Читать книгу Her Highland Protector - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 8

Jenna raked the comb through her tangled curls, her eyes watering with the pain. ‘He gave his word and he broke it. Why?’

‘My lady.’ Mary McDougall, her maid, grabbed unsuccessfully for the comb. ‘I dinna ken who you are talking about.’

‘That mealy-mouthed Scot who came to work with your father. He told Lord Carrick about the footpads when he swore he would not. Currying favour.’ And now Lord Carrick would think her still the hoyden she had been when she first came under his care when her father died, instead of a responsible woman, ready to take up the reins of her own life.

‘It seems to have worked, too. He is to dine with us tonight.’ And replace Carrick as her guardian in his absence. How could he leave now, when he had promised to take her to Edinburgh?

It was as if he was deliberately dragging his feet on the issue of her finding a husband. He had agreed it was the right next step and had promised her a Season. Her estates, her people, had been left without a caring hand for far too long.

Braemuir. Her home. How she longed to see it again. To feel the comfort of knowing she was safe within its walls. She only had to close her eyes to see every inch of it. The grand staircase with the honours of her family going back for centuries. Her room at the back of the house overlooking the park and the hills beyond. The people in their little crofts. The gypsies who had come every year to help with the hay. And she had promised her father to do everything in her power to care for it the way he would have, had he lived.

Only she couldn’t. Not without a husband. Carrick insisted she wed before he would give up his trusteeship. Females did not manage their own estates. Worse yet, there were debts incurred by her father to be paid. And no money to pay them. Leasing the estate these many years had not been enough to pay them off.

She handed the comb to the insistent Mary and stared unseeing at her reflection. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a husband. She was no beauty, she knew that, but it wasn’t a one-sided bargain. In exchange for paying off the debts, her bridegroom would gain the title of Baron Aleyne, which by ancient charter passed through either the male or the female line. Not to mention the ancient house and surrounding lands.

A fine house for children to grow up in.

She had promised her father she would not let the family name die. Yet here she was, two years beyond her age of majority and still unwed. Not that she regretted these past two years caring for her father’s widowed sister during her illness. The woman had been the mother she had never known. She had taught her how to be the lady of a house instead of a hoyden who liked to ride and fish and all of the other things she’d learned from her father. Jenna had managed Mrs Blackstone’s house almost entirely alone these past few years and it galled her to be treated by Carrick as if she did not have a brain in her head.

‘It is Mr Gilvry you are meaning?’ Mary asked, pinning a stray lock of hair in place. ‘A handsome young man by all accounts.’

Ruggedly attractive and traitorous. The feeling of betrayal writhed in her stomach anew. ‘He’s only out for himself.’

‘Is that right, then? You know so much about him already?’

She knew more than she ought. The velvet feel of his lips on hers. The hard strength of his body inside his clothes. A tremor ran through her. She pushed the sensations away.

‘He is not worth discussing, though I am sure the lasses below stairs will find him charming enough.’ Oh, my word, didn’t she sound spiteful? Most unlike herself. She took a deep breath. ‘That looks lovely, Mary. Thank you.’

The maid smiled. She picked up the dress from the end of the bed. ‘May I put this on you, now? We should probably hurry, or you will be late.’

Lord Carrick hated tardiness and ruled his castle with a rod of iron.

The dress slipped over her head with a whisper of silk. The silver thread in the lace edge of the sleeves scratched up the length of her arms. Why was she doing this? Why had she asked Mary to put out her best evening gown instead of one of those she would normally wear for dinner en famille? Not for Mr high-and-mighty-you-shouldn’t-be-riding-out-without-a-groom Gilvry, that was certain. Tonight her mission was to remind her cousin of his promise to take her to Edinburgh. She really could not afford another Season to pass her by.

Not after receiving a plea six months ago from Mr Hughes, the vicar at Braemuir. He had begged her to return home and take up her duties, before there was no one left on the land.

