Flora’s unexpected—and unusual—visitor crossed to the window to gaze out over the ocean. She was nothing like any other high-ranking noble Flora had ever met.
‘It is the only thing I miss about living in this dank and draughty place,’ said Joane, with a sigh. ‘The view and the sunsets. Although—’ she turned abruptly ‘—you have done wonders with the castle. It is very...’ she cast her eye around the room ‘...modern.’
Flora could not decide whether that meant the Duchess approved or disapproved of the changes. ‘My husband must claim the credit, for he had the entire castle refurbished before we were married.’
‘Yes. I gather nothing but the most up-to-date attire and furnishings will satisfy Mr McNeill. I guess he believes that is what is expected of a gentleman.’
Flora bristled at the insinuation that Lachlan was not a gentleman—even though she still knew nothing of his origins—but Joane forestalled her.
‘That is not a criticism, but an observation, my dear. I am aware he bought the castle in the belief that it would make him more acceptable to society—but you and I know it is never quite that simple. Appearances are not everything in that world, are they?’
‘That world?’
Joane cocked her head to one side. ‘Our world, then, if you like, although I fear I have never quite slotted comfortably into the rarefied world of high society.’ She smiled with a hint of apology. ‘I am sorry. Forthrightness is a bad habit of mine. My husband, Benneit, complains that I treat every new face as an instant friend. But the fault is his...he always encouraged me to be more open and honest about my thoughts and feelings and now I am so used to speaking my mind that I do so without thought. And, after all, who will dare to correct a duchess?’
Her grey eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter, drawing an answering smile from Flora. There was no hesitation in her heart. She sensed no hostility in Joane, even though their clans were old enemies, and her comments reassured Flora that, whatever else the reason for this visit, it was not to censure or criticise. She was here for a neighbourly visit and Flora dared to hope she had found a new friend.
‘Shall we sit? We might as well enjoy the view while we talk.’ They settled a pair of chairs by the window. ‘I hope your family are well?’
‘Thank you, they are indeed. Well, the girls are. We have three—Lily, Violet and Marguerite—but Jamie, our son, is overseas and I have not seen him for a while. He is a botanist and he travels the world seeking new plants. He has found several new species for the Botanic Gardens in Glasgow.’
‘You must be very proud of him. And what lovely names you gave your daughters. Especially Marguerite—it is unusual.’
Joane smiled. ‘We named her after a French lady who married Benneit’s ancestor, Ewan Lochmore, to become the Countess of Glenarris. That was before the Lochmores were elevated to dukes. Not that either Benneit or Jamie care for such privilege, of course. They would far rather be adventurers than aristocrats and landowners.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Benneit is in South America with Jamie now.’ She sighed then, her features settling into sorrowful lines. ‘It is so far away and it feels so very long since I saw him.’
‘Do you not like to travel, too? Could you not have gone with them?’
‘I could have, but Marguerite was with child—her first, you know—and I could not bring myself to travel so far away and for so long in case she had need of me.’ She smiled. ‘Our first granddaughter—born nine months ago. Our other grandchildren are all boys, so little Louisa is very, very special.’
‘I am sure she is. The Duke has been gone a long time.’
‘He has indeed.’ Joane sighed again. ‘But he should return early in the New Year. I miss him terribly, but we both knew that if he did not take this chance to travel with Jamie he would soon be too old. He is over sixty now and, although he is still healthy, we are too aware that old age will eventually take its toll on us both—for I am but a few years behind him.’
It was hard to believe the woman opposite Flora would ever be anything but full of vitality. Her elegance, her unlined skin and her light brown hair, streaked with silver but still glossy with health—all suggested a woman a decade younger. Flora wondered if the Duke, too, still looked youthful for his age.
A maid entered with the tea tray and a cake stand loaded with fruit cake and shortbread and poured tea for Flora and her visitor who had, it seemed, run out of conversation. The distant look in her great grey eyes suggested that thoughts of her faraway husband prompted her silence. Suddenly, though, she looked up.
