Murray came in. If he suspected his master had slept in the chair, he said nothing, but merely asked what Lachlan’s plans were for that morning.
‘Are you to join the rest of the gentlemen in their pursuit, sir?’
Plans were afoot to stalk the wild deer that Sir Keith encouraged to roam his estate to provide sport for his friends.
The question prompted a decision. ‘No. We leave for Lochmore straight after breakfast. I shall ask Sir Keith to provide transport to the ferry. Please instruct Muriel to pack for Lady Flora as well.’
He would not subject Flora to these people for a minute longer than necessary. But that, he realised, as Murray helped him on with his jacket, posed him another dilemma. Just how was he to propel his business forward now?
He tapped on the connecting door and Muriel opened it.
‘Thank you, Muriel. Is your mistress ready to go down to breakfast?’
‘She is, sir.’
For once, the maid’s expression was not cheery but disapproving. He beckoned her through to the dressing room. ‘Murray has instructions for you.’
He closed the door behind the maid. Only then did he face Flora. And it was immediately apparent why Muriel had looked daggers at him. Lachlan reached Flora in two strides and gathered her hands in his.
‘I have no need to ask whether you slept well.’
He pressed his lips to her hair, then released one hand to nudge a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dull, with dark circles beneath, and her freckles were stark against her pale cheeks.
‘You have no need to dread the coming days, Flora. You have only to endure breakfast in the company of these people, for we are going home immediately afterwards.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Home? But...’ She frowned. ‘But, what of Carnmore Whisky? How shall we ever persuade anyone to back you?’ Hurt, guilt and shame swirled in her eyes. ‘I am so sorry. I have let you down.’
His heart cracked. He loved her smile. He wanted to see her happy, not upset and broken like this. Without volition, he gathered her close, nestling her head into his chest as he stroked her hair, instantly hard as her orange blossom scent surrounded him. He shoved his needs and frustration away—Flora needed tenderness and reassurance and, as her husband, it was up to him to provide it even though it did not come naturally to him. She was his responsibility now and he would protect her come what may.
‘You have not let me down, Flora. Those people...they are not the sort I want to associate with. I shall find another way.’
She pulled back at that. ‘We shall find another way,’ she said.
He smiled down at her. She looked fierce now. Determined. He flicked her nose gently.
‘You need worry yourself about it no longer. It is my business and I will find a way. You have the castle to run.’ He pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘Now let us go and eat our breakfast with our heads high. I shall inform Sir Keith of our departure, but no one else need know until after we’ve gone.’
* * *
They were driven from Dalbride Castle to the dock on Loch Fyne in time to board a steamer for the journey back to Ardrishaig. Lachlan spent the carriage ride propped in the corner with his eyes closed, dredging up ideas, examining them and then rejecting them. He had no idea of his next step. The first full batch of his new blended whisky was even now maturing in oak casks. It would be ready after Christmas and, as yet, he had no market for it. Installing both types of still at the distillery had been a gamble. The malt whisky produced in batches in the old, traditional pot stills was still popular locally—and throughout Scotland—but it was a slow process, producing a low volume of spirit that took more time to mature. Had he been too impatient to invest in the Coffey still?
Once aboard the ferry and steaming down the loch, Lachlan resumed his musings but they were soon interrupted by Flora.
‘Will you tell me more about your distillery?’
Lachlan opened his eyes and straightened in his seat. Flora had fixed her earnest gaze upon his face and he felt his mouth twitch.
‘Can you read my mind, Flora? How did you know I was thinking about the whisky?’
Her lips pursed as she suppressed a smile. He was pleased to see colour in her cheeks and more sparkle in her eyes.
‘You were frowning in ferocious concentration,’ she said. ‘And your foot has been tapping ever since we left the Castle. You cannot wait to get home and to get on with business, can you?’
He laughed at that. ‘I am that transparent, am I? I shall have to take care how I behave in future if you are not to guess all my secrets.’
‘Secrets, Lachlan?’ Her laugh was light, but sounded strained. ‘What secrets?’
Chapter Eleven
Lachlan swallowed down his dismay. ‘None for you to worry about, Flora. Now, about the whisky.’ Of the two subjects, that was by far the least prickly. There was no reason not to tell her about the dilemma facing his business.
‘When I moved to Lochmore I decided to set up a business I could be more involved with. I have investments in Glasgow, but it’s not the same as running a business and, besides, they provide employment in the city. I wanted a business nearer to Lochmore to provide jobs in the area to help stop people crowding into the cities to find work or having to emigrate. I found out that much of the local economy around Lochmore is linked to the Glenarris Distillery, which was established nearly thirty years ago by the present Duke of Lochmore, although he doesn’t own it now. It provides work for local people, alongside fishing and farming, and, as a result, this area has not suffered as badly economically as some other areas of the Highlands.’
‘I think my grandfather used to own part of Glenarris Distillery, but my father sold his share after Grandfather died. Is that the distillery you bought?’
