A knot formed in Catriona’s stomach. A name had flashed across her mind, her brain already knowing before her heart was ready to admit to it.
Hattie and Lucie’s chatter bled together into a faint, indecipherable roar.
“I know a lady,” she said at last.
Lucie perked up. “Who?”
Catriona ran a hand over her face. Her palm was damp. “I can’t see her doing anything like it. She might know someone else in her situation, though—birds of a feather flocking together and such . . . It’s Lady Middleton—our neighbor, up in Applecross. She resides in London now.”
“Lovely,” Hattie said with an encouraging smile. “You are already acquainted.”
“It’s why I’m quite certain that we can’t expect much help from her.”
The real reason for her reluctance to even try was of course Charlie. The Middleton town house was an emotional crime scene. Memories lurked in the corners. Lady Middleton would have portraits of Charlie all over her walls, and she would look back at Catriona with Charlie’s moss-green eyes . . .
Lucie clapped her hands. “Nothing wagered, nothing gained,” she said. “Call on her, Catriona!”
She could have just kept her mouth shut. It would have been so easy.
“Hattie,” she said. “Are you still planning to return to London today?”
Hattie’s face brightened. “I am—on the eleven o’clock train. Do join me.”
Unless she left with a friend, she would not leave St. John’s at all; the plan had come about too sudden, and the destination gave her chills. If she accompanied Hattie, however, she could be in London in time for the afternoon slot reserved for social calls.
“She might see me already today—our families used to be close.”
“Let’s go together,” Hattie said and clapped. “We shall have so much fun.”
She put the back of her hand against her forehead. Surprisingly cool. Her breathing could be worse, too. Interesting. Perhaps her experiments with Elias had made her more robust after all.
* * *
—
Back at St. John’s, she quickly packed her largest valise with her smartest dresses.
“I should like for you to stay here,” she told MacKenzie while she piled clothes and cosmetics into the compartments.
MacKenzie handed her a stack of neatly folded chemises. “Staying with the Blackstones, are ye?”
Her gaze slid away. “Aye.”
She would have dinner with the Blackstones. She would probably stay at her own house, however; not the Campbell town house, but her house, where she didn’t even keep regular skeleton staff. The more she had thought about it on her way to St. John’s, the better she had liked the idea of burrowing for a couple of days.
“It’s no trouble for me, going to London,” MacKenzie said. She smoothed her red hand over the fine undergarments before she placed a corset on top.
Catriona picked up her hairbrush. “I have kept you away from Applecross long enough.”
MacKenzie was watching her with narrowed eyes.
Catriona stuffed the brush into a side compartment. “I want you to be well,” she said. “Your leg seems improved, and I’d rather you rested now instead of rushing around the city with me. Hattie is a married woman. Her company suffices.”
MacKenzie relented; despite their unconventionally close relationship, the only authority in Catriona’s life was Wester Ross, and he shone with his absence.
A porter brought her valise and hatbox to the college’s main doors. Catriona stepped into the lodge to leave a note for Elias. Barely through the doors, she halted as abruptly as though the ground had split before her feet: the man in question stood right there at the reception desk, chatting to porter Clive. He promptly turned his head toward her and their gazes clashed. Electricity crackled through the small room; it seared through her body and her knees sagged as though they had melted. Elias wore a finely cut wool jacket in dark navy, a perfectly respectable color and yet it made him look like a rake. It wasn’t the jacket, of course, it was her awareness that behind closed doors, he had the hands, the mouth, and the audacity of a rake.
He politely dipped his head. “Lady Catriona.” His voice was neutral. Impersonal.
Her stomach twisted.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “I meant to leave this for you.”
She awkwardly waved the envelope. He glanced at it with slanted eyebrows.
“Since you are right here,” she went on, “I can tell you in person, obviously—I’m leaving for London. I shall be away for a couple of days. I trust you are well acclimatized by now.”