When she had told Carrick about Mr Hughes’s concerns, he’d been insulted by her lack of trust in his administration. Times were changing, he’d told her. He’d also forbidden any further communication with the old vicar. However, when she pressed the issue, he had grudgingly agreed it was high time she found a husband to look after her affairs. Six months had passed and she seemed no closer to the married state.

She pressed her lips together and smoothed her gloves up her arms. She was determined to wait no longer. Especially in the light of what she assumed was another message from Mr Hughes waiting unread with the tinker in the market because of those wretched footpads.

If Mr Hughes’s pleas had been urgent before, she could only imagine what they would be six months later.

Despite the urge to move, to pace, she remained still as Mary pinned her brooch on her gown—the pearls and diamonds her father had given her mother on their wedding day, with the family motto inscribed in the silver surround: Family Before All. Family meant the people on her estate. People she hadn’t seen for years. It was a promise instilled into her from birth. A promise she had so far failed to keep.

Mary handed her a shawl. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

Jenna gazed at herself in the glass. Was she ready? Was she suitably armed for battle with her cousin and the traitorous Mr Gilvry? ‘Quite ready.’

Two flights down and a draughty corridor brought her to the second-floor drawing room, in the suite of rooms set aside for the lord of the castle and his retinue. Such old-fashioned formality. Outside the great wooden door studded with iron, she squared her shoulders, pinned a smile to her lips and drew on the mantle of a woman aiming to please. The waiting footman opened the door and stepped back to his place like a man who did not exist.

Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.

Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.

She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.

The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.

She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.

Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’

Dutifully, she did as requested.

The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.

‘It is good to see you up and about again, ma’am,’ Jenna said.

The lady shot a nervous glance at Carrick. ‘How could I not, when we have a guest for dinner?’

‘A member of the household and a relative, too,’ Jenna said, giving Mr Gilvry a cool smile. Playing the great lady was a skill she had learned from Mrs Blackstone, and it would be as well to keep this young man at a distance. Put them back on a proper footing.

Mr Gilvry acknowledged her words with a slight incline of his head.

‘Ratafia?’ Carrick asked.

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Her cousin served her with a glass of the icky stuff. She sipped at it, keeping her grimace of revulsion hidden. Oh, for a nice dram of whisky. But ladies did not drink whisky in public.

‘Fine weather we are having for this time of year,’ Mrs Preston said, filling the silence.

Gilvry raised a brow. Carrick sighed.

‘Surprisingly fair,’ Jenna said, trying not to smile at how the words echoed those she had exchanged with Mr Gilvry on the road. Better to recall nothing of their meeting.

‘And are your rooms in the castle to your satisfaction, Mr Gilvry?’ Jenna asked.

‘Yes, thank you, my lady.’

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Mrs Preston organises all on behalf of Lord Carrick.’

His quizzical look said he was wondering if she’d had the ordering of it, she would have left a basket full of snakes in his room. Clearly the man had a sense of humour, even if he was a tattletale.

He bowed to Mrs Preston. ‘Then I thank you, ma’am, for the excellent accommodations. To be truthful, I did not expect such lavish quarters.’

Too charming to be true. But it was working on Mrs Preston, who fluttered her fan and looked pleased. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry, though nothing was undertaken without his lordship’s instructions, I can assure you.’

Carrick waved off the compliment. ‘How are things at Dunross, Gilvry? I understand your brother is making improvements to his lands. And how is dear Lady Selina? I really must find the time to visit.’

‘My brother is well, my lord. As is his wife. I am sure they would be honoured by your company and that of the ladies, too, should they wish to accompany you.’

‘I really would prefer to go to Edinburgh, as soon as it can be arranged,’ Jenna said, giving her cousin a bright smile. ‘As we discussed.’

Inwardly she winced as Carrick stiffened. Perhaps she should not have been quite so pointed. Carrick wouldn’t like the insinuation he had not kept his word. Or it might make him stir his stumps. If he did not make it so difficult for her to have this conversation in private, she wouldn’t be forced into this tactic.

