Mr Gilvry’s eyes widened. He lowered his gaze to his plate as if he was trying to hide his reaction. But there was no mistaking it. He had been surprised by this announcement. If one of the most influential Scottish Dukes had called for a meeting, would the under-secretary not know about it?
‘When?’ she asked, unable to prevent the question from tripping from her tongue and trying to soften it into a more civil enquiry by adding, ‘When do you leave?’
Carrick waved his fork. ‘Tomorrow. By ship for Edinburgh and then on to London.’
London? The largest marriage mart in the world. An abundance of wealthy gentlemen ripe for the plucking like low-hanging fruit. Surely one of them would be suitable? He didn’t have to be clever or handsome. He just had to be willing to spend his blunt on Braemuir in exchange for a title. ‘Why don’t Mrs Preston and I come with you?’
‘Not possible, I am afraid,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘This is business. I will have no time for assemblies and balls. I plan to return home as quickly as I may, I assure you.’
Her hand clenched around her knife as she fought to control her disappointment. ‘You agreed that it was necessary that I have a Season this year.’
The pained look on Carrick’s face said she’d disturbed his digestion. He put down the grape he had been about to eat. ‘I promised you would have an opportunity to find a husband. And so you shall.’ His jaw thrust forwards and Mrs Preston sent Jenna a look of alarm. Mr Gilvry looked as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him up. Clearly she was pushing too hard.
She took a deep breath. Forced her rising anger down. ‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘You are postponing. Now I understand. We will go to Edinburgh for the end of the Season, upon your return.’
It wasn’t exactly what he had said, but it might be one way to pin him down. He twisted and turned like an eel in a net whenever she tried to get a straight answer.
Having sent her shot across his bow, now might be the wise time to retreat. ‘Are you finished, Mrs Preston? If so, then perhaps we should leave the gentlemen to their port and adjourn to the drawing room for tea, where I hope we shall see them in a short while?’ She cast both men an inviting smile.
Mrs Preston fussed with her shawl. ‘Indeed. Indeed.’
Carrick grunted and half-rose to his feet.
Mr Gilvry stood and helped Mrs Preston from her chair. More pouring on the charm. Trying to impress his lordship, she presumed.
She dipped a curtsy and departed feeling as if she might have won a minor skirmish.
‘Did you know about this meeting with Gordon?’ she asked Mrs Preston as they walked the corridor to the drawing room.
The older woman shook her head. ‘I wish you would be less forthright with your cousin, dearest girl. More is accomplished with honey than with vinegar, you know.’
Was it? She’d tried both ways now. Being patient. Hurrying him. Nothing moved him. If his younger sons had been single gentlemen, she might have suspected him of wanting her lands and title for them. But they were married. And very advantageously, too. Was there more to these delays than the lack of time he always claimed? Ought she to be more suspicious? Certainly her estates were of no great import to him. He’d seemed barely aware of her existence while she was living with her aunt. If that dear lady hadn’t died, he might never have remembered he had a ward.
In the oak-panelled drawing room, the tea tray was already set out on the table in front of the hearth. It only wanted the delivery of hot water. Not that water was ever very hot by the time it made its way up from the kitchen in its separate building in the bailey.
One of the joys of having a history to maintain.
She had her own history to worry about. A Baron Aleyne had lived at Braemuir since the Dark Ages—until her father died. It was her duty to rectify the lack. Daily, the responsibility felt heavier.
And yet there was comfort in it, too. The thought of returning to the home she loved. All she needed was a wedding and a child or two, boy or girl, to know she had done her duty, honoured her promise.
‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Preston said. ‘All that pacing makes me feel quite bilious.’
She hadn’t realised she was pacing. She stopped short, staring at Mrs Preston.
‘What a charming young man Mr Gilvry is,’ Mrs Preston said, picking up her embroidery. ‘I had heard all the Gilvry men are as handsome as sin itself. Having seen this one, I can well believe it. Sadly, quite poverty-stricken, I understand.’
