The Highlander's Yuletide Love (5 page)

Outside, Francis
and Ranulf strolled down Audley Street on their way to Tattersall’s, stopping
now and again to greet an acquaintance. They talked of mutual friends and
horses for some minutes, until eventually Francis’s curiosity got the better of
him.

“You were very
friendly to Lady Glencairn,” he said.

Ranulf raised
his eyebrows. “She seems to be a pleasant woman, and I know she is your wife’s
cousin and dear friend. Would you have preferred me to insult her?”

Francis laughed.
“Not at all. But you have made it clear that you have no interest in attending
parties, so I was startled when you accepted her invitation to dinner.”

“One informal
dinner with your friends will be no hardship. It would be impossible to refuse
a woman as kind as Lady Glencairn appears to be.”

“You will like
Glencairn as well; he is my father’s age, but he’s a hale fellow and, while he
can be intimidating, he is kindly at heart. His son, Kincraig, will be more
than pleased to discuss horses and pugilism with you. I’ve known him since he
was a boy, and he promises to be a fine man.”

“And what of
Lady Sophia?”

“She’s a
beautiful and charming woman, though, as with Douglas, I remember when she was
a mere slip of thing. It hardly seems possible that she has grown up. Harriet
has raised her well.” Francis’s eyes narrowed. “What is your interest in her?”

“I have none,”
said Ranulf calmly. “I think I mentioned to you the other day that girls her
age hold little appeal for me. I was surprised to hear that she fancies herself
an artist.”

“Yes, she can be
found painting every chance she gets,” said Francis. “Her father would like to
see her married, but she will have none of the London gentlemen. She has
convinced her parents to allow her to pursue her craft, at least for now.”

“A fortunate
girl, to be able to follow her passion,” murmured Ranulf.

“She’s not like
most of the flirtatious chits one encounters during the Season in London, you
know,” said Francis. “Perhaps you will grow as fond of her as Isobel and I are.”

“Fond? I have no
intention of becoming fond of any young women. Not to mention that Lady Sophia
clearly regards me with distaste.”

“Yes, I wondered
about that,” said Francis. “I don’t understand it. You’ve spoken to her only a
handful of times.”

“Oh, young women
are inexplicable. It will do us no good to ponder the workings of her mind, as,
in the end, it will turn out that she does not care for the color of my coat or
that I remind her of her dancing master, whom she held in abhorrence.”

A reluctant
laugh was wrung from Francis. “Sophy is not like that,” he protested.

“Don’t be
ridiculous. They are all the same, even Lady Sophia.”

“So I thought
once,” said Francis. “Then I met Isobel.”

Ranulf smile at
him indulgently. “Your judgment is suspect my friend, as you deem yourself to
be in love. However, I will allow Lady Exencour to be a fabulous rebuke to my
statements. Lady Sophia, I think, is not.”

“Someday Ranulf,
I’ll see you humbled by a woman,” said Francis.

“Will you?”
asked his friend imperturbably. “Be sure to call my attention to it when it
happens.”

When the
Exencours and Colonel Stirling were ushered into Lady Glencairn’s drawing room
a few days later, Isobel looked very fetching in shimmering sea green silk that
clung slightly to her figure. Its bodice sported an elegant passementerie made
of pale copper colored gauze, and four rows of the same fabric trimmed the hem.
The puff sleeves had lace insets, and her maid had wound copper ribbon through
her curls, along with two small, pale green plumes. The two gentlemen
accompanying her were no less elegant, if slightly more sober, in their black
evening clothes.

Isobel greeted
Harriet with a hug. “Thank you for inviting us. I can think of no more
delightful way to spend the evening than with your family.”

“Thank you, my
dear.” Harriet smiled upon Francis and Ranulf before turning to her husband. “Glencairn,
may I present Colonel Stirling?”

Ranulf stepped
forward to shake the earl’s hand. “It is an honor to meet you, sir. My friend
Exencour has told me much about you. I understand you were with the Royal Scots
Greys in the Flanders campaign.”

