Caitlyn raised her brows.
“Honoria,” her husband said in a warning tone.
“I’m sorry, but it’s unfair how that woman has treated poor Dingwall!”
“You know Lord Dingwall?” Caitlyn asked.
“He’s a distant cousin of my wife’s,” Treymont said, “which is why she tends to be a bit protective of him, whether he deserves it or not.”
Honoria sighed. “He’s suffering, poor man.”
“I feel for his tragedy, but he didn’t need to set the dogs on us.” Treymont shook his head. “He’s a mean old codger.”
“He set the dogs on you?”
“Yes, four of the vicious creatures,” Honoria said. “I can only recall one time, years ago, when Dingwall was pleasant to us.”
“I remember that. I happened to see the duchess riding through town just as we spoke to Dingwall.” The marquis grimaced. “I’d just had a dealing with her that had left me rather out of sorts, and I said—”
“Something he shouldn’t have.” Honoria shot her husband a dry look. “Dingwall brightened right up and even complimented Treymont on his coat. It’s the only time he’s said a nice word to either of us. It’s as if he felt united with us against a common enemy.”
Caitlyn could understand. She felt a connection with the marchioness already.
Honoria smiled at Caitlyn. “Why did you wish to know about Dingwall?”
“Idle curiosity. Shall we join the others?”
The three of them entered the dining room.
There, Caitlyn listened with amusement to Sally teasing Caithness about his lost billiards ball and barely noted the roast duck. But her attention was thoroughly caught several dishes later when she was presented with a chocolate trifle set in sweetened crème.
Thick and rich, the trifle soothed her stretched nerves. Smiling to herself, she closed her lips over the spoon and allowed the sweet treat to melt over her tongue. The rich cream sent a shiver of satisfaction through her. She was just lifting the final spoonful to her mouth when she caught Lord Dervishton staring at her. The man’s gaze was locked on her mouth, his expression a combination of sensuality and greed.
Caitlyn’s cheeks heated and she quickly finished her dessert, looking anywhere but at Dervishton.
In not looking at Dervishton, she found herself looking at MacLean. He met her gaze and quirked his brows, a mocking smile in his eyes as he glanced at Dervishton. She smiled at MacLean in return, and without a word, from opposite ends of the long dining table, they reached agreement that Lord Dervishton was a fool.
Then Georgiana said something in a rather loud voice that required an answer from MacLean, and he reluctantly turned away from Caitlyn. The duchess was looking especially pretty this evening, her red hair swept up into a complicated style decorated with emerald pins that made her bright blue eyes glow. She wore a lovely yellow silk gown with cap sleeves, set with an emerald bow at each shoulder that screamed elegance and grace.
Blast her.
As Caitlyn watched, Georgiana leaned in and placed her hand on MacLean’s by his plate. Then, with a deliberate smile, she looked at Caitlyn and murmured something to MacLean.
He quickly glanced Caitlyn’s way, his brows snapping down when he found her gaze on him. Embarrassed, Caitlyn returned her gaze to her own plate, but not before Georgiana said something in a low voice that made MacLean flash a wicked grin.
The duchess was mocking her and MacLean was going along with it. Caitlyn hid a scowl, fighting a desire to dump her water goblet all over the duchess’s fine gown. But such behavior would cause Caitlyn and her family far more harm than it would the duchess.
Blast it, but life wasn’t fair. It would be better if—
Something caught Caitlyn’s eye. Mrs. Pruitt stood outside the dining room doors, vigorously dusting a vase on a stand.
Caitlyn frowned. Mrs. Pruitt was a housekeeper with a large staff; such housekeepers did not dust, especially in the hallway outside of a dinner party. Something was going on. What was the housekeeper up to?
Caitlyn didn’t have to wait long. A liveried footman entered the hallway. He looked around, and seeing no one else in sight, he casually walked toward Mrs. Pruitt. When he was level with her, he dropped something on the floor without looking at her, then casually walked past.
Mrs. Pruitt barely waited for the young man to leave before she pounced upon the folded note and stuck it into her pocket. As she turned toward the servants’ hall, she caught Caitlyn’s gaze.