A look of disgust flickered in Gilvry’s eyes. His lip curled slightly. He was judging her again. Assuming her to be a woman with nothing but frippery pleasures on her mind. Well, she didn’t give a hoot what he thought. Not about something so important. This was between her and Carrick.

Her cousin tugged at his collar. ‘I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Jenna.’ He slid a look at Gilvry. Had they been discussing her behind her back? Heat flared through her, anger at the assumption that they, having her interests at heart, knew what was best.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I do not think it is going to be possible this year.’

Jenna’s chest emptied of every gasp of air. This she had not expected. How was she to find a suitable husband if she never met anyone? ‘But you promised.’

Carrick’s face froze. Blast. She really had gone too far.

‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ the butler said from the doorway.

‘We will discuss this later,’ Carrick said smoothly.

Oh, no. He thought he was going to put her off yet again. She would not allow it. She had been the very soul of patience these past few months, but she wanted to go home. Surely Carrick could see how necessary it was? She’d told him often enough. Or perhaps that was the trouble. The more she pressed him, the more he resisted.

Naturally, while Carrick took Mrs Preston’s arm, Mr Gilvry came forwards to escort her into dinner. As she placed her hand on his sleeve, she felt the heat of his body down her side and sensed the raw power of his arm beneath her fingers. Tingles shivered up her arm in reaction to that leashed strength. She recalled how casually he had faced those villains on the road and how safe he’d made her feel.

A foolish impression. The man was ruthless in pursuing his own ends. A tremble shuddered deep in her bones. If it was fear, it came all tangled up in an excitement she did not understand.

She lifted her chin and walked beside him steadily, outwardly calm, while inside her unruly blood ran hot. She was glad when he released her to pull back her chair so she could be seated. The relief, when he moved to the opposite side of the table, was tainted by a confusing feeling of loss.

As they talked of political matters of interest to Carrick and the court gossip that so entertained Mrs Preston, Jenna glanced at Mr Gilvry from beneath her lashes. What about him set her in such disarray? His darkness? His reserve, except for the odd flash of interest when he glanced her way? Every time he did that, she felt a surge of blood in her veins. And all the time her heart felt too high in her throat.

No. It wasn’t he who had her feeling at sixes and sevens, it was Carrick’s about-face on the visit to Edinburgh, and the strain of saying nothing of importance until the moment was right.

Somehow, she managed to chatter on about inanities, all the while aware of Gilvry’s speculative glances.

What had Carrick said about her? Had he been told she’d been brought up a hoyden by an indulgent father and spoiled by her lonely widowed aunt? It wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she was determined to have her way, but she had to be. She had responsibilities. She’d learned what she needed to know about being the mistress of a house and it was time to put that learning into practice.

The servants brought in the last course: platters of sweetmeats and fruit. Now that the man had a full stomach, perhaps he’d be willing to listen to reason. She glanced at Mr Gilvry, who was gazing at her intently, with a look that made her toes want to curl inside her slippers.

She did not dare think about what that look meant. She plunged ahead with her question. ‘Well, Cousin, will you explain why it is you’re breaking your promise about taking me to Edinburgh?’ she asked casually while peeling an apple.

Carrick reared back in his seat.

Mrs Preston shot him a worried glance. ‘I really don’t think this is the time or the place to discuss family business, dearest Jenna.’

‘Why ever not?’ she said, widening her eyes in innocent surprise. ‘Mr Gilvry is family, is he not? At least as close to Lord Carrick as I am. Isn’t that right, my lord?’

Carrick cast her a look of displeasure, but seemed to wrestle his emotions under control because his voice when he spoke was surprisingly mild. ‘One can hardly refuse a request for a meeting when it comes from Lord Gordon.’

