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Logan gazed pointedly at the plain bracket clock above the small and decidedly empty fireplace. It was bloody freezing in the old-fashioned parlor, although the old nun seemed immune to the cold.
“And do ye ken when that might be, Sister?”
He could practically see her scoring another black mark on his soul. Cheeky behavior was clearly not welcome in the Convent of the Sacred Heart.
“When Reverend Mother deems it over.”
He gave her an apologetic smile, which he thought showed remarkable forbearance on his part. The last thing he wished to do was play nursemaid to Donella Haddon, an almost-nun who’d failed to make the grade.
Logan was currently negotiating a series of critical financial arrangements with Lord Riddick, the girl’s uncle. If he were successful, it would greatly benefit his company, Kendrick Shipping and Trade, by substantially increasing its size. So, when he had happened to mention to Riddick that he was travelling to Perth on business, the old fellow had asked for help in dealing with awee family matter.
His lordship had been as closemouthed as a bear trap when it came to details, however. He’d simply said that his great-niece would be returning home, hopefully for good, and that he’d consider it a great, grand favor if Logan would make a slight detour to Dundee and escort the lass to Blairgal Castle.
“Well, Sister, I will simply have to possess my soul of a little patience,” Logan said.
“A challenge for you, no doubt,” she tartly responded.
“Perhaps I can ask the good Lord for help.” Unable to resist the temptation, Logan gave her a wink. “Will you pray with me, Sister, and ask God to take pity on a poor sinner like me?”
She snorted. “I think our Lord has enough on His hands. But perhaps I can offer you a cup of tea while you wait.”
It was clear that the nuns were richer in spiritual than temporal possessions, so he’d not have them wasting their precious tea and sugar on him. What he truly wanted was a dram.
“Thank you, but I’ll just step out to speak with my groom and make a few arrangements for our journey. Miss Haddon can signal when she’s ready, and we’ll be on our way.”
Sister Margaret nodded her approval, leaving him to duck out the low front door and into the courtyard.
Gazing up at the ironwork cross atop the old building, Logan wondered at the courage it must have taken Miss Haddon to defy her family. She’d chosen to become not only a Papist but had entered a bloody convent to boot. Catholics were a rarity in Scotland, mostly tucked away in remote corners of the Highlands. It was no wonder, given the level of bigotry and suspicion they often encountered. Now Miss Haddon would be reentering a world hostile to the likes of her and would have little to look forward to but a quiet spinsterhood on her uncle’s country estate.
The woman would never be accepted back into polite society, especially not in hidebound, staunchly Protestant Glasgow.
And neither would Joseph.
Logan scowled at his boots, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. His son would have no chance of a good life in Scotland. As much as he missed his boy, best that Joseph stay in Canada, where he was safe, cared for, and loved.
With an effort, he forced away the pain that gripped him whenever he thought of his son. Instead, he focused on the opportunities before him, now that he was back in Scotland. Whatever their faults, Glaswegians were good at business and so was he. His success in the Colonies had opened a fair number of doors since his return, ones that would have otherwise remained closed to a reprobate like him.
It didn’t hurt that he now had the backing of his brother, Nick, Earl of Arnprior. Soon, he hoped, he’d have Lord Riddick’s, too. With Nick’s influence and Riddick’s investments, Logan had little doubt his company would soon dominate the timber and fur trades in Scotland and a good chunk of England as well.
That was the plan anyway, if he could ever get out of this bloody village in the middle of nowhere and back to Glasgow where he belonged.
He turned at the sound of a quick footfall from the road. Davey hurried through the convent’s iron gates to join him.
“Sorry to bother ye, Mr. Logan,” the young man said. “Foster sent me up to see how much longer ye might be.”
Foster was Riddick’s coachman and Davey was one of Blairgal’s grooms. Logan had offered to hire a post-chaise, but Riddick had insisted that his niece would be more comfortable with Blairgal servants she’d known her entire life.
Having already waited over an hour, Logan sighed. “God is apparently working in mysterious ways today, so we’ll have to wait and see.”
Davey looked dubious. “Whatever ye say, sir.”
“Has Foster been able to secure a suitable team at that laughable excuse for a local inn?”
“Just job horses, sir. He ain’t well pleased, ye ken, but he said the inn don’t see much in the way of traffic.”
“I’m shocked to hear that.”
Davey smiled. “Aye. It’s that hard to imagine our Miss Donella holed up in a dreary place like this, although I suppose I shouldna be sayin’ such a thing.”
