Bride

by Stella Cameron

  An awful silence followed.

  Justine cleared her throat. “Ella, will you kindly ride to Mrs. Mercer’s cottage. Ask her if she can find some women who would be glad to augment their incomes by helping me here at the lodge. I’ll need them at once. As many as can come.”

  Struan bowed his head. This only became worse.

  “You, girl.” Justine indicated the serenely oblivious maid. “What is your name?”

  “Buttercup.” The large blue eyes that turned on Justine held a hint of insolence. “I’m to do the viscount’s bidding.”

  Calum breathed out loudly and Struan set his jaw.

  “For the present you will do my bidding,” Justine informed the girl. “Kindly begin by making yourself useful in the children’s bedchambers.”

  Buttercup’s blue eyes rolled ever so slightly before she flounced from the kitchens.

  “And you, Max,” Justine continued. “Go to the castle. Ask first to speak to Mr. Potts. He is my coachman. Tell him I require my trunks brought here. Then speak with the butler and ask if some of the castle staff might be spared. They did not appear particularly overworked yesterday.”

  Calum half rose, ‘Justine, we are—”

  She cut him off. “Kindly leave at once, Max.”

  “Can I take the black?” the boy said, leaping up with enough force to rattle crockery and spill water from the flowers.

  “You may not,” Struan told him. “The little chestnut will do nicely.” What was he saying? He’d have the place overrun and lose his precious isolation.

  “Now,” Arran said when Max—and Ella in her shabby brown breeches and frock coat—had left. “We have much to settle and probably not much time to do so.”

  “Quite,” Calum agreed.

  “Do not press me further,” Struan said. “When I can explain myself—if that day ever comes—I shall do so. Until then I’ll thank you to respect my privacy.”

  “They only ask because they care for you,” Justine said gently. “But I know they will follow your wishes.”

  Calum coughed discreetly. “Whatever Struan wants. Just know you can come to me at any time, old chap. Come along, Justine.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she told him. “Didn’t you hear me ask Max to arrange for my trunks to be delivered?”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am perfectly serious.”

  Arran reached to cover her hand on the table. “You are an answer to my prayers.”

  She gave him a charming smile. “Why, thank you, Arran. How ever can that be?”

  The corners of his eyes twitched slightly. “Naturally, this is all most unexpected, but it will be my pleasure—and Grace’s—to welcome you into the family.”

  Struan made fists in his lap. “Arran, I think—”

  Justine interrupted him. “Oh, you fun me, Arran.” She tipped her head back and laughed.

  The men didn’t join her mirth.

  She tapped Arran’s wrist. “You know full well that I am long past an age where my reputation is an issue. And Struan’s reputation is beyond reproach. There cannot be any question of silly talk about my being here.”

  “On the contrary,” Arran said promptly. “You are a lovely, refined woman and you are far from being old enough to be considered a tabby.”

  Justine stared at him, her lips parted.

  She wasn’t accustomed to compliments. Struan swallowed. If circumstances had been different, he would be delighted to put that omission to rights. Circumstances were not different, and for her own safety, Justine must not remain with him. He would say so. “We must rely upon Calum to know what is best for Justine,” Struan declared.

  “No such thing,” Justine said. “I know what is best for me. Please let us waste no more time on this issue. The subject is closed. You may return to Grace and give her my love, Arran. And you, Calum, may go back to Pippa. Tell Grandmama I’ll write.”

  Struan could not help but laugh at gentle Justine’s unexpectedly acid tongue.

  While Justine managed to remain somber, Calum and Arran chuckled with Struan.

  “Are you quite collected now?” Justine asked as the mirth subsided. “If so, I shall get to work. I will ensure that a room is prepared for myself and then set about putting the lodge to rights for Struan and for his dear children.”

  “Justine—”

  “Hush, Calum. My mind is made up.”

  “You cannot stay, sister dear. There is not even a chaperon.”

