Unlaced By The Highland Duke
Lara Temple
A plain Regency governess In bed with the Duke! Part of The Lochmore Legacy: a Scottish castle through the ages! Unceremoniously packed off to Scotland to care for the Duke of Lochmore’s young son, practical widow Joane Langdale fears she will be ignored—as always. But the deep connection and heated passion that develops between her and Benneit is far more dangerous! When Benneit is expected to propose to another, how can Jo dream of becoming his duchess?
A plain Regency governess
In bed with the duke!
Part of The Lochmore Legacy: a Scottish castle through the ages! Unceremoniously packed off to Scotland to care for the Duke of Lochmore’s young son, practical widow Joane Langdale fears she will be ignored as always. But the deep connection and heated passion that develops between her and Benneit is far more dangerous! When Benneit is expected to propose to another, how dare Jo dream of becoming his duchess?
LARA TEMPLE was three years old when she begged her mother to take the dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day she is a high-tech investment professional, who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance…at least on the page. Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help her weave it all together.
Also by Lara Temple (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
Lord Crayle’s Secret World
The Reluctant Viscount
The Duke’s Unexpected Bride
Wild Lords and Innocent Ladies miniseries
Lord Hunter’s Cinderella Heiress
Lord Ravenscar’s Inconvenient Betrothal
Lord Stanton’s Last Mistress
The Sinful Sinclairs miniseries
The Earl’s Irresistible Challenge
The Lochmore Legacy collection
His Convenient Highland Wedding
by Janice Preston
Unlaced by the Highland Duke
by Lara Temple
Available now
A Runaway Bride for the Highlander
by Elisabeth Hobbes
Available June 2019
Secrets of a Highland Warrior
by Nicole Locke
Available July 2019
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Unlaced by the Highland Duke
Lara Temple
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08896-1
UNLACED BY THE HIGHLAND DUKE
© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my Highland co-conspirators—
Janice, Elisabeth and Nicole.
I always wanted to be one of the Four Musketeers—
thanks for making that a joyful reality.
Contents
Cover (#u48bb17b7-617f-5bef-94c8-0ac8fcacc88d)
Back Cover Text (#u039ed984-d165-5f12-82d2-0b2cdc5e2345)
About the Author (#u51f02e70-803c-5aac-a8d3-55bf44e4d7d7)
Booklist (#u690c9207-66be-5f2f-8489-65cbad3cbda7)
Title Page (#u914f52fd-cca4-5e9e-95ba-4bf812e75720)
Copyright (#u9ec3e5f3-6d65-5a42-bea5-603198db09f8)
Dedication (#uede67a5c-53dd-518e-b6ff-718fb7949529)
Chapter One (#u23550472-d261-5ec7-82aa-571dbe0fbda6)
Chapter Two (#u2079dc8b-60d2-5f95-98da-399844a75361)
Chapter Three (#ufa0839d8-9d73-5795-8ce4-0eff19e1393e)
Chapter Four (#u05264e82-49e7-5b8a-ac8d-c81d81055a4a)
Chapter Five (#ue5266c0f-5ec9-5d3c-a540-04fc7bc0335d)
Chapter Six (#u23802c13-164c-52f5-82a0-f8dea64384df)
Chapter Seven (#u06407e1c-eb64-57b1-892a-3174c2f3f54c)
Chapter Eight (#u16d58677-8edd-5b77-967d-c0bb1915f771)
Chapter Nine (#u3ce65b46-c84b-5d3a-a0e2-9a0d3df39fc6)
Chapter Ten (#uc4b0b76b-53ae-5a42-b962-11e15df092e3)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
London—1815
‘Lady Theale is here, Your Grace.’
Benneit didn’t know what was worse—those words or the explosion of light that struck him as Angus hauled back the curtains. He groaned on both counts.
‘Aye,’ Angus replied and positioned himself at the bottom of the bed. With his scarred face he looked like one of the gargoyles carved on to the embattlements at Lochmore Castle come to perch by Benneit’s bed to remind him of his duty. Benneit shoved his head into his pillow.
‘What the devil does she want?’
‘Jamie.’
Benneit tossed the covers aside and scraped himself off the bed.
‘Over my dead, drawn, quartered and pickled body.’
Angus grunted. ‘Aye, lad. Shall I shave you?’
It was more a suggestion than a question and, instinctively, Benneit dragged his hand over his jaw, wincing at the rasp.
‘No. She shall have to accept me in all my glory. What time is it?’
‘It is gone nine in the morning.’
‘Nine? Nine? I’ve barely slept three hours. What the devil is wrong with that woman?’
Angus’s scarred face twisted into a momentary and awful grin.
‘You can sleep when you’re dead, Your Grace.’
It was Benneit’s turn to grunt as he dragged off his nightshirt and went to the basin. There was a brutality to Angus sometimes and whether he meant to allude to Bella or not, it struck up her image, interred in the Lochmore family crypt. Eventually Benneit would be there, too. A fate worse than death... He breathed in to calm the reflexive queasiness at the thought, reminding himself that when that day came he would at least know nothing of it.
‘Send Jamie to her until I’m ready—if he’s awake. After half an hour of his undiluted company she might think twice about this campaign to take him to Uxmore.’
‘He’s down there now, lad.’
Benneit wiped the water from his face and glanced at Angus, meeting the twinkle in the giant’s blue eyes.
‘Great minds thing alike, eh, Angus?’
‘When they think at all, Your Grace.’
Benneit sighed and returned to the freezing water.
* * *
‘Good morning, Lady Theale.’
‘You need a shave, Lochmore.’
Benneit stopped, gathered himself and the comment hovering at the tip of his tongue, and proceeded.
‘Had I been given more warning of your arrival I would have obliged.’
‘Had you been given more warning of our arrival you would have been halfway to the border by now.’
Benneit advanced on the elderly lady seated in his favourite armchair, plucked her weathered hand from where it rested on her cane and raised it to his lips.
‘No, only as far as Potter’s Bar. Not even for you would I set off before dawn.’
She sniggered and gave his face a small slap before he straightened.
He turned to search the room for his son and stopped. The word ‘our’ hadn’t registered at first, but now it did. Jamie was seated on the sofa, his stockinged feet drawn up under him, and on the other side of his favourite book of maps was a woman.
‘Papa, she’s helped me find Muck!’ Jamie announced, bouncing a little on his knees.
‘Did she? That is indeed impressive. But can she help you find Foula? Good morning, Mrs Langdale.’
‘Your Grace.’
Her voice was deep, but as bland as her grey wool dress—flat and without inflection. During Bella’s Season six years ago Mrs Langdale, then Miss Watkins, wore Bella’s cast-offs and, being shorter and less endowed, she always looked like a scrawny hen rolled in a bed of shredded peacock feathers—those ostentatious clothes coupled with her unremarkable looks had not been a good combination. She was unremarkable except for her deep grey eyes that Bella had laughingly called the ‘orbs of truth’.
‘No one can lie to Joane if she puts her mind to their speaking the truth. She only has to look at you and before you realise it, the words are out there. Papa said she would have been useful to Wellington during the war.’
He remembered Bella’s assessment of her poor cousin because it struck him as very apt and one of Bella’s rare flashes of insight.
‘And how is Mr Langdale?’ he asked politely.
‘He isn’t,’ she replied.
‘Died two years ago,’ Lady Theale hissed. ‘Really, Lochmore!’
He felt his face heat with unaccustomed embarrassment and he bowed.
‘I am sorry for your loss.’
Mrs Langdale nodded without a word and the sting of heat on his cheeks spread. It was absurd that without any visible effort this mousy woman made him feel ten years younger in the worst possible way. He turned to Jamie.
‘Feet off the sofa, Jamie.’
Jamie blinked at him and smiled, as if well aware this sudden interdiction was merely for his great-aunt’s sake.
He stuck his feet out.
‘But I took off my shoes!’
‘Very proper,’ Mrs Langdale said.
‘It won’t do,’ Lady Theale announced.
Benneit turned back to her. And so it began again. Since Bella’s death two years earlier, the Uxmores had made several valiant attempts to convince him Jamie would be better off in the care of their large and rambling family rather than alone with Benneit in Scotland, and every time Benneit sent them scurrying. Since his father’s death a year ago, their insistence lessened as they respected the period of mourning, but clearly they were only marshalling their troops. And their field marshal was Lady Theale, Lord Uxmore’s sister and the matriarch of that ambitious clan.
‘It is very kind of you to come all the way to town to see Jamie, Lady Theale, but we are departing for Lochmore tomorrow. There are matters I must attend to there and we cannot stay.’
‘Really? Is the entertainment in town running thin?’
‘Not at all, but it has been sufficient for my needs at the moment. Until next time.’
Lady Theale bared her teeth. ‘Joane, I would like a private word with Lochmore. Take Jamie into the adjoining room.’
Mrs Langdale stood.
‘Where is the wall map you mentioned, Jamie?’ she asked and Jamie hopped down.
‘It is enormous. But not as big as at home. Grandmama painted it for Papa when he was littler than me. And there are darts!’
‘Darts! Then I must definitely see it. Come.’
‘In his stockings, Lochmore!’ Lady Theale snapped as the door closed behind them.
‘What do you want, Abigail?’
‘You know what I want, Benneit. I want Bella’s boy to grow up like the son of a Duke he is and not like a wild animal.’
Her voice faltered a little at his look.
‘At the very least he should have female guidance.’
‘He has his nursemaid.’
‘Nursemaid! She must be seventy if she’s a day. That boy needs someone young and with the energy to see him through the next couple of years until he is sent to school. Or better yet, send him to school at St Stephen’s as you were and, as it is a mere ten miles from Uxmore, we will be at hand to visit when necessary. It is still an excellent institution and will prepare him well for his role. Your father and mother approved of it, so I see no reason to cavil at their choice. I am sure had Bella lived she would have advised you the same. She always meant to maintain close ties with the family, as you are well aware. This would fulfil all their wishes.’
Benneit turned away, locking his jaw against the fury her words evoked. Better yet... What the devil did she know about sending a child hundreds of miles away from everything he cared for simply so he could become her idea of a proper Duke?
‘My father and mother did not send me to St Stephens at five years old to prepare me for my role, but to get me out from underfoot so they could concentrate on making each other miserable without any assistance on my part. As far as I am concerned, the same does not apply to Jamie. He will learn to be Duke of Lochmore by understanding Lochmore down to its last acre and tenant, not by being caned by a brutish headmaster and bullied by upper-form boys.’
Lady Theale inspected the head of her cane and sighed.
