A Borrowed Scot (12 page)

She tried to add what warmth she could in her smile, in her comments, but she was more concerned with the stiffness in the arm she held, an iron control she suspected was hard-won.

When they were done, the staff still stood at attention, as if expecting a speech from Montgomery. The man of an hour ago could have done it, but she didn’t know if this man could push back the pain long enough to make the effort.

Montgomery surprised her, however, by striding to the windows, then turning and facing the group.

“Thank you for your welcome for me and my wife,” he said, glancing at her.

She smiled in response, the perfect expression for such a situation. Thankfully, she’d been privy to many of Aunt Lilly’s lectures on the decorum expected of the daughters of an earl. With any luck, the lessons would translate well to being the wife of a lord.

“I look forward to our continued cooperation in the months ahead,” he said.

The staff smiled and nodded, but she saw more than a few confused glances. Why had Montgomery said months and not years? Had he decided to return to America after all? She pushed back the thought, keeping her smile firmly moored in place as he strode ahead of her, Mr. Kerr at his side.

“Shall I see you to the family quarters, Lady Fairfax?” the housekeeper asked.

She slowed, allowing her pace to match that of the older woman. It was just as well, she’d lost sight of Montgomery.

Mrs. Brody was older, with the confidence of someone who knows she does her job well. Her hair was closer to silver than white, arranged in a coronet at the top of her head. An almost militaristic arrangement, as if she cowed any stray tendrils into obeying. Her face bore a few faint lines, especially around the corners of her eyes and mouth, giving her the impression that the woman smiled more than the role required.

“If you would, please, Mrs. Brody.”

“You’ve the voice of Scotland,” the housekeeper said in surprise.

She nodded. “My home was not far from here,” she said. “Lollybroch.”

The expression on the housekeeper’s face changed from polite interest to genuine delight. “I know the village well,” she said. “We’ve hired several girls from there over the years.”

For a few moments, they discussed people each might know. Veronica didn’t explain her father’s studious habits, or the fact her mother had followed his lead. As a family, they hadn’t socialized, but she did add she hadn’t been home in more than two years.

“Once a Scot, always a Scot,” Mrs. Brody said, reaching over and patting her arm in a gesture that would have garnered a remonstrance from Aunt Lilly. In Scotland, however, the lines between servant and master were often blurred.

“Your husband, though, he’s from America.”

She nodded. “He is. Virginia.”

“We’ve had a number of ours gone to America,” Mrs. Brody said. “It’s a sight for one to come back.”

She wasn’t certain Montgomery was here to stay, another comment she didn’t make to the housekeeper.

“Shall I tell you a little about the house, then?”

What she really wanted to know was why it had such an effect on Montgomery, but she nodded. Otherwise, the housekeeper would no doubt complain to the majordomo, and the tale would slowly filter down to all the staff that the mistress had no interest in the house itself.

The corridor in which they traveled was filled with portraits, all done in the same style. A three-quarters pose, painted in front of rows of bookshelves, the subject staring out at the River Tairn.

“A tradition,” Mrs. Brody said, noticing her glance. “Each of the lords has had his portrait painted in the Grand Library.”

The men arrayed in the gallery did not bear much resemblance to Montgomery. No distinct familial traits were revealed in each successive portrait. No large nose or widely placed eyes, or ears that stuck out too much. No one had the distinctive blue eyes Montgomery possessed. Nor were any of the prior lords as handsome as her husband.

They mounted a set of stairs nowhere near as ornamental or magnificent as the oval staircase. Still, the banister was polished mahogany, and the balusters were ornately carved and dusted with gilt.

At the second-floor landing, she halted.

She’d not expected as much rich detail in the family suite as she saw. The emerald carpets were a perfect backdrop for the brass and crystal chandeliers. The walls were covered in a pale green patterned damask, while white vases and urns were placed throughout the hallway and on two long mahogany tables. Someone had filled the vases with spring flowers. The effect was not only welcoming but warm.

“We have the Best Bedroom here,” Mrs. Brody was saying. “And the dressing room that goes with it. Then there’s the Lady’s Private Room next to that, and the Lady’s Bedroom.”

