Chapter Nine
* * *
Aileen brought a tray of tea to Lady Kildrum’s bedchamber. “Ach, she has not yet come ’round, Miss?”
Lucy shook her head sadly. Not only had she not come ’round, but she was not to be moved.
Hopefully, Arden would heal quickly and return to her normal cantankerous self. But Lucy could see her aunt’s recovery was going to take some time, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Except set her mind to enjoying Craigmuir Castle. She wondered if there really was a ghost here.
“Aileen, have you ever seen the castle ghost?”
“Oh, aye, Miss!”
“You have?” Lucy’s heart pounded a little faster. “Where? What happened?”
“’Twas late one night last spring, and I was taking warm milk up to the duchess. Everyone was abed, but Her Grace could not sleep.”
“What happened?”
“I walked through the great hall and there she was – just a bluey, filmy shadow, like smoke.”
Lucy frowned. “How do you know it was not just smoke?”
“She was in the shape of a woman, wearing a cloak with fur-looking trim, and sitting in a chair near the fire.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Did she do anything?”
Aileen shook her head. “It looked like she was wringing her hands. But Miss, I will say I was so shocked to see her, I didn’t really study her. I nearly dropped my tray, and I think I may have screamed a little. I flew up the stairs to Her Grace’s bedroom.”
“Did you ever see it – her – again?”
“Aye. At least, I think I did. Sometimes it’s just something you see from the corner of your eye. And when you turn to look, it’s gone.”
The idea of a ghost in the castle was fascinating. Lucy had heard many a ghostly tale, but never had she spoken to anyone who’d actually seen one. She had no reason to disbelieve Aileen, who was quite clear about the specter she’d seen.
“Did you only see the one ghost? The lady, but not Sir Alex?”
Aileen shook her head. “Only the lady. And she seemed quite…”
“Yes? Go on.”
“Well, she was distraught, I suppose,” Aileen said, “with all the hand-wringing. But there was something else.”
“What do you think it was?”
“I could not say, Miss. I think she was upset about something.”
At least it was something to think about, other than Lord Broxburn and his muscular arms. What was wrong with her, anyway? Surely she’d seen men in shirtsleeves before – her father and brothers, for instance. Except she had she never noticed their arms. Or whether or not their jaws were so strong and square.
Aileen had nothing more to say about the ghost, so Lucy went to her room and sat down to compose a letter to Joshua, which she had neglected to do the day before. It was short, telling him only the bare essentials of their journey thus far, and of the accident that had waylaid them at Craigmuir Castle. She wrote a few words describing the magnificence of the castle, and only when she’d folded her letter and sealed it did she realize she had not made mention of her homesickness.
She supposed she did not feel quite as homesick as she had at the beginning of her journey. Of course she still missed her parents and sisters, and she was sorry she would not have a chance to see her brothers unless they decided to remain at home until after Christmas.
But Craigmuir Castle intrigued her, and she longed to explore it in spite of herself.
* * *
Ian looked in on his father before supper, and found him asleep in his bed. At least he wasn’t scouring the castle for a bottle of spirits. Ian had no intention of visiting the duchess’s room, but he did ask Mrs. MacRae how she fared.
“Poorly, my lord,” the housekeeper answered, shaking her head. “A wee bit worse than yesterday, if that is possible.”
Ian had not doubted Dr. Henderson’s prediction, but Mrs. MacRae just confirmed it.
Supper commenced in the morning room. The wall sconces had been lit, and there were candles on the table. Lucy was there with her uncle when Ian arrived, and they were standing near a long, wooden buffet, talking with Malcolm. Ian pulled out a chair for Lucy at the table and seated her, then he took his place across from her.
She wore a modest gown of pink with a simple lace trim and muted white buttons up the front. It suited her complexion and the color of her hair—
Bloody hades, when had he ever noticed a woman’s attire unless it was the depth of her neckline? He could not recall. But those damnable little buttons emphasized the lush curve of her breasts and the delicate length of her neck. How was he to ignore that?
