Читать книгу The Lord’s Highland Temptation - Diane Gaston - Страница 14

Mairi again left his room with her heart racing. When the Englishman looked at her with those vivid blue eyes all she could see was pain. Not physical pain, but the kind that reaches down into one’s soul, the kind of pain with which she was acutely familiar. It felt like a bond with him.

What nonsense, though.

She shook off the feeling and hurried to the kitchen, where Niven was happily munching on some biscuits Cook had given him.

‘Niven, I need you to bring Mr Lucas his clothing and satchel and everything that was in it. They are in the footmen’s room.’

Her brother looked up at her. ‘Zounds, Mairi. No need to bark orders at me. I want to help.’

She walked over to him and ruffled his hair, which always annoyed him. ‘I am sorry, Niven. I do not know what I would do without you.’

He ran a testy hand through his hair, but looked up at her with serious eyes. ‘Do you need me to forgo my visit with Crawfurd?’

Niven knew their family was in financial difficulty, but Mairi did not have the heart to tell him precisely how serious she suspected it was and how she feared it might result in him losing his birthright.

‘No, dear Brother.’ She kissed him on his head, another gesture that irked him. ‘You deserve some enjoyment.’

He waved her away, but grinned at her.

She made her way up the stairs to the hall. Papa and Mama would be up by now and they should be informed about what the doctor had said.

Davina stood at the foot of the staircase. ‘I just saw Niven in the kitchen. He said he’d be taking care of Mr Lucas today. I do not see why he gets to do it. Why can I not help?’

Mairi opened her mouth to answer, but Davina interrupted.

‘Never mind saying it isn’t proper. You have to help, so I should be able to help as well.’

Mairi put her arm around Davina’s shoulders. ‘There is plenty to do here besides seeing to Mr Lucas, Davina, as you well know.’

‘But I wanted to be the Good Samaritan.’ Davina’s lip trembled.

‘You have already been the Good Samaritan,’ Mairi assured her. ‘By finding Mr Lucas and seeing he was helped.’

‘Niven is telling everyone he found him,’ she protested. ‘But it was me. I saw him first.’

‘And you could have walked by him. That makes you like the Good Samaritan.’

Davina’s eyes widened. ‘I could never have walked by him!’

Mairi’s younger sister possessed a pure, kind heart. She was sweet. And unspoiled.

Mairi gave her a hug. ‘Let us find Mama and Papa and tell them that Mr Lucas is much improved.’

* * *

Their parents were in the morning room finishing a leisurely breakfast with one of the footmen, Robert, to attend them.

Davina entered the room first, rushing up to her mother. ‘Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa.’ She kissed both on the cheek.

Mairi poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. ‘The sick man is much better. His fever broke at last. Mr Grassie was here earlier.’ Her father lowered his newspaper to listen.

‘Oh, yes, the sick man.’ Her mother spoke as if she’d forgotten about him. ‘What did the good doctor say?’

‘Mr Grassie has prescribed rest. The man must stay here for a week or so.’ Mairi softened the time frame and omitted the part about him being contagious, both matters guaranteed to rattle her mother. And, of course, Mairi neglected to mention that she had been the one caring for Mr Lucas.

Her father turned back to his paper. ‘Good man, Grassie.’

Her mother smiled approvingly at her husband’s pronouncement. ‘Indeed he is.’ She glanced back at Mairi. ‘See that the servants give our patient good care, will you, Mairi?’

Robert glanced at Mairi, his bland expression turning to one of worry.

She nodded to him so he’d know she noticed, before answering her mother. ‘I will see to it, Mama. His name is Mr Lucas, by the way.’

‘Lucas?’ Her mother looked up in thought. ‘I do not believe we know any Lucases.’

‘He is an Englishman, Mama.’

‘An Englishman?’ Her father dropped his paper again. ‘I do not fancy an Englishman in our house.’ Her father prided himself on being a full-blooded Scottish patriot.

‘It will only be a few days.’ She changed the subject. ‘What plans have you for today?’

