‘Well, make yourselves at home.’ Sir Keith waved one arm expansively. ‘No need for formal introductions—I dare say between you both you know most people here. We do not stand on ceremony, so feel free to join in and help yourselves to food and drink. Dinner tonight is early, at six—we have the rare privilege this evening of a private recital by Monsieur Frederic Chopin. I heard him play in Edinburgh at the Hopetoun Rooms a few weeks ago and I managed to prevail upon him and his pupil, Miss Stirling, to stay with me for a few days and to entertain my guests.’ He beamed, then leaned closer. ‘He is not a well man, however, and he speaks little English, so he has declined to join us for dinner.’
Sir Keith’s attention was attracted by more arrivals and he nodded amiably and headed off to greet his guests.
‘It will be a treat to hear Monsieur Chopin play.’
‘It will indeed.’
‘I have some of his sheet music at home and I enjoy playing the pieces. I am sorry to hear he is not well; I wonder what is wrong with him.’
A stout lady standing nearby turned. ‘He has the consumption,’ she said, all eagerness to be the first to impart the news, ‘but he continues to perform and...’ Her voice tailed into silence as her gaze slid from Lachlan to Flora. Her lips thinned.
Flora bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Barmouth. Might I present my husband, Mr McNeill?’
‘Yes. I heard you had wed.’
Lachlan frowned at her ladyship’s curt response. She might well disapprove of an earl’s daughter marrying a commoner, but there was no excuse for talking to Flora like that. Flora’s fingers tightened upon his sleeve as Lady Barmouth, her chins quivering, fixed Lachlan with a beady glare, then regally inclined her head—all while still managing to look down her nose at both him and Flora.
‘If you will excuse me?’
Her ladyship strutted across the room to join a cluster of guests by a window and, before long, Lachlan was aware of surreptitious glances in their direction.
‘She clearly disapproves of our marriage.’ Flora must not think he in any way blamed her for Lady Barmouth’s attitude. ‘We shall have to hope not everyone shares her view.’
‘Yes.’ Flora’s voice was so quiet, Lachlan had to bend to catch what she said.
‘Well. Never mind Lady Badmouth. I doubt she is a whisky drinker in any case and I know for certain she is not a member of any of the gentlemen’s clubs I have in my sights.’
Flora’s laugh was strained. ‘It is Barmouth, not Badmouth.’ She soon looked downcast again.
‘Well, it is my opinion that Badmouth suits her better. Come, I see some familiar faces from the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce—allow me to introduce you.’
Flora hung back. ‘You go and talk to them. I should like to greet some of my old friends first, if you do not mind?’
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No, there is no need. Th-they are old friends.’
She could not meet his eyes. Was she ashamed of him? Had Lady Barmouth’s reaction caused her to remember their unequal status? ‘Y-you go and talk to your business friends.’
Lachlan clenched his teeth. ‘Of course. If that is what you prefer. I shall save the introductions until later.’ He bowed, then stalked away.
Chapter Nine
Flora watched Lachlan stalk across the room with a sigh of relief. She had vowed to do her best to help Lachlan and his business and here was where she began. But the thought of approaching her former friends within earshot of her husband had sent shivers chasing down her spine. She had told him of her rejection of the Duke of Galkirk, but he clearly had no idea she had been cast as the one at fault. Never mind that Galkirk was a lecher twice her age and that she had not only caught him trying to force his attentions on to a tearful maid but, when Flora had intervened, he had grabbed her and forced a kiss while his hands wandered over her like they were already wed. Never mind that he’d forced her hand to his groin, telling her she’d interrupted his fun and it was therefore her duty to satisfy him.
No. She was the one at fault because she should have been honoured by his attentions. Her guilt at letting her family down had weighed her down for a long time. She had married Lachlan to make amends to her father and now it was time to face the rest of society.
She hauled in as deep a breath as possible, given the tightness of her corset, and marched across the room to join three of her erstwhile friends—Cynthia, Mairead and Victoria—and their respective mothers, sitting in a group near to the fireplace.
‘Good afternoon.’ She smiled brightly and perched on the edge of a vacant chair. ‘I am happy to see you all—it has been a long time since we last met.’
Lady Ballinach, Mairead’s mother—the highest in precedence of the three mothers—smiled thinly. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Flora.’
Oh, dear. Lady Flora. That is an unpromising start.
Flora maintained her smile. ‘I hear Monsieur Chopin is to give a recital for us this evening. I remember his music is your favourite, Cynthia. You must be eager to hear him play.’
Her friend, tall, slim and blonde, tilted her chin and regarded Flora from beneath half-closed eyelids. ‘I doubt tonight’s performance will equal that he gave in Edinburgh during the Rout. He played for two hours. Such a shame you missed all the fun.’ She turned to address Mairead and Victoria. ‘Do you remember how we picked the winners in all but one of the races?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Mairead tinkled a laugh. ‘So exciting. And the Campbell ball was such a pleasure.’
