Let Me Be Your Hero (12 page)

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), British poet.

The Princess
“Tears, Idle Tears, I Know Not What They Mean” (1847)

Lennox Castle, Inchmurrin Island, 1745

T
he Duchess of Abbotsford and her two depressingly homely daughters finished their third cup of tea. Claire looked at her first cup, still half full. She glanced at the clock. They had been here for almost three hours, she thought, and she was not accustomed to sitting this long in one place.

Claire liked the duchess, who was truly a simple, well-meaning soul, whose days were filled with dressmakers, art lessons, tea, gardening and fussing over her children and husband. She knew the duchess had no inkling of what Claire’s life was like, or how she was up before sunup, going over her accounts and meeting with members of her staff, before she made her daily tour around the island, meeting with the
clansmen who were her various overseers. Two or three times a week, she made the boat trip to the mainland, to perform similar tasks. They probably had no idea she made calls upon her tenants, or went over plans for the purchase of better breeding stock, and the implementing of the latest farming techniques.

After all the boring gossip she listened to, she was thankful her ancestors had obtained patents that enabled a female to inherit the earldom. Living the life of an earl was far superior to the life of a woman married to one, she decided.

She smiled and nodded at something the duchess said. Her head was beginning to ache. She prayed the duchess would remember that she had a home and husband waiting for her.

Still, out of etiquette, Claire offered them more tea.

“I believe I will,” Lady Charlotte, the eldest daughter, said. “I find it simply fascinating, Countess, that ye are able to do a man’s work. Why, the numbers alone would be the end o’ me.”

Claire smiled. “There are days I vouch they will do the same for me. Still, it is rewarding work, and now I find I much prefer the days when I have more to do than I can accomplish in one day, to the days when I finish my work by midafternoon.”

“Dinna let Claire fool ye,” Kenna said. “She never finishes her work midafternoon. I canna understand where she gets her strength to handle it all. Consequently, I have decided that the men who say a woman’s constitution is less than that of a man dinna ken what they are talking aboot.”

Lady Charlotte suddenly seemed to be as bright as a burning candle, for her interest was certainly piqued
by Kenna’s remark. “I agree with ye wholeheartedly. ’Twas obviously a man who coined the phrase ‘the weaker sex.’ Putting up with men alone makes us stronger than they are.”

Kenna picked up her tea and moved to a chair closer to Lady Charlotte, and the two of them began to expound upon the common thread of interest that ran through them.

Greer, on the other hand, was looking as out of place as Lady Charlotte’s sister. Claire smiled and turned to Lady Augusta. “More tea?”

“I believe I will,” Lady Augusta said, placing her rattling cup on the silver tray in front of Claire.

Claire sensed her insecurity, and knew Lady Augusta was one who would much prefer to be home spraying her roses for thirps than making social calls. In spite of all Claire did to try to put her at ease, she was still “Lady Augusta of the rattling cup.”

Claire was thinking that Briana was probably the smartest one of all, for she had spent five minutes with them before she pleaded a headache and dashed from the room. In spite of her preference to do the same, Claire smiled and said, “I understand ye are a painter with exceptional artistic abilities. My sister, Greer, also loves to paint. Mayhap ye could pay us a visit sometime and you and Greer could paint together. There are some breathtaking views of Ben Lomond from the island.”

Lady Augusta glanced shyly at Greer. “I have longed to have someone to paint with, and I am pleased to know ye share my interest, Lady Greer. Are ye interested in landscapes, still life, or portraiture?”

“So far I havena found a preference. I seem to paint at whim…if a scene strikes my fancy, I paint it. If I catch one of our clansmen in a pose I envision it on canvas, and I ask them to freeze themselves in that pose while I take a few sketches. In the wintertime, I find still lifes occupy my time, unless the weather permits my doing a few snow scenes.”

Lady Augusta made a clicking noise with her tongue that signaled she and Greer were very much alike in their artistic taste and endeavors. She put her cup down and leaned forward. “I have some books on painting I would love to share with ye, and if ye have some I havena read, I would love to borrow them.”