Mr Gilvry’s eyes widened. He lowered his gaze to his plate as if he was trying to hide his reaction. But there was no mistaking it. He had been surprised by this announcement. If one of the most influential Scottish Dukes had called for a meeting, would the under-secretary not know about it?

‘When?’ she asked, unable to prevent the question from tripping from her tongue and trying to soften it into a more civil enquiry by adding, ‘When do you leave?’

Carrick waved his fork. ‘Tomorrow. By ship for Edinburgh and then on to London.’

London? The largest marriage mart in the world. An abundance of wealthy gentlemen ripe for the plucking like low-hanging fruit. Surely one of them would be suitable? He didn’t have to be clever or handsome. He just had to be willing to spend his blunt on Braemuir in exchange for a title. ‘Why don’t Mrs Preston and I come with you?’

‘Not possible, I am afraid,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This is business. I will have no time for assemblies and balls. I plan to return home as quickly as I may, I assure you.’

Her hand clenched around her knife as she fought to control her disappointment. ‘You agreed that it was necessary that I have a Season this year.’

The pained look on Carrick’s face said she’d disturbed his digestion. He put down the grape he had been about to eat. ‘I promised you would have an opportunity to find a husband. And so you shall.’ His jaw thrust forwards and Mrs Preston sent Jenna a look of alarm. Mr Gilvry looked as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him up. Clearly she was pushing too hard.

She took a deep breath. Forced her rising anger down. ‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘You are postponing. Now I understand. We will go to Edinburgh for the end of the Season, upon your return.’

It wasn’t exactly what he had said, but it might be one way to pin him down. He twisted and turned like an eel in a net whenever she tried to get a straight answer.

Having sent her shot across his bow, now might be the wise time to retreat. ‘Are you finished, Mrs Preston? If so, then perhaps we should leave the gentlemen to their port and adjourn to the drawing room for tea, where I hope we shall see them in a short while?’ She cast both men an inviting smile.

Mrs Preston fussed with her shawl. ‘Indeed. Indeed.’

Carrick grunted and half-rose to his feet.

Mr Gilvry stood and helped Mrs Preston from her chair. More pouring on the charm. Trying to impress his lordship, she presumed.

She dipped a curtsy and departed feeling as if she might have won a minor skirmish.

‘Did you know about this meeting with Gordon?’ she asked Mrs Preston as they walked the corridor to the drawing room.

The older woman shook her head. ‘I wish you would be less forthright with your cousin, dearest girl. More is accomplished with honey than with vinegar, you know.’

Was it? She’d tried both ways now. Being patient. Hurrying him. Nothing moved him. If his younger sons had been single gentlemen, she might have suspected him of wanting her lands and title for them. But they were married. And very advantageously, too. Was there more to these delays than the lack of time he always claimed? Ought she to be more suspicious? Certainly her estates were of no great import to him. He’d seemed barely aware of her existence while she was living with her aunt. If that dear lady hadn’t died, he might never have remembered he had a ward.

In the oak-panelled drawing room, the tea tray was already set out on the table in front of the hearth. It only wanted the delivery of hot water. Not that water was ever very hot by the time it made its way up from the kitchen in its separate building in the bailey.

One of the joys of having a history to maintain.

She had her own history to worry about. A Baron Aleyne had lived at Braemuir since the Dark Ages—until her father died. It was her duty to rectify the lack. Daily, the responsibility felt heavier.

And yet there was comfort in it, too. The thought of returning to the home she loved. All she needed was a wedding and a child or two, boy or girl, to know she had done her duty, honoured her promise.

‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Preston said. ‘All that pacing makes me feel quite bilious.’

She hadn’t realised she was pacing. She stopped short, staring at Mrs Preston.

‘What a charming young man Mr Gilvry is,’ Mrs Preston said, picking up her embroidery. ‘I had heard all the Gilvry men are as handsome as sin itself. Having seen this one, I can well believe it. Sadly, quite poverty-stricken, I understand.’

