It hardly ever does that,” said Harriet weakly.

Hardly
ever? Thornton gathered together his raw nerves. Everything he worked for was in this compound; a fire would be devastating for him. Even worse was the thought of Harriet being hurt. “Miss Redgrave,” he turned to her. “About these experiments—”

“You want me not to set your property on fire.”

“Aye, I would appreciate it.” He walked toward her and held her hands the way she had done to him. He liked holding her hands. “And more than that, I wish for ye to stay safe.”

Harriet’s cheeks turned pink. “I appreciate your concern.” She softly squeezed his hands.

He stepped closer, his eyes focused on her rose-colored lips. She was just the right height. She was a
kissable
height. He leaned closer then caught himself and stepped back, dropping her hands. What could he be thinking?

“Oh look, the sun is rising!” Harriet sprang out of the building and bounded up the stairs to the walkway on the castle wall. The sun was emerging in the east, the orange rays warming the tops of the hills above them.

He followed her, moth to a flame. It was a crisp, fair morning and the sunrise painted the sky pink and orange. It was beautiful. Was it always so? He was often too busy to notice. He walked up the stone steps and watched the sunrise and Harriet in even measure. He was not sure which sight drew him more, the glory of the sun washing the world in color or the look of wonder on her face.

She leaned against the battlements, a slight smile on her face, her eyes wide. “I love this time of day. Everything is new and fresh.” She turned to him. “And I haven’t messed it up yet.”

Her slow smile haunted him. “I also enjoy a sunrise,” he said.
And
I
enjoy
ye
more.

“We are alone in this joy, I think.”

He nodded. “Aye.”

They stood witness as the orange glow crept closer until it suddenly burst over the castle wall and illuminated the grounds. And them.

She glowed in the sunlight. There was no other word for it. Her auburn hair turned to bright red under the sun’s rays. She lifted her head and closed her eyes to embrace the warmth of the sun. He had a sudden urge to embrace her too.

“Beautiful,” he said, looking only at her.

“But you are not even looking at the sunrise.”

“Beautiful just the same.”

She leaned forward and crinkled her brow at him. “Are you still drunk? Maybe left over from last night? You English drink quite a bit.”

“I am a Highlander,” he reminded.

“Is that better or worse?”

“Worse. Far worse.”

“That explains it.”

“Despite my birth, I shall claim sobriety at this moment and say with certainty that ye are a bonnie lass in the morn.”

She blinked at him. For once it appeared she had nothing to say. She closed her eyes tight and opened them again with a wide smile. “I am going to remember this moment for the rest of my life. The moment a real Highlander called me a ‘bonnie lass.’”

He drew closer to her; he could not help himself. He managed to keep his arms at his sides, but he leaned too close. She stepped even closer and put her hands upon his chest. Her green eyes revealed confusion—and something else. It was a heady, smoldering look, one he had never seen in any woman’s eye. And this was for him.

He leaned forward and kissed one soft cheek then the other, lingering too long. Alarm bells finally decided to ring.

He backed up, away from temptation. “I hope ye shall have a verra nice day.” He spoke softly, hoping his plain words could convey all he could not say.

Her lips parted, and he had to force himself not to step forward and claim them for his own. He must get away. Without another word, he bowed and ran down the steps, away from temptation, away from that fey creature, away from his Harriet.

“Thornton!”

Thornton turned and paused while Marchford strode up to him in the hallway where all of the men were staying.

“I’ve got a favor to ask of you, old friend.”

“Oh no. I know when ye evoke the length of our friendship ye truly have an onerous task before me,” said Thornton.

“I am having another meeting this morning, one that I wish to occur without disruption.”

Memories of Miss Redgrave standing on a chair flooded Thornton’s mind. “I believe Miss Redgrave has taken ill.”

Marchford raised an eyebrow. “I believe my grandmother circulated that rumor to explain her peculiar behavior yesterday. I have no confidence such trivial considerations as her reputation would convince Miss Redgrave to stay away from my proceedings.”

“What would you have me do? Block the door?”

“Distract her. Ask her to go for a walk or a ride. Take her to the library. Show her the castle. I don’t know, just keep her out of sight of the rest of the guests.”

Mixed emotions flooded through Thornton. On one hand there was nothing he wanted more than to spend more time alone with Harriet. On the other hand, his desire made Harriet the one person from whom he should stay away. “I shall do my best, old friend. But please do remember that charming women was always Grant’s job, not mine.”

“Time to take on a new hobby and learn to entertain ladies.”

“She does not appear to be easily distracted from her object,” said Thornton.