‘I hesitated over whether or not to come here in person,’ she said.
‘Why should you hesitate?’
‘Oh, you know—that silly ancient feud between the Lochmores and the McCrieffs. I did not know if you might feel, shall we say, a little antagonistic toward me and my husband?’
‘No! Why should I? That was all in the past.’
‘There was that matter of the expectations between your Aunt Tessa and Benneit—the union that was intended to cement kinship between the clans.’
Of course! Joane’s husband was the very Lochmore Aunt Tessa had refused to marry, before Flora was even born.
‘It is true my father has never forgiven my aunt—they have not spoken since.’ She felt a fleeting sympathy for her father, so thwarted in his plans and ambitions.
Will Father ever truly forgive me either? Two dukes rejected—one by his sister, one by his daughter.
‘I know Tessa deeply regrets that rift, but neither she nor Benneit care to dwell on the past.’
‘You know my aunt?’ Flora leaned forward. ‘I have never met her.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed—she and her husband have been our good friends for a long time.’
She sipped her tea while Flora wondered about her aunt and if she might ask Joane to introduce them. Joane placed her cup in its saucer, picked up her reticule and withdrew a card, which she handed to Flora.
‘I have brought an invitation for you and your husband.’
Chapter Twelve
Flora puzzled over the names on the card. ‘Mr and Mrs William Anderson?’ She had never heard Lachlan mention the name and she was almost certain there had been no Mr and Mrs Anderson at Sir Keith’s house party. ‘Is this...?’ She raised her eyes to Joane’s smiling face, barely able to conceal her sudden hope. ‘Is Mrs Anderson my aunt?’
‘She is. She and your uncle live in Partick, just outside Glasgow, not far from Marguerite and her husband. Tessa and William are hosting a soirée next week and she tasked me with persuading you to attend. So, you see, you cannot possibly refuse, for I shall have to bear the blame for it.’
Flora’s heart sank.
‘I do not think we should accept.’ Clearly the Duchess had no idea she was such an outcast in society. Flora fingered her brooch as she confessed that Tessa’s guests and friends would be unlikely to welcome her company.
‘But why ever not?’ Joane’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What could they possibly have against you?’
Flora told her about Galkirk and her disgrace.
‘Galkirk?’ Joane snorted. ‘That old goat? I wouldn’t allow any of my daughters within a mile of him. I wonder at your parents even considering such a match for you.’
Flora stared at her visitor in astonishment. Then, in a bid to leave no fault or black mark on her character unexposed, she also told Joane of her recent experience at Sir Keith’s house party and of her failure to help Lachlan find patrons for his whisky.
‘And that is the sole reason he married me,’ she concluded. Misery wrapped around her heart. ‘To help introduce him to well-born patrons and I cannot even manage that.’
No wonder he is constantly away on business. I failed as a daughter and now I am failing as a wife.
Joane patted Flora’s hand. ‘You are mistaken if you expect our friends to be the same as those
fools, Flora. Benneit and I...’ She paused, considering, and Flora felt the weight of her great, grey-eyed stare. ‘Well,’ she at last continued, ‘I suppose you might call us unconventional. He never aspired to be the Duke and he disappointed his father in almost every way imaginable. And Tessa, do not forget, bore her fair share of ostracism after her family disowned her. They thoroughly disapproved of her eventual choice of husband, too—Tessa was sent to live in Glasgow with her maternal aunt and she fell in love with and married an English marine engineer who had moved to the city to work in the shipbuilding industry. He had lodgings in the house next door. You can imagine how furious her father and brother were at her choice, but she was over twenty-one and they could not stop her.
‘Do say you’ll accept, Flora. I promise you won’t feel uncomfortable and you will not be ostracised—there are many within our circle who will empathise with your experience. And—as an added incentive—we may contrive to find some patrons for Lachlan’s whisky yet.’ She grinned and extended her hand. ‘What do you say?’
