A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

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A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset Page 66

by Samantha Holt


  Grasping a branch, she gave it a snip and cast it aside. Miss Taylor stepped out into the garden, brandishing a letter. Her wide smile made Rose pause.

  “What is it?”

  “A letter from Baleith Castle.”

  Even if she had tried, Rose could not have prevented the wild skip in her heart as she took the letter. “I did not think he was due back yet.”

  “No one said he had returned whilst I was in town, but perhaps he has only just come home.” Miss Taylor peered non-too-subtly over the edge of the paper as Rose unbound it and unfolded the parchment.

  She frowned. Hamish had never written her any letters during their acquaintance, but somehow she would not have expected such a feminine hand. She skimmed down to the name at the bottom of the letter.

  “Miss Marianne Andrews?”

  The housekeeper’s expression darkened. “What in the devil does she want?”

  “That was the laird’s mistress, was it not?”

  “Yes. I thought she had left after his death.”

  Rose opened her mouth then closed it. She had never met Miss Andrews formally, only seen her occasionally in town, but her reputation was well known. Many thought her a seductress, while others muttered such horrible things as a witch. As far as Rose was concerned, she had never met the woman so could say nothing. The laird had kept her as his mistress for nearly a year before his death and no one thought he intended to marry her.

  “At the castle…” she muttered to herself.

  “Pardon?”

  Rose smiled. “Nothing, Miss Taylor.” She peered over the writing. “She wishes for me to visit with her. She said the laird is intending to return a day early and it would be a nice surprise.” Rose frowned. “I suppose…”

  “I suppose he might have told her of his feelings for you.”

  That blasted blush travelled up her face again. “Perhaps.”

  “I’m surprised Miss Marianne Andrews is still in Scotland. The woman should have been long gone by now.”

  “Maybe Laird Malcolm willed her something here. Hamish did say he had business to attend with regards to Malcolm. Perhaps it was that.”

  “That would certainly make sense. If I were him, I would want rid of her with haste. I never trusted her.”

  “You’ve met her?”

  “Once or twice in town. Your aunt rightly shielded you from her. A woman of such repute could not be allowed near you.”

  The tiniest pang of sympathy struck Rose. In stories she had read, there had been women who had made choices—choices they did not wish to make but needed to. For all they knew, Marianne did what she did to survive, and yet she was never allowed to make friends with anyone and everyone avoided her.

  “I think I shall accept the invitation.”

  “I shall come with you,” Miss Taylor declared.

  “There is no need. You are far too busy, and if Miss Andrews is there, it will not be improper.”

  The housekeeper huffed. “Miss Marianne Andrews is entirely improper. Your aunt will not want you near her.”

  “Well, you need not say anything. I shall go out for a little stroll and be back before supper.”

  “Rose…” Miss Taylor warned.

  “All shall be well,” she promised. “You would not wish to deny me a chance to see Hamish, would you, Miss Taylor?”

  The housekeeper laughed. “No, I would not.”

  ***

  Rose eyed the skies and secretly begged them to withhold the threatening rain. She flicked a long strand of grass aside. So much for the weather drying up. She really did not wish to look as though she had just emerged from a muddy pond yet again.

  Not that Hamish had seemed to mind. She pressed a fingertip to her lips. It might have been just over a week but she could recall the feel of his warm, tender mouth upon hers.

  Kicking aside the long grass as she went, she made her way up to the castle. She sucked in a breath and held it. Rose knew little of Miss Andrews, only what the gossips said. Though she could well understand why her Aunt May kept her away from a woman with such loose morals, she could not help think how similar their situations were. She was kept away from society by the overprotectiveness of her aunt, and Miss Andrews was forced out of it because of her situation.

  The butler opened the door of the castle before she could pull the bell. Ever stern-faced, he glowered at her.

  “I-I am here to see Miss Andrews.”