Mrs. Brody walked down the hall, gesturing with her hand toward the end of the hall. “That staircase leads to the nursery wing,” she said. “Shall we go there first?”

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Brody, could you just show me the Lady’s Bedroom? I find I’m extraordinarily tired from our journey.”

A little lie, but surely one for which she’d be forgiven. She didn’t want to see the nursery wing just then, didn’t want to think of the future when it was so uncertain.

The housekeeper looked aghast. “Forgive me, my lady, of course you’re tired.”

She opened the third door in the hall, then stood aside for Veronica to precede her. “If you’ll note the poppy seed heads in the plasterwork detail, Your Ladyship. That dates from the time the house was first constructed.”

“It’s quite a lovely room,” she said, looking around her. The bed was smaller than she’d expected, more space being given up to the two armoires and vanity. The wallpaper, ivory with gold flowers, was lovely. The floorboards were covered in an ivory carpet with the same flowers replicated at intervals. A room fit for a Scots princess.

She was, at least, a Scot.

Mrs. Brody opened the door to the Lady’s Private Room, which turned out to be three rooms: a bathing chamber and lavatory, a dressing room, and a small sitting room connected to the sitting room adjoining the Best Bedroom. Evidently, if a wife wished to communicate with her husband, she needn’t leave her chamber and walk down the hall to do so.

“What an unusual arrangement,” she said.

Mrs. Brody nodded. “Doncaster Hall has many secret corridors as well, Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Brody said. “I would be more than happy to show you those as well. Shall we say tomorrow?”

She nodded her agreement. Doncaster Hall was like something out of one of her novels, complete with a handsome prince and hidden passages.

Clasping her hands together, she turned to face the housekeeper.

“It’s a lovely suite, Mrs. Brody,” she said.

“Perhaps you would like to join me in the attic tomorrow, Lady Fairfax. We’ve stored a lot of the furniture there. If you’d prefer something more to your taste. Of course, we employ carpenters as well. Or you might wish to have something brought from Lollybroch. Or even London. A great many of our furnishings have come from London, Edinburgh, and even Paris,” she added proudly.

“I wouldn’t change anything,” she said honestly. “Not one thing.”

After Mrs. Brody left her, she walked back into the sitting room. The wallpaper in the room was a blue-patterned silk, while the furnishings were overstuffed in a pale blue fabric, similar in hue to the shade the servants had been wearing. Was it called Doncaster Blue?

She stood at the window, gazing at the green sloping banks leading to the River Tairn. A gray horizon hinted at a coming storm. She’d missed a Highland storm.

She’d missed everything about her home, from the sound of the language, to the winds of the Highlands, to the feeling of belonging. Her accent wasn’t unusual here; she shared a common ancestral history. She felt about this land the same way her countrymen did, as if there was something magical in each hillock, in each gentle swell of glen.

In a few months, all the surrounding trees would drop their leaves and prepare for the long winter but not before a dazzling display of autumnal color. The river would grow slower, then one morning it would boast a layer of ice. There’d be frost on the hills first, followed by snow. Spring would come gradually, creeping up on winter unawares. The air would grow warmer, then the green shoots and leaves would appear.

This was Scotland, her home.

This house could be her home as well.

On their quarterly visits to Inverness with her family, she’d seen Doncaster Hall from the main road. She’d been intrigued by the sight of the great sprawling house and thought it had looked unbearably lonely.

Yet the moment she’d walked into Doncaster Hall, she’d felt welcomed, as if the house hadn’t been lonely at all, merely waiting for her. As if this place, in all of Scotland, was just where she should be.

Amazingly, she was the chatelaine of Doncaster Hall. She’d gone from being a poor relation to the wife of the man who owned this magical, wonderful house.

She was to live here, to share her life with a complicated, mysterious man who was beginning to fascinate her. She was invariably curious, but never more so than about Montgomery Fairfax.

Would any of her questions about him be answered? Was it even wise to want to know more?

