Page 10 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“My stomach is rather stronger than I believed it to be,” she said ruefully. “I suspect I ought not to have such a healthy appetite after everything that’s happened.”

“There is nae point in starving yerself, lassie,” Muir said, his tone matter of fact. “It serves nae purpose and none of what happened is yer fault, ye ken.”

“I know,” she replied, looking at him covertly whilst he applied himself to his meal.

His hair was on the long side for fashion, and in severe disarray after his fight with Malmsey. Unsurprisingly, his clothes had fared little better, his kilt dusty and his coat torn and just as filthy. He looked utterly disreputable, large and dangerous, her every notion of a Highland warrior come to life. Her idiotic heart gave a lurch as she remembered how magnificent he had looked rampaging towards Lord Malmsey, bellowing with fury as he went. The image ingrained in her mind was one she would not soon forget, and this great, untamed-looking creature was to be her husband! A shiver of something not quite fear prickled down her spine.

“My name is Cordelia. My friends and family call me Delia,” she added.

He glanced up at that. “Ye dinnae like being called lassie, aye?”

“Oh, I don’t mind it,” she replied with a smile. “It’s rather endearing actually, but I thought you might like to use my name now and then, too.”

“Ye dinnae prefer I call ye ‘my lady?’” he asked her curiously.

“Good heavens, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I am not nearly so formal as that and… and if we are…” She swallowed, still having some difficulty with the truth of it.

“To be married?” he finished for her. “There’s nae point in being squeamish. I reckon I am nae the husband ye wished for, but I cannae change it any more than ye can.”

Delia held her tongue, too uncertain of herself to reply, especially as it would be to contradict him. He was exactly the kind of husband she had wished for. She had dreamed of a bold, dashing man who would stop at nothing to keep her safe. A hero who would throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of danger and off into the sunset. The trouble was, she was only now realising that such an exciting husband might not be very comfortable to live the rest of her life with. She did not know Mr Anderson well, but though he was a fine, handsome man, and he had made her laugh a good deal during their brief conversations in the past, he was a little… well, rough about the edges. Not that she minded that, nor his frank speech. It was only that she wondered what kind of life she might lead as his wife, and what he might expect of her.

“I cannot imagine I am the kind of wife you wished for either,” she replied quietly.

There was a brief silence, which was answer enough for Delia.

“I consider myself a very fortunate fellow,” he said, and whilst she appreciated the gallant try, she wished he had lied a bit harder.

“You are kind, sir, but I pray you are better at hiding your true feelings when you play cards,” she replied dryly.

He sighed and set down his cutlery, pushing the empty plate aside. “I spoke true enough,” he said, his tone gruff. “Yer a very lovely girl, beautiful, in fact, and no doubt ye will bring me a healthy dowry. I’d be a fool to turn my nose up. It’s only I think ye will nae like the life ahead of ye. I expected to marry a lass who was more… robust,” he finished after a pause.

“Robust?” she replied with a frown.

“Aye. Ye husband-to-be is nae more than a glorified sheep farmer in the wilds of Scotland. My brother Lyall inherited the title, ye ken. Wildsyde is his now, but I inherited the home farm.”

“Sheep farming is a successful enterprise in the Highlands now, I understand. Since the clearances—”

“There wisnae clearance at Wildsyde,” he said, his voice sharp. “There wisnae need, for the land was never forested, but even if it had been, neither my da nor my brother holds with putting people off the land they’ve farmed all their lives. We’ve land enough for our needs, and we deal in quality, nae quantity. I’ve the best sheep ye will find anywhere in the Scotland, or in England too.”

“I beg your pardon,” Delia said meekly, flushing with mortification. “I did not intend to insult you.”

“Ach, nae,” he said, his expression becoming less forbidding in the face of her apology. “Ye must forgive me. There’s nae reason ye should know such things. Dinnae heed me, lassie—I mean, Delia.”

“We’ve a good deal to learn about each other,” she said hesitantly, wondering what life as a sheep farmer’s wife might entail. She could not begin to imagine it.

“Aye,” he replied, sounding even more dejected than she did. “I reckon we do.”

The next day, Muir went to a deal of trouble to send her brother one of the newfangled telegrams that the railway now offered, to assure him of her safety. Then they both sent letters to everyone who needed to be informed in more detail of their situation. By the time Muir had resolved things with the magistrate summoned upon the death of Lord Malmsey, it was late in the morning.

Setting off to the train station at Huntingdon, Delia could only stare out of the window in bemusement. Her life had never been her own, for her brute of a father had been a far too domineering figure in her life, keeping her isolated from the world until her brother had married and insisted on taking responsibility for her. As the duke had by that time bankrupted himself through a lifetime of selfishness and mismanagement, he’d had little recourse.

Wrexham kept their father on a tight leash these days through the allowance he paid the duke. Anything resembling inappropriate behaviour and Wrexham simply refused to pay. It had changed Delia’s life beyond recognition, bringing her society and a few dear friends of the kind she had never had before. But a lifetime of solitude, where novels and daydreams about exciting adventures and romantic escapades had been her only friends, made her ill-equipped for the ton. They thought her peculiar at best, and her habit of speaking to herself out loud, or worse, having make-believe conversations with animals or inanimate objects, did not help matters. She had a lively imagination and often found humour in things other people did not seem to appreciate. Besides which, animals were far easier to talk to than most people. Though she had tried to cure herself of the habit, it was too ingrained, and she seemed unable to stop it entirely.

And now here she was, once again swept away by the tide of life, picked up like a leaf and towed along by the current, with no means of fighting her fate.

She told herself she was not ungrateful. Even now she might be married to Enoch Goodfellow, or worse still, at the mercy of Lord Malmsey. Shuddering, she reminded herself she had escaped Enoch through her own efforts and running into Malmsey had been sheer bad luck. She was not entirely helpless, and she had a will of her own. Having extracted an agreement from Mr Anderson that they should have a few weeks to get to know each other before they wed, if things between them did not appear to be working, she would simply refuse to marry him, no matter how bad the ensuing scandal would be.

If she was destined to be Wrexham’s peculiar sister and eccentric maiden aunt to his and Emmeline’s children, it would be no more than she had ever expected.