The kind of man she couldn’t possibly conceive of marrying, even if he was the closest thing to an eligible bachelor she had met in months.
Surely Carrick wasn’t thinking she would marry his poor relation? Without doubt, Mr Gilvry was young and attractive. Her heart gave a painful little hop. A reminder that it didn’t do to become too attached to anyone. It was too hurtful when they left one alone.
No, she would need to be careful around Mr Gilvry. He stirred up uncomfortable emotions she couldn’t control. And Braemuir required a woman of sense if it was to prosper.
If only she could bring Carrick to see the urgency of the matter. But how?
The butler arrived with the hot water and set it on the tray. ‘Will that be all, madam?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ the widow replied.
Jenna sat down opposite Mrs Preston and focused on the important issue of preparing tea. Or rather the important issue of how to ensure she would soon be pouring tea in her own drawing room at Braemuir.
* * *
Niall sipped at his port, though he would have preferred the traditional dram of whisky.
‘Lady Jenna is a determined young woman,’ Carrick muttered.
‘She seems set on this trip to Edinburgh,’ Niall responded in what he hoped were neutral tones. After all, this really was not his concern.
‘Aye, and if my wife wasn’t busy with my daughter, she would be there right at this moment. I certainly don’t have the time.’ Carrick stared into his wine as if it could provide answers.
Niall shrugged non-committally. The man just wanted to voice his frustration.
‘No doubt about it. She needs a husband,’ Carrick said moodily. ‘A man worthy of her title.’ He tossed off his glass and poured another. He grimaced. ‘I’ve already had one dubious offer. A lowlander and a shopkeeper to boot.’ He frowned. ‘Now what was his name? Davidson? Drummond? I think that was it. Verra unpleasant. Not the sort of family her father would want inheriting his title.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if suffering a headache. ‘And who knows what sort of man she’d end up with if I let Katy Preston take her to Edinburgh.’
Did he really want to discuss bridegrooms for the lady? Yet he couldn’t help himself. ‘You don’t trust Lady Jenna to choose wisely for herself?’ It was as close as he could get to an objection of his employer’s high-handed dealings with the lass.
‘I promised her father I would see her well settled before I had any idea of the weight of debt his father had left him. If he’d had more time, he might have managed to see himself clear, I suppose.’ He shook his head and took another swallow of his drink. ‘I gave him my word I would do my best by the lass and make sure the family fortunes were improved. And I will. I just wish he hadn’t brought her up more like a son than a daughter. My wife could handle her, no doubt, but Mrs Preston...’ He subsided into silence. ‘She’ll need a strong hand on the reins, I’m thinking.’
‘She reminds me a bit of my youngest brother, Logan. The more you tell him “no”, the more he insists on his own way.’
Carrick puffed out his cheeks. ‘Wildness is a Gilvry family trait.’ He gave Niall a sharp look. ‘Except for you.’
As a child, Niall had sometimes wondered if the faeries had taken the real Gilvry son at birth and left him in its stead. A changeling. Pure nonsense, of course. His childish way of explaining why he never quite felt as if he belonged, why he preferred to read when his brothers wanted to rampage out of doors. ‘I’ve had
my moments,’ he said, refusing to be thought any different to his brothers. And besides, while he might counsel caution, he always stood shoulder to shoulder beside them even if they did laugh at his occasional bouts of cowardice.
‘Drew was the worst of ye,’ Carrick said.
Niall stiffened. ‘Drew is dead.’
‘Let me down badly, too. He had letters of instruction for my agent in Boston. A position waiting for him. Instead he took off on some wild adventure.’
Niall frowned. This was the first he had heard about letters. ‘Drew might have been a bit reckless, but he usually kept his word.’
‘Not this time. He sloughed my task off to another, I know that. The letters arrived far too late to be of any use and cost me a great deal of money.’
