He was making an effort to be charming, she realised. A trait she would usually associate more with her brother Tristan than the boy they had christenedthe Scowler.
“’Tis more likely to be the absence of strong liquor and inappropriate companions,” she retorted.
“Perchance,” he agreed with surprising equanimity.
They had reached the arched porchway leading to the heavy oak front door. It was a strong relief to be out of the rain and Frida paused, leaning against the plastered stone to catch her breath.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jonah gave a mock bow, his club foot ahead of him so that his weight rested on his good leg. He was an attractive man, Frida thought, when he was not scowling.
“The pleasure is mine,” he said solemnly. “Though my quest shall not be complete till you are settled before a fire with a rug over your knees. Let us proceed.”
He offered her a rather soggy elbow, which Frida accepted. Heat enveloped them as soon as they were through the front door. She inhaled the scents of lavender and woodsmoke, more than grateful to be home.
Although her gratitude brought her a step closer to weepiness and she sniffed once again, remembering what she had found in Callum’s loft.
“I vowed to ask you no questions until we were both ensconced in the warmth. Forsooth, sister, do not make me break my word.”
She summoned a smile. “I shall not.”
Walking side by side, they traversed the stone-flagged entrance hall and turned left into the great hall, which had never looked more welcoming. Flames flickered in both grates and the tapestried chairs seemed to be waiting just for them. Jennifer appeared, as if by magic, and Jonah politely requested she fetch them some warmed wine.
Frida felt a traitorous stab of relief that Mirrie had not come out to greet them. Her friend would have divined the distress in her eyes within moments. And Frida could not quite bring herself to divulge her recent findings so soon after confessing her indiscretion with Callum.
At least Jonah does not know about that.
Jonah helped her into the nearest chair and solicitously pulled a rug over her knees before taking his own seat with a sigh of relief. His head rolled against the cushioned back of the chair for a moment, before he shuffled forwards and held his hands out towards the blaze.
“So, Frida, will you tell me what ails you?”
“Naught but the damp and cold,” she said staunchly, reaching down to stroke her favourite hound who was slumbering by the fire.
“Do you think me a doddypoll?” He raised an eyebrow quizzically, prompting a low chuckle from her. “I spy my unflappable older sister weeping in the rain and I am to believe this is simply because she grew chilled?”
“Nay.” She shook her hands at him, silently asking for a reprieve while Jennifer set down her tray and handed each of them a goblet of wine. “I will tell you,” she sighed, once the servant had departed.
She didn’t want to, but she had to confide in someone.
But where to start?
She sipped her wine, wrapping her cold hands about the goblet and enjoying the rush of warmth through her body. The wine was rich, sweet and fragrant with spices. It occurred to her that she could gulp it down and drown her sorrows, the way Jonah had so often behaved back at Wolvesley.
But overindulgence in liquor would not achieve anything beyond a sore head. She had witnessed this often enough with Jonah and his ill-chosen friends at the numerous Wolvesley balls.
“I am waiting,” Jonah chided.
“I will speak.” Frida set down her goblet and linked her fingers together. “It concerns the men we have staying with us.” She pursed her lips as she recalled Jonah’s suspicious line of questioning in the solar days earlier. Had he realised their duplicity before she did?
If so, ’twould be a relief to unburden herself to one who would show no surprise.
I will deal with my heartbreak later.
“Callum?” His blue gaze was hypnotic. Frida felt she was caught in a trap, much as she felt when confessing some childhood misdemeanour to her father.
“Aye.”
Jonah inclined his head to one side. “What have you discovered?”
