Amanda Scott (29 page)

Fiona sighed but obeyed, casting an apologetic look at the jester, who only grinned impudently at her.

“Aunt Olivia,” Anne said quietly, “it is doubtless not my place to mention this, but do you not fear that if you so frequently
recall everyone’s attention to your mourning, some people—unkind ones, at least—might begin to wonder why you are so strongly
set on Fiona’s marrying at such a time?”

Olivia looked astonished. “How can you suggest such a thing? You, of all people, ought to understand my position, Anne. We
are Borderers, and mourning is a continual state here for most people. If we suspended all other aspects of our lives whilst
we mourned, most families would live forever in such suspension. You certainly have not stopped all your usual activities
to wallow in grief. Indeed, if you have felt any grief at the loss of your family, I have seen no sign of it.”

The music stopped, but Anne scarcely noticed. The attack had come so swiftly and unexpectedly that it was all she could do
to hold her tongue, but long training in minding her composure stood her in good stead now.

The sadness that had followed her brother’s death had become an ache that had settled in her soul after her mother’s. That
ache settled deeper with the deaths of each of her little sisters and the subsequent loss of her father. But the upheaval
that followed her father’s death had made it impossible for her to wear her grief on her sleeve as Olivia constantly did,
even had she been prone to behave in such a way. She knew she could not have conducted herself so, had she wanted to, but
to be attacked for not grieving sufficiently when Olivia had not cared enough about her grief before even to acknowledge its
existence, was too much.

It never seemed to occur to Olivia that although she had lost her husband, her brother, and (if Toby were to be believed)
her lover over a period of two years, Anne had lost the last four members of her immediate family in as many weeks.

Jake’s strumming soothed her, so she was able to draw a deep breath and let it out again, and to realize she could accomplish
nothing by ripping up at Olivia.

“I expect I should not have said that, Anne,” Olivia said abruptly. “We both have a duty to mourn your father, but I had little
love for him, so I should not scold you for your lack of feeling. Armadale was a cold person who never understood anyone’s
wishes and emotions but his own. Your mother was kinder, however, and I expect you miss her.”

“I loved her very much, and I had great respect for my father as well,” Anne said. “I miss them both.” Hearing a quaver in
her voice, she took another breath and let it out before she turned to Fiona and said, “Have you enough light there, love?
Mayhap you could see better if you moved your stool nearer the window.”

Suddenly the room seemed too close and too warm. When Olivia said she hoped the gentlemen would not linger long over their
claret and their regrettable stories, Anne excused herself, saying she had developed a dreadful headache.

Kit had likewise excused himself, having borne a surfeit of Eustace’s baffling behavior over the past sennight and finding
little refreshment in the raucous company of Toby Bell, who received far too much encouragement from the false Lord Berridge.
The only light moment had come when Toby announced that he thought Berridge was making headway in his pursuit of Lady Carmichael.

Nearby, the steward had picked up the tray of carving knives and was directing a minion to remove the remains of the roast
Eustace had praised, but at this, he turned a startled look toward Toby and dropped the tray with a clatter.

“Damnation, Malcolm!” Toby bellowed. “If one o’ them knives is scratched, ye’ll answer to me. Get out now, and take the others
with ye.”

“I believe you upset him,” Eustace said when Malcolm had stalked out with his nose in the air. “He fancies himself in love
with your niece, you know.”

“What, with Olivia? The man’s mad. Ye should see how his lordship twists her ladyship round his finger, though,” he added,
swilling claret and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “He bows, scrapes, and says he can see where Fiona inherited
her beauty. He’s already got farther with Olivia than any o’ the others I’ve introduced to her these past months, and I hope
he may go all the way.” Grinning at the supposed Berridge, he said, “Mark me, but this place needs a strong man to run it.
Anyone can see that.”

“Aye, it does,” Eustace agreed, “and I’m surprised that you don’t do more to call the tune here.”

“I’ve better things to do with my time,” Toby replied with a shrug. “Besides, the lass don’t listen to me. She needs a man
who’ll keep a firm hand on the rein.”