‘Your mother was one of my closest friends, Benneit, and since it was through me that she met your father, I confess to a sense of responsibility. I am the first to admit that, though she was a brilliant woman, she had a volatile temper and was not...warm. Unfortunately your father was much the same which made for a tumultuous union. However, despite their failings, they cared deeply for each other and cared for you as well, though I dare say they were not adept at showing it.’
‘I am not asking for sympathy, Abigail. For the very last time, I will not, ever, cede Jamie to be taken to Bella’s family. He is my son, my family, and I am his. No one will ever love him as I do. Do you understand what that means?’
‘It may surprise you, but I do. You always were the closest to him. Made Bella jealous, the two of you, even as young as he was. Said you loved him more than you did her and that, believe me, was a cardinal sin to someone like Bella. But that is not the point. I admit when she died I thought it would be best to have the boy with us. A babe is not an easy endeavour for a man alone and in that great big draughty monster of a castle... Well, it stood to reason. But I’ve come to see that however surly you may be, it is not too much to his detriment to be raised by you. Therefore I have decided to leave him with you.’
‘Generous!’
‘On one condition...’
‘There are no conditions, Abigail. You have no authority to impose conditions and neither does Lord Uxmore. I want Jamie to know and love Bella’s family and they are more than welcome to visit us in Lochmore or in London, but that is as far as your power extends. I am tired of this brangling.’
‘You look tired of more than brangling, Benneit. Do you still miss her so that you can find no better way to pass your time than hiding up in the freezing hills or burning the candle at both ends here in town?’
‘I am perfectly well and so is Jamie. And, aside from his dislike of carriages, he comes to no harm being in town with me. If I bring a female to Lochmore, whether it be as mother or companion, I will be the one to choose.’
‘I would have hoped so, but thus far for the past two years all you have done is indulge yourself with your high flyers. Who is it now? Lady Atkinson? Or was that your last visit to town? And if you must indulge, need you drag the poor boy all that long way? Surely your aunt can see to him at the castle?’
‘Good God, I wouldn’t leave a rabid dog in Morag’s care. Besides, she doesn’t want anything to do with Jamie—she stays in her corner of the castle and only raises her nose sufficiently from her glass of whisky to complain her stock of spirits is running low.’
‘That bad? All the more reason to have a stable female presence—’
‘Lady Theale,’ Benneit interrupted. ‘You are the uncontested general of the Uxmores, but Bella is gone and you have not and never will have any authority over Jamie. If you push me much further on this you will find out precisely what Bella meant when she called me unbearably stubborn.’
Lady Theale surprised him by smiling.
‘I think I have a fair assessment. Bella never did really have your measure, you know. She thought you were what she and everyone saw on the surface—the handsome, charming and wealthy future heir to a dukedom. That is the way with people who are so accustomed to receiving whatever they want from birth.’
He laughed, a little bitterly, and she shook her head.
‘I was referring to Bella, not to you. But whether you wish to hear it or not, I am right about Jamie. Keeping him with no companionship but your own in that great echoing monstrosity of a castle is no more a wise solution than the path your parents chose for you, Benneit.’
He sat, rubbing at his stubble. Lady Theale might be a busybody, but she was not a fool and she genuinely cared for Jamie. He sighed.
‘If it soothes your nerves, I agree he needs female companionship and, more importantly, he needs siblings. Therefore I have decided to wed again.’
‘You have? Who?’
‘This time someone who won’t mind the freezing hills or sacrificing her figure for her offspring.’
Lady Theale sighed.
‘Bella meant to like your castle, boy. But Lochmore is a long way from London.’
‘Precisely.’
‘So. Do you have someone in mind?’
‘It might reassure you that I have Jamie’s welfare so much in mind that I am considering in one fell swoop to find him a mother and repair the rift between the Lochmores and McCrieffs.’
‘And they agree? I understood that there was always bad blood between the families.’
‘That is an understatement. We have a long and inglorious history of real and imagined causes for mutual resentment. Even the fact that my grandfather convinced old King George to grant him a dukedom and compounded that insult by keeping the clan name as title was another stick in that fire. I think the balance was partially redressed once my father’s rejection of a McCrieff bride was met with their rejection of my Aunt Morag as a suitable bride for Lord Aberwyld. But unlike his forebearers, McCrieff realises the contention between us affects the sheep and kelp trades in the area and, being substantially poorer, he can afford that far less than Lochmore. It is also interfering with other plans of mine and I cannot allow that, so now my father is dead I am testing the waters.’
‘One doesn’t test the waters with a man like McCrieff. If this is the case, no doubt he has already engaged lawyers to draw up the settlement papers.’
Benneit shrugged. It was close enough to the truth.
‘So I see this trip is in the nature of a last escape, Lochmore. Still, even if you’ve marked your bride, it will take time, this wooing and wedding business. Why not allow Joane to go with Jamie until you make other arrangements, either for Jamie or for yourself. If at any time you find her presence de trop, send her back to me.’
‘You talk about her as if she was a book or a piece of furniture. Take her up to the Highlands, send her down when you are through with her.’
‘Well, it will do her good, too. My niece Celia has become a tad too dependent on Joane. The poor girl barely had time to mourn.’
‘What happened to him? To Langdale?’
‘He broke his neck in a fall from a horse. Most unfortunate. Died in debt and the house and everything was entailed. She has a competence, but no more.’
‘Langdale fell from a horse? I thought the man was born on one.’
‘We are at our most arrogant where we are most comfortable. I dare say he appreciated finding his end in such a manner since he cared more for his horses than anything else, possibly even more than for poor Joane. In a year or so I shall find her another husband, but for the moment it could suit both our purposes for her to see to Jamie until you wed again. She is very good with children.’
‘I don’t care if she is the St Francis of children, I... Oh, never mind. But this is the very last time you interfere with me or with Jamie. Am I clear?’
‘I could hardly misunderstand. Really, Benneit, you used to be so much more polished—these years in the freezing north have stripped you of your charming veneer. Go fetch Joane and your little boy. And do have him put on his shoes. A future Duke running about barefoot is most improper.’
Chapter Two (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
‘Look!’ Jamie bounced up and down in front of the wall.
Jo had to admit the map was magnificent. It was not a framed painting of a map, but painted directly on the wall, and it was, as Jamie had said, enormous.
‘My goodness! It is as big as the world itself!’ she concurred and Jamie laughed. He had his father’s laugh and it was strange to hear that deep rumble from the little child, but like his father’s it was infectious and she smiled. It was strange what one remembered, even after so long. Though the man in the drawing room hadn’t looked capable of laughter. Was he still in such pain over Bella’s death?
‘No, it isn’t, silly,’ Jamie replied, reaching up as high as he could. ‘It can’t be or there wouldn’t be room for everything that is, would there?’
‘That is most true! You are clever!’
‘I know. Papa says I’m cleverest of all the Lochmores, even him!’
‘Does he now? Though I suppose you have to be very clever to know someone is even cleverer than you.’
He frowned.
‘So is Papa cleverer than me or me than him?’
‘Well, you are both cleverer than I, so I certainly won’t be able to answer that question.’
Jamie stared up at her, his eyes surprisingly warm despite their dark colour. He had Bella’s eyes, thick lashed and slightly uptilted at the corner, but she could not tell yet if the rest of his face favoured his father’s sharper-cut lines and rough male appeal or Bella’s delicate beauty. Whatever the case, with two such impressive parents he would probably be a handsome young man.
‘I think you are very clever,’ he said seriously, as if still working through her answer. ‘You found Muck and I have been searching for days. I shall be an explorer, you know.’
‘You look like an explorer. You certainly have the feet of an explorer.’
He glanced at his feet in wonder.
‘I do?’
‘Oh, yes. I am good at seeing what people really are. Will you explore Muck?’
The wonder became a grin.
‘Papa says I explore muck too much. Mudmuck, not this Muck.’ He pointed to the map. ‘You said we will find Foula.’
‘And so we shall. Shall we sail from Muck?’
‘No, from home. Do you know where my home is?’
She turned to search the map, tracing the road from Inveraray.
‘Here?’
‘A little more, no...’ He was straining to reach upwards and she picked him up. He stiffened for a moment and then adjusted to settle on her hip and poked one still-plump finger to the tip of a tiny spit of green surrounded by blue. The colour was a little faded there, as if it had been touched often. By Jamie or by a younger Benneit Lochmore?
‘Here.’
He was not very heavy, though he was taller than her four-year-old cousin, Philip. His arm curved around her neck as he leaned forward to show her the point of the map and his body was snug against hers. She often held her cousins’ children. It was part of what she did—Aunt Joane picked up and put down and fetched and fixed and...
And this was different.
She did not pick this boy up because he expected it of her, but because he didn’t expect it at all. She saw it the moment he was brought into the drawing room that morning by his elderly nurse and the scarred, red-haired giant. He was, like his father, an island, self-sufficient and inward-looking despite his cheerfulness. Six years ago she’d noticed the same quality in Benneit Lochmore—behind the smiling charm was something still and watchful and unreachable. It had made her uncomfortable around him, as if he could see past her own armour and read her secret, resentful thoughts.
‘You have pretty hair,’ Jamie said, his voice dreamy.
She almost dropped him, but his legs tightened around her waist.
‘I do?’
‘It is like the colour of the desert in my new book. Papa bought it in the great big book store and it is my favourite book and Papa reads it to me, but I can find words, too. I will explore the desert when I am big. There are camels! Do you know what a camel is?’
‘Tell me.’
‘It is like a horse because you ride it, but it has a hill on its back and it has a sad face like Flops. Flops is my dog.’
‘I like his name.’
‘His real name is Molach, which means hairy, but I call him Flops because he does—he comes into a room and flops. Like a rug. A hairy rug.’
‘This I must see.’ She laughed.
‘Apparently, you shall,’ a much deeper voice said behind them.
Jo stiffened, but did not let go of Jamie as she turned to face the Duke.
He stood in the doorway and there was such animosity in his eyes she had to resist hugging Jamie’s body to her like a shield. The moment he entered the drawing room she noted how much he had changed in the years since she had last seen him, but the difference between this man, with the grey beginning to show at his temples, with his jaw tense and unshaven and his eyes narrowed with resentment, and the younger man she remembered was even more pronounced, as if he had aged again in the short moments that passed. He looked like the Duke of Lochmore might have looked two hundred years ago as he prepared to enter battle to defend his domain. Which was perhaps an accurate depiction of the state of affairs as he saw it.
She lowered Jamie.
‘Am I? I admit to being surprised. I wagered my aunt you would dismiss her offer.’
‘Had it been an offer, believe me, I would have dismissed it. Jamie, come here.’
‘Are you angry, Papa?’