Mrs. Pruitt looked right, then left, then slipped the folded note from her pocket and waved it meaningfully, mouthing something unintelligible. Caitlyn frowned. Mrs. Pruitt went through the charade again, with more exaggerated motions, which made it even more unintelligible.
Caitlyn shook her head and Mrs. Pruitt sighed, then pointed to the steps. That Caitlyn could understand and she nodded. Mrs. Pruitt brightened, then disappeared up the stairs.
Caitlyn was dying to know what was in the note. Did it have to do with Lord Dingwall?
“That’s odd” came MacLean’s rich voice.
Caitlyn held her breath. Had he seen?
“What’s odd?” Georgiana asked.
MacLean looked right at Caitlyn, though he spoke to Georgiana. “I thought I saw something it the hallway.”
As Georgiana turned to look, he shrugged and said, “But whatever it was is gone.”
Caitlyn had to count to ten to keep from letting the oaf know what she thought of him, especially as he continued to smile as if hugely amused.
She waited until a lull in the conversation, then announced, “I’m afraid I have a headache. I hope you will forgive me if I retire to my room?”
Sally led the cacophony of well wishes, and Dervishton offered to escort her to her door. Caitlyn held him off with the suggestion that not only was her head aching but her stomach, as well.
That killed the light in his eyes and she was able to leave the room alone. The moment she was out of sight, she lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs to her bedchamber.
“Ye aren’t goin’ to like what we discovered,” Muiren said, looking aggrieved.
“Aye,” Mrs. Pruitt said, clicking her tongue. “ ’Tis no’ good news.”
“Verrah bad news,” Mrs. Sterling added darkly.
Caitlyn had been surprised to find the seamstress waiting in her bedchamber with Muiren and Mrs. Pruitt.
According to Mrs. Pruitt, the older woman would be of great help. Inordinately tall and angular, with broad shoulders and a large, hooked nose, her bristly gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, Mrs. Sterling was an imposing character.
“So what have you discovered?” Caitlyn asked.
Mrs. Sterling said, “If ye arrive like a regular guest and just walk up to the front door, ye’ll ne’er get in. His butler is told to toss into the street anyone who knocks on the door. Of course, ye dinna have to worry about that until ye’ve faced the barbed fences and a field of thistles and—”
“Fences and thistles?” Caitlyn rubbed her forehead, her mind spinning with images of bully butlers and thistle fields. “Goodness, this is going to be difficult.”
“Aye,” Muiren agreed. “Which is why we’ve brought ye Mrs. Sterling.”
“She can help us,” Mrs. Pruitt said.
“She knows a back way into the house?”
Muiren beamed. “Och, no, ’tis better than that: Lord Dingwall’s butler is her son.”
Mrs. Sterling puffed up. “Aye, miss. Little Angus is old man Dingwall’s butler. I’ll go with ye an’ make sure he lets ye in. He willna turn out his own mother.”
“There’s more, miss,” Mrs. Pruitt said proudly. “Mrs. Sterling knows his lordship’s stomach, too. Cook’s been working on a basket fer ye to take with ye in the morning.”
“That’s so nice of her! I’ll stop by the kitchens and thank her.”
“Och, miss, we’re all fer ye,” Mrs. Pruitt said, as Mrs. Sterling nodded. “The upstairs maids, the belows
tairs washing staff—all of the women in the house are behind ye.”
“And Sean, too,” Muiren said earnestly, turning pink when Mrs. Pruitt sent her a dark look. “Well, he is! He brought ye a map o’ Dingwall’s house.”
Mrs. Pruitt said in a stiff voice, “Muiren’s Sean had his cousin’s wife’s sister draw up a map of how t’ get to Dingwall’s house—”
“—and,” Muiren continued, “a rough sketch of th’ house itself, should ye need it.”
“That’s so nice of him!”
“It is,” Mrs. Pruitt said, though she eyed Muiren darkly as she added, “Dinna think that just because we’ve an emergency on our hands, ye can get away with breaking the house rules by courting a footman.”
Muiren looked as if she very much might like to argue, but Mrs. Sterling held up her large hand. “Och, Muiren, dinna fear. I’ve known Brianna Pruitt fer nigh on forty years now, and she has a soft spot fer a good romance, especially one o’ her own.”