Marchford shrugged. “Or lock her in her room. Just keep her away from my meeting. It is a matter of critical importance to the Empire.”

Thornton obligingly took up residence outside the door. He was determined to keep Harriet away from the meeting, but also himself away from her. It would not do at all to draw too near her. Such familiarity may make a lady expect a declaration, and proposing marriage was the one thing he could not do.

As Marchford had predicted, Harriet marched determinedly to the door where the aristocratic military leaders were holding their meetings. She had changed into a sensible muslin frock and twisted her hair into a plain knot. Gone was the fey creature of this morning, yet as she approached, Thornton could see the fire in her eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Redgrave,” greeted Thornton.

“Are you now the door guard?” Harriet asked accusingly.

“Aye. It fits my skill and talents to stand here and do and say nothing.”

“Self-deprecating humor will hardly raise my opinion of you.”

“Then ye will only give me more reason to doubt myself.”

“You are difficult when you don’t fight back,” Harriet accused. “I am accustomed to sparring with my brothers. I do not know what to do with easy victory.”

“Alas! I had no siblings. I do not know how to play this game.”

“Never? Did you never have siblings?”

“Nay. My parents were not the best of friends. Once an heir was produced, they felt no further need to spend a moment in each other’s company.” It was diplomatically stated. In truth, his parents loathed each other.

Harriet blinked at him and was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “My parents are forever in each other’s company, always laughing, always by each other’s side. I could not imagine growing up without them or my big, boisterous brothers. How quiet your home must have been.” It was as if she was trying to find something kind to say.

“Aye. Like a crypt.”

“I am sorry. But perhaps there can be benefits to being quiet. There is no one to steal your things or break your toys. No one to interrupt you when you are talking and snitch on you whenever you even think of doing something naughty. No one to make you laugh at the dinner table until your drink comes out your nose and you are sent to eat in the nursery for behavior unbecoming a lady.”

Thornton tried to resist a smile but failed. “Sounds terrible having so many siblings.”

“Truly awful.” But she smiled when she said it. “My brothers are a pain in my backside. And oh, how I miss them. I just hope they have gotten the letter that I am all right. They must be terribly worried about me.”

“I have a second cousin. I doubt he would be concerned for my welfare though, since the last time I saw him he informed me that if I was to die, he would inherit.”

“How dreadful!”

“He was only eight at the time.”

“A poor excuse.”

“I have always thought so.”

They stood in the hall, at a loss what to say next. The rumbling sound of men’s voices could be heard from the room behind the door.

“So am I to wrestle you out of the way?” asked Harriet.

A horrible impulse to tell her to try her best swept over him. Somehow the unconventional Miss Harriet brought out impulses he did not even know he had. “I fear I might enjoy that,” he said with too much candor. “But I wondered if I could show ye something first.”

“I will not be dissuaded.” She raised her chin.

“Have you heard of Monsieur Lavoisier?”

“Antoine Lavoisier? Of course! He is a giant in the field of chemistry.” Harriet gave him her full attention.

“Then ye have read his work
The
Elementary
Treatise
of
Chemistry
?”

“I have heard of it. It is truly remarkable by all accounts.”

“Were ye aware that it was translated by a Scotsman, Robert Kerr?”

“A Scotsman? No, I was not.”

“I do like to support a fellow Scot when I can.”

Much to his surprise, Harriet grabbed his sleeve. “Do you have a copy? Do you?”

“Aye, ’tis in the library—”

Harriet did not wait for him to finish but grabbed his hand and ran down the hall to the library. It was dark in the room, but she flung open the curtains and opened a window to let in the sunlight and the cool breeze. “Where? Where is it?”

Thornton went to a top shelf and pulled down the large volume, placing it on the table.

“Oh!” She tried not to squeal and jump up and down but failed.

“I had no idea ye would be quite so pleased.” He was mesmerized at her reaction, so raw, so honest.

“I had no idea you had this book or I would have been living in this room.”

“I shall not force ye to remain a prisoner. Take the book back to yer room and read it at yer leisure.”

“Thank you. Thank you!”

Harriet opened the book with a loving touch and Thornton found he could not look away from her. He was a fair man, and he recognized there would be few who would consider her a great beauty, yet when her eyes gleamed with true pleasure, she was the most lovely creature he had ever beheld. It made him want to do more to see such raw joy.

“You were sent to get rid of me. Were you not?” Harriet sat down at the table without looking up from the book.

“Aye. Do ye mind?”

“No. I understand they do not wish me to interrupt. I do appreciate your honesty.”