She met the Duke’s dark green eyes, watching as fury was called back like troops from a failed attack. This expression of cold blankness was also new to her. She thought she had taken Lochmore’s measure six years ago in London when he had fallen under Bella’s prodigious spell, but perhaps not.
‘Yes, Jamie. But not with you,’ he answered, smiling at his son. There was nothing feigned about the smile and it surprised her. It was also new to her, despite having seen him smile often at Bella.
‘With Auntie Theale? Or Cousin Joane?’ Jamie asked, half-anxious, half-curious.
‘Mostly with myself, Jamie. Never mind. Come say your goodbyes to Lady Theale.’
‘But Auntie Theale does not like feet, Papa. Shall I fetch my shoes first?’
Lochmore inspected Jamie’s stockinged feet before looking at Jo, his long eyelashes only half-veiling the mocking challenge in his eyes.
‘No. I think not.’
Chapter Three (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
‘My pudding box hurts,’ Jamie moaned, shifting on the carriage seat.
‘Close your eyes and try to sleep, Jamie,’ Benneit replied without any real conviction even as he nudged the small basin out from under the carriage seat with his boot in readiness for the inevitable.
He hated leaving Jamie alone in Scotland when he came to London, but the journey itself was purgatorial. After Jamie’s first excitement, bouncing around the carriage and watching the sights of London, he became steadily more ill and miserable, which made Benneit cantankerous and miserable, which made Nurse Moody morose and miserable.
Adding Joane Langdale to the mix had so far not achieved his aunt’s desired effect. The past few miles had passed in silence, Jamie leafing through the little book of maps Benneit had bought him at Hatchard’s, Nurse Moody dozing and snorting occasionally, and Joane Langdale gazing absently out the window. Now that disaster was nigh, Benneit contemplated taking the coward’s way out and switching with Angus who rode a hired hack alongside the carriage.
‘It hurts, Papa...’ Jamie moaned again and Benneit straightened, but before he reached for the basin Joane Langdale took Jamie on to her lap, turning his face towards the window with a light sweep of her hand down his ashen cheek.
‘That’s because you have forgotten to feed it,’ she murmured.
‘I don’t want food,’ Jamie cried.
‘Not food, silly. Stories. Your poor belly knows there are dozens and dozens passing us by outside and you haven’t offered it even one. No wonder it is upset.’
Jamie glanced out the window. They were cresting a rise and overlooking fields and a few houses tucked against a copse of old oaks. There was nothing but bland English countryside and as a distraction it was woefully inadequate. Benneit frowned at Joane, but she either didn’t notice or ignored him.
‘I don’t see any stories.’ Jamie said suspiciously and Joane’s brows rose, making her eyes look even larger.
‘Really? What about Farmer Scrumpett’s performing pig over there?’
Jamie leaned towards the window, his small hand catching the frame.
‘Where?’
‘Well, you just missed it, but there are other stories everywhere. See that little house over there, the white one?’
Jamie leaned his forehead against the window, both hands splayed on the frame now.
‘That one?’
‘Exactly. That is where Mrs Minerva Understone resides with her magical mice. That is why the house is painted white, you see. Because of the cats.’
‘Cats don’t like white?’
‘Oh, no, they love it. It makes them think of milk and they come by the score.’
‘But cats eat mice!’
‘Well, that is true, but not magical mice. You see, cats chase mice because they are each trying to find their one magical mouse and they become very cross when they don’t, which is why they eat them. Did you know that cats and mice were once best of friends? And that mice were once as big as cats and twice as clever? But then an evil sorcerer cast a spell over them and made them small and meek. Well, for one day each year, the spell is lifted and all the cats remember their friends and come to Mrs Minerva Understone’s cottage and they dance and play as they once did before the spell.’
‘I don’t see any cats.’
‘That is because they only come once a year, on Summer’s Solstice.’
Jamie frowned.
‘That is a sad story.’
‘It is both sad and isn’t. It would be sadder still if they did not have that special day when they remembered they liked each other.’
‘But why does this happen at this Minderda’s cottage? Is she a wizard, too?’
‘Oh, yes. A very powerful one. Minerva taught me a spell once, would you like to hear it?’
‘A real spell?’
‘Well, no, it is more a song about a spell. This is how it goes.’ Joane Langdale cleared her throat, lowered her chin. ‘Boil and bubble, toil and trouble, you’d best put on your shoes or I’ll shave all your stubble.’
Jamie burst into laughter.
‘That wasn’t Minerva, that was Auntie Theale!’
‘Goodness, was it? Well, perhaps they’re secret sisters.’
‘Minerva sounds far too benevolent to be related to Lady Theale,’ Benneit interjected and Joane Langdale looked over at him, her eyes warm with his son’s laughter, but Jamie tugged at her sleeve.
‘Tell me more stories, Cousin Joane.’
‘Very well, but you must call me Jo. Cousin Joane doesn’t tell stories, she finds shawls and hems handkerchiefs. It is Jo who tells stories.’
‘Which one are you?’ Jamie asked seriously.
‘Some days I am one and some days I am the other. Just like some days you are an explorer and some days you are Jamie who cannot find his shoes.’
He grinned.
‘I always know where they are, but some days I don’t wish to find them.’
‘Exactly. So today I do not wish to find Cousin Joane and so I am Jo.’
‘Tell me another story, Jo. If you please,’ he amended, and she shifted him on her lap so that he was once again looking out the window.
‘Very well, tell me what you see and I shall tell you a story about it.’
Jamie’s hand traced up and down the window frame as he searched the landscape.
‘That,’ he said finally, his voice hushed. ‘That big tree near the stream.’
‘Oh, that tree. You are a true explorer, Jamie. Not many would have seen how wondrous that tree is...’
Benneit leaned back, half-listening to the story that unfolded, with foxes and rabbits and a goat who sounded amazingly like Godfrey, Bella’s brother, and a weasel who sounded even more impressively like Celia, Bella’s sister. There was also a little girl who had been taken captive by a blind but kindly old mole so she could help him search for a quizzing glass lost in one of a myriad of tunnels. It was both absurd and touching and, most importantly, it held Jamie captive, his eyes searching the landscape for the places she mentioned—a little hut, a grizzled old man walking a pig, a shape in the clouds.
Finally, Jamie’s fascinated questions began to flag. He yawned and leaned back against Mrs Langdale’s shoulder, his eyelids slipping. Her voice continued, sinking into dusk, but it was only when Jamie’s body gave the distinctive little shudder that spoke of deep sleep that she stopped, her breath shifting the dark curls by his temple.
‘Thank you.’ Benneit’s whisper sounded rough even to him, certainly not grateful, but she smiled. Against his son’s dark hair, her profile was a carved cameo, a gentle sweep of a line that accentuated the pucker of her lower lip and the sharp curve of her chin. Stubborn. Joane Langdale might be the Uxmores’ drudge, but Jo was another thing entirely, he thought.
Perhaps it would not be so terrible for her to stay with them until he finalised his affairs with the McCrieffs. He would be busy with his own matters and the preparations for the feud ball and she could make herself useful; anyone who could talk his son out of a bout of illness in a carriage was worth keeping around.
Chapter Four (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
‘England is now behind us, Mrs Langdale,’ Lochmore said, his voice low. ‘Welcome to the land of the green and grey, sheep, cows, swift weddings and whisky, of which I wish I had a flask about now.’
Jo glanced out the window, but there was not much to see. The rain was alternately pouring and spattering on the window and, despite the hot bricks at their feet, it was chilly. The cloak Celia had given her after hers was ruined dragging one of the children out of the muddy millpond was of poor material and unlined and it was not much help against the cold penetrating the carriage in gusts as they lurched over a rutted stretch of road. She leaned her hand on the pane, its surface cold and slippery. Blurry cottages slunk by, tucked low into the green. Scotland.
She untied and pulled down the curtain, blocking the view.
‘Don’t.’
She jumped at the sharp word, turning.
‘Tie it back. The curtain.’
She was too surprised to obey immediately. ‘It is cold.’
Lochmore shifted Jamie’s sleeping form and reached under the seat to pull out a colourful afghan.
‘Here. Put that around you. Leave the curtain open.’
She retied the sash and unfolded the blanket. The wool was fine and warm and she wrapped it about her, grateful but confused. Then annoyance struck her, a little late but welcome. She was not here to stay. She need not be compliant as she was at Uxmore.
‘Please,’ she said and he frowned.
‘Please, what?’
‘Please, Mrs Langdale, would you mind leaving the curtains open? I find it easier to brood while viewing the rain and gloom in all its glory.’
His chest expanded, then his breath came out in a long hiss.
‘I used to consider Lady Theale an astute woman, but now I am doubtful—she assured me you would give me no cause for complaint, Mrs Langdale.’
‘I apologise for giving you cause for complaint, Your Grace.’
He sighed and shook his head.
‘You should apologise for making me feel like a churlish fool.’
‘I only assume responsibility for my mistakes, Your Grace. Not for a state of affairs beyond my control.’
It was a risk, but it paid off. The tension evident in the grooves in his cheeks eased into the glimmer of a smile.
‘Kicking a man while he is down is not sportsmanlike, Mrs Langdale.’
‘It may not be, but he is much easier to reach when he is, Your Grace.’
He laughed and turned to inspect the passing scenery and, after a moment, Jo did the same.
* * *
The silence fell again but for the patter of rain and the sounds of the sleepers. Benneit watched the slide of green and grey beyond the rain, caught between amusement at Mrs Langdale’s impertinence and frustration at himself. How the devil did he always manage to come out the worst from their exchanges?
She had a point, though. His reaction had been instinctive, but far too harsh. He usually controlled the outer manifestations of his condition, but sometimes when he was weary that control slipped. And when it did, it left this foul ache in his arms and chest, as if he had gone a dozen rounds sparring with Angus at his best. He shifted his shoulders, cursing his weakness. Thirty years had passed and he was still as cracked a vessel as ever.
He glanced at Joane Langdale but she did not turn. She looked like an urchin, tucked into Mrs Merry’s blanket. His housekeeper had used every colour of wool she could find and the result bordered on disaster and yet was charming, like an English spring garden chopped up and woven together. Against its riot of colour Mrs Langdale’s delicate colouring was more ethereal than pixyish. Soft.
She raised the shawl, brushing her cheek with it furtively, the way Jamie did when he was sneaking a tart from Mrs Merry. Even through the clop of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the carriage, he thought he could hear the faint burr of fabric on flesh and his own cheek warmed, his fingers tingling as if making contact with the shawl, or her cheek. A snake of a shudder made him shift his legs in surprise and discomfort and he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned again to the blurry greyness outside.
