“What do you wish to do?” Alana asked.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, staring down the table at his chattering children. “I hate to make such a detour with your stomach giving you so much trouble. Your health . . .” his gaze dropped to her still nearly flat abdomen “. . . and that of the babe, is more important than whatever catastrophe my aunt has imagined.”
She rested a hand on his arm. “Yes, but Dalmay House is on the road to Edinburgh, is it not?”
“Yes,” he admitted somewhat reluctantly.
“Then a stop there will not take us much out of the way.” She smiled in reassurance. “My health can handle a slight detour. In fact, it might do me some good to stand on solid ground for longer than a twelve-hour span. Once this matter is resolved, we’ll continue the two or three hours to Edinburgh.”
Philip’s gaze softened at his wife’s valiant display of unconcern. My brother-in-law and I both knew this stopover was no small matter. Being ill in one’s own home was one thing, but being forced to endure a queasy stomach in unfamiliar surroundings was quite different. We were both eager to see Alana settled in Edinburgh and replace the weight she had lost on the journey.
He reached out to take hold of the hand she had placed on his arm and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you, my dear. I promise we shall not stay longer than necessary.”
I dropped my gaze to my plate, trying to squash the uncomfortable surge of jealousy I felt flooding me—a sensation that had been happening more and more often of late. In the past their displays of affection had always warmed me, but now they left me feeling itchy, anxious. I knew they were not the ones to blame. I was the one who had changed. Somehow in the short space of a few months my life had begun to chafe. Where once I had felt comfortable and content in my exile, I now felt frustrated and alone.
I welcomed the move to Edinburgh if for nothing else but the change of scenery and the opportunity for new company. I loved my sister and her family, but their constant companionship had recently begun to pall. That the annoyance had been sufficient enough to motivate me to seek other associations should be indicative of the severity of the situation. I, who hated society and its insipid conversations, who despised petty gossip, was willing to venture out among the lions simply to indulge in a bit of idle talk with someone other than a family member.
So to hear that we would be stopping at Dalmay House where I might speak with old friends, who were far less likely to judge me or flay me with their barbed tongues, should have made me quite pleased. After all, Michael Dalmay and his sister, and even Philip’s cousins, were sure to be excellent company, regardless of the problem with Michael and Caroline’s betrothal. However, I felt a surprising amount of distress at the postponement of our arrival in Edinburgh.
It wasn’t difficult to understand why. Despite my mixed emotions concerning the man, and my fervent denials—even to myself—that I did not care for him, I evidently had been looking forward to seeing Gage. I reminded myself that it was ridiculous to think he would leave the city in just the two or three days we would spend at Dalmay House, if, in fact, he was even still residing in the Scottish capital, but my taut nerves would not be persuaded.
I sighed, resigned to our detour. I wasn’t about to argue with Philip and my sister about the necessity of stopping at Dalmay House, not when they were certain to see through my excuses to the truth of the matter. Besides, it seemed a bit heartless to ignore Caroline’s plight, though I could have cared less for her mother’s distress. And I did want to see Michael Dalmay again.
So I did not give voice to my disappointment when, upon suddenly recalling my presence, Alana turned to ask me, “Is that all right, Kiera?”
“Of course,” I replied with forced indifference, not that my opinion mattered anyway. “I’m in no rush. And, in any case, it will be lovely to see the Dalmays again.”
Alana smiled. “Yes, it will.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Oh, my,” I gasped as I leaned forward to peer out the window as the carriage emerged from the shelter of trees onto a circular drive. “It’s rather . . .” Words failed me.
“Sprawling? Ostentatious?” Philip supplied wryly, joining me at the window. Following luncheon, he had elected to join us in the carriage, allowing his horse to be led along behind the coach. He laid his hand against his wife’s head, careful not to jostle it where it lay on his lap. “Yes. The old Lord Dalmay never did anything by halves.”