  “Bit late for that, wouldn’t you say?” Arran remarked, fiddling with his watch chain.

  “Damn your nerve!” Calum grabbed Arran’s neckcloth and hauled his face closer. “Take that back or I’ll thank you to name your seconds.”

  “Would you not,” Arran said reasonably, “admit that a chaperon is a trifle superfluous at this point?”

  With a final tug on Arran’s neckcloth, Calum released him and said, “I would not.”

  “Nor I,” Struan added. He wanted this issue settled. Quickly. “I think it is essential that Justine withdraw from the lodge immediately and with as little fuss as possible.” He wanted her departure to attract as little attention as possible.

  “If the business of a chaperon is important at all, I’m sure that dear Mairi would be glad to come.” Justine picked up her bowl. “Is Grace planning to return to Kirkcaldy soon?”

  “Not for some weeks,” Arran said.

  “Then I’m sure you will be happy to spare Mairi,” Justine said sweetly. “Kindly send her to me when you stop at the castle to prepare for your return to Yorkshire.”

  Arran ran a hand through his thick, curly hair which was restrained in an unfashionable but—according to the ladies—an irresistible queue. “This is not settled,” he said. “I will send Mairi. And some of the castle staff to supervise things. I shall want to talk with you, Calum—in appropriate surroundings. And with you, Struan,” he finished, glowering at his brother.

  Justine carried bowls to the sinks as if she’d been a scullery maid in some previous life. “You should all go along and chat. I’m sure you have much to talk about. Many things to share. And I am anxious to put people to work here and get started on my book.”

  “Book?” Calum said.

  “Book?” Arran echoed.

  Struan tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a groan.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “My book for prospective brides. It will revolutionize the whole business.”

  “Good Lord,” Arran muttered.

  “You are addled.” Calum sounded irritable. “Ladies do not write books. They certainly do not write books about matters such as the one you suggest.”

  “Piffle.”

  Calum planted his fists on his hips. “You have quite forgot yourself, Justine. That word has crossed your lips several times since I arrived. And the … Sin’s ears, or whatever. You are not yourself.”

  “I am finally myself. My book will be highly instructional and highly sought after. Eventually men as well as women will clamor to read it.”

  Arran snorted.

  “Men of inquiring intellect,” Justine said, narrowing her lovely eyes. “Men with fine sensibilities. Men who seek to know more about the feelings of the women they plan to marry.”

  Calum shook his head. “You are an innocent, my dear. And your innocence shows, thank God. Men do not wish, or need, to know more about women’s feelings in these matters. Men are perfectly capable of ensuring the outcome in such …” He reddened. “Men know how to deal with their wives, Justine.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “That is exactly the attitude I intend to combat. My book will detail events that transpire between men and women during courtship and after marriage. My mission is to remove the mystery from the entire process.”

  Struan watched Arran and Calum’s faces and winced at their bemused horror.

  “You know nothing,” Calum said at last. “Absolutely nothing.”

  Arran patted her arm. “A noble ambition, I’m sure, m
y dear, but out of the question, of course. Leave the project to someone qualified for the work.”

  “A man, no doubt,” she said sharply. “As has always been the case, only a man could possibly write about those things closest to a woman’s heart. Am I correct?”

  “Ah—” Arran’s mouth remained open.

  “Naturally,” Calum said. “It is not for women to trouble their pretty heads over these things. Now. Enough said. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “I certainly shall. My plans are already under way.”

  Calum let out an exasperated breath. “Justine, kindly desist in this. Even if it were suitable, a single woman cannot instruct other women in matters outside her experience.”

  “They are not outside Struan’s experience,” she retorted.

  Struan bowed his head and prayed for deliverance.

  “And what,” Arran said coldly, “does that have to do with this?”

  “Why, it’s simple,” Justine announced cheerfully. “Struan is too polite to argue with Calum’s foolishness. I am not too polite. Struan and I have come to an agreement. The terms are to our mutual satisfaction and no interference can possibly be tolerated. In return for my looking after his household and instructing his children, he will instruct me on every detail I require for my book!”

