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‘He is ugly – shorter than me with tiny eyes and no chin.’

‘Oh for heaven’s sake girl, good looks won’t bring you a mansion, maids, dresses and a fine carriage in your drive. You can have your lovers after you marry – just be very discreet. That is the way of it.  Now bring the face screen over here. That fire is too fierce today, my makeup is dripping.’

Muriall looked at the thick paste of lead and beeswax masking the lovely face of the Countess. Most women in the district used it, as they suffered from bad skin due to the pox, measles or just too rich a diet. It looked quite horrific when
the paste
started to melt.

‘Really Aunt, I have other aspirations than marriage. I am caught up in helping the tenants.’

‘Tis not our affair.’

‘Aunt I cannot possibly think of marriage with all the suffering going on.  I need time to help – and besides I would choose my own husband. I want to marry for love – not wealth. And, I certainly do not wish for lovers after I marry. What a shallow life. No love only lust.’

‘Don’t be such a romantic
,
you have been reading those silly romance novels again. Muriall
, y
our marriage will ensure your future –
look; you
are a penniless girl. But, because of your beauty you have some serious suitors vying to offer for you. Their offers
would
include a sizeable sum settled on this estate. It would help your uncle and I enormously. Now enough.  Pray bring me the face screen.’      

‘For your information Aunt I am reading some political essays by the admirable Edward Ellice ‘

‘Oh for goodness sake girl – stop arguing and fetch me the screen.’

Tutting, Muriall carried the small oval screen on a carved mahogany stand to the Countess, who yawned again, delicately stretching out her hands in front of her?  “We have those ghastly ladies coming tomorrow to do some stitching.”

‘Aunt it is good of you to arrange it. It will help the tenants so much. We must try to ease their suffering.’

‘I know you have a great regard for them
Muriall,
but I don’t want you going near the cottars. God knows what diseases you could pick up. Besides you could bring it back to the Manor and then where would we be?’

Muriall rejoined with some asperity. ‘Some of those peasants as you call them are descendents of the Scottish Chieftains. Look at poor Robbie McGregor; he can trace his ancestry back to Domnall Breac, King of
Dairaida.’

‘Oh really Muriall
, not another tirade.
That is history; you cannot dwell on the past.’

The Countess’s eyes held a faint menace as she said, ‘Have you heard the news?  Duncan met a ravishing girl the other evening, at the drum.  I hear he is quite besotted. Stood up for every dance with her, even fetched her some ratife and sweetmeats.’

Muriall felt her heart leap. ‘Really, I have not heard of it.  Who is she?’

‘The daughter of Lord and Lady De Beauville.  They are renting a Mansion near the sea renovated in the Palladian style, no less.’ 

‘Honestly, all this money flowing like water and our tenants starve. Aunt, can’t you persuade Papa to waive the rents?  He’s now talking of evicting them. How can he? Please speak with him.’

‘Oh la, you and your good works.  The situation will right
itself; you
see. Now as I was saying, Duncan paid such attention to this vision – nearly came to blows with another young blood who sought her attentions. I fear he is smitten.  She is of good family, so there could be a match.’

‘What does she look like?’   

The Countess narrowed her eyes.  ‘La, she has the largest cornflower blue eyes and golden hair.  She is an Aphrodite they say – a vision.  Tis high time Duncan married.  She will visit with her Grandmamma in London, who quite dotes on her. I am of a mind to send Duncan to oversee our house in Grosvenor Square at the same time. It would be an ideal way for them to meet.  You shall see her soon enough. I have invited her here for the stitching with her Mama.’

Muriall sat down quite abruptly
,
her stomach tense.  Surely, he would not betray her?  Hot tears threatened to fall as the Countess said silkily, ‘Why Mu
riall
, what is the matter?  You look quite affrighted.  Pray what irks you?’

Pulling out her
kerchief,
she held it to her cheek, ‘Just dizzy that’s all. I’ll have to
  go and lie down.’

‘I will ring for Bicks to bring the brandy.’ As the Countess rang for the abigail, the door slammed open and Duncan strode in, his frockcoat unbuttoned and riding crop at his waist. 

Instantly aware of Muriall’s pallor, he almost ran to her. ‘Muriall darling, what is it?’

The Countess noting his anxiety, the way his arms crept around the girl, said quietly, ‘Tis the vapours – I have rung for brandy. Here give her some vinaigrette.’

Taking the sponge from the maid, D
uncan
held it under M
uriall’s
nose.  Squeezing her eyes at the strong smell of
H
art’s
H
orn, Muriall glared at him. ‘I need to go to my room. I would be grateful for your assistance.’

Duncan swept her off her feet, hefting her up on his chest he strode from the room calling to the abigail, ‘Becky come with me, attend your Mistress.’

Once beyond the withdrawing room Muriall imperiously dismissed the maid. Watching the girl lift her skirts, bustling away, she whispered to Duncan, ‘You damn rakehell.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

‘You know. How dare you. You dog.’

Frowning, he looked down at Muriall, his black eyebrows knitting together.  ‘You are surely suffering from the vapours, my love.’

‘Bollocks, I am not your love. You are a bastard.  Treated me like a harlot, a trollop.’

Duncan realized she was in earnest. Tightening his lips he said, ‘We will get to the bottom of this – what’s happened?’

Punching his chest, she said, ‘Aunt has told me everything.  You shit.’

He
stiffened; Muriall could out swear him when angry.

Pushing the door
open, 
he
kick
ed
it closed. Dumping her on the bed, he stood over her, his arms crossed. ‘By God, this is not like you.  I can only think you’re out of your wits.’