A painful lump formed in Flora’s throat. Last year had been her first experience of the Caledonian Rout, with its balls, concerts and horse racing. Nobody from her family had attended this October—they were too busy planning her wedding behind her back. She received no encouragement from any of the mothers, who all studiously avoided looking at her. Her heart plummeted as she saw Lachlan watching her, a frown knitting his brow.
‘I was married just over two weeks ago,’ she blurted out. She knew they would all be aware, but she must, somehow, try to break through the invisible barrier that now appeared to divide her from those she had known since childhood. ‘I now live at Lochmore.’
An audible sniff from Victoria’s mother, Lady Calvin, revealed that lady’s opinion.
A male voice said, ‘Castles are so very inconvenient, are they not?’
Flora looked up eagerly, thinking the remark was addressed to her, but it was Victoria’s father, Sir James himself, who had spoken, and he was quite clearly speaking to his wife.
‘Come, my lady,’ he continued, holding out his hand to help his wife to her feet. ‘Broforth wishes to consult you on...er...a matter of great importance. Victoria?’
Flora watched miserably as her former friend said, ‘Yes, Papa?’
‘Come with us, if you please.’
Flora did not miss the smirk Victoria sent in her direction as she stood up. ‘Yes, Papa.’
Flora sank her teeth into the inside of her cheek, determined not to show any emotion. She frantically cast around for something to say...anything to encourage the remaining four to talk to her. ‘Mr McNeill has refurbished Lochmore. The decor and the furnishings are the very latest in style. You would all be most welcome to visit us.’
She knew she was wasting her breath. Given a choice she would never humble herself like this, offering these arrogant cats further opportunity to snub her, but she had vowed to try and she would not give up yet.
‘Mr McNeill,’ Lady Ballinach said, haughtily, ‘is not the sort of person with whom our sort associate.’
At least it was a response. A chance to have a conversation. Maybe one step to forgetting her transgression.
‘And yet Sir Keith has invited my husband and me for the weekend,’ said Flora. ‘We are guests in his house, as are you.’
‘Industrialists and business people,’ Cynthia’s moth
er, Lady Finsfield, said with disdain.
‘Sir Keith is a businessman, but his grandfather was an earl. It is possible to be both.’
‘Breeding is everything,’ retorted Lady Finsfield. ‘Where has Lachlan McNeill come from? He turned up last year, as brown as a conker... I truly thought him an Arab...and he flashed his money around, expecting to buy his way into favour. He fails to understand the source of his fortune is tainted. Come, girls. Let us find guests of our own kind with whom to socialise.’
All four of them swept away, leaving Flora close to tears. She could not sit alone in a group of empty chairs so she gathered her courage and, this time, she approached a group she did not know quite as well, but she knew that some of the people in the mixed group were her parents’ friends. In fact... Her spirits revived as she recognised her father’s cousin, Robert McCrieff, and his wife, Sarah. Surely they would not snub her?
She soon discovered that they would. She was not greeted as she joined the cluster and, when she ventured an opinion, she was ignored. Her face was flaming hot, the tears burning behind her eyes, but anger also bubbled in her chest. How dare they treat her as though they had never met her before? Blood simmering, she rounded the group until she was behind Sarah and tapped her shoulder.
‘Why?’ Flora’s whisper was fierce. ‘Mother must have told you the truth about Galkirk. Why am I an outcast still? It was a year ago.’
Sarah grabbed Flora by the arm and tugged her out of earshot of the group. ‘It is not only that, Flora. I am sorry, but you have chosen who you married. There are all sorts of rumours—’
‘I did not choose him. Father did. And what rumours? He is a decent man.’
‘Do you know how he made his money? He turned up in Glasgow, hugely wealthy, and yet nobody knows a thing about him. He might be a criminal for all we know.’
Flora looked at Lachlan uncertainly. A criminal? Could that be possible? She wished she knew more about him, but he was still a total mystery to her.
‘He is a respectable businessman.’ The statement sounded weak, even to her ears. ‘He has shares in the Caledonian Railway and a shipbuilding company and he owns a whisky distillery. He is accepted by Sir Keith and by other businessmen. He is even a member of the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘They accept him only because of his money. They know no more about his past than we do, according to Sir Keith. But...well, as he says, business is business. Sentiment doesn’t come into it.’ She touched Flora’s hand briefly. ‘I am sorry, but Robert owes money to Galkirk. It is hard enough to keep going without flouting his wishes.’
‘His wishes? You mean that he has ordered you and Robert not to talk to me?’
Sarah could not meet her gaze. ‘Not ordered, exactly. But he made his expectations clear. I am sorry, Flora. Go and join your husband and his companions and forget about trying to change our minds.’
Our minds. Once upon a time that would have included Flora. Now she was an outcast twice over: through her disgrace in refusing Galkirk and now through her marriage beneath her class.
I would not care a fig for these people’s opinions if not for...
She swallowed down her anger, glancing over at Lachlan, deep in animated conversation with two men she did not know. What would he say? What would he think? He had made a bargain with her father...he had paid a sum of money to buy a well-born and well-connected wife who would be an asset to his business. Instead...