  Chapter Six

  The scent of steeping alkanet root, linseed oil, and rose pink drifted through the lodge. The mixture had already been vigorously applied to priceless but neglected wooden pieces to bring them to gleaming luster.

  In the small billiard room where Justine had finally found Ella, green damask wallpaper had been carefully cleaned with lumps of old bread, and mahogany wainscots glowed from polishing.

  Dressed in ill-fitting boy’s clothes, as she had been on each of the four days since Justine arrived, Ella stood before the open casement. From outside came the sounds of sticks thwacking carpets hung in the fresh morning air for cleaning.

  “Ella?”

  The girl showed no sign of having heard Justine. With her booted feet braced apart and her hands clasped behind her back, she made a disquietingly defiant picture.

  Justine went to her side and looked out onto a courtyard where Mrs. Moggach, the housekeeper from the castle, oversaw several tenant women working on the carpets.

  “They will be quite beautiful again soon,” Justine remarked.

  Ella glanced at her blankly.

  “The carpets,” Justine told her. “Mrs. Moggach tells me there were few bad stains and they were easily enough removed. A little rubbing with hot loaves of bread will bring back their full color.”

  “How would you know about cleaning carpets? You’ve never cleaned anything.”

  Justine’s smile slipped. “Is it necessary to be rude to me, Ella?” She instantly regretted her sharpness. “Mrs. Mercer explained the process to me. Buttercup had one of the maids from the castle tell her.”

  “Someone would have to tell her,” Ella said. “Mrs. Mercer doesn’t have carpets of her own.”

  “You sound angry.”

  Ella returned her attention to the scene outside.

  “I thought you would be glad to have me come,” Justine said. “At first you were. But you seem less so with each day.” And with each day Justine needed firmer resolve to continue with the bold plans she’d made in Cornwall.

  Ella’s throat moved sharply before she said, “I am glad you’re here. And I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’m not certain what’s expected of me.”

  Neither was Justine certain what was expected of her—not anymore. Since that first strange breakfast she’d scarcely seen Struan, and spoken to him less. She leaned across the leather-cushioned window seat to get a clearer view of the courtyard. Mrs. Moggach, a large, gray-haired woman in a gray dress and voluminous white apron, stood with her arms crossed under an impressive bosom. Her florid face showed how little pleasure she took in her new responsibilities.

  Ella touched Justine’s sleeve. “I’ve made you unhappy.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Not you.”

  “But you are unhappy. I see that you are.”

  Nothing had progressed as she had planned—almost nothing. She would not be put out from Kirkcaldy as long as she chose to remain. In fact, Arran continued to comment at every opportunity that she was to become his sister-in-law. But Calum thundered and roared and threatened and demanded. She should go home with him at once, or … He was quite indistinct about what the “or” was likely to be.

  And Struan? Struan’s black eyes held the most disturbing of expressions. Anger? Confusion? Pain? Justine could not be sure, but she had never intended to cause him trouble. Knowing he already had trouble enough made her doubly horrified at the prospect of bringing him more.

  Yet there was something else in Struan’s eyes and she thought it was affection. Perhaps she was a hopeless dreamer, but even the slightest possibility that he enjoyed her presence meant that she must not leave without being certain of his wishes.

  Today Ella’s hair lay in a single thick braid down her back. She pulled it forward and played the end across her lips. “They’re saying things about you and Papa,” she murmured; her eyes lowered.

  Blood rushed to Justine’s face. “What sort of things? And who are they?”

  “All sorts of people. They say Papa compromised you.”

  Justine held her throat. “You cannot possibly understand what is meant by such things, and neither should you.”

  “I understand. It has been explained to me.”

  Justine gave a small, involuntary cry. She could scarcely breathe.

  “Is it true?”

  “No! How could you imagine Struan capable of such a thing?”

  “He likes you a great deal.”