“Will the duke be joining us for supper, Broxburn?” Lord Kildrum asked, jolting Ian from his wayward thoughts.
“Not this evening, no,” he replied. “My parents are unwell of late.” They had not been well for the past twenty-eight years, in fact – ever since Ian’s birth. No doubt it had been a shock to the duchess that the man who had professed to love her had conceived a child with a housemaid. No wonder she felt betrayed.
Ian would never fall into that trap. When he married, it would be for practical reasons, not some elusive emotion that was likely a fleeting fancy, anyway.
“I am sorry to hear it,” her uncle said. “I had hoped to see your father before leaving.”
“You are leaving?” Ian asked.
“No, no,” Kildrum said. “Not until Dr. Henderson tells us Lady Kildrum is able to travel. Perhaps the duke will feel up to a visit before then.
Footmen served the meal under Lockhart’s supervision, although supper was hardly a formal affair. Mrs. Kilgore had followed his instructions and kept it simple but tasty.
“The fish is excellent, Broxburn. May I congratulate you on your expedition to the trout stream this afternoon,” Lord Kindale said.
Ian gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Miss Stillwater discovered the bend in the stream when she went walking today.”
Still, she did not look up, but her cheeks colored deeply, and Ian’s only thought was how that heated skin would feel against his own. He imagined her glossy black hair unpinned and swirling down her back – her naked back – and across his chest.
“—will you, Broxburn?”
He faced Lord Kildrum. “I’m sorry, I was, er, woolgathering.”
Kildrum smiled with sympathy, and Ian figured the earl must assume he was worried about his parents. Naught could be further from the truth. “Will you give your parents my best regards and hopes for their improved health?”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
Lucy and Malcolm seemed to have no end to their topics of conversation, and her relaxed state with Ian’s friend put him on edge. And yet it gave him a welcome opportunity to observe her without being detected.
Her dark hair was tidy, although he could still see signs of the gash she’d sustained near her hairline, and he winced. It must still hurt. Her hands were narrow and delicate, and as they handled the cutlery, Ian’s thoughts drifted down a dangerous, sensual path. How would it feel if she touched his bare flesh?
She took a dainty bite of fish and closed her eyes as it melted in her mouth. Ian’s heart seized in his chest.
She opened her eyes and her gaze met his, then darted away, turning her attention back to her plate. If he was not mistaken she was squirming in her seat.
As was he.
She had the most expressive mouth of anyone he’d ever seen, her lips full and pink, and eminently kissable.
Not that she would allow such a thing. She was as tight-laced as any woman could be. He knew that from experience, and his body reacted predictably to the memory of unbuttoning her gown and loosening her stays so that she could sleep. Such smooth skin with a subtle scent of lilacs—
“My lord,” Lockhart came close and spoke to him in a quiet voice. “Your cousin, Duncan Munro, is here.”
God, no. Ian managed to suppress the disparaging phras
e. “Show him in.”
Within moments, the footmen were adding another place to the table, and Duncan entered the dining room. “Ah, Cousin! I had no idea you would be entertaining.”
Ian did not stand, but gestured for Duncan to take a seat and made the introductions. Damn if his cousin did not always turn up at the most inopportune times.
* * *
Lucy was fascinated by the resemblance Ian shared with his cousin. They looked so much alike they could be brothers.
His clothes were expensive and beautifully tailored. Beneath his coat he wore a deep green waistcoat that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. His neck cloth was expertly tied, and his hair immaculately barbered.
She chanced a quick glance at Lord Broxburn and wondered if he’d ever actually visited a barber.
Not that his hair was unappealing. Lucy found she rather liked his unruly locks, and realized she actually wondered how it would feel if she slid her fingers through it.
Which was absurd. Her acquaintance with Lord Broxburn was going to be limited to the duration of her stay at his home, and nothing more. No more late night encounters near her bedroom, and no more chance meetings at his fishing spot. She was anxious to leave, and knew her uncle was, too. The moment the physician gave them leave to take Arden home, they would go.
