The Virgin of Clan Sinclair Read Online Free PDF Page B

off when it was possible.
    Frankly, he was surprised that he hadn’t gotten a reputation for being sickly. He’d invented so many coughs, possible contagions, and stomach ailments, he was bound to be thought of as a hypochondriac.
    He knew why he remained on the top of the Edinburgh marriage mart. He was alive, an earl, and single—all three qualified him to be a husband. The only problem was that the idea of marriage was abhorrent to him.
    Unfortunately, most of the females of his acquaintance insisted on making him out to be a Scottish Heathcliff.
    To them he was a creature from a fevered novel, a brooding hero plucked from the pages. He was as far from a romantic figure as that fool Heathcliff, wandering the moors when he should have applied himself to some sensible pursuit like repairing his home or purchasing cattle.
    Baying at the moon never got a man anything but a hoarse voice.
    T he darkness was so complete, no matter how wide she opened her eyes, Ellice couldn’t see anything.
    The carriage maker was to be commended. No cracks existed in the floor, and the compartment beneath the seat was perfectly joined, permitting not one thread of light.
    She heard people moving around the carriage, felt the wheels roll a little as the brake was applied and the horses taken from their leads.
    Someone laughed not far away and she smelled the pungent odor of wet hay, horses, and leather.
    She was going to be late for dinner. Her mother would check her room and, finding her absent, would complain to the others at the table about what an ill-mannered chit she was.
    I can’t imagine where the girl has gotten to now. Eudora was never such, disappearing at all hours with no concern for others. When Ellice is here, she’s almost a shadow. Never speaks. Never has an opinion. Dearest Eudora was such a conversationalist.
    Only Virginia would know where she’d gone, but she wouldn’t tell. Nor did she ever contradict Enid, but her glance always carried a measure of compassion. As if to say, She is a trial, isn’t she, Ellice?
    She waited until she didn’t hear any more sounds, but just as she raised the carriage seat, she thought she heard one of the stable doors opening.
    How was she to ever get out of here? The stables were always occupied, by either the stable master or one of the grooms. People were always walking in or out. Would they even notice her? If someone did, could she stop them from carrying the tale?
    She forced herself to relax. She would have to miss dinner, that’s all, including meeting the stranger who’d been convinced to remain at Drumvagen.
    Her plan would have worked, too, if only he hadn’t decided to stay.
    She wasn’t good at telling time without a watch. The minutes seemed to stretch on into eternity when she was waiting for something to happen. Fifteen minutes might have passed or it might have been longer. When finally it seemed as if the sounds in the stable were muted, other than the stomp and snorts of the horses, she opened the seat, grateful that the hinges didn’t squeak.
    Getting out of the compartment was a great deal easier than going in, and she took a moment to fluff her skirts and debate over putting on her bustle for the short scamper to the house. Would anyone see?
    Yes, they undoubtedly would, and they’d go to her mother. Or, heaven forbid, Virginia.
    No, Virginia wouldn’t listen to tales about her. As for her mother, she couldn’t even bear considering that conversation.
    Your ladyship, did you know your daughter was cavorting about in the stable? Hiding in a carriage, she was, and acting as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
    No, that would never do.
    She blew out a breath, wished she never had the idea of escaping Drumvagen, and opened the carriage door.
    T he nursery, on the same floor as the family rooms, was in chaos, the door firmly closed. That wasn’t to prevent anyone from entering as much as it was to keep Fiona from leaving. She’d been walking for months now