Her mother leaned forward with bright eyes. ‘Mrs Webster will be calling.’ Mrs Webster was the local dressmaker. ‘She is in possession of some new muslins and fashion prints, so don’t you run off somewhere.’ She gave severe looks to both Mairi and Davina. ‘We must measure you both for new gowns.’

‘No, Mama!’ Mairi protested. ‘We do not need to spend more money on gowns!’

Her mother tapped Mairi’s hand. ‘We must! For the house party at Lord Oxmont’s. You must look your best.’

It was no secret that her mother had great hopes that this house party would result in a proposal of marriage for Mairi, but how could she marry? She was not a virgin. A man would be able to tell, she’d heard the maids say.

In any event, they could not afford to pay Mrs Webster for new dresses. ‘Mrs Webster might alter our old dresses,’ she said. ‘That would certainly cost less.’

Davina’s brow furrowed. ‘Do we not have enough money for new dresses?’

Their father took Davina’s hand and squeezed it. ‘It is not as bad as all that, my wee one.’

But it was every bit as bad as all that. And more.

Her father returned to his paper. Mairi could expect no support from him.

She sighed. ‘What about you, Papa? What are your plans?’

He put down his newspaper again. ‘I am off to look at a horse. Laird Buchan put me on to a pretty mare for sale.’

‘Papa!’ Mairi could keep quiet no longer. ‘We do not need another horse!’ They’d lost most of their grooms already, those who wanted to be paid for their work in coin, not promises. ‘We cannot afford it!’

Her father’s face turned red. ‘I’ll not have you speak to me in that tone of voice, lass.’ He lifted his paper again. ‘Besides, a steed like this one comes around once in a lifetime. Or so I’m told.’

Mairi had tried every way she knew to convince her parents to economise. She’d begged them to stop buying things. She’d suggested they sell what they no longer needed. Her mother had gone into palpitations when Mairi had said they should sell some of the jewellery her father was so fond of buying for her.

If her father and mother did not change their ways soon they’d lose the caput—their land and with it her father’s title. In Scotland, a baron could sell both. What future would Niven and Davina have then?

Mairi rose. If she remained another minute, she was likely to lose her temper completely and she knew from experience it only made matters worse.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘If I have your leave, Papa?’

‘Yes, lass.’ Her father’s good humour returned as it always did. ‘Do not forget about the dressmaker.’

Mairi strode out of the room.

Robert followed her. ‘Does your da not have enough money?’ the footman asked worriedly.

Robert was twenty, Mairi’s age, and a simple young man, the son of one of the crofters. He had not been a footman for very long.

‘Money is tight, Robert.’ She would not lie to him. ‘That is why you have not been paid, but we have enough to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths, so there is that.’

Robert’s parents had died of fever a year ago and he’d been their only son. Her father had generously offered to make him a footman. At the time, it had seemed an extravagance to Mairi, but now she did not know what the family would do without him and Erwin, their only other footman.

‘And don’t think I will ask you to care for Mr Lucas, the sick man,’ she added. ‘I know you are overworked and I do not want you to catch the fever.’

His face relaxed. ‘I can help some, miss,’ he said earnestly. ‘I already brushed out his clothes and polished his boots. They should be dry by now.’

‘I saw that you did that, Robert,’ she responded. ‘They were quite wet and dirty. It was a big job. I do appreciate it so very much.’

His face turned red at the compliment. He glanced towards the door. ‘I best return to my duties.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

He bowed and re-entered the morning room.

Mairi turned away. She’d promised the housekeeper she would tidy her parents’ rooms and she needed to hurry before they finished their breakfast.

* * *

That afternoon Mairi helped Mrs Cross close down the guest bedrooms. They were rarely used and it would save the two maids much work to take down the curtains and cover the furniture with dust covers.

Davina came to tell her the dressmaker had arrived. ‘Mama wants us to come straight away.’

‘Very well.’ Mairi closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself before removing her apron and cap and brushing off her dress.

As they walked to their mother’s dressing room, Davina asked, ‘Can we really not afford new dresses, Mairi?’

