She shoved back the piano stool and strode from the room.
‘Drummond. Please send word to the stables to bring the carriage round immediately. And ask Muriel to come to my room and help me to change.’
She didn’t wait for his reply, but hurried upstairs, where she selected a dark green velvet afternoon dress suitable for visiting. Her original intention had been to go straight to the distillery and confront Lachlan. But that, she had realised, would be a mistake. Confrontation wouldn’t help. It risked driving a bigger wedge between them and the distillery was the last place for a heart-to-heart talk. But she needed distraction from her endlessly circling thoughts and maybe Joane could help Flora understand why Lachlan was shutting her out again. They had met a few times since their first meeting—both at Joane’s house and here at the Castle—and Flora knew she would feel better after a good dose of Joane’s straightforward common sense.
Muriel helped Flora into her afternoon dress and tidied her hair. Then she went to the wardrobe to fetch Flora’s ermine palatine and matching muff.
‘Thank you, Muriel.’
Flora went to her dressing table and pinned her brooch to her gown, struggling as usual to fasten the stiff catch. She had taken to wearing it again, the comfort it gave her increasing in proportion with the growing emotional distance between her and Lachlan. She then swung the palatine around her shoulders, put on her bonnet, picked up her muff and hurried downstairs.
* * *
It was a short journey to The House, as everyone seemed to call the Duke and Duchess’s home, built just outside Lochmore Village. The carriageway swept up to the elegant Georgian manor which Flora always thought would look more at home nestled among the mature woodlands and verdant pastures of England than here, on the edge of the Scottish Highlands. As soon as Flora entered the salon, however, her courage failed her and doubts mushroomed. How could she possibly speak about such private matters as her marriage to Joane, no matter how friendly she seemed?
‘Flora! Good afternoon, my dear. What a pleasant surprise.’
‘Good afternoon, Joane. I hope I have not called at an inconvenient time?’
‘Not at all.’ Joane’s great grey eyes swept Flora’s face. She felt a blush rise—those sharp eyes were not easily fooled. ‘I am delighted to see you. Please be seated.’
‘Thank you. I shall not stay long.’ Flora sat on a sofa. ‘I—I just fancied a drive and I was passing, and...’
Her voice faltered. Joane had remained standing and now she tipped her head to one side. ‘What is it, my dear?’
Flora’s throat ached with misery. ‘Nothing,’ she said, even though she longed to confide in Joane. ‘I am...’
Flora fell silent as Joane sat next to her and took her hand.
‘Come now. I have three daughters. I can always tell when something is troubling them.’
She could not resist the sympathetic tone. Flora spilled out everything.
‘I tried to be friendly and welcoming, but Anna never seemed at ease with me even when I supported her against Lachlan. And he, stubborn man, wouldn’t listen to what she wanted. Why couldn’t he simply accept that she would rather live in Glasgow than at Lochmore? She hated the countryside.’
A maid brought in the tea tray at that moment and Joane waited until she had poured their tea and left the room before she spoke.
‘I suspect your Lachlan doesn’t see it in simple terms of where Anna chooses to live. He takes it personally—as a rejection of him, not of Lochmore.’
‘But...he knows where she is. He can visit her. Shouldn’t that be enough for him?’
‘Foolish girl, of course it isn’t enough.’ Joane’s eyes twinkled. ‘How can he possibly make proper amends for not being there when she needed him if she won’t allow him to take care of her? All he is guilty of, Flora, is wanting to smother his sister and nephew with love.’
She supposed Joane had a point.
‘But I still don’t know why Anna took me in such dislike. It would be nice to be on more friendly terms—I know how important family is to Lachlan.’
‘I doubt she disliked you, Flora. It was probably that she couldn’t bring herself to believe that an earl’s daughter could ever accept her as a friend.’ Joane sipped her tea, her brow wrinkled thoughtfully. ‘You told me Lachlan’s family were poor...maybe uneducated?’
Flora nodded. She had not told Joane about Lachlan’s transportation or Anna’s past as a prostitute, but she had told her of their family’s eviction from their tenanted farm that ultimately led to their struggle to survive in the Glasgow slums.
‘Lachlan, too, must have felt unworthy of an earl’s daughter, but he at least has the satisfaction of being a wealthy, successful businessman. But all Anna would see is the huge disparity between you and her. She needed rescuing from her poverty. She was living as a supplicant in your home—poor does not equate to lacking in pride. I wonder if Anna was afraid to accept your friendship in the belief you would, sooner or later, reject her?’
That made sense, particularly when Anna had been forced into prostitution. It was such a relief to be able to discuss this with Joane.
‘Don’t forget,’ Joane continued, ‘everyone she has ever loved has either died or left her and, even though Lachlan was desperate for her to stay, she would know, if pushed, he would choose his wife over his sister.’
‘I’m not so confident he would make that choice.’
Joane settled those grey eyes of hers on Flora. ‘Of course he would, foolish girl. Anyone can see he is besotted with you.’
Her words sent a tingling glow right through Flora.
‘But he will not talk to me.’