Chapter 13

M
ontgomery headed for the hallway door beneath the first soaring arch of the oval staircase, Edmund following. If he was correct, the library was at the end of the corridor, overlooking a series of terraced gardens.

He smiled as he entered the room, with its deep-set mullioned windows and recessed ceiling. The walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and each shelf stuffed with well-worn volumes. Stucco medallions adorned the ceiling, and incised scrolls had been carved into the white mantel and fireplace surround.

The room was almost identical to the one he’d known so well.

The desk was different, of course, larger and older, the mahogany surface scarred from years of use; the blotter stained with ink. An oil lamp sat on the corner, adjacent to a silver pen holder and silver inkwell, both revealing a patina from decades of service.

He turned, leaned back against the front of the desk, folded his arms, and faced Edmund.

“My grandfather knew this place.”

“It’s quite possible he may have been employed here, Your Lordship,”

He leaned against the desk, folded his arms, and studied Edmund. “Explain.”

“The 10
th
Lord Fairfax was very kind to many people in his family, sir,” Edmund said stiffly. “He paid for their education. His father was equally generous. It’s quite possible your grandfather worked for the 9
th
Lord until emigrating to America. It’s equally possible the 9
th
Lord paid for your grandfather to do so.”

If that were true, then his grandfather’s accomplishments were even more amazing. Barely twenty years after he’d arrived in America, Magnus Fairfax had built Gleneagle.

“What happened to the 10
th
Lord’s family? I know his children predeceased him, but what about his wife?”

“Unfortunately, Your Lordship, the lady was sickly ever since the death of her children. She died ten years before the 10
th
Lord.”

“So he lived here alone?”

Edmund nodded. “For many years.”

“You worked for him a long time?”

“Since leaving school,” Edmund said. “Would you like to see the ledgers now, Your Lordship?”

“No, not now. Later is soon enough,” he said, turning and staring out the window, an effective dismissal for Edmund.

Thankfully, his solicitor took the hint.

When he was alone, he walked around the desk and sat.

What the hell did he do now?

Something other than sit here, surveying his domain.

He should have felt some sense of triumph, returning to Scotland bearing a title Magnus had never thought to wear. Instead, all he felt was sadness for the boy who’d so loved a place he’d built its twin in a faraway country.

Standing, he left the library, taking the back stairs, that were exactly where he’d expected them to be, and left Doncaster Hall.

“I
do think we should visit poor Veronica at the first opportunity,” Amanda said, taking the packages from her mother. The Countess of Conley did not like to be encumbered with her purchases.

She truly liked these outings with her mother; it was one of the few times they were alone. Otherwise, one of her siblings was always trailing about, listening or talking.

“You didn’t purchase the embroidery thread you wanted, Amanda,” her mother said, signaling their coachman. He inched forward on the crowded London street, and her mother headed toward the curb, leaving Amanda to follow.

“I changed my mind,” she said. Her financial situation was such that she had only a few coins left until her quarterly allowance in two months. Her parents expected her to use her own money to purchase those items she wanted rather than needed. Did they realize how very expensive new gloves could be? Or that perfumes from Floris were almost ruinous in price?

Her mother looked askance at her. “Have you forgotten, dear Amanda, that Veronica is newly wed? I would not be so gauche as to interrupt those first tender weeks of marriage.”

“Nor would I normally suggest it,” she said, handing the packages to her maid. “If we were well acquainted with Montgomery. He’s an American. He’s a stranger to us although not much of one to Veronica.” She allowed her voice to trail off to a sigh that garnered her another sideways look from her mother.

“They were married because of scandal, Mother. However inappropriate it may be, however, I can’t help think it would be wise to see, for ourselves, that Montgomery is a good husband.” She pressed her hands together, almost prayerfully. “Marry in haste. Repent in leisure.”

“There is that,” her mother said, preceding her into the carriage. “Why are you so set on visiting Veronica?”

Amanda felt a fluttering deep in her stomach, a feeling too like fear to be comfortable. “I have my own reputation to consider, Mother. If Veronica will do anything to shame us, as a family, I would rather be forewarned.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“She might return to London,” Amanda said.