At fourteen, Davina was old enough to know the reality of their situation. ‘We should not order new clothes,’ Mairi responded. ‘Papa has been unable to pay our servants for some time. That is why so many have left. He has many unpaid bills. He will not be able to pay Mrs Webster for anything we buy.’

Davina turned her head away and did not speak for a few moments. Finally she said, ‘Then I will say I dislike all of the new fabrics and the fashion prints. Mama will not make me order a dress I do not like. And I will try to convince Mama that the fabrics and designs will not do for her either.’

Mairi put her arm around her sister. ‘Very clever, Davina. Mama will not like to be embarrassed that way. We can show Mrs Webster some of our old dresses. I believe Mama will be satisfied if we have something that looks new.’

* * *

Lucas took another sip of tea as young Niven peppered him with questions about himself—about his time in the army.

‘What regiment were you in?’ Niven asked.

‘The First Royal Dragoons,’ he replied.

The boy’s eyes brightened. ‘The First Royals? Were you in the charge with the Scots Greys at Waterloo?’

The memory of it came back. The thundering of the horses, their screams, the contorted faces of the French soldiers, the blood.

His brother.

By Jupiter, he needed whisky.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I was.’

‘Wait until my father hears about that!’ Niven beamed. ‘He is excessively proud of the Scots Greys. To hear him, you’d think they won the battle for the Allies.’

The Scots Greys were brave, no question, but they also had been untried in battle. They’d ridden too far ahead of the main charge and, as a result, too many had been cut down.

Like Bradleigh.

‘Were you in the Peninsula, too?’ Niven asked. ‘What other battles did you fight? Was it glorious? I cannot imagine such a sight. A cavalry charge!’

Lucas’s answers were terse and he hoped the boy did not notice the trembling of his hands, the stiffening of his shoulders. It was the anguish of remembering. Enough of this. He wanted out of this place. The boy forced him to remember and the sister made him care when all he wanted was to shut off his emotions and be alone.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ Niven called as if this was his room, not Lucas’s.

Miss Wallace peeked in, her gaze riveting on her brother. ‘Niven! I was afraid you were here.’

Lucas rose to his feet, but braced his hands on the table. She gestured for him to sit down. He wanted to remain standing, but his legs threatened not to hold him. He sank back into the chair.

Niven lifted his chin. ‘I brought Lucas some tea and biscuits. I’m keeping him company.’

‘He is still ill, Niven,’ she scolded. ‘You should leave him in peace.’

Niven seemed to ignore what she said. ‘Did you know? He was in the First Royals! Fought at Waterloo. That’s a cavalry regiment, you see. He was in the charge with the Scots Greys.’

Her gaze caught Lucas’s briefly and he fancied she could somehow see the pain he wanted to hide. From himself as well as everyone else.

‘You should not trouble him, Niven.’ She peered at Lucas even more closely and crossed the room to him. ‘Are you feverish again, Mr Lucas?’

He felt hot and perspiration dampened his face.

She placed her bare hand on his forehead. ‘You are a little warm.’

Her touch filled him with yearning, but he did not wish anyone to care about him—or to care about anybody himself. Obviously seeing to his care merely added one more burden to her slim shoulders.

‘I am well enough,’ he insisted.

Her brows knitted. ‘You should rest.’ She turned to her brother. ‘Let us leave Mr Lucas now. I need your help in the garden. Cook wants some turnips and onions.’

Niven stood. ‘How delightful! Digging in the dirt.’ He smiled at Lucas. ‘I’ll bring your dinner later, Mr Lucas. Do not be surprised if it includes turnips and onions.’

Lucas’s stomach revolted at the thought.

‘Thank you.’ Lucas rose. ‘I will rest a while.’

Miss Wallace gave him a worried look before she and her brother walked out of the room.

* * *

When Niven had returned some time later with the dinner tray, Lucas had simply told him to leave it on the table, but he fell asleep before touching it.

He woke again when the clock in the room struck eleven. The door opened and, through slitted eyes, Lucas watched Miss Wallace enter, her face illuminated by a candle. Her brother was behind her.