Glencairn, who
had been fixing Ranulf with a suspicious glare, unbent amazingly at these
words. “I was indeed. It was an honor to serve, though little enough came of
it.”

“Never say so,”
said Ranulf. “It was an early salvo in the war we just concluded. I’m sure you
know the Greys acquitted themselves admirably at Waterloo.”

Glencairn glowed
with pleasure. “Harumph. Yes, Sergeant Ewart captured the eagle of the
45th Regiment of
the Line. I wish I might have been there.”

“Oh, you must
not mention such a thing,” twittered Harriet. “I can barely stomach the thought
of dear Exencour and Colonel Stirling serving at such a dreadful battle; the
notion of you there must terrify me.”

Glencairn patted
her hand. “You need have no fears, my dear; I am far too old for such things. I
would be glad to hear the colonel’s stories, however.”

“I have no doubt
you have tales of your own to tell,” said Ranulf. “Perhaps later, when the
ladies are not present.”

Glencairn nodded
his agreement, and then turned to Douglas, who appeared almost ready to burst
with excitement.

“My son, Viscount
Kincraig,” he said. “He is full of admiration for you; if he becomes tiresome,
do not hesitate to tell him so.”

Douglas flushed,
but stepped forward to shake Ranulf’s hand. “It is an honor to meet you, sir!”

“Likewise.” Ranulf
smiled at the young man. “But I would not place too much reliance on the
stories that you’ve heard. They grow in the telling, I fear.”

“I’ve heard that
you once jumped your horse over three guns!” Douglas exclaimed.

“That one is
true,” admitted Ranulf. “But it was a wager laid when we were drawing up for
Vittoria, and was certainly not of use in the heat of battle, nor now, when I
must manage my father’s estates. These things are entertaining, but they do not
make the man.”

“Very true,”
said Glencairn approvingly.

“Of course,”
continued Ranulf, “there is nothing wrong with amusement. If you like, I will
take you for a drive tomorrow and show you how to use the whip take a fly off
the leader’s ear.”

“Would you?” Douglas’s
eyes lit with excitement.

“Certainly, if
your father does not object.” Ranulf glanced at the earl.

“It cannot hurt
to know how to handle the reins like a gentleman,” said Glencairn expansively. “Exencour
assures me there is no better horseman than you, Colonel Stirling.”

“Thank you!” Douglas
gasped out, otherwise bereft of words.

Isobel, who had
been watching this exchange with approval, looked around the room and saw Sophy
sitting apart from the group on a silk-covered chair. With a little smile, she
went over and sat down next to her.

“You look very
elegant tonight, my dear,” she said, indicating Sophy’s dress of sapphire blue
silk.

Sophy shrugged. “It
is not as though it matters. There is no one here I wish to impress, after all.”

Isobel laughed. “Should
I be insulted by that?”

Sophy gave a
reluctant chuckle. “You know what I mean. There is only Mama and Papa and you
and Francis, and of course I care not at all what Douglas thinks of my
appearance!”

“I have no doubt
he will find some way to insult you,” Isobel agreed. “But you do have a guest.”

“Colonel
Stirling’s opinion matters to me not at all. Besides, with everyone else in the
room so busy admiring him, I doubt he will have the time or inclination to note
what I am wearing.”

 “I feel sure he
will have an opinion, whether he expresses it or not. He’s known to have
excellent taste.”

Sophy sighed. “Of
course he is. Just as he is a nonpareil in all things equine, a master of the
social niceties, and an adept at every sport, he must also be an arbiter of
fashion!”

“Hardly an
arbiter, child. Just a gentleman with a sense of what is truly elegant.”

“I wish you
would not call me child,” said Sophy, a shade pettishly.

“I suppose I
should not,” agreed Isobel. “It is a habit I have fallen into, but you are far
from a child now.”