“Why on earth would she return?” her mother asked. “She married a lord. Granted, it’s only a Scottish title, but, nonetheless, she’s a Lady.”

“If her marriage is an unhappy one,” Amanda said, “where could she come but back to London? After all, we’re the only family she has left. What other recourse would she have?”

“She wouldn’t think of doing so,” her mother said, but her expression left no doubt the idea was worrisome.

“Unless, of course, Mother, you’ve already instructed her such behavior would not be tolerated.” She settled in next to her mother, smoothed her gloved hands over her skirt, and frowned at the maid who tripped over her own feet. “Which I’m sure you did.”

“Of course,” her mother said. A moment later, her mother spoke again. “Do you think she truly would? Return to London? How utterly shocking that would be.”

She only glanced at her mother and smiled weakly. “Veronica has already behaved in quite a shocking manner. To return home . . .” She withdrew her handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth as if she couldn’t quite manage the rest of the words.

“A few weeks would not be too intrusive,” the Countess of Conley said. “After that, a young couple should be receiving visitors. Even an American and a Scot should know how to comport themselves.”

Amanda sat back, pleased. Her financial problems might soon be solved.

T
hunder raged and bellowed against the walls of Doncaster Hall. Rain sheeted the glass, added weight to the leaves until the branches of the trees hung low. No soft and gentle downpour here. This was the land of God’s tantrums.

Veronica stood at the window of her bedroom, studying the dark gray sky, her mind filled with thoughts of Montgomery.

She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her earlier. Was she supposed to go in search of him? Was she supposed to wait meekly until he noticed her again?

After yesterday, she’d thought they were to be husband and wife. After being abandoned for the day, his behavior mirroring their departure from London, she had the suspicion that being Montgomery’s wife would not be a simple matter.

Was she supposed to go to him with her daily decisions? Her mother had always gone to her father, but in a spirit of cooperation rather than submission. Aunt Lilly’s behavior around Uncle Bertrand had been different. She handled most things unless a domestic crisis erupted. Then Uncle Bertrand’s word always took precedence. His decision was law.

Thunder rumbled again, announcing the arrival of a firestorm of lightning. She moved back from the window, standing in the middle of her new room.

She felt as if all her emotions had been contained in a leather cup and spilled on a tabletop. She could find sadness well enough because it was larger than the other pieces. Excitement? That, too. Confusion was there, as well as uncertainty, and gratitude. She was, above all, conscious of her overwhelming good fortune. Her husband was handsome, titled, and rich, and could bring her passion and pleasure so effortlessly it had felt like magic.

Turning, she studied the three trunks in the corner and sighed. She needed to unpack. The sooner she began, the sooner she’d finish.

She was halfway done with the first trunk when a knock on the door interrupted her.

Mrs. Brody stood at the door, accompanied by two maids.

“Your Ladyship,” Mrs. Brody said, bobbing a curtsy, “I’ve brought you Millicent and Elspeth. They’re both good girls, good workers, and have a wish to advance themselves in the world. You’ve the choice of either one.”

Before she could speak, Mrs. Brody drew both girls into the room. “For your maid, Lady Fairfax. Your lady’s maid. His Lordship said you’d no time to hire someone in London. I’m certain either girl would do well for you. You’ve only to interview them yourself. And if neither of them pleases you,” she said, eyeing both girls severely, “then I can certainly find other candidates for the position.”

She drew Elspeth forward. The girl had light brown hair, soft blue eyes, and a shy smile. She looked down at the floor when Mrs. Brody introduced her.

“Elspeth has been with us for a year now, and has served as the upstairs maid. I’d trust her with any of the finer furnishings in Doncaster Hall. In addition, she’s shown great talent in removing stains and arranging flowers.”

Millicent was strikingly lovely, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a wide mouth that would have been more attractive had it been arranged in a smile. At the moment, however, it was curved into an expression reminding Veronica too much of Amanda’s sneer. Although Millicent was a young girl, lines were already forming above the bridge of her nose and beside her mouth, giving her the look of someone who disliked most of what she saw.

