Page 42 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Delia made a sound of derision. “Oh dear, and after having spent so much time ensuring people didn’t hear the daft things I say.”

“You’re not the least bit daft, and Muir knows it or he’d not have been so furious to see you with Hamilton this morning.”

Startled by this information, Delia perked up. She had noted the daffodils he’d left for her, not that he’d actually handed them over, but perhaps if he was cross with Hamilton, he’d forgotten. It was not a good excuse, but it was a reason she could understand. “He was furious?”

“Green as grass, more like,” Luella said, winking at her. “I think Hamilton could not have arrived at a more propitious moment. If Muir thinks he’s in danger of losing you, he might actually exert himself to say the right thing instead of putting his foot in it.”

“I don’t want him to say things just to win me like I’m a silver cup in a competition, though,” Delia objected.

“Then make sure he knows you are flesh and blood,” Luella said with a laugh. “And not made of cold silver.”

Blushing, Delia looked away, and wondered what the afternoon might bring.

Chapter 11

Miss Spencer,

If you think running away from me is going to change anything, I am afraid you are very much mistaken. You will need to run a good deal farther than London to escape me.

However, I am not about to plague you. This letter is only to inform you that I am very much in earnest despite the hasty way I went about things at our last meeting. I hope you will forgive me for how I behaved, but you know as well as anyone that I can be impulsive. That does not mean to say I am not sincere. I mean to court you, Miss Spencer, and I warn you, I shall present myself to the earl to ask his permission to pay my addresses.

I am not a fool, nor am I still a reckless boy. I only ask that you give me the chance to prove this to you.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (Son of Alice and Nathaniel Hunt) to The Hon’ble Miss Violetta Spencer.

31st March 1850, Brabster Farm, The Highlands of Scotland.

“The men are all out in the lambing shed,” Mrs Paterson said, eyeing Delia with suspicion though it was Luella who had asked. “And I’ve no time to go fetch them, for as ye can see, I have bread to make.”

“Not at all, please don’t trouble yourself,” Luella said with excessive politeness. “We can find our own way.”

Turning, Luella rolled her eyes at Delia and led her out of the kitchen.

“Miserable old bat,” she muttered under her breath, making Delia snigger with laughter. “If you do marry Muir, I trust you will have a word with her and put her in her place. Anyone would think she was the lady of the manor.”

“I’m not sure I’d dare,” Delia admitted, quailing at the thought of facing such a creature.

“Nonsense. Why do you always put yourself down? You’re more than capable of dealing with the likes of Mrs Paterson. Indeed, I think you would do it with ease.”

Delia smiled, gratified that Luella thought her capable, for so far Luella was everything she aspired to be.

Picking their way carefully across the muddy yard, Luella led them into the lambing shed, though Delia thought she could probably have found it herself, for the bleats and cries from within were most expressive.

Wooden hurdles separated the mothers-to-be, so each had their own space, and whilst some slept peacefully, others were obviously in varying stages of the birthing process.

“There’s Dugald,” Luella said, raising a hand as the fellow waved at them and gestured for them to come over.

“Just in time,” he said quietly, grinning as he gestured to the scene he’d been watching.

As Delia looked over, the ewe pushed her new lamb into the world and Muir took it up at once, checking its airways were clear and rubbing the tiny newborn over with straw, his movements brisk and sure. The lamb gave a heartfelt bleat and Muir looked up, glancing at Delia as he put it before its mother, who promptly began washing it. His gaze was cautious, and she realised he was waiting to see if she would turn away in disgust from the scene, which was bloody and rather gruesome as well as being touching and extraordinarily beautiful. She supposed she could understand his expectation that she might squeal and turn away, or even swoon, for she knew plenty of girls who would do just that, but she was not one of them.

So, Delia watched the scene with quiet delight until Muir left the pen. He stopped to wash his hands in a bucket of cold water with a large bar of carbolic soap, before he walked towards them, drying himself on a cloth as he approached.

“Well, ye have seen yer first birth, Delia. What did you think?”

“It was fascinating, and rather wonderful,” she said, smiling at him. “Thank you for letting me come.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, still studying her with interest. “Ye didnae find it too indelicate? It’s a messy business, aye?”