Greer put her cup down and said, “Oh, please come with me and I will show ye what I have painted. While ye are there, ye can see what I am working on now.”

“Weel, I declare, I had no idea my daughters and yer sisters would find so much in common. I may have to speak to the duke about acquiring a boat for the girls to use whenever they want to pay ye a visit, and of course I hope they will visit us at Dinnegal Castle.”

Claire and the Duchess continued to discuss the things the younger women had in common until Greer and Lady Augusta returned, then the Duchess put down her teacup.

“My, my, the afternoon has flown,” the Duchess said as she arose with a rustle of silk, and gathered her shawl about her. “I canna remember when I have enjoyed myself more, or stayed this long. Do forgive our tardiness in making our departure.”

Claire laughed. “When ye make the trip across the loch to pay a social call, I believe ye are entitled to a
longer visit. Besides, we have all enjoyed yer company. It was an afternoon well spent.”

“Why, thank ye, Lady Claire.” She turned to her daughters. “Bid the Countess and her sisters goodbye,” she said. “We must be on our way if we are to be home in time for dinner.”

Claire took in the ample proportions of the Duchess and thought it would not do her ill to miss dinner for the next several weeks. Still, she was glad to walk them to the door, but before the butler could open the door, the Duchess had wandered off to inspect a hanging on the wall.

She turned back to Claire. “I do believe that is a French tapestry, is it not?”

“I am sure you are thinking of the
Noble Pastorale
that hangs in the great staircase, with the mille-fleurs design. It is sixteenth-century French, from the Loire Valley. There were several made to complete a series. My great grandfather was very fortunate to purchase one.”

“And this one?”

Claire studied the beloved tapestry that she always felt especially close to, since her mother was born in the month of June. “That particular one is of Italian origin. It is one of the Trivulzio Tapestries produced by Benedetto da Milano. There were twelve of them, all allegorical depictions of each month. This one is called
Month of June.
”

“Quite priceless, I am sure,” the Duchess said.

“Quite,” Claire agreed.

That was true, for Claire’s father, grandfather and other Lennox earls before them were men of considerable taste and discrimination, and during their lifetimes,
they built up a remarkable collection of pictures, drawings and objets d’art, especially Italian paintings of the Renaissance period, and tapestries of almost any era. Most of the paintings and tapestries were kept here, at Lennox Castle, but all the other castles in the family held a piece or two—that is until Isobel and Lord Walter arrived.

“I dinna understand why my feet hurt,” Lady Charlotte said. “I have been sitting all afternoon.”

“I am certain it is those new shoes. I told ye I thought they were a bit narrow for ye. Come, my dears, we really must go,” the Duchess said. “Give my regards to yer aunt. I am sorry we paid our visit on a day she wasna at home. I should have enjoyed conversing with her.”

Claire wondered what the Duchess would do if she told her the truth, that her aunt was, at this moment, reading a book in her bedroom because she found the Duchess too boring to waste her time upon.

The Duchess picked up Claire’s hand. “I do hope ye take time to enjoy yerself, Lady Claire. Ye are still a young woman, even if ye are the Countess. Ye must no’ overwork yerself. I am sure yer aunt Isobel and Lord Walter tell ye the same thing.”

Claire almost snorted at that. Indeed, they were anything but concerned about Claire’s happiness or her welfare. What would the kindhearted Duchess say if Claire told her her aunt Isobel and Lord Walter had betrayed her and her sisters, and that she not only suspected they had killed her brother but had attempted to do the same with Fraser. How would she like to hear that Claire now knew it was part of their plan all along to begin with kindness to gain the trust of Claire and
her sisters, then go for their throats. Would the Duchess even believe her if Claire told her how she realized, all too late, the wisdom of her husband, his sound judgment and uncanny ability to recognize people for what they were, and not what they pretended to be.
Oh, Fraser, ye were right…about everything, for I see now what I was too foolish to see before—that Isobel planned everything with the Countess of Stagwyth.

Why, for heaven’s sake, did she not consider that Isobel had been the one who had sent her scampering off to whatever prearranged destination where she knew the Countess of Stagwyth had set the stage—to make something innocent on Fraser’s part look as if he was up to his ears in adultery?