  Before the butler could move his tightly pressed lips, the woman she had seen the other night approached. Her elegant green silk gown made Rose feel dowdy in her white muslin. A thin sheath covered the bodice of Miss Andrew’s dress, delicately painted with golden flowers. Her hair was artfully curled and several feathers in matching green were tucked into it. She was either extremely talented at doing her own hair or she kept a maid.

  Rose did not return Marianne’s smile. Not yet. She could not fathom why the woman had been hiding during the ball, or why she had let the dog out, for she was sure she had been the one behind the chaos.

  “Miss Merriweather, I am glad ye accepted my invitation.” She dropped into a curtsey.

  Rose followed suit, taking in the woman’s elegance. Though her clothes were no doubt expensive, they could not hide the slightly strained appearance to her expression. Miss Andrews was a good twelve or fifteen years her senior she had been told, and a few lines creased her eyes and her forehead. The youthful luster was leaving her but, sadly, it had not been replaced with aged elegance as it often did in great beauties. Or at least that was what she had been told.

  “Will ye no’ come through to the drawing room?” She indicated to the right.

  Rose nodded and forced a smile. As much as she wanted to extend a hand of friendship, there was something about the woman that set her on edge.

  They moved into the drawing room, not far from where Hamish had tucked her into the alcove and told her how much he had been dying to be with her all evening. In the light of day, the tall ceilings appeared grander and she felt that much smaller. Several worn chairs occupied the space, and a large Persian rug covered the creaky wooden floorboards. A gilded table sat in front of the huge fireplace that had been carved out of stone, likely in the medieval era. Upon the table was tea, coffee, and delicate cakes. Miss Andrews must have been quite certain she would visit.

  “Will Hamish return soon?” she asked as the woman indicated to one of the seats.

  Miss Andrews waited until Rose sat before sitting opposite and pouring the tea. “Any moment now,” she assured.

  “I had thought he would be a little longer in town.”

  “I received a letter yesterday, declaring his intention to be returned by today. I thought it would be an excellent surprise if ye were here.”

  Rose took a cup and held it close for a moment. She eyed the woman but could not fathom anything in her expression.

  “Of course, some female company is always pleasant.”

  Rose nodded. Perhaps she had been right. Miss Andrews was lonely. Was this her extension of the hand of friendship?

  “I did not see you at the ball.”

  The words came out abruptly, and a dash of silence swept through the room. Rose turned her gaze to the shield carved into the fireplace and silently cursed her loose tongue.

  Miss Marianne took a sip of tea before clearing her throat. “Hamish thought it inappropriate. Unfortunately, there would have been those who would not have appreciated my company.”

  “I see.”

  “It has been a hard year, losing my Malcolm. Had he remained alive, we would have been wed by now and hosting endless balls but, alas, fate had different ideas.”

  “I am sorry.”

  A strained smile stretched across the woman’s red lips. “I have long been a resourceful woman. I will make the best of this situation as I can.”

  “I admire your fortitude,” Rose replied with genuine admiration. How hard it must have been to lose the man she loved. She could hardly imagine how sh
e would feel if she lost Hamish.

  “Aye, well, enough about me. Let us talk about ye.”

  “I am not sure what there is to say.”

  “I am right, am I not?”

  “Right about what?”

  Miss Andrews gave a tinkling laugh. “That Hamish is sweet on ye.”

  Rose lowered her gaze.

  “I am. I could tell at the ball. And, of course, he has spoken of little else but ye for the past few weeks.”

  A smile worked its way across Rose’s lips. “He has?”

  “Of course.” Miss Andrews leaned forward. “Tell me, is he courting ye?”

  Fingering the fragile handle of the cup, she traced the delicate curl. Should she really be admitting these things to Marianne before her aunt even knew?

  “Well?”

  Rose looked up and nodded. “Well he will be, once he has permission from my aunt.”

  Miss Andrews laughed. “Goodness, I wouldnae have imagined that highlander doing things so properly.”

  “He is more than a highlander. He is a gentleman.”