Boredom and a wayward mind were dangerous things. Especially after an exhausting week of travelling, his mind caught between Jamie’s ills and the daunting challenges awaiting him back home. He should keep his thoughts on those challenges, but the image lingered like a painting in a gallery one kept returning to inspect—the curve of her cheek just brushed with colour and the surprising lushness of her lower lip nestled against the blanket. His mind fixed on it like an eagle on prey—circling, honing in on every angle and aspect, trying to understand what on earth was so appealing and why his hands were hot and buzzing with discomfort that had nothing to do with his ancient weakness.
He looked resolutely at Jamie, recalling his visit to McCrieff Castle the day before his departure for London. McCrieff preening like a prize cock, Lady Tessa calm and sweet, her generous figure presented in a slightly garish pink that spoke more of her mother’s tastes and ambitions than her own. She was intelligent, too—thoroughly aware of the political and financial import of such a union and clearly willing to undertake it. She was the perfect bride for the Duke of Lochmore.
If only he were not that Duke.
Chapter Five (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
It was early evening by the time they stopped. It wasn’t raining, but the courtyard was deep in puddles. Jamie ran ahead in Angus’s wake, heedless of the wet, but Jo—weary and stiff after the interminable week of travelling, but mindful of her one pair of inadequate boots—took the circuitous route around the collection of small lakes in the courtyard. It was only when sunlight crashed through the clouds on the horizon with the suddenness of a charging bull that she looked up from her careful manoeuvring.
What she saw stopped her short. From within the fogbound confines of the carriage she had given up trying to make out the landscape and she was utterly unprepared. The inn stood between the road and a wide rushing stream and beyond it were mountains. Not hills. Mountains. Steep uncompromising eruptions that reached into the sky, the setting sun turning green into emerald and grey rock into gleaming obsidian. The peaks ruffled the clouds, turning the sky into something alive. She could well imagine that beyond those clouds in this strange land there would be another world, some place the valiant and brave could reach if they scaled these verdant monsters.
She didn’t even notice Lochmore come to stand beside her.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, frowning up at the hills.
‘What? Oh, no. It is merely that I have never seen anything so magnificent. Ever.’
He smiled and, though he looked as weary as she felt, this sudden softening of his features, and the flush of sunlight raising the green to prominence in his shadowed eyes and emphasising the raven silk of his hair, made her feel that her words would be as true for him as well. Otherworldly. Unreachable.
‘You like it.’
It was such a mild reflection of the passion the sights aroused in her, but said with such uncharacteristic satisfaction that she laughed, warmed from within.
‘Yes, Your Grace. I like it very well indeed.’
‘That is good, most people find it...daunting. Too stark for their tastes. They miss the rolling English pastures.’
They. She had heard as much from Bella when she visited Uxmore. Along with a host of other complaints. She looked away from him and back at the peaks. The clouds were tearing free of them, revealing more and more grey and green to the sun. They looked miles high, but also just within reach. It was dizzying.
‘It is stark, but that is precisely what is so magnificent. I love the English countryside, but it is a mild, warm kind of love. This is...different. Overwhelming. I don’t want to stop looking.’
They stood for a moment in the quiet of the courtyard, looking. The water gurgled and rushed past, filling the silence with life. Then he sighed and took her elbow gently.
‘There will be plenty more mountains to see, I promise. But now we should feed Jamie and put him to bed. By the tone of his grumbling those last miles, we will be lucky to avoid a scene and I, for one, do not feel equal to it. It has been a very long day and even longer week.’
She nodded, absurdly warmed by his casual hold on her arm and the assumption of intimacy in the way he shared his thoughts about Jamie. Perhaps if Alfred had lived, if they had had a family, she might one day have found herself at a similar moment. If... If... If...
* * *
The Duke’s prediction, unfortunately, proved accurate. Jamie’s grumbling and grizzling in the carriage were not calmed by the food. He kicked off his shoes, complained about the chair, the food, the fire and hovered precipitously on the verge of a full-blown tantrum.
Jo wished it was her right to sweep the overtired boy into her arms, yet all she could do was distract him and entertain him, but to no avail. A chance comment towards the end of the meal reminded him of his dog and his eyes, already red from weariness, glazed with tears.
‘I want to be home! Why didn’t we bring Flops? I wouldn’t be sad if I had Flops.’
‘We cannot bring a dog on such a trip, Jamie...’ the Duke replied. He, too, was losing the battle to remain calm and his voice sounded like gravel crunched underfoot.
‘Yes, we can,’ Jamie shot back. ‘I would care for him and he would sleep with me and I would hold him on my lap in the carriage.’
‘There is hardly any point to discussing it now, Jamie. In a few days we will be home.’
‘No, I want to be home now! I hate going to London.’
‘That isn’t what you said when we visited Astley’s and Gunter’s, the Menagerie at the Exeter Exchange and...’
Jamie surged to his feet, sweeping his plate from the table. It cracked into two half-moons and a flash of fear flickered through the storm on his face.
Jo instinctively bent to retrieve the piece closest to her, but Benneit’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.
‘Pick up those pieces, Jamie.’
She felt the rumble of his voice through the hand that held her arm. He was not exerting any force on her, but somehow she was incapable of extracting her arm so she sat there, watching the two Lochmores.
Jamie breathed deeply and then the word came out like a puff of smoke. ‘Shan’t!’
‘James Hamish Lochmore. Pick them up now.’
Jamie proceeded to kick the piece closest to him. As he was only in stockings this was not a wise move. The cut was not deep, but he stared at the tiny stain of red at the tip of his toe and ran into the small adjoining room where his cot was laid out, slamming the door behind him.
She waited for the wails of crying, but though she heard the creaking of the cot as Jamie flung himself into it, there was no other sound, just the Duke’s breathing, harsh against his clenched teeth as he glared at the door. He had not let go of her arm and she was not about to draw attention to herself. So she watched his fingers on the grey wool of her pelisse. The lines across each knuckle, sharply drawn. She wished she could put her other hand on his, soothe the tension, tell him not to worry.
His grip softened and though his gaze was fixed on the door as if engaged in a staring contest with it, his hand smoothed the fabric of her sleeve twice. Then he caught himself, looked down and drew his hand away. If she had not felt peculiarly bereft at his withdrawal, she might have smiled at the flush of embarrassment that marked his high cheekbones.
‘I apologise, Mrs Langdale. I did not want you to pick it up for him. He must learn to master these tantrums of his.’
‘Must he?’
‘Of course. He will one day have to assume serious responsibilities and there will be no room for such outbursts.’
The silence fell again as she weighed her words.
‘What a pity one cannot hire children.’
‘What?’
‘I think two or three would do. Once we arrive we could send them back.’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
‘I am talking about a four-year-old boy trapped for days on end in a carriage with three adults, all in various states of ill humour. Jamie’s only sin is that, unlike some of us, he has not yet learnt to mask his ill humour. Having often travelled with a herd of ill-behaved children in carriages, I can assure you Jamie’s brand of tantrums would have gone utterly unnoticed in the Uxmore carriage over a mere hour’s journey. So perhaps if we filled the carriage with other children, Jamie’s behaviour might not appear so offensive to you. Goodnight, Your Grace.’
She didn’t wait for him to respond, but left the parlour. Running away before he could counter-attack was cowardly, but she, too, was tired and blue-devilled, and her arm was still pulsing from the warmth of his hand.
* * *
Benneit remained at the table, his mind searching for an appropriate response to Mrs Langdale’s lecture. He should at least have told her that it was inconceivably annoying how people who had no children always held such firm opinions about how to raise them.
Devil take the woman.
The silence from Jamie’s room was deafening and for a moment Benneit was struck with the horrid thought that Jamie had climbed out the window and disappeared. His heart squeezed and kicked as he stood and went to the door. It was ridiculous. Jamie was only four years old and, though he did sometimes wander off, he had never done anything truly dangerous.
Four years old. Almost five now.
Still only a whisper away from a babe, but already with a mind as sharp as a boy’s. He could see sometimes how confused that made Jamie, that internal struggle to place himself on either side. He thought himself a little man, ready to explore the world.
Jamie did need children about him to remind him he was only a boy.
Not hired children, blast and double-blast Joane Langdale. She had the uncanny ability to confound, embarrass and surprise him, all within the passing of an hour. She had surprised and touched him with that show of childlike passion about the mountains and he had felt quite in charity with her despite the difficult dinner. Perhaps that was why he had forgotten himself and... What had he been thinking to grab her arm like that? Certainly he should not have sat there holding her as if it was quite normal. It had been far too...intimate. Strangely, it had felt right. As if they truly were facing the conundrum of Jamie together.
It was not smart to depend on her on that front. Jamie was his to raise and soon Tessa McCrieff would be standing by his side, to help and to support.
Benneit tried to impose Tessa McCrieff’s image over that of Joane Langdale’s slim pixie figure but his mind was probably tired because the image remained stubbornly elusive. He shoved those empty thoughts away and entered the small room, sitting cautiously on the bed next to the mound under the blanket.
‘I didn’t mean to break it.’ The words were hardly audible through the wool.
‘I know, Jamie.’
‘Will they be cross with us?’
‘Maybe a little, but if we tell them we are sorry, I think they will forgive us. Do you know, I read somewhere that in Ancient Greece breaking plates was a good thing?’
The blanket eased back a little.
‘It is?’
‘That was how people showed they were wealthy—by breaking plates after a banquet.’
Jamie looked around the small room with its low roof.
‘I don’t think the people here are wealthy like those Greeks.’
‘Probably not. Which is why we will pay for that plate.’
Jamie turned over towards Benneit.
‘I have the coin I found on the beach. I can give them that.’
‘I think you should keep that. You might need it for when you break something really large.’
Jamie giggled, but then the smile dimmed again.
‘I wish we were home already, Papa.’
‘I know, Jamie. Just a few more days. You’ve been a brave lad.’
‘You’re not angry?’
‘No, Son. We’re all tired and we do foolish things when we are.’
‘You growl when you’re tired.’
‘So I do. I’m sorry I growled at you.’
‘I’m sorry, too, Papa. I promise I won’t throw things again. Or growl.’
‘Don’t promise, Jamie. We might need you to growl at a monster to send him running. If you promise, then where will we be?’
‘In a monster’s belly.’ Jamie’s chuckle became a yawn and he turned over with a sigh. Benneit looked at the soft rise of his son’s cheek, the dark feathering of his eyelashes. He looked more like a grown boy with each day. He could hardly remember the baby Jamie. Would this image, too, fade in a few years? It was hard to believe that possible, but it probably would. He didn’t want that to happen. Peculiarly enough, he wanted to remain precisely at this moment. There was a clarity to it. His father was gone, Bella was gone. It was only Jamie and him now. He could live with that.