She struggled up, her bosom swelling with rage. ‘Out of my wits.  Who’s the buxom blonde?  I hear you are quite obsessed with her.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘The vision with big blue eyes at the drum. The one with whom you have a rendezvous in London.’

‘The vision? Hah – she was with Max. He asked me to stand
guard,
whilst he relieved himself.  What was I supposed to do?  Refuse?  She said she was
thirsty,
so I fetched her drink and sweetmeats.’

‘And the fight?’

‘Fight?’

‘You know what I am referring to my Lord – the fight over the – the vision.’ Growling she yanked his hair.

‘Ouch .’

‘Don’t try and pretend – you fought over her.’

‘Oh that? Nothing to do with the chit. A mere scuffle. A miscreant cheated, marked the cards.  He had the effrontery to deny it until I held up the evidence. He did not offer his apologies
,
just up and left the room.  He was a waste of time, so I decided to let him go. He is lucky no-one else called him out.’

Realizing he was innocent of any flirtatious advances towards the buxom beauty she frowned, ‘Oh God Duncan, I think Aunt Flavia knows about us.’

‘Mama has said nothing to me not even a hint.’ Pulling her into his arms, he said huskily, ‘Now my little vixen, ‘I have something for you.’

Muriall’s eyes widened, as he handed her a small jewel box covered in eggshell blue velvet. Gasping with delight, she took out a solid gold locket on a chain. 

‘Open it, there’s a surprise....’

Muriall cried out in delight
,
as she gazed at the miniature portrait of Duncan.

Holding her tightly, he murmured, ‘Wear me close to your heart my little mermaid – read what’s on the back.
’

Muriall turned it over “Forever United LDR to MM, 1810." 

Hugging her passionately, he said, ‘Now let’s add the braids for posterity. When we’re old and grey, we can look back on how we used to be.’

She shivered feeling a draught of cold air sweep over her.  The threat of the Clearances came to mind, that feeling of foreboding. ‘God willing we live that long.’ Dismissing her foolish fears, she pulled at a ringlet handing him a few red gold strands.    

Taking them from her, he said, ‘You’ll never be old to me Muriall.  Searching through his jacket, he pulled out tiny pair of scissors decorated with mother of pearl, ‘We need a little more than a few strands.  Come cut a lock of mine, and I’ll cut yours.’ Grinning, Muriall
clipped
a lock of his just behind his ear and handed him the scissors.
Gently,
he
took
a sizeable curl from her hair.  Weaving the strands of hair together, she placed them under the delicate glass of the locket. ‘There now, Duncan, I will treasure it. It will never leave me. It will be a family heirloom – our family.’  Again, a rush of despair swept over her. ‘Duncan, if I should die would you marry another – would you give this locket to her?’

Duncan caught her feelings – dark – morbid.  ‘Darling I could not live if anything happened to yo
u – I’d jump in the ruddy lake−‘

‘Don’t say that - don’t−‘

‘Tis true –what is life without you? You are my life. Soon you will be my wife. ’ 

Again, the air seemed to close in on her, sucking away her breath as she held him close in her arms, stroking the
black curls falling on his shoulder.

He
sat up. ‘Come let me put it on.  I have already told Mama that it is for your birthday, so you can wear it freely.’

The smile left Muriall’s face, her eyes becoming a denser shade of green as she said, ‘We must be careful, like I said, I think she knows.  I fear Uncle’s wrath.  If he should find out....’

Duncan stroked the back of her slender neck, “There is nothing father can do. He is too dependent upon me. As you know, when I took over the estates, he was deeply in debt. It will take me years to reach solvency.’    

‘I fear his anger. Sometimes I have this awful feeling – like some dark winged presence hovers over us waiting to pounce.’ 

***

Downstairs, the Countess paced the room.  So, Tom the groom had not been lying.  Silly child.  Silly beautiful
girl.  The Earl would never countenance this misalliance.  For sure, she was not of their blood, but society would not accept such a marriage. It was akin to incest.  The Quality demanded a flawless liaison untainted by the slightest suspicion of nefarious suggestions. As their ward, Muriall was accepted in polite society, her past as the love child of the Earl’s sister-in-law obliterated. They made it known that she was a distant relation, the orphaned child of a Monsignor owner of a chateau on a small estate whose dispute over cards, ended in a fatal duel.

She sighed; she loved this headstrong girl, with all her heart, would do everything she could to ensure her happiness, but this was too much.  The good name of the Earl could not be besmirched, could not be the subject of gossip or suspicion in the gaming rooms.  Besides, it would also mar Meg’s chances of a suitable match.

CHAPTER 2
2

Jess stood under a jet of tepid water, massaging shampoo through hair, hanging in scarlet tendrils to her waist.   She’d woken up half-dressed to the sun streaming on her face.  What in God’s name was happening?  Again, she’d experienced that lethal tiredness only to wake hours later from a dream that felt more like a trance state. It had to be; in the dream, she was fully lucid.
Was it a haunting? Was Muriall possessing her or was maybe a Past Life? 
But, why was she experiencing them?  What was the purpose?    Had he been flirting at the drum? The Countess was a right bitch. 

Towelling her hair in the bedroom, she made up her mind not to tell Douglas about this latest dream. After all, he didn’t really believe in it so it wouldn’t be fair to push it. Wrapping herself up in a soft robe with a towel on her head, she went to the writing desk. The inner vision she had first of the young woman writing at the desk was now clearer. After seeing the portrait, she could identity her. It was Muriall. She shivered, her skin crawling. Looking around the room, it looked so innocent, so fresh, in the morning light, but was it haunted?  Would Muriall manifest?  God she hoped not. She would die of fear.   Maybe she should ask for another room
? But she had only spent one night in it. H
e would think she was
unbalanced,
and it
would put him off
.