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He realized again just how lucky he was to have his family, no matter how irritating they might occasionally be.
They sat quietly, listening to the whispering wind in the night-shrouded garden. Braden got the impression that she was wrestling with herself—or, perhaps in some way with him. After a while, she lifted her veil, folded it neatly over her hat, and turned on the bench to face him.
“I was pregnant when Roger was killed, and the shock caused me to miscarry. That’s why I was so ill. That’s why Lord Beath—and the others—treated me the way they did.” She ducked her chin. “And perhaps in one way they were right. If I’d have been stronger, I might not have lost my child.”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He took her hand, uncurling her clenched fist and lacing their fingers together. She twitched a bit before clutching his hand with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Samantha, that’s sheer nonsense. You’d suffered a life-altering shock, and shock affects the body in many different ways. Most times, we don’t even know why a woman miscarries. I’ve known perfectly healthy women who’ve lost their babies for no reason that medicine can explain. What I do know, however, is that you were not at fault. Your body was not at fault. Anyone who blames you or thinks you were weak should be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
“Thank you,” she said in a gruff little voice, staring down at their hands.
She was trying to hide her emotion, and hide from him.
Oh so gently, he tilted up her chin so he could look into her eyes.
“Iama doctor, lass,” he said. “Running down villains might be your area of expertise, but this is mine. I know what I’m talking about.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed, and for a moment he was lost in the shadowed beauty of her delicate features. Then her gaze suddenly narrowed, and she pulled her hand from his.
“Bathsheba already told you, didn’t she?”
When he shrugged, she muttered under her breath.
“Your friends worry about you because they love you,” he explained.
“They’re busybodies. And you’re a busybody, too.”
He held up his hands. “Guilty as charged. But you can trust me, just like you can trust John and Bathsheba.”
“We’ll see. So, what’s next, Dr. Kendrick?”
He’d lost a wee bit of ground, if she was back to calling him Dr. Kendrick.
You’ll make it up.
“One more question. Did Baines do anything when you shared your suspicions with him?”
She bristled. “Of course he did. Arthur believed me, so he went through the books very thoroughly but could find nothing suspicious. As did John later on, you will recall.”
“I don’t mean to denigrate their efforts, but neither is a financial expert.”
“Well, no,” she confessed.
“Then that’s our next step, I think. Someone needs to dig deeper into the books and find what your husband found.”
“Perhaps,” she cautiously replied. “But I’m afraid someone on the board would surely inform Lord Beath. He’d pitch a fit. Besides, I don’t wish to cast an ill light on the foundation unless absolutely necessary.”
“That’s why my brother Logan should do it. He’s a financial genius and verra canny, ye ken.”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “I don’t mean to cause offense, but . . .”
“Can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut? Yes, absolutely. Only the three of us would know.”
She pondered for a few moments before nodding. “All right, then. But you cannot tell him about my other investigations . . . what I’m doing in Old Town. No one can know that, not even your brother.”
“Agreed, on one condition.”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “Which is?”