When it looked as if the conversation would go on for some time, Kit excused himself and, not wanting to join the ladies lest
Lady Carmichael urge him to charm her daughter, he decided to walk to his bedchamber and back in the hope that she would soon
dismiss Willie so they could talk. Kit’s room was the same as before, and from the gallery it faced, he could see the garden.
When he saw a forlorn figure cross the plank bridge from the stableyard and disappear behind the tallest hedge, he turned
on his heel and headed back to the stairs.

Hurrying down, he strode outside and toward the arched stone bridge at the other end of the garden. The afternoon sun was
shining, but the air was crisp and cold. He hoped she had worn something warm, but his impression from the brief look he had
had was that she wore only the thin silk dress she had worn to dinner.

It was a most becoming dress and became her slender but pleasingly curvaceous figure well. He liked her even features, speaking
eyes, and soft auburn curls, but compared to her extraordinarily beautiful cousin, Anne’s beauty was less obvious. Her expression
contained warmth that was missing from Fiona’s, however, and her eyes held an expression of intelligence and wry humor that
appealed to him much more than Fiona’s vague, disinterested gaze ever could.

Although he had told Eustace he wanted to ride with the jester merely for the exercise, and had certainly hoped to talk with
Willie, the real lodestone that had drawn him back to Mute Hill House was the same one calling urgently to him now.

Crossing the bridge, he made for the hedge garden, but when he arrived, he did not see her at first. Only when he heard what
sounded like a sob did he realize she stood behind a tree at the far side of the hedged area, leaning against its far side
with her back to him. The gray silk of her dress nearly matched the tree bark, so without the slight noise to guide him, he
might have passed her by.

Making no effort to muffle his footsteps on the pebbled path, he strode toward her, expecting her to hear the crunching sounds
he made and step out to greet him. But she remained perfectly still.

“Lady Anne?” He spoke quietly, believing she must be deep in her own thoughts, and not wanting to startle her.

He saw her stiffen, but when she turned and moved out from behind the tree, he strode quickly to her and caught her by the
shoulders to look into her eyes.

“What’s amiss, lass?”

“I… I’m sorry you saw me,” she muttered, looking down at the ground. “I hoped you would walk on without stopping.”

Gently, he put a hand under her chin, making her look up. “If you haven’t been crying,” he said, “you’re as near as makes
no difference. Who has upset you?”

“N-no one,” she said. “I don’t c-cry.”

He moved the hand back to her shoulder and pulled her close, at this thoughtful gesture she buried her face against his chest
and burst into tears.

When his arms tightened around her, Anne wondered at herself, but she could not stop crying. Greater sobs wracked her body
than any she could remember even in childhood, and only his strong arms kept her upright.

He did not speak. He just held her, wrapped securely in his arms, until the storm passed.

At last, the paroxysms eased and she was able to draw breath without sobbing, but she remained where she was, feeling safe,
until her heart eased its pounding. However, when he pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and pushed it into her hand, she
kept her face pressed against his chest, because she was uncertain how to extricate herself gracefully from a place she had
no business being.

It grew hard to breathe again, but once she had blown her nose, that difficulty had nothing to do with her tears. Guilt overwhelmed
her, and with it came a flood of sorrow.

“You haven’t been meeting Eustace on the stairs again, I trust.”

The absurd suggestion nearly made her smile, but although she could not quite manage that, she felt instantly steadier and
able at last to collect her wits.

“You must know I did not,” she said, raising her head at last and looking up at him. “Have you not been sitting with him ever
since we left the table?”

“I grew bored with their conversation, so I came out to get some fresh air.”

“And walked into a rain cloud instead,” she said ruefully. “What you must think of me, flinging myself at you like that!”

“What I think is that something upset you, and I want to know what it is.”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You cannot cry all over my fine doublet and then say it is nothing,” he said. “I haven’t known you long, lass, but I do know
you would never burst into tears like that for no reason.”

“We should not be here alone, and certainly not like this,” she said, feeling a sudden sense of urgency and starting to step
back.