‘No, but it sparked the idea. I found another small distillery about an hour’s ride from the castle, in the village of Ballinorchy by Loch Carnmore, and I bought it from the previous owner’s widow. I’ve set up a construction company to build cottages for the additional workers we’ll need if my plans to expand succeed. My dream is to build Ballinorchy into a prosperous town.’
‘That is a brave ambition.’
‘I suppose it is. Ballinorchy is close to Loch Fyne, where the steamers from Glasgow to Ardrishaig pass regularly, so I should be able to ship the whisky straight into Glasgow and from there by rail to Edinburgh and even into England. To London.’
‘But you need customers.’
‘I need customers.’
The crux of the matter. He needed someone with influence to take a chance on him. On his whisky.
‘But...whisky is popular. I don’t understand why there is difficulty selling it.’
‘It’s new,’ he said. ‘The whisky you are familiar with...the malt whisky...that has been produced in the Highlands for years. It’s made from malted barley, in batches, in pot stills.’
Flora nodded.
‘There is a different sort of still available now—a Coffey still, with two columns. It still uses some malted barley, but that is mixed with cheaper, unmalted grains and it produces a higher-proof spirit, more quickly and in far greater quantities because it is a continuous process. The grain whisky has a blander, smoother taste than the malt and currently much of what is produced here in the north goes to gin manufacturers where they add all sorts of spices.’
‘So why not just sell your whisky to the gin distillers?’
‘Because I have found that by blending malt whisky with grain whisky the resulting spirit is far more palatable to southern palates. It is smoother and gentler—not such an acquired taste as the smoky malts. There will be a market for it in London, I am sure, and I see an opportunity to bring some of the wealth from England into Scotland. Fresh money will increase living standards and wages. It must be a good thing.’
�
�Well, I think it sounds like a splendid idea.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I shall do all I can to help, Lachlan.’
At that moment, he had never felt so well understood or appreciated. His heart twitched as he saw both pride and tenderness in her eyes. There was hope for them in that look, he was sure.
‘We are nearing the Canal,’ he said. ‘It won’t be long until we’re home.’
And he couldn’t wait to finally give Flora the wedding night she deserved. He would forget all his worries about not being good enough for her—they would be a man and a woman. Husband and wife.
‘Did you know this is called the Royal Route since the Queen and Prince Albert sailed along the Canal last year?’ Flora said. ‘They stopped one night at Castle McCrieff during their trip. It was before...before...’
‘Before Galkirk?’
She nodded, a faraway look on her face. ‘They love Scotland and last year they decided to holiday in the Highlands. So they sailed up the Crinan Canal—just as we are about to do now—and met the royal yacht, the Victoria and Albert, at Crinan.’
‘I remember the excitement,’ said Lachlan, drily.
Flora frowned. ‘You do not approve of the Queen?’
He shrugged. ‘I have no feelings about her one way or the other. What?’—at her look of horror—‘You are shocked? You think that a disloyal comment? But she is nothing to me...she is so far removed from my life, and from yours, that I do not understand her and, if she were to know of my existence, she would not understand me. We would,’ he added, with a smile, ‘hold each other in healthy disregard.’
And he could never forget that it was Her Majesty’s court that had sentenced a fifteen-year-old boy to seven years’ transportation for the theft of a loaf of bread to feed his starving family. Desolation washed through him, guilt in its wake. His family, all gone. Everyone he had ever loved had died and then he had let down Ma and Anna by getting caught. He’d abandoned them. He battened down those emotions. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t change it.
‘Tell me how the Royal party came to visit Castle McCrieff.’
‘My father received a letter informing him that the Queen would honour us by coming ashore to dine with us.’
‘And was the visit a success?’
The ferry docked, and Lachlan helped Flora across the gangway to the landing stage.
‘My father grumbled that it near ruined him.’ They walked arm in arm to the Sunbeam, the horse-drawn track boat waiting to transport them along the canal to Crinan. ‘But only after they had left,’ she added with a mischievous smile. ‘Their entourage was huge and we had to accommodate and cater for them all. My mother was thrilled, but my father hoped never to be so honoured ever again.’
Lachlan laughed. ‘And did you meet their Majesties?’
Flora nodded. ‘Although all I did was curtsy. They both smiled very graciously. I was most surprised, though. Do you know the Queen is only five feet tall? Even shorter than me. The Prince is very handsome and dashing, with his moustache and his whiskers.’
Something very like jealousy twisted in Lachlan’s chest. No. Nonsense. It could only be possessiveness...irritation that his wife should say that about another man, be he a prince or a pauper.
They boarded the Sunbeam, ready for the nine-mile journey to Crinan, a port on the Sound of Jura. Then it would be another carriage journey home, to Lochmore Castle.
He could not wait until they were home.
* * *
Drummond met them at the door of the castle, a letter in his hand.
‘It arrived yesterday, after you left, sir,’ he said. ‘It says Urgent on the envelope.’
‘Thank you, Drummond. Pay the driver, will you, please?’ he said as he broke the seal.
He read the contents, then scanned them again. Finally! Delaney had a positive lead on Anna. Every fibre of his being tensed with the need to act. Finally, he would find her.