Niall flushed at his sour tone. Carrick was famous for turning all his ventures into gain. He did not like to lose a groat, but he was right—Drew had been reckless and in this instance clearly careless. ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ Though there was little he could do to rectify something that had occurred so long ago. He had the feeling this was something Carrick would always hold against the rest of the Gilvry clan. Particularly Ian.
Carrick gave Niall a glance sharp enough to skewer him to his chair. ‘You will not be following your brother’s example and letting me down, now will you?’
Niall returned the stare steadily. ‘Not if I can help it.’
Carrick chuckled. ‘Aye, I know. Lady Jenna willing.’ He lifted his glass in a toast and swallowed deep. ‘I can see you’ve a head on your shoulders, young Niall.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. ‘What I don’t understand is why you are willing to undertake the lowly position of under-secretary. I’ve been giving it some thought since you arrived. Was it Ian’s idea?’
‘No.’ He hoped he didn’t sound too defensive as he recalled Ian’s request for information. ‘I have my own plans.’
‘What are they, then?’
‘Once I earn enough money, I am going to Edinburgh to study law. A man can make a good living as a lawyer. And it would help the clan.’
‘Aye, help keep them out of gaol.’
Niall bristled. All right, so it might have been one of the things at the back of his mind, but that didn’t mean he would admit it.
Carrick leaned forwards, twisting the glass in his hand between finger and thumb, sending ruby rainbows dancing across the table as the port reflected the light from the chandelier. ‘My journey to London could not have come at a worse time.’ He watched the port continue to swirl above his now-still fingers. ‘I am relying on you to keep a close eye on the Lady Jenna. Her encounter with those footpads on the road has me worried. Why was she out of the castle without her groom?’ He looked up. ‘Did she say?’
Niall shook his head. ‘I did not think it my place to ask.’
He gave Niall a sharp stare. ‘I am making it your place. I want to know what mischief she is plotting. Who she is meeting. I want you to call a halt to any nonsense before she comes to harm. Do that for me and I’ll consider myself in your debt.’
‘I can only do my best, my lord.’
‘Do it well and I’ll see about recommending you to a solicitor of some standing in Edinburgh. My own.’
Niall’s mouth dried. It was something he would never have expected, not given the strained relations between Carrick and the Gilvrys. The offer of the position of under-secretary had been a surprise as it was. ‘Thank you, my lord. I will, of course, do everything I can—’
Carrick held up a hand to stop him with a nod of satisfaction. ‘I’ll tell you this, then. I’ve an idea in my head of a way to satisfy Lady Jenna without any of us traipsing off to Edinburgh.’
Niall raised a brow.
Carrick grinned. ‘I don’t want to say too much in case I cannot match deed to thought.’ He hesitated, then leaned closer, touching a finger to the side of his nose. ‘She will insist on a choice, but I’ve in mind a way to limit that choice to a few good prospects. I’ll write to you with the details when I know I have the matter in hand. And I’ll trust you to ensure all goes off without a hitch. In the meantime, you will make sure she does nothing to ruin her chances.’
Did he have to be so damned mysterious? Perhaps he feared he would tell Lady Jenna what was in store. ‘You can trust me to do my duty.’ The words sounded as stiff at he felt, but if the man thought he wasn’t to be trusted, it was no wonder.
Carrick nodded and raised his glass towards Niall. ‘To the women who plague us.’
Niall accepted the toast and swallowed what was left in his glass in one go. It was always better to down bad-tasting medicine in one go. He wasn’t sure which tasted worse. The port. Or his bargain with respect to keeping an eye on the Lady Jenna.
Still, he’d be foolish to turn down such an opportunity to further his prospects and be of use to his clan. And no one ever called him a fool. His task didn’t have to be difficult. Provided he made sure she didn’t meet anyone beyond the castle walls, he would have nothing to report. But God help him, unless he managed to keep her within doors, it seemed he would be spending a great deal more time in her company.