“Miss Stillwater, I do not believe we have ever met,” Mr. Munro said.
“No, I’ve never been to Scotland. My family is from Berkshire,” she said.
“You are very far from home, then.”
“Yes.”
He looked at Lucy’s uncle. “Lord Kildrum, why have you never said your family was connected to such loveliness?”
“Well, I—”
“Miss Stillwater, I sincerely do hope you have sisters.”
“Uh, yes, I have several,” Lucy replied, unsure how to respond to such unabashed flattery.
“Marvelous,” Mr. Munro said. “Will they be joining you in Scotland?”
His overt attentions were disconcerting. “No, I am afraid not.” Although it would be such a comfort to have at least one of them with her. Preferably Meg, but even Emily would do.
“Tsk. That is a shame, is it not, Kindale?”
“To be sure, Munro,” Lord Kindale replied. Lucy noticed he was frowning, but said nothing untoward.
“What are your plans, Duncan?” Broxburn asked abruptly. “Will you go up to Brodie House tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” he said lazily. “I am just returning from a house party at Gilford Castle.”
Lucy noticed Ian rolling his eyes and realized she didn’t really understand the undercurrents here. But it was obviously a family affair, and she had no intention of intruding on their privacy.
“Gilly had a bunch of us up for a bit of shooting and some card-playing,” Mr. Munro said. “Nothing very interesting, though. By God, this fish is delicious. My compliments to Mrs. Kilgore!”
Lucy’s uncle asked Mr. Munro another question about the gathering at Gilford Castle and the conversation continued without any contribution from Broxburn. She could see that he was annoyed by his cousin’s presence, though she could not fathom why. The young man was pleasant enough, if perhaps a bit flirtatious.
However, Lucy did think it odd that Mr. Munro did not question the whereabouts or wellbeing of the duchess and duke – his own aunt and uncle – but tucked into his meal as though he were right at home.
Oh! Perhaps this was his home. Lucy had never heard, one way or the other.
Broxburn finally broke into the conversation. “How is your mother, Duncan?”
“She is her usual cheery self, Broxburn.”
Lord Broxburn’s color deepened, and Lucy doubted his lips could close any tighter.
“Do you plan to visit Edinburgh, Miss Stillwater?” Mr. Munro asked. She was sure she was not mistaken in his overt interest in her. His eyes lingered upon her mouth, then her throat, and down to the modest row of buttons that held the bodice together. It was more than a mere flirtation. It was indecent.
She cleared her throat and suppressed the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “Yes, when my aunt is able to travel.”
“I am sure you will enjoy it,” he said with a grin. “We have a very active social set, with balls, soirees, and musicales. You must attend some of them.” He turned to her uncle. “Lord Kildrum, please say you will bring Miss Stillwater to Lady Muirhouse’s ball.”
“I, uh…” Kildrum said, noncommittally.
“We gentlemen always welcome the addition of beautiful young lad—”
Broxburn stood abruptly. “We will take coffee in the sitting room, Lockhart.”
Mr. Munro looked down at his unfinished meal, and said, “But Ian—”
“Feel free to stay here and finish, Duncan.”
* * *
Ian would have liked to smash his fist into Duncan’s face. But he refused to be as uncouth as his cousin. Brother. Whatever he was.
Ian could almost see wheels turning in Lucy’s brain, and he wondered what she was thinking. She had to have been offended by Duncan’s manner. He’d looked at her as though she were nothing more than an Edinburgh trollop.
He shoved his fingers through his hair and led the way out of the dining room.
“If you will excuse me, Lord Broxburn,” Lucy said before they’d gone more than two steps, “I believe I will go and check on my aunt.”