Joane laughed. ‘Of course he won’t. He’s a man. They hate to talk about their feelings. It makes them feel vulnerable. They prefer to be all manly and take action, but your Lachlan can’t take action because Anna—most unreasonably!—hasn’t fallen in with his plans and so he’s ignoring his feelings by throwing himself into his work.’ She patted Flora’s hand. ‘I have every confidence you will get through this little hiccup.’
Little hiccup?
But talking to Joane had given Flora the incentive to take action rather than letting her problems overwhelm her. She refused to return to being the timid girl afraid to speak her own mind and she would not allow Lachlan to exclude her any more.
‘I wonder if it will help if Anna and I can become friends after all? Now she isn’t living at Lochmore maybe it will be easier? And then Lachlan will realise I never wanted Anna and Davy to leave; I only trusted that she knew what was best for her.’
‘Anna leaving might have been the only way you two ever could become friends.’ While Flora puzzled over Joane’s meaning, she continued, ‘I see you are wearing that brooch again. May I see it?’
Flora looked down and realised she had been, quite without volition, running her fingertips over her brooch, every curve and indent as familiar to her as her own face. She unpinned it.
Joane examined the brooch. ‘I still cannot think where I have seen another like it...it is teasing me, right on the edge of my mind, but... I cannot... No...’ she handed it back ‘...it will not come to me.’
‘Have you heard from Benneit?’ Flora asked as she fumbled to work the brooch’s catch.
Joane’s eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, only yesterday. They still intend to return in January and I cannot wait. Which reminds me... I’ve had some of the family portraits cleaned, including one of Benneit as a young man. Would you care to see it?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
In the gallery Joane stopped in front of a large, full-length portrait of a young man dressed in the long tailcoat and knee breeches fashionable from thirty years ago. He was tall and handsome with broad shoulders and an expression on his face that said Cross me at your peril. He was clean shaven and his black hair looked windswept.
‘I cannot wait for his return.’
‘He was very handsome,’ said Flora. ‘Oh! I did not mean...not that... I am sure he is still a fine-looking man.’
Joane laughed. ‘I still think him handsome, although his hair is silver now and receding a little at the temples. I like to tease him about it.’
Flora felt a touch of envy at Joane’s clear devotion to her husband. She could only pray she would feel the same about Lachlan when they had been together as long.
‘I ought to go,’ she said.
‘I will see you out.’ Joane led the way along the gallery, but then paused before another portrait, this time of a striking lady with jet-black hair and flashing eyes. ‘This is Benneit’s French ancestor, Marguerite. Do you remember me telling you we named Marguerite after her?’
‘Yes. I remember. I have seen her tomb, and that of her husband, Ewan, in the new chapel at Lochmore.’ Flora studied the portrait. The woman’s clothing was unfamiliar—a dark red gown with gold-coloured undersleeves and a square neckline decorated with pearls, and a strange cap the top of which was shaped like the gable of a roof and with sides that hung down past Marguerite’s ears. ‘She is very beautiful. How long ago was she mistress of Lochmore?’
‘Oh, over three hundred years ago, I should think. I often wonder how a French lady came to be wed to a Scottish earl. It would be fascinating to be able to go back and meet our ancestors, would it not?’
‘Indeed.’
They returned downstairs and, by the front door, Joane hugged Flora and then kissed her cheek.
‘I do hope our little chat has helped you, Flora dear.’
Flora’s heart cracked. Why, oh, why could her own mother not be more like Joane? Even though Mother had not been affectionate, Flora felt her loss as a great gaping wound in her life. She still missed all of her family.
‘It has. Thank you for listening to my woes.’ She forced a smile. ‘I shall try hard to find a solution.’
* * *
During the journey home, Flora closed her eyes to think over what Joane had said. She had helped Flora understand that because Anna feared rejection she protected herself by keeping Flora at arm’s length. Lachlan’s reaction was harder to fathom—it was as though he believed that now Anna and Davy had gone he had no family left.
But what about me? Aren’t I his family now?
Her whirling thoughts slowed and steadied. Family. Was that the key? Ever since their marriage, Lachlan had been possessed by the need to find his sister. Flora pondered all she had learned about his past...the loss of his father, his other sisters, his mother. He had lived among strangers from the age of fifteen—in prison, on board the prison ship and in Australia, both during and after his sentence.
He’d struggled to share his innermost feelings with her, but he had begun to change because—and the truth hit her like a lightning bolt—he was exactly like Anna. He had protected his heart by keeping everyone, even his new wife, at a distance. But he had let down his defences after he found Anna. He had begun to feel safe, with his family around him. But now...now he felt he had lost Anna and Davy all over again. In his eyes, as Joane said, they were rejecting him. Exactly what Anna feared might happen if she allowed Flora to become a friend.
A sense of urgency fired her blood. If she could not find a solution—if she could not, somehow, break through the barrier Lachlan had erected between them—she was in danger of once again being relegated to the background of his life. And that she could not bear.
He annoyed her.
He frustrated her.
There were times when she wanted to hit him.
But, beneath all of that, humming in her blood and in her heart, was a deep affection for this complex, taciturn husband of hers.
She respected him.
She loved him.
He was worth fighting for.