‘Sleep well, Son.’
Nurse Moody was waiting in the parlour and he stood aside to allow her entry to Jamie’s room. The door leading to the other small bedroom where Mrs Langdale was to stay was still open and the room empty.
‘Where is Mrs Langdale?’ he asked Moody as she passed and she stopped.
‘Outside. Said something about putting the mountains to bed.’
‘To what?’
‘To bed. Angus went after her. Goodnight, Your Grace.’
She closed the door and Benneit remained immobile for a moment. One door away there was a lovely fire crackling in his bedroom and a well-aired bed.
Blast the woman.
It was dark outside and he frowned, trying to make out the shapes across the courtyard. The distinctive scent of Angus’s pipe guided him towards a row of trees that lined the stream and Angus turned at his approach, removed his pipe and raised his finger to his lips before pointing it in the direction of the water. On a large boulder by the water’s edge, Benneit made out the line of a hooded figure, the sliver of a moon giving its contours a faint glow.
‘I’ll see she comes inside safe and all,’ Angus murmured, his voice a low grumble beneath the sound of the water.
‘What the devil is she doing?’
‘Come to see the mountains, she said.’
Benneit shook his head and followed the path down to the stream. With all due respect to Angus, he was not comfortable with a woman under his protection standing outside in the pitch black. It was not precisely the proper behaviour of a dowdy widow or even the temporary companion to a future Duke. He stopped at the foot of the boulder.
‘What are you doing? Come inside.’
She shook her head, but he was not certain she had heard him.
‘The mountains are even more amazing at night. No wonder people imagine they are populated by all manner of beasts.’
‘Not just imagine. Now come down from there before you go headlong into the water. It is freezing and I am da—dashed if I’m going to fish you out.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’
The reply was calm and matter of fact and devastating. It was not an accusation, but a statement of fact.
I wouldn’t expect you to.
He suppressed the spurt of sympathy and held out his hand.
‘Come down, Mrs Langdale.’
She looked down at him, a slim column, the moon catching her eyes. She looked like something out of the tales she conjured for Jamie.
‘Please,’ he added.
She untucked her hand from her cloak and he clasped it. It was almost as freezing as the water rushing by and without thought he closed his other hand around it.
‘Little fool. You’re frozen through.’
She gave a little tug, but he held her hand and raised it to blow on it as he did on Jamie’s hands when he returned from his explorations with his cheeks red and the rest of him a block of ice. The warmth of his breath carried back her scent, the same elusive rose that lingered in the carriage. It did not suit her; it was too lush a scent for someone so slight, unfurling and warming the air as he breathed it in. He turned her hand over without thought, seeking the source of that anomaly, but she stepped forward and nimbly jumped down from her rock.
He followed her up the narrow path towards the inn. Angus and his pipe were gone, but inside the landlord hovered in the hallway and Benneit sent him to prepare tea and punch. Inside the empty parlour he looked at the drab brown cloak she was untying.
‘Have you nothing warmer to wear?’
She shook her head and walked to the fire, holding out her hands.
‘I honestly did not think Lady Theale would succeed in convincing you to take me along.’
‘I see. Well, we shall have to find you something more suitable. You won’t be much use if you fall ill.’
‘Or drown.’
‘Lady Theale would definitely hold that against me. She appears quite fond of you.’
‘Most peculiar, I know.’
‘Do you take me for a fool, Mrs Langdale?’
She looked up from the fire, her eyes wide and a little worried.
‘No. Why?’
‘Why? Because you insist on speaking to me as if I were several steps below Jamie on the scale of human understanding. These snide little darts might have worked well with the marvellously thick-skinned Uxmores, but the only effect they have on me is to make me wish I had shown more fortitude in the face of Lady Theale’s demands. If you wish to say something to me, then say it and be done with it.’
Blast, he had gone too far. Her eyes widened even further, showing a ring of dark blue around the grey and her mouth wavered out of its prim line. What the devil was wrong with him? First Jamie and now her. Now she would cry and he would have to comfort her. He had sunk low indeed to be taking out his ill humour on children and widows.
A sudden spurt of laughter escaped her.
‘You are quite right, Your Grace. I have developed some dreadful habits over the years. I am not accustomed to people showing concern for my well-being. I know that sounds dreadfully self-pitying, but it is merely to explain that I was not quite certain how to react and so, to use Alfred’s description, I prickled.’
‘I see.’
The door opened and the landlord entered with a tray. Benneit hesitated, but poured her a glass of the steaming punch.
‘To help with the prickles,’ he explained and she smiled—a full, wide and wholly surprising smile.
‘It had best be strong then,’ she answered and sipped. He watched her face, the dip of her eyelashes, as long and thick as Jamie’s and a shade lighter, which was strange with hair her colour. She was strange. A magical mouse who sometimes looked distinctly like a cat. As she did now, her eyelids a smiling curve as she savoured the hot punch. No, neither a mouse nor a cat but a pixie—it was there in the slight slant of the large eyes, the finely drawn brows and the little indentations at the corners of her mouth. It was a much more generous mouth when she smiled than when she wore her prim and proper expression.
The Uxmore women were renowned for their perfect mouths—lush and of a deep coral pink that drew the eye. Bella had made good use of her mouth, drawing attention to it with every trick in the book—a gentle tap of her fan, a little pouting sigh... No doubt in an earlier time she would have delighted in wearing a patch beside it. Mrs Langdale hadn’t inherited the Uxmore mouth, or height, or beauty, but now that he looked he realised how perfectly drawn her own mouth was. It reminded him of the petals of one of his mother’s favourite pink Centifolias, the petals in the centre curving in on themselves, the pale pink ending in a shade of warmer blush and their texture was softer than silk, warm to the touch...
She sighed and opened her eyes. ‘Perfect.’
He went to sit on the far side of the table and turned his eyes to the fire.
‘Jamie tells me I growl when I am tired. I apologise for growling at you.’
‘I think anyone would be growling after a week cooped up in a carriage.’
‘You aren’t.’
‘You just told me I did precisely that. You growl, I become snide. I do hate that word. The image it conjures is very weaselly.’
‘Like Celia the weasel in your wondrous tree tale?’
‘Oh, dear, was it that obvious? I do hope Jamie did not make the connection, I would not wish for him to repeat that in her presence.’
‘I do not think he did. He is not accustomed to deciphering romans à clef. I gathered you were the little girl taken captive by the kindly mole. I could not tell if Uxmore was the mole or the bear until you mentioned the quizzing glass and remembered Uxmore was forever misplacing his. Was that one of your tasks at the Hall?’
‘It was my chief task as far as he was concerned and I think the main reason he was not happy with Lady Theale’s plans.’
‘So who was the bear? He received a very kindly treatment, but I could not place him. It was certainly not Celia’s husband, George. There was too much strength of character.’
‘No, George was the owl. The bear was Alfred, my husband.’
‘I see. I am sorry.’
She shrugged and sipped her punch.
‘I was lucky to have had him in my life, however briefly.’
He concentrated on his punch. He should really go to his room; it would be another long and tiring day on the morrow.
‘Out of curiosity, what animal would I be?’ He kept his voice light, feeling rather foolish that he was even asking. She frowned, her eyes meeting his. His skin tingled and he had to actively resist the urge to look away.
‘You and Jamie. A wolf and cub.’
‘That sounds ominous. And lonely.’
‘Not at all. I read once that wolves are pack animals and very loyal and intelligent. Unlike many other animals, the cubs remain for many years with their pack before striking out on their own.’
Her voice was pedantic and impersonal, but he felt her words keenly, like a verdict. He thought of Jamie curled up in the small trestle bed in the adjoining room, his arms tucked around the blanket, probably wishing it was Flops. A wave of mixed fear and love surged through him. His cub.
The chair scraped as she stood.
‘Goodnight, Your Grace.’
Once again she was gone before he could even gather himself to answer her.
Chapter Six (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
‘Do you think it will be a huge ship like last time, Papa?’ Jamie asked enthusiastically as he devoured a third scone in the luxurious parlour at the Tontine Hotel. Jo considered hiding the rest of the scones before they suffered the same fate. The less that went down, the less that would come up in the carriage as they covered the last leg from Glasgow to Lochmore. She wished they could spend more time in this fascinating city. They had not seen much as they drove in last night, but enough to wake her curiosity.
The Tontine Hotel itself was as fine as any London house she had ever visited, with lush carpets and furniture, and her bed, in one of the four rooms leading off the palatial private parlour they dined in, was enormous and as soft as a cloud. She would happily spend a week here, exploring. She remembered reading that there were lovely gardens and theatres in Glasgow. What would it be like to explore—not in London where everything was overlaid with memories of that agonising Season and her life with the Uxmores—but in a whole new city, where she could invent herself anew...?
Joane Langdale, independent widow...
‘I don’t know, Jamie,’ the Duke answered absently, turning the pages of a newspaper. ‘Angus made the arrangements. We will ask him when we depart for the port.’
‘For the port?’ Jo asked, finally registering the import of their discussion.
‘Did I not tell you? We will proceed by water from here. It is faster than going overland and Jamie enjoys it. The carriage will join us a day or so later at Lochmore. Next time we travel to London I think we will sail the whole way, what do you say, Jamie?’
‘Oh, yes, please, sir! Do you like ships, Jo?’ Jamie asked, his whole body quivering with excitement.
‘I don’t know, Jamie. I have never been on one.’
Jamie stared at her, aghast.
‘Never? Not ever?’
‘It is a dreadful fault in me, I know. I have been on a rowboat once, if that helps.’
Jamie looked disgusted.
‘Everyone has been on a rowboat. This is a ship! A real ship with sails and rigging and funny smells and funny people who speak funny and gulls and waves and...things.’
‘Well, there is a first time for everything.’
‘I was on a ship before I was even me,’ Jamie insisted. ‘Papa told me I tried to crawl to the crow’s nest when I was not even a year old.’
‘That is impressive. Why are there crows on a ship?’
Jamie rolled his eyes.
‘There aren’t crows. It is where you climb so you can see far, far away before anyone else on board and then you yell “land ho” so everyone knows you are close just like in the stories.’
‘Then why are they called crow’s nests?’
Jamie frowned and turned to his father.
‘I don’t know. Why are they called that, Papa?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know either, Jamie.’
Jamie’s face fell and Jo watched with a little amusement the shift of expressions on the Duke’s face. It was touchingly obvious he did not like disappointing Jamie. Before he could concoct some answer merely to counter his son’s disappointment at his ignorance she folded her napkin and spoke.