The kind of man she couldn’t possibly conceive of marrying, even if he was the closest thing to an eligible bachelor she had met in months.

Surely Carrick wasn’t thinking she would marry his poor relation? Without doubt, Mr Gilvry was young and attractive. Her heart gave a painful little hop. A reminder that it didn’t do to become too attached to anyone. It was too hurtful when they left one alone.

No, she would need to be careful around Mr Gilvry. He stirred up uncomfortable emotions she couldn’t control. And Braemuir required a woman of sense if it was to prosper.

If only she could bring Carrick to see the urgency of the matter. But how?

The butler arrived with the hot water and set it on the tray. ‘Will that be all, madam?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ the widow replied.

Jenna sat down opposite Mrs Preston and focused on the important issue of preparing tea. Or rather the important issue of how to ensure she would soon be pouring tea in her own drawing room at Braemuir.

Niall sipped at his port, though he would have preferred the traditional dram of whisky.

‘Lady Jenna is a determined young woman,’ Carrick muttered.

‘She seems set on this trip to Edinburgh,’ Niall responded in what he hoped were neutral tones. After all, this really was not his concern.

‘Aye, and if my wife wasn’t busy with my daughter, she would be there right at this moment. I certainly don’t have the time.’ Carrick stared into his wine as if it could provide answers.

Niall shrugged non-committally. The man just wanted to voice his frustration.

‘No doubt about it. She needs a husband,’ Carrick said moodily. ‘A man worthy of her title.’ He tossed off his glass and poured another. He grimaced. ‘I’ve already had one dubious offer. A lowlander and a shopkeeper to boot.’ He frowned. ‘Now what was his name? Davidson? Drummond? I think that was it. Verra unpleasant. Not the sort of family her father would want inheriting his title.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if suffering a headache. ‘And who knows what sort of man she’d end up with if I let Katy Preston take her to Edinburgh.’

Did he really want to discuss bridegrooms for the lady? Yet he couldn’t help himself. ‘You don’t trust Lady Jenna to choose wisely for herself?’ It was as close as he could get to an objection of his employer’s high-handed dealings with the lass.

‘I promised her father I would see her well settled before I had any idea of the weight of debt his father had left him. If he’d had more time, he might have managed to see himself clear, I suppose.’ He shook his head and took another swallow of his drink. ‘I gave him my word I would do my best by the lass and make sure the family fortunes were improved. And I will. I just wish he hadn’t brought her up more like a son than a daughter. My wife could handle her, no doubt, but Mrs Preston …’ He subsided into silence. ‘She’ll need a strong hand on the reins, I’m thinking.’

‘She reminds me a bit of my youngest brother, Logan. The more you tell him “no”, the more he insists on his own way.’

Carrick puffed out his cheeks. ‘Wildness is a Gilvry family trait.’ He gave Niall a sharp look. ‘Except for you.’

As a child, Niall had sometimes wondered if the faeries had taken the real Gilvry son at birth and left him in its stead. A changeling. Pure nonsense, of course. His childish way of explaining why he never quite felt as if he belonged, why he preferred to read when his brothers wanted to rampage out of doors. ‘I’ve had my moments,’ he said, refusing to be thought any different to his brothers. And besides, while he might counsel caution, he always stood shoulder to shoulder beside them even if they did laugh at his occasional bouts of cowardice.

‘Drew was the worst of ye,’ Carrick said.

Niall stiffened. ‘Drew is dead.’

‘Let me down badly, too. He had letters of instruction for my agent in Boston. A position waiting for him. Instead he took off on some wild adventure.’

Niall frowned. This was the first he had heard about letters. ‘Drew might have been a bit reckless, but he usually kept his word.’

‘Not this time. He sloughed my task off to another, I know that. The letters arrived far too late to be of any use and cost me a great deal of money.’