  Miss Marianne tilted her head, sending dark curls brushing against the pale skin of her shoulder. “Is he indeed?” The way her dark eyes fired made Rose’s gut twist. “Well, let us distract ourselves with cakes before he returns. No doubt yer eager to see him and every minute must seem like an eternity.”

  “I—” Rose was saved from a response as Marianne offered forward the cakes. Rose took a small sponge cake, filled with cream and strawberries. Under Miss Andrew’s watchful gaze, she took a bite. For want of anything to say, she finished it quickly, aware of the woman studying her every move.

  “There. Cake solves everything, does it not?”

  Rose frowned at her gleeful tone. She noted Marianne had not yet taken a bite. “Do you…” Her stomach gave a little lurch and she took up her cup of tea again to take a sip. “You must care for Hamish very much to be so interested in…” She took another gulp of tea. A strange bitter tang lingered in her mouth that made bile rise in the back of her throat.

  “Interested in who he is courting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aye,” Miss Marianne said, her lips pressed into a tight smile. “I care for him very much. I only want the best for him.” She lifted the plate. “Another cake?”

  Rose shook her head. The burning in her throat had travelled down to her stomach and a severe pain spread through her. The cup dropped from her hand and spilled across the carpet.

  “Oh dear,” she said weakly before collapsing to the floor. Her skin felt clammy, her limbs trembled. She peered absently at the wild patterns on the carpet as Miss Andrews came to stand in front of her.

  “Miss Rose, I do believe you are sick. We should get you home.” Her tone was oddly calm.

  Dots spiraled in front of Rose’s vision. She tried to lift an arm but was unable to. It felt as though the castle had crumbled down on top of her and she could not budge. Wearily, she closed her eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hamish pushed a hand through his hair and grimaced. The journey from Edinburgh had left him achy and tired, and some of his old scars felt as though they were on fire. Why sitting in a carriage bothered him more than trekking across France and Spain on horseback, he did not know, but he supposed he was not used to travelling in relative luxury.

  Easing his stiff body out of the carriage, he stepped down and peered up at the castle. He had not thought of it as home until now.

  But now he had some excellent memories here. Most of them including Rose. He glanced back at the dog who was contented with nestling on the padded seats of the closed carriage.

  “Come on, mutt.”

  The dog lifted an ear, opened one eye then the other, and gave a long, luxurious stretch. Hamish envied him. The hound looked utterly rested. Ambling out of the carriage, he bounded up the stairs toward the open door. The butler awaited him, his expression just a little less sour than usual. Perhaps the man had missed him. Hamish smirked at the idea.

  “A good journey, my laird.”

  “Bloody horrible.”

  “We did not expect you home so soon.”

  “Aye, I completed my business sooner than expected.” Rupert bounded past him and began to roll all over the ancient rug occupying the entrance hall. Hamish grinned. “We are both glad to be home, it seems.”

  “Would you like to take tea in your bedroom, my laird?”

  “Och, I’d rather have a whiskey, but I must see to this paperwork.” He patted the case he held. “Bring it into the study, will ye? And some food, if ye can.”

  “Certainly, my laird.”

  Hamish clasped the papers tight. There would be the key to ridding himself of Marianne, then he could speak with Aunt May. He had also discussed the idea of marriage with his lawyers. It seemed all were keen on the laird finally being married, regardless of Rose’s lack of wealth or connections. Chances were they realized a rough highlander like himself would struggle to attract either of those, and as stubborn as he was, he would marry her regardless of what anyone thought.

  The bell rang before he could head toward the study. He pulled it open to find Rose’s aunt and the two other women—the housekeeper and cook—on his doorstep. His gut tightened instantly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Mrs. Merriweather dabbed a handkerchief to her lips. “Is Rose here?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh dear.”

  He pushed the door open farther and ushered the three ladies in. They huddled into their cloaks like three plotting witches, but the concern on their faces took away any amusement he might have had.