‘See, he is still abed,’ Niven said to her. ‘I do not think he ate any of his dinner.’

Miss Wallace approached and gingerly placed her palm on his forehead. Her hand felt soft and cool and he was taken aback with how much he desired her touch.

He opened his eyes and she jumped back with a cry.

‘Miss Wallace?’ He sat up.

‘Niven was concerned. You did not eat dinner,’ she said.

‘I was not hungry.’ He’d made up his mind. He’d leave in the morning.

‘You still feel warm.’ Her brows knitted.

He refused to worry her. ‘I just need sleep.’ Their gazes caught as before. She needed sleep as much as he did. ‘Please. Return to your beds.’

She stared at him a while longer. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Go to bed, Miss Wallace,’ he murmured. ‘Do not trouble yourself with me.’

* * *

The next morning, Lucas woke as dawn was just breaking. His fever continued, but he was clear-headed. All he needed to do was walk to the nearest village and seek a room in an inn. Then he need not impose on this family—on Miss Wallace—any further.

He’d slept in the clothes he’d borrowed from the departed butler, so he rose and bathed his face in the cool water from the room’s pitcher and basin and shaved his face. Wiping his face again, he searched for his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, rinsing the foul taste of illness from his mouth.

As he turned away from the basin, he noticed his untouched evening meal still on the table. His stomach was no better than the night before, but he knew he must eat and drink something. He buttered the bread and drank the ale. It would have to be enough until he could purchase a meal from an inn.

If his appetite ever returned.

He dressed in his own clothes and repacked his satchel, then picked up the tray so he would not leave extra work for Miss Wallace. He carried the tray to the door and managed to open it. In the hallway, he could hear sounds from what he presumed was the kitchen. Butlers’ quarters were typically near the kitchen. He followed the sounds and entered a large room where the odours of cooking meat and bread made him nauseous.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said.

A red-faced, grey-haired woman turned from the pot she was tending on the fire. She smiled kindly. ‘Ah, you must be our patient, Mr Lucas.’ The woman bustled over to him. ‘Here, let me take the tray.’ She turned away and called, ‘Evie!’

A very young kitchen maid emerged from what must have been the scullery. ‘Mrs MacNeal?’ The girl blinked when she spied Lucas.

Mrs MacNeal handed the girl the tray. ‘Here.’

The girl carried the tray back to the scullery.

The cook gave Lucas a scolding look. ‘You did not eat much of your dinner.’

‘I slept through it, I’m afraid,’ he responded.

‘Then will you be wanting breakfast?’ The woman began to look stressed. ‘I am not quite ready for cooking breakfast.’

Lucas’s father’s kitchen would have been bustling with kitchen maids and footmen at this hour. He saw only the cook and one helper.

‘I am quite satisfied with what I ate from the dinner plate this morning,’ he assured her. ‘I merely wished to return the tray.’

‘That was good of you, sir.’ She returned to tending her pot.

He left the kitchen and met a footman in the hallway.

‘You must be the visitor,’ the young man said.

‘I am.’

The footman eyed him up and down. ‘I hope your clothes are satisfactory. I brushed them off best I could.’

‘I am very grateful.’ Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He handed it to the footman.

The young man’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, sir!’

It had been a very small coin, not worth so much appreciation.

Lucas should ask the footman his name, but it was better for him not to know anybody. Already Miss Wallace and her brother threatened his desire for isolation.

‘I’ll be leaving in a few minutes,’ Lucas said.

The footman peered at him. ‘Leaving? You were to stay at least a week, Miss Mairi said.’

‘I am recovered,’ he responded. ‘No need to stay.’

Lucas returned to the butler’s room, but had to sit down to rest. When he gathered his strength again, he took more coins from his purse and left them on the table, enough, he hoped, to pay for the doctor, his food and for the trouble he had caused. Forcing himself to stand, he donned his topcoat, picked up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He strode out of the room and followed the hallway to a door to the outside. He began making his way towards the road that he hoped would eventually lead him to the nearest village inn.