Mrs. Pruitt turned pink. “I dinna know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Oh? What about the footman when ye were an undermaid fer the Duke of Carlyle?”
“That wasn’t a—”
“And Lord Coldburg’s valet? And the groomsman from the—”
“Alyce Fia Sterling! That is quite enou’, thank you!” Her face red, Mrs. Pruitt turned back to Caitlyn. “As I was sayin’ before all this silliness, we want t’ send ye into battle fully girded.”
Muiren nodded. “Ye need weapons if ye wish to slay the dragon Dingwall.”
Caitlyn had to smile at that. “From what I’ve heard of him, he would like that name.”
“He deserves it, fer he breathes fire at the world, he does,” Muiren said.
Mrs. Pruitt reached into her pocket and pulled out the note Caitlyn had seen earlier. “Here ye go, missus—the map t’ reach the house.”
“That’s a great help. I couldn’t see the house from the lawn so I wasn’t even sure which direction to go.”
“You’ll find it right enou’ now. But there’s bad news to go wit’ the good: Lord Dingwall owns a mass o’ brutal dogs that’ll chase whoever he points his bony finger at.”
“I’ve heard of his dogs.”
“Och, they’re a legend in these parts.”
Mrs. Sterling cleared her throat. “But ’tis no’ the dogs as are the worst o’ it. ’Tis the biting horse.”
Caitlyn blinked. “The … did you say the ‘biting’ horse?”
“Aye. Dingwall put a fence about the field in front of his property, then he placed a monstrous mean mare in it. She’ll take a morsel as big as yer hand out o’ ye. She’s an old horse, and mean as they come.”
Caitlyn’s shoulders slumped. “I thought the most difficult part of this task would be convincing Lord Dingwall to visit the duchess’s house. Now I think that might be the easiest part! There’s a biting horse, attack dogs, a man who won’t allow anyone inside the door—and heaven knows what’s after that!”
Mrs. Sterling grinned. “ ’Twill be an adventure, it will. But ye’ll have weapons, a map, and me as yer guide. All ye need is a stout heart.”
Warmed by the woman’s encouraging smile, Caitlyn felt a surge of hope. “I’m ready when you are!”
Chapter 16
Wish ye, will ye, it’s all up to ye.
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
Caitlyn tucked her hair into her plain bonnet and tied the ribbons under her chin. “So Mrs. Sterling is waitin’ for me by the stables?” she asked Muiren.
“Aye, miss.”
“Excellent. I’ll fetch the basket from the kitchen and we’ll be off to Lord Dingwall’s. Wish me luck.”
“Och, I’ll wish ye more than luck miss! Ye’re fightin’ this war fer the honor o’ every woman in the castle.”
Caitlyn laughed. “And I’ll win it for us, too. This is a surprise attack in every way: Dingwall doesn’t know he’s about to be invaded, and MacLean thinks I’m stumped.” Nothing would delight her more than to shake Lord Imperturbable’s façade. She was certain that beneath that controlled exterior beat a heat of—well, not gold, but perhaps an acceptable one of solid iron or brass. Something one could use for a doorstop if one were so inclined.
Muiren eyed Caitlyn up and down. “Miss, do ye think ’tis a good idea to visit his lordship dressed as a commoner? He might mistake ye fer a milkmaid or such.”
Caitlyn looked down at the plain gray gown and old brown boots she’d worn to travel to Balloch Castle. “Yes. From what I’ve heard, Lord Dingwall has a distaste for the duchess and her guests, so I want to look as different from a guest as possible.”
Muiren smiled admiringly. “Very clever, miss. I’ll come wi’ ye to the kitchens to fetch the basket. What an exciting adventure! I wish ye well!”
This would be an adventure all right. Caitlyn only hoped she didn’t return home horse-bitten and dog-chased for nothing.
“So this is where you wandered off to.”
Alexander glanced up as Dervishton walked down the path toward him. He’d escaped the confines of the house—and Georgiana’s tiresomely sharp comments—and had come outside to enjoy a che-root. He took a last draw on it, then dropped it to the stone path and ground it beneath his heel. “Hello, Dervishton. I take it that you’ve given up attempting to convince Georgiana of the merits of opera over theater?”
