Alex Dunnegin sat down in his chair hard, head down, hands threading through his hair and pressing against his temple. For some reason he’d thought Miss Blair would take the offer. He could have been more forthcoming with additional details, but knew he could not. At least not now.
Standing, he went to the window and watched as she walked up the road. She must have taken the bus out. Should he have Reardon drive her back into town?
She’s a grown woman, man. She arrived here without difficulty. Besides it would only embarrass her. He had known she struggled with the answer. Free, a little earnest perhaps, nevertheless he admired her enough to ask for her assistance. He knew from conversations that her sister was beautiful and Miss Blair thought herself somewhat unworthy.
He knew all about that feeling. The second son of a wealthy landowner, he had not been his father’s choice to inherit Castle Dunnegin. His brother had received that reward by the position of his birth.
Throwing off his bitter feelings, he saw the dust rise as the bus stopped at the end of the road. She was safe.
There was work to be done.
“Bertilda.” He called out.
She arrived and he had to cast his eyes downward. The woman’s hair was sticking out in every direction. “I shall be leaving this afternoon for America. See that my bags are prepared.”
Bertilda acknowledged his order and was on her way without a word. Something was awry. She was always quick with a word and neat in her appearance.
Alex Dunnegin pored over the legal papers and felt his stomach churn. His daughter’s life hung in his hands. If he was to protect her he had to leave her. And that was some- thing he was loathe to do.
The smells of the kitchen wafted down the hall, reminding him that he’d not eaten. Once the papers were in order he would be flying back to the States for another round of ridiculous mocking of the very law meant to protect his daughter.
Not wealthy by any means, yet well enough off for the present time, Alex wanted nothing more than to move to the farm and raise his sheep and harvest potatoes. But until things were settled, he would not rest.
Rising from his chair, determined to finish what he’d started, he headed for the kitchen and stuck his head in. The staff was busily preparing a bit of lunch.
Bertilda looked up from her work and Alex saw her eyes dart around the room. He knew that she was concerned that he was stepping into her territory and found it, truthfully, quite disheveled.
Then he decided that today he would get his own coffee. Bertilda dusted the flour off her hands and said, “Sir, I will see to your coffee.”
“Stay at the task, I will get my own coffee.” He said sourly.
She gave him a second look, but did as she was told. “I may be busy, but I am capable of serving myself once in a while.” He grumped.
Alex felt rather sorry for the dough she was pounding into shape. What was with her this morning? He opened several cupboard doors and eyed her while doing so. Her mouth was pursed into a straight line and he knew she would not open it.
“Have you spoken to the Gillespie’s today?” He inquired fishing through the drawers looking for a spoon.
“I have not.” Bertilda said through her teeth.
“Well, old gal, what consumes your joy this afternoon?”
“Old gal?” Bertilda’s voice rose.
“Just a form of speech.” He rather felt like teasing today, wondering where that strange desire came from as he relaxed his backside against the counter.
“Don’t you have other things to do?” She said rather sweetly.
“Ah, what brings about the sudden change. Is the Laird of the castle not welcome in his own kitchen?”
“Ahhhh...” Bertilda grabbed a towel and quit the room, but not before he saw tears.
“Women.” He snapped and gulped his coffee down, scalding his throat.
There had been only one woman for him and God had taken her away. Without warning and without a care, it seemed. His joy and reason for living died the day she did.