He has me. And I cannot do what he wants. I have no influence whatsoever.
Their marriage looked set for a miserable future. She would be drooping in defeat were it not for her stays—even when the body wanted to slump, a lady’s undergarments prevented it. All Flora had to remember was to keep her neck long and her chin up and no one would guess how hurt she was. Or how she dreaded her future, having yet again let someone down. Would Lachlan, like her family, decide she was not worth the effort of even talking to? He hadn’t spoken to her much this past week—how bad would it be when he realised the extent of her failure?
She cast her eyes around the room in desperation. A group of three younger gentlemen, standing with the Turnbull twins, caught her eye. There were no parents within earshot. She might as well try again. She had danced with them all at Edinburgh last year, in the Assembly Rooms in George Street, before that fateful ball. But she had known them all since childhood, from the various Highland gatherings and social events they had all attended. And they had often visited one another’s homes, staying the night due to the distances involved in travelling. She joined them. They cast her a few wary looks, but no one actually snubbed her and she even received a smile from Frances, the prettier of the twins and an unashamed flirt.
‘So. You are wed, Flora McCrieff?’
‘I am. And it is Flora McNeill now.’
‘He looks very fierce,’ Frances murmured. ‘He is handsome enough, I suppose, but I should be scared half to death by him.’ She sidled closer to Flora. ‘Is it true that he killed a man for his money?’
* * *
Lachlan found his gaze—and his thoughts—continually wandering to his wife, even when the conversation around him grew heated with opposing opinions. The sort of conversation he normally revelled in. Today, however, nothing—not even the thorny subject of wages for their workers—could hold his attention completely.
What is happening?
Flora had looked defiant as she was left alone by the fire by the first group she approached. What had those women said? He feared he knew the answer to that. Their disapproval of the match she had made was obvious. This was his fault.
‘What say you, McNeill? If we stick together and cut the wages, we’ll all benefit.’
That grabbed his attention, even as he noticed Flora approach a different group of guests.
‘The workers can barely subsist on what we pay them now,’ he growled. ‘They can’t give you a productive day’s work if their stomachs are hollow from lack of food.’
He remembered that feeling all too well. The fear of being hungry again drove him now, but he could never pursue personal profit at the expense of his workers. Many employers, however, saw nothing wrong with hiring workers for the lowest wage possible. They argued it was essential to keep wages low to secure jobs. The argument circled endlessly.
‘If the men don’t like it they don’t have to accept—plenty more where they came from. It’s the law of supply and demand,’ said Parker, the owner of a leather factory, with a scowl.
‘They are human beings. Not commodities.’ This time it was a shipyard owner who spoke up.
At least not all the bosses were of the same mind as Parker. There was a way to go before enough of the employers saw the truth of what Lachlan and other enlightened voices were saying—that men and women needed to earn enough to afford a roof over their heads and enough food on the table. Too many men—greedy men—could see no further than their profit margin and their own lavish lifestyles. They could not grasp that it was to their benefit to have a healthy workforce who could do a full day’s work without flagging from lack of energy.
The conversation veered in another direction and Lachlan’s gaze, once again, sought Flora. She stood with a younger group of guests—too young to be of any benefit to the distillery—but they were at least talking to her. Judging by the looks cast in his direction, however, he once more appeared to be the topic of conversation. He curbed his impatience. The weekend had just begun. There was plenty of time and by tonight there would several more nobles in attendance, according to Sir Keith, and more opportunity for Flora, and him, to win over patrons for his whisky.
He shifted his position so his wife was no longer in sight and could no longer distract him, and applied his full attention to his companions’ conversation.
* * *
Lachlan tapped on the door between the dressing room and the bedchamber and Muriel opened
it.
‘Is your mistress ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Flora stood by the fire. She turned and Lachlan’s breath caught in his throat. He crossed to her and gathered her hands in his.
‘That gown,’ he breathed, holding her at arm’s length and allowing his gaze to lower slowly to the floor and then lift again, taking in every delectable inch of her. The peacock blue complemented the pale skin of her exposed shoulders and arms and her fiery hair was pinned up, with a low comb behind and two long ringlets à l’anglaise just touching her shoulder. ‘You look beautiful, Flora.’
A light blush coloured her cheeks but, although her lips curved into a smile, her eyes were troubled. Lachlan tipped her face to his.
‘What is it?’
She bit her lower lip and his blood surged in response. Without volition, he bent his head and kissed her, his lips moving over hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth, teasing her to open to him. She did. He cautioned himself to go slowly as he took her in his arms, registering the tension in her body. He stroked gentle hands down her back to her waist, and back again, pulling her to him.
He hardened at the first tentative touch of her tongue and grew harder still as her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders and she leaned in to him, murmuring quietly in her throat at the silken glide of their tongues. Lachlan battled the urge to deepen the kiss and pulled back. He gently swept his thumb across her glistening lower lip as joy quietly spread through him. Who would have thought he’d have ended up with such a wife?
His Convenient Highland Wedding Page 10