Dervishton chuckled and came farther into the small copse of trees. It was one of many conveniently isolated portions of the expansive gardens that had been installed by the ever-resourceful Georgiana. She had a partiality for the gardens, and their many luxurious gazebos were furnished with benches and pillows; a few even had curtains that could be drawn. Georgiana’s garden was the epitome of lascivious convenience.
A servant left the rear of the house and walked past the garden toward the stables. Alexander idly watched as she moved down the path, her figure obscured by a vast cape, the hood pulled high. An approaching stableboy glanced in her direction, stared as his mouth fell open, then, without tearing his gaze from her face, tripped over his own feet and fell over a low hedge.
Alexander smirked. The fool. To be so obvious in his desire for notice. Alexander had no doubt the maid was laughing at him and would never look at him with respect.
“MacLean, I wish to ask you a question.”
Alexander spared Dervishton a glance.
“Georgiana has hinted that Miss Hurst is not of a good family.”
Damn Georgiana! “She’s quite mistaken. Miss Hurst’s father is a vicar. She is also connected through marriage to Lord Galloway, who is not to be trifled with.”
“But Georgiana all but said that Miss Hurst is … available. And if I were to bid high enough—”
“No.” The word cracked into air like a storm waiting, banked and ready. The silence afterward was ominous.
So Georgiana wasn’t content to allow him to handle his affairs, was she? He’d have words with her about that. Caitlyn Hurst was his: his to punish, his to tease, his to torment.
Dervishton’s smile was strained. “Look, MacLean, I—”
“Forget it. You aren’t at fault.” To keep his anger in control, Alexander focused again on the stableboy. The lad was back on his feet now, bowing as if the maid were the queen herself.
Alexander frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t a maid. The woman waved at the boy and hurried on, her drab gray skirts swaying gracefully, a strand of golden hair escaping the hood—
Alexander started. “Pardon me, Dervishton. My groom wished me to stop in the stables before lunch.”
“Yes, but about Georgiana—”
“You have my full encouragement in that quarter—but not in regard to Miss Hurst.” Alexander took off down the path.
“But, MacLean, that’s not—” Dervishton called after him.
But Alexander didn’t answer, the sway of those gray skirts leading him forward. He stepped around the stableboy, who was standing in the
middle of the path staring after the maid. The youth sent him a hard glare, turning a bright red when he realized it was Alexander. “My lord, I’m so—”
“Go about your business.” Alexander continued on, his attention on the maid. Her bonnet was as plain as her gown, the deep brim and faded flowers reminiscent of some of the flower sellers who hawked their wares in Convent Garden. So little Miss Hurst is trying to slip away unnoticed. What is she up to now?
Alexander reached her just as she turned down the path that led away from the garden. “Going somewhere, Hurst?”
She came to a halt, her back stiffening. She slowly turned to face him, her face framed by the wide bonnet, her brown eyes suspicious. She carried a heavy basket, a cloth tucked securely across it.
Alexander grinned. “If you wish to disguise yourself, you will have to hide your posterior. I recognized it even across the garden.”
Her lips thinned with annoyance. “I’ll remember that next time I’m in disguise.”
“May I ask where you’re going?”
“No.”
He crossed his arms.
Her gaze narrowed. “It’s none of your concern.”
“Oh, but I think it is.” He glanced at the basket in her hands. “What’s in there?”
“None of yo—”
He lifted the basket out of her hands and flipped back the linen cover. “Jellies, jams, some freshly baked bread, and—what’s in the crock?” He bent forward and sniffed. “Soup?”
She retrieved the basket and flipped the linen cover back into place. “What I am doing is none of your concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an errand to run.”
“An errand?” His gaze narrowed a moment before it dawned on him. “You’re off to win Lord Dingwall’s goodwill with a basket full of incitements.”
Alexander knew he’d hit the mark when her chin lifted and her expression closed tightly.
A flush of amusement rippled through him. Truly, he’d never wanted anything the way he wanted to beat this woman at her own game.
He smiled when she said in a pert tone, “I am sure that it’s of no mind to you. After all, you declared that no matter what I try, Lord Dingwall will have nothing to do with me.”
The Laird Who Loved Me Page 19