“Precisely. Why,
you are barely ten years older than I!”

Isobel gave her
a shrewd look. “I’d not be in a hurry to leave my youth behind me, Sophy.”

“I am not,
truly. I simply wish people would realize that I am an intelligent woman, with
thoughts and emotions deserving of respect.”

“Of course we
all respect you and your wishes. Why else would your mother and father allow
you to turn your back on all your suitors?”

Sophy bit her
lip. “They are humoring me. I know they think I will grow weary of painting and
pine for the gaiety of London.”

“Not at all,”
countered Isobel. “Harriet is sad you do not wish to marry, of course, but she
believes allowing you to do what you wish is the best course. Better a happy
artist than a miserable wife.”

“I wish I could
meet someone as kind and upright as Exencour,” said Sophy impulsively. “You are
very lucky, Isobel.”

“Why, I do
believe that I am,” said Isobel comfortably. “But that doesn’t mean life is
entirely idyllic, you know. Francis can be as difficult as any man, and I am
far from the perfect wife. I allow my temper to get the better of me far too
often, and Francis—well, I could tell you stories, but it would not be kind of
me.”

“Truly? Mama and
Papa never fight.”

Isobel laughed
at that. “Perhaps you do not see them do so. But Harriet has told me a thing or
two.”

Sophy turned an
astounded face to her friend. “What did she say?”

“I cannot tell
tales out of school, Sophy. Harriet would have my head. But suffice it to say
that no marriage is entirely placid; no good one, at any rate! There is more to
a marriage than billing and cooing, you know---though that part of it is very
enjoyable, I must admit.”

Sophy digested
this piece of wisdom and opened her mouth to respond, but Isobel looked over
her shoulder and nodded her head. “Here is Colonel Stirling come to greet you,”
she said.

Sophy blinked
and looked up, and saw that Ranulf was approaching, a cool smile on his face,
his eyes dispassionate under their heavy lids.

“Good evening,
Lady Sophia,” he said, bowing politely.

“Colonel
Stirling,” she replied coolly.

“We were just
having a chat,” said Isobel, standing up and twitching the skirts of her dress
into order. “But now I must talk to Harriet about Catherine. She is teething,
you know, and I hope Harriet will have some helpful advice after what she
endured with little Euan. I will speak to you later, Sophy.” With a warm smile
at Ranulf, she basely deserted them.

Ranulf watched
her retreat, and then seated himself next to Sophy. There was a brief silence
as neither of them spoke.

“Tell me, Lady
Sophia, why do you dislike me?” he startled her by saying.

“I—I don’t
dislike you,” she said hesitantly.

“Then tell me
why you disapprove of me.”

She looked up to
see if he was mocking her, but saw only a look of lazy disinterest on his face.

“It cannot matter
to you how I feel,” she said. She gestured around the room. “You hardly lack
for friends.”

“Yet it does
concern me,” he replied. “If I have offended you in some way, I would like to
apologize.”

“You have not
offended me,” said Sophy shortly.

He looked
amused. “Then why do you take pains to be so cold to me?”

“I am not cold. I
am very polite,” she pointed out.

“Elaborately so.”

Sophy gestured
impatiently. “I cannot fathom why you would care what a young, unsophisticated
female thinks of you.”

“We are talking
in circles,” he said with a gentle smile. “Come, Lady Sophia, I would like to
begin again. May we call a truce?”

Sophy looked at
him, a tart retort on her lips. The gently amused look on his face annoyed her,
but she thought she saw something more serious at the back of his brown eyes as
well. It occurred to her also that, in the face of such a polite request, any
refusal would only sound petulant.

“Certainly,
Colonel Stirling,” she said, a bit reluctantly.

“Thank you. Then
we shall begin again. As there is no one here to re-introduce us, I will have
to be a bit bold. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sophia. I am Colonel
Stirling.”

He said this
with such exaggerated politeness that she spontaneously broke into a warm
smile. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Colonel Stirling.”