Flora could hardly believe her ears. Her heart, from feeling a leaden weight within her chest ever since their return from Dalbride Castle, now soared. She reached out and Joane closed her fingers around Flora’s hand in a gentle squeeze. Tears sprang unbidden to Flora’s eyes and she screwed them shut. If only her own mother had been so understanding...so supportive... Guilt at even thinking such a thing scoured her throat. She should honour her own mother, not criticise her. And Flora, better than anyone, knew what a hard man her father could be—Mother never went against him in anything. She swallowed down her emotions and opened her eyes, to see Joane’s eyes riveted to her chest. To her brooch.
‘Where did you get that brooch? It is quite distinctive.’
‘Um... I found it at home... I mean, at my family home, not here. Why?’
A groove slashed between Joane’s eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure. It looks familiar... I have seen one like it before, but I cannot think where.’ She met Flora’s puzzled gaze and laughed, shaking her head. ‘Never mind. I am sure it will come to me. Now, what about Tessa’s invitation? Do say you’ll persuade your husband to accept.’
Flora smiled, excitement speeding her pulse. ‘Yes. I would love to meet my aunt and I’ll do my very best to persuade Lachlan to accept.’
Their conversation turned to the people they were likely to meet, their wider family connections and how Flora might help Lachlan secure support for his whisky. Joane did not plan to attend the event, but she undertook to write to Tessa and ask her to help by making appropriate introductions at the soirée and she also promised to write to introduce Flora to friends who were prominent in London society.
After Joane left, Flora—her head buzzing with ideas and opportunities—went upstairs to her boudoir and sat at her writing desk to list all the names mentioned and how they were linked to various establishments in London and larger English towns as well as in Glasgow and Edinburgh. She was determined to impress Lachlan with her ideas, burying deep her nerves at putting herself forward and, even worse, at making any demands on her inscrutable husband. How would he respond to Aunt Tessa’s invitation? And, even more worrying, how would Flora respond if Lachlan flatly refused to go? Instead of agonising over his response and her possible reactions, she focused all her attention on her plans, refusing to allow her thoughts to slide away to start fretting over What ifs...
* * *
By the time Lachlan arrived home early that evening, Flora was so full of enthusiasm for her ideas she even forgot to be annoyed with him for disappearing yet again on business. Bandit, too, appeared to catch her mood, for he would not settle, constantly running to the door and whining, and they both rushed out of the house at the first sound of carriage wheels.
‘Good evening, Flora.’ Lachlan stared down at her, his mouth set in a grim line.
‘Did...did you manage to solve your problem, Lachlan?’
He frowned. ‘Problem?’ His frown deepened into a scowl. ‘What makes you ask that?’
Flora tensed. ‘I—I just meant...you were called away...an urgent business matter. I hope all is now well?’
His brows lifted and his expression softened, but he still failed to smile. Flora’s heart sank. She seemed doomed to dwell in a perpetual state of anxiety when it came to dealing with her husband. It was a stark contrast to her earlier elation.
‘I dealt with the matter at hand, although I shall have to return to Glasgow again shortly.’ He bent to give Bandit a quick pat. ‘It is an ongoing situation.’ A fine but needle-sharp rain started to blow in on the strengthening wind as they went indoors. ‘I shall go upstairs and change and by then dinner will be ready, so I shall see you in the dining room.’
Dismissed. Again. It was as though he couldn’t get out of her company fast enough. The rapport between them after the disaster of Sir Keith’s house party seemed a hurtful illusion. Nothing had changed.
Flora waited impatiently for Lachlan to join her for dinner. She had thought about ordering Drummond to set her place next to Lachlan’s, but she was not quite brave enough for such a bold step. Instead, they ate dinner in near silence but, when Flora rose to leave Lachlan to his cigar and whisky, she seized her courage in both hands.
‘Would you join me in the drawing room when you leave the table, Lachlan? There is a matter I should like to discuss.’