  “What’s happened?”

  Miss Taylor pushed down the hood of her cloak. “She came here yesterday to see you—well, to see Miss Marianne. She never returned.”

  That tightness in his gut turned into something worse—a gnawing sensation as though some wild beast was clawing at his insides.

  “She’s been missing all night?”

  “Yes. The gardener went out and could not find her. He is searching the woods as we speak, but there is no sign of her. We thought to trace her steps here in case something happened, but we did not come upon her.”

  Hamish drew in a long breath. “Will ye excuse me for just a moment?”

  The ladies shared a worried glance, but he did not wait for their response. He strode upstairs to Marianne’s chambers and shoved open the door.

  Marianne lay on her bed, twirling her hair with one finger while she stared up at the canopy above her bed. She wore nothing more than a light shift that was so transparent he could see the outline of her nipples. Even if he had cared for her figure, he would not have paid them any heed. Not now.

  She bolted upright. “Hamish?”

  “Where is she?”

  Marianne stood, slinking toward him with a playful smile on her lips. “You were not due home yet. Did ye miss me?” Her hand came to his chest and toyed with a golden button on his jacket.

  He snatched her hand and held her wrist tight. Her eyes widened.

  “Where. Is. She?”

  “Who?”

  “Ye know who.”

  She squeaked as he squeezed her wrist tighter. “Yer hurting me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I-I dinnae know!”

  He released her wrist. As furious as he was, he had never hurt a woman and he would not start now. However, every instinct inside him told him Marianne had something to do with this.

  “If ye dinnae tell me, there shall be consequences for this.”

  “She never arrived! I assumed she hadnae accepted my invitation.”

  “Marianne…” he warned, his voice a growl.

  “I dinnae know where she is, Hamish.” She straightened. “I know what ye think of me, but I am no’ a liar.”

  He searched her gaze, distrust burning his gut.

  “If you have lied to me, so help me God…”

  She lifted her chin. “If th
e girl is missing, it is not my fault. She shouldnae have walked alone.”

  He spun away. He had no time to waste. If Rose had been missing since yesterday she could have been outside all night. Who knows what had happened? Bandits perhaps? Thieves? Murderers? The crushing weight in his gut moved up to his chest.

  “Rupert,” he commanded, striding downstairs to the cluster of ladies. The dog faithfully followed at his heels. Apparently even he understood the urgency of the situation.

  “I’ll begin a search. My stable hands and footmen can help,” he told Mrs. Merriweather. “Rupert might be able to sniff her out. Ye say the gardener is searching the woods?”

  Mrs. Merriweather nodded.

  “Ye stay here. Have some coffee and stay warm. I’ll find her for ye.”

  “I should like to help.”

  Mrs. Shaw grasped her mistress’ arm. “You’ve been up all night, ma’am. You should get some rest. It’ll do Rose no good if you get ill.”

  “Mrs. Shaw is right.” He signaled to the butler to lead them into the drawing room. “Muster up the men. Have them search to the east and west. Miss Rose Merriweather is missing. And see that the ladies are looked after. I will not be long,” he vowed.

  Hamish had little idea if he could live up to that promise, but he prayed he could. As he stepped out of the castle, a blast of wind struck him. He pulled his jacket about him and considered how Rose would fare in her likely delicate dress and pelisse.

  “I’ll find ye,” he muttered to the wind as if it might carry his words to her.

  Rupert dashed ahead, sniffing along the paths he preferred. They trekked all around the hills surrounding the castle until the light of day began to wane. Along with his hope. Of course, there was a chance the gardener or some of his men had found her, but someone would have sent word to him, surely?

  While the skies grew darker, he refused to give in. He’d search all damned night and the rest of the week if he had to. He followed the path that led to the next village and paused. Would she really have gone this way? And if she had, why? Surely they would have found her on the path between her house and his castle if something had happened to her? In his gut he knew something was gravely wrong.

 

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