‘What is it?’ Flora had also stopped and was looking back at him with concern.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘A business matter I must deal with.’ He raised his voice, shouting to the driver of the hired carriage who had brought them home and was about to drive away. ‘Hie!’
The driver reined in and looked back.
‘Wait, please! Murray?’
The valet was carrying his portmanteau up the stairs. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Pack another bag for me, will you? Hurry, please. I must go to Glasgow immediately.’
‘Glasgow?’ Flora’s face dropped. ‘Now?’
He brushed her cheek, regret humming through him. ‘I am sorry. I shall write and let you know when to expect me home again.’
He was too much on edge to offer her further reassurance. He strode across to the coachman.
‘I must return to Crinan immediately. Please wait.’
The man tipped his hat. ‘Very good, sir.’
Flora was waiting where he left her. Still. Expressionless.
He cursed having to go now, when they had finally been getting closer. When he had made plans for tonight. But she would still be here when he returned and then he vowed he would be a better and more attentive husband to her.
* * *
Flora sat at the grand piano in the drawing room, her fingers stumbling over the trickier passages in Chopin’s Nocturne Opus 9 No. 2.
‘Grrr!’
She growled her frustration under her breath. She’d already intercepted too many pitying glances from the servants since Lachlan’s hasty departure three days before and she had no wish to add to their gossip. Her emotions lurched from hope—See how kind he was that night! Look how he trusted me with his hopes and ambitions for the distillery!—to despair.
However kind he had been, and however much he’d seemed to enjoy their kisses, he’d still not come to her bed that night. And no sooner had they arrived home than he could not wait to leave her again. A scrawled note had arrived yesterday to announce his return today and although she had scanned the words for some hint of a personal message for her—some intimation that he had missed her, or was looking forward to seeing her again—she could find none. The note had been for the entirely practical purpose of ensuring the carriage would meet the track boat at Crinan the following afternoon.
She stared blindly across the room, her fingers pressed to her mouth. What would her future be? She had never felt so...unnecessary. And that, she thought with a low, self-deprecating laugh, was quite something after that final year at Castle McCrieff, with a family who only seemed to notice her when they had something to criticise.
Maybe it is me? Maybe I am so easy to overlook that it is all I should expect?
Her hand slid to her chest and she caressed her brooch. As ever, it improved her spirits. She stared at the music in front of her, questioning whether she really had the heart to conquer this piece. She hauled in a deep breath, turned the sheets back to the start and settled herself, her fingers poised above the keys.
As the music flowed her thoughts wandered yet again to Lachlan. Her husband. Except...he was barely even that, was he? One time they had shared the marriage bed. Once! She did not expect miracles. She did not expect him to love her. But she had expected that a man—a husband—would take advantage of, and enjoy, his conjugal rights. How would she ever get with child? A baby would at least give her the hope of joy and love in her future.
She had seen the letter summoning him to Glasgow with her own eyes, so it had not been merely an excuse to leave Lochmore. He had been summoned.
But by whom?
She hadn’t read that letter. He’d put it in his pocket and taken it with him. It could have been from a woman. Did he have a mistress? Was that why he had no interest in bedding Flora? She tried to banish that suspicion from her mind. Mrs Fraser had told her how focused Lachlan was on business and that he was often from home. She mustn’t jump to conclusio
ns. Distracted, her fingers faltered and she grimaced as she fumbled the music and played the wrong chord.
‘Ahem!’
She started. Drummond stood at the door.
‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Lochmore, has called, my lady.’
Flora shot to her feet. A visitor! Her initial rush of pleasure soon fled. A duchess. She must know about Flora’s disgrace. And she was a Lochmore—how would she feel seeing a McCrieff as mistress here?
Flora’s stomach jittered, but her voice remained steady. ‘Thank you, Drummond. Please invite the Duchess to join me—’
‘Oh, dear.’ The well-modulated voice was very English and apologetic but, somehow, it appeared to contain suppressed laughter. ‘I do hope you will forgive my disregard of the rules governing formal visits, Lady Flora, but I simply could not help myself in case I was denied. This was always one of my favourite rooms and when I heard you playing, I could not resist following poor Drummond, even though he, quite correctly, showed me into the morning parlour first.’
The Duchess approached Flora, smiling, with her hand outstretched. She was a petite woman and somewhat plain at first glance, but that initial impression was quickly overridden by her intelligent expression and her keenly observant grey-eyed stare. As if in a dream, Flora proffered her own hand. The Duchess was not wearing gloves and her slim hands were cool as she clasped Flora’s hand between both of hers.
‘I have been away visiting family so please forgive me for not calling upon you sooner, Lady Flora—or might I call you Flora? And I am Joane. I really cannot take to all the pomp and circumstance that goes with being wed to a duke!’
‘Er...yes. Of course. Thank you.’ Flora’s senses reeled. She looked for Drummond and rallied her thoughts by concentrating on the mundane. ‘Please ask Cook to send up a tea tray, Drummond.’
His Convenient Highland Wedding Page 12