Thornton sat down across from her. “I shall always be honest with ye.”

“Will you? If you would, it would be novel at least.”

“People are no’ truthful with ye?”

“People say one thing to my face and another behind my back. Sometimes they do not always make sure I’m out of earshot.” Harriet trailed her finger down the page of the book like a caress. The thoughts it inspired in Thornton made him shift in his chair.

“Society can be cruel without cause.”

Harriet looked up. “I fear I do give them cause. I interrupt meetings with generals and read books on chemistry. If that is not cause for being labeled as odd, I cannot think of what would be.”

Thornton smiled. “Remember, we are loved for our uniqueness.”

“Perhaps some are more unique than others,” muttered Harriet.

“Did not Paul say in first Corinthians 12 that we are all made different but parts of the same body? ‘
But
now
God
has
set
the
members, each one of them, in the body, just as He pleased
.’”

“I cannot imagine what part of the body I would be. Something unattractive, without purpose.”

“Ye be too harsh on yerself. Besides, in Romans 12 Paul writes, ‘
Having
then
gifts
differing
according
to
the
grace
that
is
given
to
us, let us use them
.’”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “I do not see chemistry being considered one of the spiritual gifts. At least no one in society would think so.”

“Is this something ye aspire to? Would ye like to be prominent in society?”

“Oh no. I’d rather read my books and do experiments. But I would like the gossip to stop. I cannot imagine so much interest over my dowry.” Harriet returned to her book.

“Get married,” said Thornton bluntly.

“I beg your pardon?” Harriet looked up at him with wide eyes.

“The gossip seems focused on yer potential marital partner. If ye wed, there would be naught left to talk about. Or at least,” he amended because he did promise to be honest, “there would be less.”

She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “Are you working now for the duchess and Penelope? Or perhaps my grandfather? They are all trying to get me to wed as soon as may be. Apparently, a wedding will make me more acceptable.”

Thornton shook him head. “I am merely stating the facts, not recommending the institution. I have no personal experience, nor am I likely to, so I cannot recommend it one way or the other. Have ye ever thought o’ matrimony?” He was edging around a dangerous topic.

“I suppose, but it does not seem likely. Besides, I have the benefit of having enough resources to meet my needs. If I wed, whatever income I enjoy would go directly to my husband—advantageous for him, not as great for me.”

“Not if ye had my mother’s solicitor,” muttered Thornton. His mother retained control of most of her dowry, thanks to some careful negotiations in the marriage agreements.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What ye need is not to avoid marriage, but to get yerself a good attorney.”

“I suppose so. It is not as if any credible offers have come my way, so it is a moot point. My father would never accept anyone he thought was a fortune hunter, nor would I.”

“Nor should ye. But perhaps ye could find a man with a love for chemistry.” On this count he felt safe. He knew no one who dabbled in chemistry.

Harriet’s eyes gleamed with that same internal fire. “That would be a dream. Did you know that Lavoisier’s wife was instrumental in his work?”

“I was not aware.”

“She made sketches of his work and kept meticulous records. I would love to marry a scientist.”

For some reason, Thornton was not pleased with the idea. “Or perhaps ye could share yer passion with a gentleman and win over his interest.”

Harriet disappointed him by shaking her head. “No, it cannot be done. I’ve never met a man interested in chemistry unless he came that way from the start.”

“There you are!” Miss Rose entered the room, her hands on her hips. “You were very adroit at sneaking away.”

“Have you been looking for me?” asked Harriet, her attempt to look innocent marred by a guilty grin.

“Yes. I see you have found a book—”

“
Elementary
Treatise
of
Chemistry
by Lavoisier!” exclaimed Harriet.

“Yes, yes, very nice,” placated Miss Rose. “But Her Grace and I are trying to restore your reputation, which will not be improved by spending time alone with a man.” She looked accusingly at Thornton.

“I confess I am guilty of the charges before me,” conceded Thornton. “I shall leave the field in shame. Good day to ye both.”

“Thank you, Lord Duncan!” Harriet’s voice was warm.

Though she mangled his title, he liked it from her lips. “If I have pleased ye, I am happy, though I ken not how I did so.”

“The book!” Harriet hefted the large volume as if it was obvious, which in retrospect he supposed it was.

Thornton bowed and quit the library. Miss Rose was right; he should be more circumspect with respect to Miss Redgrave. He should not be alone with her or any female save his own mother, and the less of that the better. He would not wish to encourage hopes of matrimony, which could not be. Of course, it appeared she had no interest in him in that regard, which was good.

Thornton sighed and his shoulders sagged. Very good indeed.