  Justine’s heart all but stopped beating.

  “They say the marquess is insisting there be a marriage at once.”

  “How do these things get about so?” Justine said miserably. “Do not listen. Do you understand me? You are not to listen to such cruel lies. I am a year your father’s senior and all but a cripple. Surely you cannot believe for a moment that he would be interested in … Oh, botheration, this is beyond all. We shall speak no more on the subject.”

  “You and Papa are almost the same age and you are not a cripple.” Ella pushed back her frock coat and fiddled with the too-large waist of her breeches. Even in such unflattering attire her pretty body was impossible to disguise. “I for one would like it very well if the two of you found happiness together. Papa hasn’t been happy of late. I try to be everything he needs, but I cannot, of course.”

  Justine quickly looked away. Her eyes prickled with the start of tears. “You are a sweet child. But you do not understand. Liking is not enough and liking is what your father has for me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.” Justine drew in a long breath. “Let us forget we’ve spoken of this. Except that I shall remember your dear acceptance of me. I shall remain here with all of you and help you and Max with your educations. In time a tutor must be retained, especially for Max, but for now I can do a creditable job. In time I shall convince Calum to return to Cornwall and Arran will forget his foolish notions of marriage between Struan and me.”

  “I doubt it. Everyone’s talking about—”

  “Hush,” Justine said urgently. “I do not wish to be cruel, but the chattering of the tenants will not decide what is to happen among the Lords of Rossmara. Now, on to more important things. Your time with us at Franchot served you well,” Justine said, referring to Ella’s speech. “You learned quickly there. Pippa will be gratified when I tell her how well you sound.”

  “Lady Philipa was kind. So were you. I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

  “You are not a disappointment.” A dilemma, perhaps, but nothing more. “Your papa means well. He is a good man, but you need a woman’s guidance.”

  Ella’s head jerked around. “Papa is wonderful. He is the best
man in the entire world.”

  “Oh, yes,” Justine said, unable to bridle her enthusiasm. “He is the best man in the world. And he wants the best for you. It’s for that reason, as well as because of my fondness for you and Max, that I intend to help him do what must be done. Max must be taken in hand at once. He cannot continue to run like a lull goblin.”

  “He’s happy as he is,” Ella said.

  Impulsively, Justine held the girl’s shoulders and drew her closer. “Max is a viscount’s son and you are a viscount’s daughter. Max must be prepared for the life he was intended to lead and so must you. If your dear mama had lived I’m certain you would have been brought out this year. But we shall set about preparing for next year. Think about all the excitement that will mean, dearest.”

  “Brought out?” Ella sounded uninterested.

  Risking the result, Justine hugged her new challenge tightly. “If I had had a daughter, I should have wished her to be exactly like you,” she said. “Humor me, Ella. Let me fuss over you and enjoy doing for you what I would have done for a daughter of my own.”

  Ella’s sudden, crushing return of her embrace shocked and thrilled Justine.

  Then she felt the slight shaking of slender shoulders and grew very still. “What is it?” she asked softly. “Oh, my dear child, do tell me what’s wrong.”

  Ella shook her head against Justine’s neck.

  “Are you not just a little intrigued at the prospect of pretty new dresses? And balls and routs and musicales and all manner of lovely times? When you ride in Town—in the Park with some handsome young beau, you will ride better than any other girl. And you will be the belle of any ball. I guarantee that you are destined to be an originale, my darling girl. Considered, justly, a diamond-of-the-first-water. A toast. We shall have to fight off the suitors.”

  “No!” Ella dropped her arms and pulled away. Moisture loaded her thick lashes. “Thank you, Justine, but no. My place is wherever Papa is. He needs me.”

  Justine’s heart beat unusually fast. “Your papa will be in London for your Season, Ella. He will want to be and he will want you to find a marvelous husband.”

  “There is no marvelous husband for me.” Color climbed Ella’s smooth, tear-streaked cheeks. “There cannot be.”