She quailed as his dark, unfathomable gaze settled on her. A frown stitched the skin between his brows.
‘If you wish it, of course I shall.’
He bowed and, dismissed yet again, Flora went to the drawing room, where she sat at the pianoforte to amuse herself while she waited for Lachlan.
‘If you howl again at my playing, Bandit, I shall banish you to the kitchen,’ she warned the terrier.
Before Joane’s arrival, Bandit had disgraced himself by trying to join in the music. The resulting cacophony had hurt Flora’s ears. Fortunately, this was a softer piece and Bandit settled on the rug by the fire. Lost in music, Flora did not notice Lachlan come into the drawing room and it was not until she finished a piece that the sound of clapping alerted her to his presence sat upon the sofa.
‘Oh!’ Her cheeks burned. ‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough to appreciate your skill.’
She bent her head, staring unseeingly at the keys as she strove to assemble her thoughts. All her well-reasoned ideas and suggestions had scrambled in her brain and she barely knew where to start.
‘Monsieur Chopin is a hard act to follow,’ she said. ‘I wish I had one-tenth of his ability.’
‘Do not put yourself down. You play well—I presume you had lessons?’
The question surprised her. ‘But of course.’ Playing an instrument was one of the accomplishments expected of a young lady. She wondered if Lachlan had sisters. Or brothers, even. She dared not ask...his brows lowered at her response to his question and she could not fathom out why.
‘You are very fortunate in your upbringing.’ He stared down at his hands, clasped together between his knees. ‘You were sheltered from reality and you wanted for nothing. You despair now at your family’s seeming indifference and your isolation from your former friends, but there are very much worse things in this world.’
Flora dared not speak. Her upbringing was not her fault and there were, no doubt, much worse things that could happen, but she had no experience of such and she feared saying the wrong thing.
His chest expanded as he inhaled, then he pinned her with his dark eyes. ‘What did you wish to speak to me about? I have work to do.’
‘Work?’
The word came out as a squeak. She wanted to protest. He had been gone for days and he had come home only to desert her for his ledgers?
He raised one brow. A surge of anger took Flora unawares and, before she could plan how to phrase her request, she blurted out, ‘The Duchess paid me a
visit. She knows my Aunt Tessa and she brought us an invitation.’
She shoved back the piano stool, sprang to her feet and marched to the mantelpiece, conscious the whole way of that dark gaze following her. She grabbed the invitation and stalked over to Lachlan, thrusting it beneath his nose. He took it, reading it in silence as Flora stood nervously before him.
‘Joane said Aunt Tessa has well-connected friends...people who will not care about my disgrace.’
‘Joane?’
‘The Duchess.’
* * *
Lachlan rubbed his scratchy, stubble-covered jaw, weariness coursing through his entire body.
She calls a duchess she has only just met by her forename?
As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Well, no doubt it was for a young lady who couldn’t imagine growing up without piano lessons, but it merely served to widen the gulf between his world and hers. When he thought about his family’s experience and what Anna might even now be suffering... He pushed his sister from his thoughts. Time enough to think about her when he was alone. First, he must deal with whatever Flora had planned—the stubborn set of her chin told him she would not allow herself to be fobbed off. At least this Duchess hadn’t snubbed her.
Suddenly, Flora dropped to her knees before him, and gazed up at him, beseechingly and, as if to lend weight to her plea, Bandit leapt on to the sofa and fixed his own eyes on Lachlan.
‘Joane has offered to write letters of introduction to some of those who will be attending the soirée—gentlemen she thinks will be able to help us. And she will also write to some of her friends with influence in Edinburgh and London society to ask if they would sample our whisky.’
Our whisky. He liked the sound of that. Emotion swirled in the depths of her green eyes—he could see the importance of this to her. He could not...would not...deny her. Not when it was obvious how much it mattered—perhaps it would help to make up for him being such a poor husband to her. He really did want to make her happy, but there was just so much demanding his attention right now...
His Convenient Highland Wedding Page 13