‘I shall add that to the Great Big List, Jamie.’
‘The what?’
‘The Great Big List of Things I Did Not Know I Did Not Know, But Now I Know I Don’t. I think everyone has such a list, don’t they?’
Jamie’s frown deepened as he followed her nonsense, making him look even more like the Duke.
‘What else don’t you know?’
‘A great many things. One of them is where you ride on a camel. From the illustrations of camels I have seen, I can’t imagine riding on the hump is very comfortable, but there does not seem to be much room elsewhere, unless you are left clinging to his neck which strikes me as rather awkward.’
‘In the Desert Boy book Papa bought he rides on a saddle on the hump,’ Jamie announced categorically.
‘On it. Well, now I know. That is one less item on my list. Thank you, Lord Glenarris.’
Jamie’s eyes widened at her use of his title and then crinkled in laughter and he gave a little bow, glancing at his father.
‘I like this game. Tell me something on your list, Papa.’
‘I do not know what it will take for you to make a pair of shoes survive longer than a fortnight, Lord Glenarris.’
Jamie laughed.
‘That’s not a real thing you don’t know.’
‘It feels real enough in the morning when we are late to get underway.’
Jamie raised his feet.
‘I found them, didn’t I, sir?
‘Mrs Langdale found them, despite your best efforts, boy.’
Jamie turned his grin on her.
‘You’re like the mole girl, Jo.’
‘Mrs Langdale, Jamie,’ the Duke corrected.
‘I gave him leave to call me Jo, Your Grace.’
He finally looked at her, his grey-green eyes reflecting a mixture of annoyance and resignation. Despite the significantly more comfortable accommodations of the past night, he still looked tired and she realised it was not merely the long trip that was taking its toll on him. The closer they came to their destination, the stonier he became, as if gathering himself against an incoming blow. She waited for him to insist on formality, but he merely shrugged and stood.
‘I must speak to Angus. I will send him to find you when we are ready to depart.’
The silence that followed his departure was disturbed only by the thud-thud of Jamie’s foot kicking the table leg. She breathed in to calm herself.
‘Why doesn’t Papa like you?’
Jo straightened, surprise and hurt pinching at her insides. It was one thing to know it; it was quite another to hear the truth from the mouth of babes.
‘I think perhaps he likes having you to himself, Jamie.’
Jamie’s kicking stopped.
‘Will he like you better if I call you Mrs Langdale?’
‘I don’t know, Jamie. I do not think that is the problem. Come, we should find your coat if we are to be ready to leave. Will you show me the crow’s nest when we arrive at the boat?’
Jamie nodded, but half-heartedly, and jumped off his chair.
* * *
It was not quite the great ship she had been imagining. It had only two sails and, according to Jamie, no crow’s nest.
‘Why can’t we sail on that ship, Papa?’ Jamie pointed to a much larger three-masted ship anchored further out on the swelling waves.
‘Because that ship is not sailing close to our home, Jamie.’
Jamie’s eyes lit.
‘Where is it going, Papa?’
The Duke looked down at his son and the stern look gentled a little.
‘I’m afraid that is on my Great Big List of Things I Don’t Know. Where would you like it to sail?’
‘Zanzibar!’
‘Why Zanzibar?’
‘It has a pretty name. There are dragons there, too.’
‘Dragons?’
‘Yes, remember? You showed me Zanzibar in the Map Room and there was a green and yellow dragon sitting on the waves, poking it with its tail.’
Whatever answer the Duke was contemplating was interrupted as Angus beckoned them towards the ship. Jo approached the vessel with a little trepidation. The wind had picked up and the clouds were moving along the horizon, shifting as they went like rising smoke. The ship itself was rocking and she wished she could cling to something or someone as they made their way across the damp deck towards a doorway set into a raised platform in the rear of the ship.
‘Jamie and I will stay above deck, Mrs Langdale, but Angus will take you to a cabin where you may rest. It will not be a long voyage to Crinan, but it might be a little rough with the north wind so stay close to something you can hang on to.’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to leave Jamie with me?’
‘Jamie fares better in the fresh air.’ The answer was curt and he turned away, holding Jamie’s hand.
Jo had no choice but to follow Angus down what was more ladder than steps into the dark and narrow passageway and into an equally narrow cabin. It had no window, a narrow cot and a small table and chair with a chamber pot attached to the wall with a chain. She nearly told Angus she, too, preferred to face the elements above decks than in the coffin-like space, but years of practice made her keep her peace and she smiled and thanked him and went to sit on the chair and took off her bonnet and prepared herself for a very boring few hours.
Chapter Seven (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
Benneit braced his leg against the coil of rope and wrapped his boat cloak more securely around Jamie’s body so that only his dark hair and eyes were visible above the thick fabric.
‘Here comes another!’ Jamie’s words were muffled, but the excitement was evident in the tension of his quivering body.
The wave rose, the water pulling out from under them, causing the ship to pitch to the side a moment before the wall of water struck, sending a fine cold mist over them, pearling on Jamie’s curls. Jamie bounced and crowed with pleasure, almost cracking Benneit’s chin as he bent to press a kiss to his son’s damp head.
‘Did you see that, Papa? Did you? It was enormous!’
Benneit laughed. He was stiff, cold, wet, tired and every mile they closed on Lochmore added what felt like a year to his life, but Jamie’s joy was winning against all the rest. It was so pure and simple. Just joy.
Had he been like this as a boy? He must have been, at least a little, but for the life of him he could not remember. He certainly had no memory of his father holding him. His mother, yes. In the garden of The House as she read to him, or on the sofa in the Map Room as she showed him her latest addition to the wall. He hoped Jamie would remember this. He should do more to give him moments such as these to balance against all he could not give him.
‘Jo! Jo! Did you see that?’ Jamie struggled to snake a hand out from Benneit’s grasp and Benneit turned his head to see Mrs Langdale, cloaked but bareheaded, holding the railing as she made her way in their direction. A shaft of alarm coursed through him. She should be below decks where it was safe. He tightened his hold on Jamie, afraid he would try to run to her.
The ship pitched again and she stopped, turning to watch the surge of the wave as it closed on them. For one panicked moment Benneit thought she would let go of the railing and retreat, which would be the worst possible thing to do. But she held firm, silhouetted by the rise of spray, a grey-on-grey figure except for the flash of her flaxen hair about the elfin face raised to the elements. As the wave fell away she turned to them, but instead of the fear he expected he saw a mirror of the exultation he felt in every muscle of Jamie’s body. Her eyes were laughing and her lips parted. She looked nothing like Bella’s drab and silent cousin or the prim and proper Widow Langdale.
She managed the final yards to their more sheltered hideaway, lowering herself to sit on the deck beside the coil of rope. Her face was wet with spray, her eyelashes spearing drops of mist.
‘Do you like it, Jo?’ Jamie’s question was so loaded with yearning she laughed.
‘It is amazing. I thought the whole ship would turn over like a tortoise on its back!’
‘You should have stayed below,’ Benneit said above the roar of the wind.
‘I could not bear it any longer.’ Her hand tightened on the rope as the ship began to tip again, but her eyes were bright and laughing still. ‘It was like being inside a barrel rolling down a hill. I would rather have to run atop it than be bounced about inside.’
Jamie laughed as well and swiped the damp from his face. Benneit tucked his son’s arm back inside the cover of his cloak.
‘Here comes another, hold on.’
* * *
At some point in the hour that followed, as they were buffeted by waves coming around the sound, he began laughing with them. The sailors, hurrying about their business, gave them a wide berth. The sensible passengers were where they ought to be—cowering below decks. The weak-minded and the young and the foolish could do as they wished and be washed overboard if that was what God and Neptune willed.
The waves calmed as they approached Crinan, and Jamie snuggled deeper into the cavern of Benneit’s cloak, resting his cheek against his chest, his eyelids drooping. Benneit stroked the damp from his cheek and Jamie sighed. The clouds, too, lost their vigour, thinning and showing blue at their edges, and even the sun struck through occasionally, raising chestnut lights in Jamie’s dark hair. Benneit was so tempted to kiss his son’s head, but held back. What he did in private was different from what he showed in public. Instead he turned to Mrs Langdale.
‘Your clothes must be soaked through. You can ask Angus to bring your portmanteau so you can change before we proceed.’
It was a perfectly practical statement, but somehow it felt far too intimate. The thought of her plain grey dress soaked with sea water all the way to her skin, the spray she wiped from her pink cheeks mirrored elsewhere, soft and curved and moist... He shifted his leg and turned away, shocked by the surge of heat that struck through him at the image, the sensation of his hands joining hers in peeling back the damp fabric from her shivering skin. She made it worse by laughing, the same warm tumbling laugh like the fall of surf on the beach. He moved Jamie away slightly as if to remove him from the contamination of his thoughts.
‘It is mostly my cloak. I had no idea sailing could be so marvellous. When I return to England I would like to do so by sea if I may?’
‘If you wish.’
She struggled on to her knees and, as the ship gave a gentle roll on a swell, she pitched against his shoulder, her hand steadying herself by grasping his arm as she sank back down.
‘I’m so sorry. My leg buckled; it is all tingling.’
‘You sat too long in one position. Stretch it out,’ he advised, tightening his arms around Jamie.
She did as she was told, stretching out her legs, the damp hems of her skirts catching at her calves. She did not even notice as a sailor walking by slipped and skimmed into the railing at the sight, barely catching himself before hurrying on. Benneit looked away as well. Whatever those horrid grey gowns advertised, they were clearly not a good representation of at least part of this woman’s anatomy. Her ankles and calves were as fine and shapely as a Roman sculpture—slim, delicate lines that promised a mixture of fragility and strength. It was impossible not to wonder if the rest of her continued that promise.
‘Try to walk a little. That might help.’ It might help him at least.
She stood, thankfully leaning on the railing rather than on him. She gave a childlike little grunt, but proceeded towards the gangway to the cabins. He did not turn to watch her go, but from his line of sight he could see the sailors who had been working aft were watching her all too readily. He glared at them and they went back to their tasks.
Chapter Eight (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
‘Survived it fairly this time, didn’t we, lad?’
Benneit turned from the window overlooking the bay. It was a corner of comfort in the monstrosity that was Lochmore Castle—that view over the inlet and the steel and indigo sea beyond it, the fall of the cliffs towards the wide sandy shore that stretched until the rock fall crowned by the Devil’s Seat. In the afternoon there was a moment of stillness to the sight, between the winds of the morning and the excitement that always struck the water before nightfall. At this moment the elements rested, even the waves looked languid and half-hearted and he could see beyond them to the distance, to the point where his domain ended and the world began.