“I’ll go with you, Lucy,” Lord Kildrum said. He turned to Broxburn. “We will bid you good night now, Broxburn. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
Ian could not resist a parting glance as Lucy walked away, but Duncan’s harsh orders to a footman spurred him on to the sitting room. “Here’s the key to my tower room, Malcolm,” he said quietly, placing the key in his friend’s hand. “I’ll deal with Duncan and meet you over there shortly.”
He’d locked the tower room earlier in the day when he realized his father was likely to go looking for Scotch up there. And once his father was sober he intended to talk him into changing his will back to what it was. Duncan was a wastrel. Duncan would have those properties sucked dry before the duke was cold in his grave.
Entering the sitting room, he faced Malcolm, whose gaze searched for the rest of their company. “They are not coming.”
“Oh? It’s to be a party of two, then?”
“Not a party at all, Duncan.” Ian waited for the footman to set down the coffee tray and leave.
“I’ll take some brandy in mine,” Duncan said, and the footman looked to Ian for direction.
Ian shook his head. “There are no spirits to be had at Craigmuir Castle.”
“What? You cannot be serious.”
“As serious as death,” Ian retorted. “My father cannot withstand another bout of drinking. And as he is unable to regulate his own behavior, the servants and I see to it.”
“Regulate? What are you on about?”
“The physician warned me that the duke will die if he imbibes again. Spirits are destroying his liver.”
“You mean Scotch? Alcohol?”
Ian nodded. “So we’ve disposed of it all.”
Duncan stood with his hands on his hips, looking out the glass door to the garden while Ian sat down.
“Sit down, Duncan.”
As he took a seat, his mouth curved into a roguish smile. “Miss Stillwater is a fetching lass.”
“Do not even think about it, Duncan. She is of a respectable family, and not some loose woman—”
“You wound me, Cousin,” Duncan said, lighting a cheroot. “My intentions are wholly honorable. Lord Kildrum is quite flush in the pockets, is he not?”
“You are considering courting her?” Ian said with a laugh.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’ll need a wife with a dowry. Surely Kildrum would not mind his niece marrying the nephew of a duke.”
“You are too young to wed,” Ian retorted, disturbed by the thought of Lucy Stillwater paired with Duncan in any way.
“I am five and
twenty. Not so very much younger than you.”
And yet he behaved as though he were a raw adolescent just out of school. Perhaps he could change that. “Your income is a direct result of our production at Craigmuir Way. I am going to build another kiln, and I need you to supervise production at the existing one.”
“What about Ferguson?” Duncan protested. “Or MacAdams?”
“MacAdams is getting old,” Ian replied. “Have you seen him lately? He is nearly crippled with arthritis. I will not send him down to Craigmuir Way to perform the duties you are perfectly capable of.”
“Well a steward needs to—”
“Needs to what, Duncan? Earn his keep?”
Duncan blew out a cloud of blue smoke.
“MacAdams has been managing your income and the Brodie estate ever since your father died, and he has served my father long and well. But I am going to retire him,” Ian said. “Ferguson has been learning…he knows everything about the estates and will become my steward. He will see that you receive your quarterly allowance.”
“So—”
“In the meantime, you are going to assume responsibility for production of the bricks and tiles that were ordered during my trip to Selkirk.”
“You must be—”
“Joking? Mad? I assure you I am neither,” Ian said. “If you would like to continue receiving an allowance from Craigmuir, I suggest you learn everything there is to know about the business down in Craigmuir Way.”
“What do you mean, if I would like to continue…Are you suggesting you will have your father cut me off if I do not agree to this?”
Ian crossed his arms over his chest.
“This is preposterous. I am a gentleman.”
“A gentleman who overspends routinely,” Ian said. Hell would freeze over before Ian allowed his cousin to inherit any estate. Duncan had no sense. He would run it into the ground.
Ian would not put it past Duncan to have plied the duke with spirits and then manipulated him into changing his will.
As soon as his father was lucid, Ian was going to speak to him about the new will. Among other things.
Lucy and Her Scottish Laird Page 8