Page 60 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“Oh, you are very impressive in this regard.” She added a feigned coolness to her voice. “But I’ll still have to see how you are at filing.”

“Cheeky.” Nathan grinned. “I like that.”

Verity could feel him getting hard again inside her. “You certainly seem to. And I must say, I enjoy your work ethic.” As the pulsing heat between them sped up again, words, cheeky or otherwise, flew from her mind and Verity’s sole thought was that she was happier than she’d ever been before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EVENTUALLY THEY HAD to proceed on horseback, lest the carriage break an axle on the rough pathways the Scots termed roads. It took them over a week to reach the village of Gairmore, tucked away deep in the Scottish Highlands. Even on a summer day, washed in sunshine, the community was not a prepossessing sight. A few rutted narrow roads and squat dark cottages made up most of the place, with a very plain kirk at one end and the banks of a loch at the other.

Nathan and Verity looked at each other, pulling their horses to a halt. “This is where Margaret Douglas chose to have her lying in?”

“Perhaps Mr. Douglas was telling the truth, and they just got caught here.” Nathan looked around doubtfully.

A woman stood in the doorway of her house, staring at them, and within moments, two other women and a man emerged from the houses around, clustering in the lane. Verity glanced at Nathan, handed him her reins and dismounted, then walked over to the group.

Verity launched into her Scottish act, and within moments, the others were chatting away with her in accents even more difficult to understand than Verity’s. Nathan decided not to bother with dismounting; there was little chance he’d understand a fraction of the conversation.

There was much nodding, and now and then, the Scots glanced over at Nathan, and at one point, all of them laughed. Nathan had the distinct feeling that Verity had made him the butt of some jest, but he just smiled pleasantly. Verity had clearly won them over.

Soon followed pointing in several different directions, along with more chatter, and Verity went into a long round of thanks and farewells. She strode back to him, and Nathan swung down to join her. Verity took his arm, pulling him with her as she started down the street.

“How do you do that?” Nathan asked. “It’s not only that you can sound like them. You were immediately their friends. They didn’t so much as nod in my direction.”

“Och, weel, now, you’re a Sassenach, aren’t you?” Verity said lightly.

“How did they know that? I never opened my mouth,” Nathan protested.

Verity sent him an amused glance and changed to her usual voice. “Nathan, anyone could tell that just by looking at you. I didn’t sound just like them, it seems. They were sure I was from Glasgow.”

He grimaced. “Still, they were willing to talk to you. They wanted to talk to you. Somehow you manage to be one of them.”

“You can go into a gentlemen’s club or a gambling den and talk with ease to anyone there, which I cannot.”

“Yes, well, that’s because I am one of them.”

“And you grew up watching them, imitating them. You learned how to be like them. All one has to do is study one’s subjects and blend in. Make their gestures and expressions. I didn’t do it overnight. I had trouble not acting and talking like a gentleman’s daughter when we were living on the streets, but I watched everyone else and imitated them, and I discovered I had a talent for it. It’s become second nature to me now, I suppose. I adopt other people’s gestures and expressions. Though you have to be careful there, or they might assume you’re mocking them.” She shrugged. “It helps to give them something they want, as well. They were clearly dying of curiosity about us. There aren’t many visitors in Gairmore, apparently.”

“Imagine that.”

“So few, in fact that the older man recalled everyone who’s stopped here in the last forty years.”

“The Douglas women?” Nathan asked.

“He thought so. But he went to ask his sister, who was older than he and might recall it better. One of them went to talk to Mrs. McCready, who owns a ‘fine house’ beside the loch, where she lets out rooms to visitors.”

“That sounds promising.”

“I thought so. I would venture to guess it’s the only house that does. Unfortunately, the woman who had been midwife here for many years passed. Her daughter is carrying on her work, but she was probably too young at the time to remember. So we are going to visit the Reverend Mr. Gordon at the kirk to look at the records of births.”

“What did you tell them we are doing?”

“I told them you were actually a Scotsman, but your poor mother had died when you were young and you had been given to a couple in England. You grew up thinking they were your parents, but you’ve heard that you are not, and now you want to find your true Scottish parents. All you know is that you were born here.”

He raised his brows. “Why not tell them the truth?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Verity tossed back.

“Of course.” He grinned. “How silly of me.”