Niall flushed at his sour tone. Carrick was famous for turning all his ventures into gain. He did not like to lose a groat, but he was right—Drew had been reckless and in this instance clearly careless. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Though there was little he could do to rectify something that had occurred so long ago. He had the feeling this was something Carrick would always hold against the rest of the Gilvry clan. Particularly Ian.

Carrick gave Niall a glance sharp enough to skewer him to his chair. ‘You will not be following your brother’s example and letting me down, now will you?’

Niall returned the stare steadily. ‘Not if I can help it.’

Carrick chuckled. ‘Aye, I know. Lady Jenna willing.’ He lifted his glass in a toast and swallowed deep. ‘I can see you’ve a head on your shoulders, young Niall.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. ‘What I don’t understand is why you are willing to undertake the lowly position of under-secretary. I’ve been giving it some thought since you arrived. Was it Ian’s idea?’

‘No.’ He hoped he didn’t sound too defensive as he recalled Ian’s request for information. ‘I have my own plans.’

‘What are they, then?’

‘Once I earn enough money, I am going to Edinburgh to study law. A man can make a good living as a lawyer. And it would help the clan.’

‘Aye, help keep them out of gaol.’

Niall bristled. All right, so it might have been one of the things at the back of his mind, but that didn’t mean he would admit it.

Carrick leaned forwards, twisting the glass in his hand between finger and thumb, sending ruby rainbows dancing across the table as the port reflected the light from the chandelier. ‘My journey to London could not have come at a worse time.’ He watched the port continue to swirl above his now-still fingers. ‘I am relying on you to keep a close eye on the Lady Jenna. Her encounter with those footpads on the road has me worried. Why was she out of the castle without her groom?’ He looked up. ‘Did she say?’

Niall shook his head. ‘I did not think it my place to ask.’

He gave Niall a sharp stare. ‘I am making it your place. I want to know what mischief she is plotting. Who she is meeting. I want you to call a halt to any nonsense before she comes to harm. Do that for me and I’ll consider myself in your debt.’

‘I can only do my best, my lord.’

‘Do it well and I’ll see about recommending you to a solicitor of some standing in Edinburgh. My own.’

Niall’s mouth dried. It was something he would never have expected, not given the strained relations between Carrick and the Gilvrys. The offer of the position of under-secretary had been a surprise as it was. ‘Thank you, my lord. I will, of course, do everything I can—’

Carrick held up a hand to stop him with a nod of satisfaction. ‘I’ll tell you this, then. I’ve an idea in my head of a way to satisfy Lady Jenna without any of us traipsing off to Edinburgh.’

Niall raised a brow.

Carrick grinned. ‘I don’t want to say too much in case I cannot match deed to thought.’ He hesitated, then leaned closer, touching a finger to the side of his nose. ‘She will insist on a choice, but I’ve in mind a way to limit that choice to a few good prospects. I’ll write to you with the details when I know I have the matter in hand. And I’ll trust you to ensure all goes off without a hitch. In the meantime, you will make sure she does nothing to ruin her chances.’

Did he have to be so damned mysterious? Perhaps he feared he would tell Lady Jenna what was in store. ‘You can trust me to do my duty.’ The words sounded as stiff at he felt, but if the man thought he wasn’t to be trusted, it was no wonder.

Carrick nodded and raised his glass towards Niall. ‘To the women who plague us.’

Niall accepted the toast and swallowed what was left in his glass in one go. It was always better to down bad-tasting medicine in one go. He wasn’t sure which tasted worse. The port. Or his bargain with respect to keeping an eye on the Lady Jenna.

Still, he’d be foolish to turn down such an opportunity to further his prospects and be of use to his clan. And no one ever called him a fool. His task didn’t have to be difficult. Provided he made sure she didn’t meet anyone beyond the castle walls, he would have nothing to report. But God help him, unless he managed to keep her within doors, it seemed he would be spending a great deal more time in her company.

Something inside him didn’t exactly regret it.

And therein lay the danger.