‘We did, Angus. I told you it would become easier as he grew older.’
‘’Tweren’t only that and you know it.’ Angus grunted as he threw back the cover of the trunk and began taking out linen.
Benneit ignored his comment and focused on Angus’s methodical actions. For such a large man his movements were graceful, but then a man who had dealt in gunpowder for many years during the war would have to be dexterous. Angus never spoke of it, but Benneit knew from another soldier from Lochmore land that the explosion that had marked Angus’s body was not his fault. Somehow, unlike so many others who returned from the war, Angus had kept his calm centre, but his very contentedness to remain at Lochmore and not stretch his horizons as he had when he joined the army was telling. Benneit never pried or pushed, but sometimes he wondered if he should.
Angus and he had always been fast friends despite the difference in their age and stations. There had been few boys his age near Lochmore and, until he was sent away to school in England, Angus had been his closest friend. And despite his parents’ concerns, every time they returned to Lochmore they picked up the threads of their friendship, disregarding time passed and social barriers.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that, Angus. That is Ewan’s duty.’
‘Clears my mind. Simple things.’
Benneit nodded and looked back out the window. Downstairs a stack of not-so-simple matters was awaiting in the estate room, alongside his long-suffering steward, McCreary.
‘You should go to The House in the morning before McDreary snares you in his net. Clear your mind,’ Angus continued behind him.
‘I might.’
‘She’ll keep an eye on Jamie.’
‘No doubt.’
‘You’ll be eating up here or downstairs?’
Benneit hesitated and Angus shut the trunk.
‘There won’t be nought to bother ye downstairs, Mrs Merry said, as Jamie asked Mrs Langdale to share his tea in the nursery. And Lady Morag won’t venture out until you’re settled and she accepts there’s a new face in the castle. If then. She’s getting on and her bitterness is firming her in the tower like a barnacle on its rock.’
‘I’m tired, Angus. I will eat in the study. Tomorrow I will sort out the details. Has Mrs Merry been civil to Mrs Langdale?’
Angus straightened with a grin.
‘Tried not to, then came under the great wide-eyed stare and crumbled like week-old kelp in summer. There’ll be a fire in her parlour, don’t you worry.’
Benneit nodded.
‘Keep an eye on her.’
‘With pleasure, Your Grace.’
‘On Mrs Merry, Angus. Not Mrs Langdale.’
Angus’s grin widened and Benneit resisted the urge to curse. He had stepped right on to that cowpat with his eyes open.
‘She won’t be staying, Angus.’
‘Aye, I know. Best plough ahead on your plans to bring someone that will, then. Jamie’s growing.’
Benneit grunted and turned back to the view—already it had changed, the afternoon wind ruffling the sea’s surface and clouds gathering on the horizon like sheep around a trough.
* * *
He held out another hour before he headed down the corridor towards the nursery. There was nothing wrong with wanting to see if Jamie was settled after the journey. But it was wrong to have to make excuses to himself.
The nursery parlour was empty, the empty plates still on the table. He frowned and went to the bedroom. That, too, was empty.
‘In the schoolroom,’ Nurse Moody murmured behind him and he turned.
‘At this hour?’
She shrugged and shuffled out.
The first thing he noticed as he entered was her hair. It was not in her usual tidy bun, but in a queue held back by a single blue ribbon, falling down her back in a lush tangle. It was still damp from bathing, but beginning to dry into waves warmed by the firelight into the colour of sunny wheat. If not for the horrible grey dress he might not have recognised her.
Flops was lying with his paws splayed wide by the fire, looking more than ever like a skinned fur pelt set out to dry. He raised his cream and tan head with a panting grin and tapped the floor with his tail before subsiding again into a shapeless mop, clearly too exhausted from Jamie’s joyous homecoming to even come to Benneit for his usual ear-scratching.
Benneit remained in the shadowed doorway, watching them as their heads drew even closer over some object Jamie placed in her hand.
‘See? This is special,’ Jamie said and Jo nodded, her voice as hushed as his as she answered.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks like it has been struck by lightning. Do you think that is what happened?’
Jamie took it back, inspecting the coloured stone with the slash of white through its centre.
‘The mermaids left it for me.’
‘You are very lucky then,’ she replied. ‘They never left anything for me.’
‘Do you live near the sea, too?’
‘No. But there is a pond. With frogs.’
Jamie giggled.
‘Mermaids don’t live in ponds.’
‘I imagine they don’t. They would be pondmaids, wouldn’t they? What is this?’ she raised a smooth disc of glass to catch the glint of firelight.
‘Papa said this is from Jules Keezers’s quizzing glass. Grandfather Uxmore has a quizzing glass and it makes his eye look like a beetle.’
‘I did not know Julius Caesar had a quizzing glass, but I like that it is blue. Do you think he had one in every colour? Perhaps when it was cloudy he used a yellow one to brighten up the world.’
‘And then he could put the yellow with the blue to make the world green. Papa showed me that. I could take it to the desert with me because Papa says there is no green there. Not much anyway.’
‘No, I dare say there isn’t. But there are oases, aren’t there?’
‘O-a-sees?’ Jamie enunciated.
‘Yes, springs of water in the middle of the desert. Imagine—you are riding on your camel’s hump for days and days, all thirsty and hot, and suddenly at the edge of the world you see green and then you come closer and there are trees and a spring of cool water. It must seem like magic, too.’
Jamie stared up at the ceiling, as if the world was opening up above them and the image descended from the heavens, then he turned and finally noticed Benneit standing in the doorway.
‘Papa! I am showing Jo my treasures.’
‘Not “Jo”, but Mrs Langdale, Jamie. We should observe the proprieties now we are at Lochmore.’
Benneit moved forward, nodding to Mrs Langdale as she shifted on to her knees unhurriedly and stood.
‘It is my fault, Your Grace. I forgot and asked him again to call me Jo.’
‘I see. Bedtime, Jamie. It has been a very, very long week.’
Mrs Langdale nodded, as if well aware the admonition was for her.
‘Goodnight, Jamie. Thank you for showing me your treasures.’
Jamie shrugged sulkily, but as she reached the door he spoke: ‘Tomorrow will you come see where I find them, J—Mrs Langdale?’
‘Of course, Jamie,’ she answered. ‘Goodnight. I will dream of deserts tonight, I think.’
* * *
Benneit stopped her by her room down the hall from the nursery.
‘A word, Mrs Langdale.’
She drew back her shoulders, but her face remained a complete blank, standing with her back to her door as if guarding dangerous prisoners inside, or protecting them.
‘I am grateful you accompanied us to Lochmore and I admit your presence made the trip a great deal more bearable for Jamie. But as you are not planning to remain here more than a few days I think it is best not to establish too great a degree of intimacy with my son. He does not attach easily, but for some reason he has decided to be more open with you than is his nature.’
His carefully measured oration began to flag under the absolute blankness in her eyes. Once again he had the sensation that somewhere far behind the still grey gaze she was dissecting him just as he had once seen the men of the Royal Academy dissect a dog’s cadaver—efficiently and utterly without mercy.
‘Am I clear?’ he persisted.
‘As clear as the Scottish wind, Your Grace, and just as brutal. Shall I confine myself to my room until my departure? Perhaps give him the cold shoulder when he addresses me? If that is what you expect from me, I suggest you make arrangement to send me back to England at first light tomorrow.’ She breathed in, visibly reining in the flow of words, then continued in a more conciliating tone. ‘I do not believe Jamie will be harmed by a show of interest on my part, even if it makes our parting more difficult. Your son is a lovely boy with a thirst for company and while I am here I intend to be as I am. If that is not what you wish of me, you have the power to send me on my way. You may inform me of your decision in the morning. Goodnight, Your Grace.’
He stared at the door that shut in his face. Whatever response he had expected from her, he had not anticipated such long-winded insolence. His foot twitched with a long-forgotten urge to give her door...his door...a savage kick. However, that might draw her back out and he was damned if he knew what to say to her after that tongue-lashing.
Chapter Nine (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
Jo could not remember the last time she had lost her temper anywhere but in the confines of her own mind.
Yes, she could, actually. After her mother told her they must leave their home to live with Lady Theale, she had thrown a fine tantrum, blaming her mother for everything—her father’s death and the loss of their home and freedom and pride. Her mother held her through the weeping that followed her outburst, but later that night Jo heard her crying and felt like a worm and apologised the next day. She had not openly lost her temper again since.
Until last night.
Her usual defences were failing her too often recently. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the trip, the daunting bleakness and imposing size of the castle as they approached it last night, huddled on the rainy promontory like a glum grey giant. Or perhaps it was that the Duke’s stern lecture brought back unpleasant memories of that dreadful Season six years ago when he had regarded her with the same critical exasperation as the rest of the Uxmores, making her feel irredeemably wrong-footed. During the trip north that sensation faded, at least until last night as she stood backed against her door, the light of the single candle in the sconce accentuating the harsh lines of his handsome face. He was too big, too sure of himself, too disapproving and far too oppressively male...
And the worst, the absolute worst, was that he turned her pleasure in Jamie’s company, the one bright spot in her confusion, into something objectionable. Part of her understood his concern, but another part—already tender and afraid of the future—wanted to curl into a ball and cry. That or lash out and do as much damage to him. So she had.
It was not the first time her tongue had slipped its leash in this impossible man’s presence, but this time she had truly gone too far. She was a beast to have spoken to him so and rebuked him, too, merely because he was worried about Jamie being hurt. Whatever she thought of the Duke of Lochmore, she did not doubt he loved his son deeply, or that Jamie utterly adored him.
Perhaps she was jealous. Of both of them.
She was a worm. And a sanctimonious one at that.
She stopped as she saw Angus exit a room to her right.
‘Angus, where is His Grace?’
‘Here in the estate room, Mrs Langdale. He and Mr McCreary are battling the dragons of debits and credits.’
‘Oh, dear. Do you think it would be a bad idea if I asked for a moment of his time?’
‘I think he would be happy for any excuse to escape, Mrs Langdale.’
She rather doubted that, but she nodded and when he opened the door and announced her, she stepped in with her chin up and her heart somewhere below her knees.
‘Your Grace, may I have a moment of your time?’
He glanced up from a ledger and stood, his face glacial, and her heart sank to ankle level. But at a glance from him his bespectacled steward left the room and she rushed into speech before the door even closed.
‘I wish to apologise for what I said last night. I had no right and I know you only spoke out of concern for Jamie. But I do not think I can be indifferent so perhaps it is best I leave now. I shan’t be returning to Uxmore so we needn’t even tell Lady Theale. By the time she discovers I am not here you will no doubt have wed, thus obviating the need for her to plot against you again.’