Millicent, who’d not appeared happy during the recital of Elspeth’s talents, didn’t wait for Mrs. Brody to introduce her.

“I’ve been here five years, Lady Fairfax. I began in the kitchens, then the laundry. I was a downstairs maid for a year before Mrs. Brody promoted me to the upstairs position. I’m in charge of caring for the public rooms, Your Ladyship. I’m quite good at hair, as well,” she said, eyeing Veronica’s hair with some disdain.

Elspeth still had not spoken. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her gaze was on the carpet rather than staring defiantly forward.

Veronica instantly knew why she’d been given the choice. Mrs. Brody evidently did not want any more problems with Millicent than she’d already suffered. Veronica couldn’t help wonder if the girl’s transfer from position to position was due to Millicent’s growing abilities or simply because she’d made everyone in her vicinity miserable.

She smiled at both girls. “I’m sure you can understand how difficult this choice is for me,” she said. “Just as I’m certain both of you would be excellent in the position. However, there can only be one person serving as my maid.” She glanced at Elspeth. “I could very much use your help.”

The girl looked at her finally, and smiled, a particularly sweet expression. Millicent, on the other hand, frowned at both Veronica and Mrs. Brody, turned on her heel, and left the room before another word was spoken.

Mrs. Brody looked relieved.

“Elspeth,” she said, addressing the young girl, “be about unpacking Her Ladyship’s trunks. And putting yourself to good use, then.”

Mrs. Brody closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. Before she could speak, however, Elspeth stepped forward.

“Mrs. Brody said I should not mention it to you, Your Ladyship. I think it would be wrong of me not to bring it up when it’s on my mind so fiercely.”

Elspeth hesitated, as if waiting for permission.

She nodded.

“I have a half day off on Sunday, and I was wondering if I could make that a half day off on Wednesday, instead. It’s because of my Robbie, you see. He has a half day off on Wednesday and if we had the same half days, we could go home and visit his family in Lollybroch.” She twisted her hands. “We’re married you see, only a few months now, and his mother is ailing.”

“Lollybroch?” she asked. “What’s his family name?”

Elspeth frowned, then smoothed her face of any expression. “Cadell,” she said.

“He’s a blacksmith?”

“His father was,” Elspeth said, her frown remaining in place. “Robbie does the same here. Work at Doncaster Hall keeps him busy, not like Lollybroch. How did you know, Lady Fairfax?”

“I grew up in Lollybroch,” she said.

The frown was replaced by a look of surprise. “The village is not all that large, Your Ladyship. Robbie would have mentioned.”

“We lived outside the village,” she said. “On the other side of McNaren’s Hill.”

Elspeth had such a revealing face. Her eyes were swimming in compassion.

“Are you the MacLeod girl, Your Ladyship?”

When she nodded, Elspeth smiled. “I’ve heard tales of you. Robbie’s family will be pleased to hear.”

“Give them my greetings,” she said. “And my best wishes to his mother. She was always very kind to me when I was a little girl.”

“I’d heard you’d gone to London, Your Ladyship. How strange you married an American and come home. And now you’re Lady Fairfax.” Elspeth’s smile was so bright it could have coaxed the sun out from behind storm clouds.

“Wednesday is fine with me, Elspeth. Would you like me to talk to Mrs. Brody for you?”

The girl looked relieved and nodded.

She and Elspeth spent the next hour finishing the chore of unpacking her trunks and arranging her belongings. After her trunks were unpacked, Elspeth showed her how to work the taps in the bathing chamber.

“We have our own boiler,” Elspeth said. “The old lord was all for us taking a Saturday night bath for services on Sunday. Will the new lord be leading the services, Your Ladyship?”

She hadn’t any idea and wondered if Montgomery knew of that duty.

After they’d finished, she sent Elspeth to her dinner after Mrs. Brody arrived with a tray Veronica had requested. She’d take time with her meal and try not to wonder about Montgomery.

A task she set for herself, and one in which she knew she’d fail.