And if he wouldn’t listen to Flora, then she would show him how much she cared. She would prove to him that he was worthy of her love and she would find a way to give them the family they both craved. She would make him feel safe.
Anna might no longer live at Lochmore, but Glasgow was not so very far away. Anna leaving might have been the only way you two ever could become friends. Flora hadn’t understood Joane’s meaning at the time, but now she understood that their relationship could never be equal while Anna was living in Flora’s domain. Now Anna had her own home and an independent income, might she have the confidence to meet Flora on more equal terms? But, knowing Anna’s pride, would her new situation be enough or was more needed? One thing was for sure—it would be up to Flora to make the first move. She determined to find a way to prove to Anna she was a valued member of Flora’s family, as well as Lachlan’s.
Then there was Flora’s family. And just as Lachlan craved closeness with his own family, so did Flora. Mother had written twice since her wedding—neither letter contained any hint that she missed Flora nor was there any message from her father. In fact, there was nothing of a personal nature, just inconsequential news about the castle and its inhabitants. Flora felt sick at the thought of confronting her family but, if she wanted to change their relationship, she must at least try. And soon, before she lost her nerve.
* * *
Back home at Lochmore, Flora couldn’t settle. Lachlan wouldn’t be home for a few hours and she was too restless to simply sit and wait for him. She donned her old cloak and wandered outside. The clouds threatened rain and she didn’t want to risk getting wet so where...? She paused. She’d never properly explored inside the old chapel—picking through old furniture was just the sort of activity to while away time on a dreary afternoon.
The heavy oak door protested as she opened it. She shut the door behind her and peered around the interior which was only dimly lit by the daylight filtering through the dusty windows. A lamp and tinderbox sat on a dresser and it cast enough light for her to see as she picked through the stacks of old-fashioned furniture. There was little of interest, if she was truthful, although she did linger over a beautifully carved cradle, wondering how many babies had slept in it over the years. Maybe she could clean it up and reuse it?
She fetched the lamp, intending to carry it closer to the cradle to check for the tell-tale signs of woodworm but, as she did so, the light dimmed.
Always.
Flora stifled a scream, but the lamp flared again almost immediately and her thudding heart steadied. All was quiet. She gazed around the chapel, feeling a little foolish. Had she heard that whispered word, or was it inside her head?
She put her free hand to her chest and there, beneath her cloak, she felt the outline of her brooch and she felt...joy. The lamp beam touched on a doorway in the corner of the chapel and her feet carried her over to it. Inside, she saw spiral steps leading down. She swallowed. The urge to go down...to explore...was strong even though the dark, narrow stairwell evoked memories she would rather keep at bay.
Lachlan had told her there was a crypt beneath the old chapel and that it was walled off from the tunnels beneath the castle. There was nothing to fear. She had been in the McCrieff crypt many times. This crypt would differ only in that the tombs would be of long-dead Lochmores, with no one to remember them or even to care.
She stepped on to the first of the tightly spiralling stairs and, although her breathing grew erratic, the feeling of rightness became stronger with every step. The lamplight played across the tombs set in alcoves along the long walls and Flora shivered at the carved stone effigies, their eyes staring blindly into endless night.
Step by step, she was drawn deeper into the crypt, towards a bigger alcove at the back—an alcove that housed a double tomb. Rubble littered the floor, as though a wall had once walled up this alcove.
Flora cried out, bending double as a dizzying, aching sadness whirled within her.
Always.
The hushed whisper seemed to linger in t
he freezing air. Flora clutched tight at the lamp and yet, in among the anguish, she felt—again—joy and a deep sense of belonging.
She raised the lamp and its light glinted off something metallic that nestled between the crossed hands on the stone breast of an effigy.
My brooch!
She clutched her chest. No. She could feel it, still pinned to her gown. Impelled to look further, she tore her eyes from that other brooch and a whimper escaped her. The other half of the tomb was open, its cracked lid abandoned on the floor. As if in a dream, Flora took one step. Then another. As she neared the open tomb the wavering lamp light gradually revealed...nothing! That empty space wrung a shuddering moan from her lips, a moan that seemed to originate from deep, deep inside her. Then her toe stubbed against something hard and she looked down at the discarded lid and its carved stone figure. Like the other effigy, its hands were crossed on its breast but, in the indentation between them, was...nothing. As the chill clawed at her nostrils, her throat, her lungs, Flora fumbled beneath her cloak. Her breaths ripped across the silence as she finally unfastened her brooch.
Always!
No whisper. No plea. A demand.
She crouched down, her hand trembling, and yet it felt right as she placed the brooch in that empty space.
The lamp flickered and all went black.
Flora stumbled away, back to the dimly visible stairs, up to the gloomy chapel and out into the fresh air. She slammed the door behind her and, trembling, she sank to the ground.
The sound of whistling roused her after she knew not how long, and sent her scrambling to her feet, shivering. She stared at the chapel door, her heart still racing.
What happened?
She wasn’t about to go back and find out. She hurried around the corner of the building and there was Rab, whistling as he raked leaves—as every day and normal as she could wish for. He touched his cap and she smiled a greeting. But, as she passed him, she couldn’t help a little curiosity.
His Convenient Highland Wedding Page 22