He appeared to gather himself as he followed her tumbled speech. ‘What do you mean you shan’t be returning to Uxmore?’
‘Just that. I have been saving my annuity and all my settlement and I think I have enough to lease some place small in town and not worry for at least a year or so and by then I shall no doubt find employment so I do not eat into my settlement. I will try seeking employment at one of the schools for young women. I have all the skills. It cannot be too hard.’
He came towards her.
‘Sit down.’
She glanced around and sat on the nearest chair. It was hard and slightly warped and she wished she had chosen a more comfortable seat on which to receive her dismissal.
He pulled over a chair and sat as well, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘I have another suggestion. Rather, a choice. After our...discussion last night I considered your words and I wish to amend our arrangement. I will be very busy for the foreseeable future. Besides the usual estate business, we are holding a ball on Summer’s Solstice after which we will finalise an agreement with the McCrieffs. I presume once that occurs the wedding will take place promptly. And before you toss an accusation of vanity at me, I should say that this does not reflect in the least on my personal qualities, but on the Lochmore title and wealth and the unsettled nature of Scottish clan politics.’
‘I was not...’
‘You were thinking it and you said as much to me during the trip here.’
‘I did not...’
‘Did, too, as Jamie might say. But that is hardly the point. The point is that you have a point—Jamie is isolated here. Hopefully once I am married there will be siblings and eventually he can attend a school nearby. But while this is all in the making, he needs, as Lady Theale stated in her usual bludgeoning way, a companion. If there is one thing you have proven this week, Mrs Langdale, it is that you can appeal to children. Therefore I would be grateful if you would stay until the betrothal. I will of course compensate you. I doubt Lady Theale has been as generous with the Uxmore funds as she has been with your time, but should you remain here you will accept my terms.’
‘I could not...’
‘My terms, Mrs Langdale. Or not at all.’
Her relief held her silent and worried her. She should finally be brave and strike out on her own, not fall into another position of cushy servitude, no matter how appealing her charge.
‘Well, Mrs Langdale?’ he prompted. ‘This is your cue to say “I will”, or, more consistently with your latest responses, “I will not...”’
In the silence the wind whistled in the casement and the clouds cast shifting shadows on the stone floor. The great fireplace was crackling and she was not cold, but she shivered a little. Perhaps it was merely cowardice now that she was determined to strike out on her own, but it would not be so very terrible to stay for a month, would it? She could not deny that she felt drawn to Jamie far more than she had to any of Celia’s children. Both Lochmore men needed her in their own way and, even if she was only a temporary bridge, the thought of turning her back on Lochmore’s offer felt...wrong.
‘I will.’
He shook his head, but it was not a negation. Then he looked around the room, as if surprised to find them there.
‘The castle is impossible to heat. I will have Mrs Merry find you a decent cloak for when you go outside. There are a few rules. Do not go to the north bay under any circumstances—the tide and currents there are brutal. Jamie knows never to go there without either myself or Angus. However, you may go to the bay to the south of the castle which is protected and quite calm. The shortest route is through the Sea Gate which is reached through a tunnel from the great staircase, but you mustn’t enter any of the other tunnels or the cellars. They are dank and unwholesome and no longer in use—the kitchens and storerooms are in the keep and the servants are on the top floor. Jamie knows he is never to venture there. Is that absolutely clear?’
She nodded vigorously.
‘Good. We rarely dine formally here as I often return late. So you will most often dine with Jamie or in your parlour. Occasionally, though hopefully rarely, we may be required to dine with my aunt, Lady Morag. Luckily she is highly unsociable and mostly remains in the north tower with her choice of comforts. I suggest you not invade her privacy—she is a...cantankerous person. Other than that you are to remember that you are an Uxmore and my guest and I have made that clear to Mrs Merry and the servants. I won’t have you slinking around here like a governess or a drudge. Understood?’
Some of her relief was beginning to evaporate at his imperiousness, but she nodded again, a little less vigorously.
‘Good. Now go find Jamie and have him show you the castle and the grounds. I have work to do.’
He stood, casting a look of such blatant loathing at the ledgers she almost laughed.
‘If you hate it so, why not have your steward see to the numbers? Is he not trustworthy?’
‘Very, but he is getting on and though he doesn’t admit it his eyesight is failing. I must find someone to replace him eventually, poor fellow. Meanwhile I do my best to review his tallies. We are sadly behind because of my trip south.’
‘I can help with that, if you wish. I saw to the housekeeping accounts at Uxmore.’
‘What else did you do at Uxmore? Did you tend to their gardens as well? Air the sheets?’
Strangely she wasn’t offended. Perhaps because he sounded offended.
‘I did not mind it, truly. It was my quiet time. I had the library to myself then.’
He hesitated, clearly tempted, but she clasped her hands and carefully refrained from pressing. Finally he gave another of his peculiarly Latin shrugs.
‘Perhaps later. But only if you prove you can actually tally and were not secretly siphoning off the Uxmore funds to the local butcher and baker and candlestick maker.’
‘If I was, you will never know, I was very discreet.’
‘Mrs Langdale...’
She waited for another list of prohibitions, but after a moment of hesitation he continued.
‘I have not been very gracious. Thank you for staying. Jamie will be very happy. If there is anything you need to make your time here more...agreeable, please don’t hesitate to speak.’ He grimaced, as if aware of how stilted he sounded, and she did her best not to smile.
‘Thank you, Your Grace. That is very kind.’
‘Yes. Well. Where are you headed now?’
‘Jamie wants to take me treasure hunting in the bay. With luck I will meet his mermaids.’
He smiled just as the sun cleaved through the clouds outside the window and the combination made her look down.
‘You are being honoured indeed. I have yet to be introduced to them.’
‘Jamie did not sound very hopeful. He says I might be lucky because I know Minerva, but usually mermaids think adults are too boring.’
He laughed and came to open the door for her. ‘I tend to agree with them. I hope your connections with the magical Minerva serve you well. I will tell Angus to keep well back when he accompanies you so he doesn’t ruin your chances with the dwellers of the deep.’
‘Surely Angus need not be bothered to accompany us?’ she asked as she stepped into the corridor.
‘I do not want you going by the Sea Gate tunnel with only Jamie as guide on your first descent to the bay. The tunnel is... I do not want you wandering around and becoming lost.’
The shift from laughter to tension was so sudden it jarred her, but she did not wish to upset him again so she nodded.
‘If you do not think Angus will mind.’
‘I do not think he will mind in the least, Mrs Langdale.’ This time his smile was sardonic and before she could respond he disappeared back into the study.
Chapter Ten (#ueaa4a40d-0c73-5672-8c6b-b19afcc362c7)
First impressions were often deceptive, Jo thought as she paused halfway along the beach and glanced back at the castle. Yesterday they arrived in near darkness, though it was only late afternoon, with clouds hanging low and submerging everything in sheets of unrelenting rain. Faraway lightning had sketched out the contours of the castle, marking towers and the remnants of walls. Through the watery grey the castle had appeared a gloomy monstrosity clawing at the sky.
In sunlight the castle was another beast entirely. It sat atop a promontory whose cliffs fell into the water like an anthracite skirt. It was still imposing and not terribly inviting, but as the sun gleamed off the deep grey stone of the castle and the remains of the walls around it, at least it no longer looked like the lair of an ogre.
From the south she could not see the tower where the Duke said his aunt lived. She wondered if the woman was truly as unpleasant as he warned. She tried to remember what Bella had said about her, but the previous Duke had still been alive then and most of Bella’s commentary had been a barrage of complaints about her living conditions, her renovation of the castle, her plans to ensure they spent more time in London and her thinly veiled jealousy about how much time Benneit spent with the baby rather than her.
If Jo was doubtful about the castle, she had no qualms about the beach—it was beautiful. With the skies scrubbed clean of clouds and the scent of the sea and the soft sand beneath her boots, the world was a marvellous place. The bay was sheltered by a finger of the cliffs that extended into the water and further to the south by a tumble of rocks with a large boulder atop it that looked like a pillow just waiting for a large cat to curl on and lap up the sun’s warmth. Beyond the finger of rocks, the waves were lashing at the cliffs, heavy with foam, but inside the bay they merely surged and hissed in retreat, more teasing than threatening.
Jamie soon abandoned his shoes on a rock and began inculcating Jo into the secret of finding treasures as he rooted about a clump of slimy brownish growth. The best finds, he informed her, were often tangled in gatherings of kelp the sea tossed up, especially after a storm. They found a lovely shell with a pearly inside, and a curved stick that looked like a pig’s tail and which Jamie decided once belonged to a druid.
When Jamie grew hungry they gathered his treasures and turned towards the castle, Jamie running ahead in his stockings while Angus picked up his shoes and addressed Jo with a sigh and a smile.
‘You needn’t hurry after him, Mrs Langdale. He’ll be gone in a cloud of dust before you reach the steps. I’ll see Nurse Moody takes him in hand before nuncheon. Take your time and when you’re ready to come in, take the stairs at the end of the corridor and you will find yourself by the great staircase and from there up two flights to the nursery. You’ll be all right, lass?’
Jo nodded and smiled, happy to have a few moments to herself. She contemplated the tumble of rocks. Perhaps one day she would take a book up there. After all, she had a month. And then...
There was no point in thinking of that now.
She followed the edge of the sea where the waves licked the sand into firmness, stopping to pick up a shell sure to appeal to Jamie. Outside it was gnarled and a rather dull dun colour scored with what looked like the passage of worms in the sand, but inside it was perfection—a creamy pink sheen that would defy the finest artist. She brushed her finger along the sweep of its curve—as soft as silk, it almost felt alive. If she were a princess from one of the exotic dream lands Jamie was convinced these treasures arrived from she would have a dress of just this colour.
And she would be beautiful and wealthy and would depend upon no one but herself.
Strangely, her usual daydream felt rather grey and she trudged up the stone steps and through the Sea Gate and into the tunnel leading to the great stairs. It took her a while to realise she was lost. She finally stopped walking and raised her eyes from the flagstones. There was just enough light coming in from the narrow open slits on either end of the corridor, and she could hear the surf outside, so she did not feel particularly alarmed, just hungry and weary. Had she turned left or right at the Sea Gate? She retraced her steps, but the silence only deepened and so did the gloom.
She could not have come this way because at the end of the ill-lit tunnel with its vaulted ceiling there was nothing but a spiralling staircase heading downwards, which made little sense to her unless she had reached an entrance to the cellars? The Duke’s words came back to her—the cellars were closed off so surely there was no point in going down. Unless by coming in from the side door on the cliff side they had entered higher than the main entrance and by going down she would find herself some place familiar?
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