He held her a moment longer, then released her, letting his hands drop to his sides. But he continued to stand where he was,
blocking her way.

“We can walk back inside if you like,” he said, “just as soon as you tell me what or who has upset you.”

“You are the most exasperating man,” she muttered.

“You are not the first person to tell me that, but we are not leaving here until you explain that little rainstorm. So, tell
me.”

“It is nothing that important,” she insisted. “I am merely feeling a trifle abused, but you should not encourage me. Indeed,
you are the one who told me not long ago that my aunt should scold me fiercely for my sins.”

“She certainly didn’t scold you today for something you did ten days ago, however. What new sins have you committed?”

“None,” she said. “I even stayed home today rather than ride to the Towers without an escort, as Fiona was so quick to tell
you.”

“Yes, she did, didn’t she, so it is a good thing you made such a sensible decision.” His eyes narrowed, and he said more sternly,
“You will not divert me from my purpose so easily, lass. Why did her ladyship scold you?”

“She didn’t, not really.” Reading equal amounts of sympathy and irritation in his expression, she said, “Now you are making
me feel stupid for making such a fuss about… about nothing at all.”

“I don’t believe it was nothing.”

The emotions that Olivia reawakened and that his initial sympathy had unleashed stirred again, and another tear trickled down
her cheek. Annoyed with herself, she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

If the gesture renewed his sympathy, he did not show it, saying only, “I should perhaps warn you that at the best of times
my temper is unpredictable and my patience short.”

“Oh, very well, but it will serve you right if I start raining all over you again just because you are making me talk about
it.”

“Anne.”

The warning was clear now, and although she could not imagine why her refusal to burden him with her woes should irritate
him, she did not want to make him angry with her. Also, his sharp tone had banished any lingering impulse to cry.

“I managed to provoke Olivia,” she said with a sigh.

His lips twitched. “I can’t think how.”

“She stopped Jake when he began to sing, telling him the merry song he chose did not suit her state of mourning. Fiona was
enjoying it, and she needs to laugh again, so although I know it is not my place to rebuke Olivia, I asked her if some people
might not think it wrong to urge a wedding whilst she is in mourning.”

His eyes began to twinkle, but he said, “As I recall life in the Borders, folks don’t stop the business of life overlong to
grieve. Death is too much with us here.”

“That is what she said,” Anne admitted. “Then she said I would understand her grief, except that if I felt any myself, she
had not seen any sign of it.”

“Blinded, no doubt, by her own constant tears for herself,” he said dryly.

She nodded. “My aunt rarely spares a thought for anyone else unless it’s Fiona, and even then I’m not so sure it is Fiona
she thinks of. She just wants—”

She hesitated, knowing she ought not to speak the thought aloud.

“She just wants the connection to the Chisholm wealth and power,” he said.

“You see that, too,” she said. “It is not unusual, I suppose. Doubtless, if my uncle Stephen were alive, he would be doing
his best to see Fiona well married, too. It is her parents’ duty, after all, and not something we should condemn in Olivia.”

“It is completely normal,” he agreed, “but this wedding business is something else we need to talk about.”

“Oh, but there is nothing to discuss,” she said. “I know that your uncle believes his suit must prevail, but I don’t imagine
Aunt Olivia can be wrong about the decision Cardinal Beaton will make. Clearly, the first betrothal must stand, since the
second was based on a falsehood.”

“Do you really
want
me to marry your cousin?”

It was an awful question to ask her, and the very last one she wanted to answer, but she forced herself to say quickly, “Yes,
of course, because you must, since her only alternative is to marry your horrid uncle. I’d have to be the greatest villain
living to condemn her to that. So would you!”

“Are you going to give me back my handkerchief?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll see that it’s washed first. May I go in now?”

“I’ll walk with you.”

Although she knew she ought to refuse lest someone see them together and tell her aunt, she did not. As they were crossing
the plank bridge, she said, “I’m sorry to have treated you to such a display, sir. I don’t know what came over me.”