Claire carried the burden of knowing she had foolishly turned her back on the man she loved, and who loved her. She could not blame anyone but herself, for she was the one who drove Fraser out of her life. It did not matter that she was under stress from the deaths of her father and brothers, or that she was too young and inexperienced to know cunning when she came up against it.

What mattered now was that she and her sisters reaped the pain and suffering of Claire’s mistake. But the worst of it, and the part that continued to cause her so much pain, was she still loved him and always would—not that anything could ever come of it. Fraser was a proud man and she had turned against him and thrown his love for her in his face. He would not seek vengeance any more than he would consider, for a moment, the possibility of them getting back together.

For Fraser, what was over stayed over.

Dear God, would she ever forgive herself for that ungodly decision to divorce? Yet, she could not wish it did not happen for she was convinced that the only reason Fraser did not die was because she had decided to divorce him. Isobel had no longer needed to poison him and risk the possibility of being caught when she realized the divorce would achieve her goal of getting Fraser out of Claire’s life. Then she and Lord Walter could shove Giles in her face, which they did on a regular basis.

The Duchess must have seen the frown such thoughts produced on Claire’s face, for she said, “You carry a burden much too heavy for any woman, much less one as young as you. I have always questioned the wisdom of allowing a title pass to a woman. Have ye thought of marrying again? ’Twould be so much easier for ye, if ye had a husband to take over the duties of managing an estate of this size. From time to time, I hear someone is interested in courting ye, but they always say ye are no interested in marriage.”

Lady Charlotte put her hand on the Duchess’s arm. “Mither, ye told me to remind ye not to bring up the subject o’ marriage.”

“That is true, my dear, and thank ye for yer reminder. I am a meddling person at heart, and I must fight it constantly. It is what my dear husband always calls my ‘one fault.’ Please forget anything I said.”

Claire smiled. “It is forgotten.”

At last, the Duchess said her final goodbye, but only after Lady Charlotte gave Claire a wink and threatened to remove her shoes.

As soon as they were gone, Claire closed the door and leaned back against it. She looked at her sisters.
“I do like them, but only in small spaces of time. Right now, all I can say is, thank God they are gone. I can discuss horse breeding or cattle breeding or crop rotation all day long. But two or three hours with a chatty group of women tires me to the bone.”

The Duchess had no more than stepped through the door when Isobel came down the stairs and paused on the last step—listening to her conversation with the Duchess so she could make her appearance immediately after.

“I have been waiting for what seems like hours for that fat cow to make her departure,” Isobel said. When she spoke, there was such scorn on her lips, it seemed to draw the handsomeness from her face. “Ye are far too indulgent with people like the Duchess. Ye waste hours on her to no avail. Ye should spend yer time on more worthy subjects.”

“The problem with that theory is, there is no one worthy in your eyes…other than yerself, Lord Walter or yer dear son, Giles, whose illustrious name is at the top of the worthies list,” Claire said as she stepped around Isobel and started up the stairs.

Isobel’s hand lashed out to grab Claire by the arm, and she dug her sharp claws into Claire’s skin. “I would think ye were taught to be more respectful of both yer elders and your kin.” When Claire turned around, Isobel slapped her. “Giles
is
yer cousin, ye spiteful little wench.”

Claire turned and pried Isobel’s fingers loose. “Giles is a ‘stepcousin’ if ye will, since he has no Lennox blood flowing in his veins, for which I am thankful. In fact, none of ye have any Lennox blood, and I am counting the days until I must no longer suffer
yer control over my life, so I might order yer despicable carcasses tossed into the loch.”

“At least my first husband died. I did not have to resort to a scandalous divorce.”

“Hmm, I find that interesting. Correct me if I err in my recollections, but was it not ye who was at the forefront of those who thought it best if I ended things between Fraser and myself? And did ye not bring in your harlot friend Carolina to set it all up? To remind ye further, ye are the one who suggested it. It was apparent ye had also sought counsel from yer lawyer concerning the matter well in advance of tossing it before me like a well-meated bone. How else would ye have known all the conditions, point by point?”