Something inside him didn’t exactly regret it.
And therein lay the danger.
Chapter Three
‘Begging your pardon, Mr Gilvry, but the Lady Jenna sends her compliments and wonders if you have forgotten your appointment to ride out with her?’
Niall lifted his head and glanced at the clock on the shelf on the opposite wall and groaned. Damn. He hadn’t realised how the time was passing.
The blotches of red on the young stable-lad’s cheeks darkened the hundreds of freckles on his milk-white skin. ‘She says if ye are no ready to go in ten minutes, she is leaving.’ He ducked his head.
‘Did she, now,’ Niall said calmly. ‘You can tell Lady Jenna she will not set a hoof outside of the castle without me. Then take a message to have the gate closed and not to be opened without my word.’
The boy fled.
Niall put down his pen and stuck his head through into McDougall’s office-cum-bedroom next door. The secretary was so fat he had had a bed installed against the wall in his office to save himself the effort of walking to his assigned chamber. He must have heard the conversation because he shrugged resignedly, making his multiple chins wobble like a dish of blancmange. ‘You have your orders.’
Niall met McDougall’s small twinkling eyes with a rueful smile. ‘I’ll finish off entering the receipts when I get back.’
McDougall waved a pudgy hand in dismissal.
Niall shrugged into his jacket and strode out. To his chagrin, he’d anticipated riding out with Lady Jenna with far more pleasure than was seemly. And then he’d let the time slip away and given her the chance to take him to task.
He shook his head at himself for being eager to spend time with her. She was his charge. His burden. And his ticket to a new and brighter future. So long as he kept her under control.
He paused in the threshold of the outer door and glanced up at the sky. High clouds like brushstrokes of white across pale blue suggested the day ahead would be fine. At scarcely nine in the morning, the sun wasn’t high enough to chase the shadows from the high-walled courtyard. The upper windows in the towers glinted gold amid grey stone walls.
Towers. He shuddered and thanked God he’d not been located in one of those upper rooms. The sound of metal striking stone brought his attention to Lady Jenna already mounted. Not the horse of the day he’d met her on the road. A high-spirited strawberry roan circled around and around as she waited to be off. She sat gracefully in the saddle in the middle of the hustle and bustle of servants about their business, controlling her skittish beast without apparent effort.
She had no need of sunlight to dazzle the beholder. Auburn curls peeking from beneath a blue and gold hat styled to look like a shako were flame-bright. The military-styled riding habit, also blue with gold trim, fitted her slender body so closely he could s
ee the swell of her breasts and the deep curve of her waist—not something he should be noticing. Fortunately for him, her legs were well covered by her skirts.
Another horse was being led into the yard, saddled and ready to go. A magnificent black gelding, but from the way it rolled its eyes and snorted, it looked only half-broken. He glanced over at the gates and saw to his satisfaction that they were closed.
He sauntered across the cobbles to the stable-hand struggling to hold the animal beside the mounting block. ‘This horse is for me?’
‘He’s a bit fresh, sir.’ The young man grunted with the effort of holding the creature. ‘Hasna’ been out of the stall in a week. Normally he’s no so wild.’
The black-haired blue-eyed Peter Campbell, Carrick’s head groom and Niall’s friend from school, emerged from the stables behind the lad. He hurried over. ‘I’m sorry, Niall. I told her to have one of the others saddled, but she insisted on Midnight. She said if you were going to stand in Carrick’s place, you might as well ride his horse.’ Peter sent him a quizzical look that Niall pretended not to notice.
He sighed. So that was how it was to be. He glanced over at the Lady Jenna, who had dismounted and was now talking to one of the maids from the kitchens. Both women glanced his way and the Lady Jenna’s laugh reached him. If she thought those kinds of feminine games could put a man who had taught schoolgirls out of countenance, she would be disappointed.
The horse was another matter. ‘How is Midnight when he’s not so fresh?’ he asked Peter. They’d remained correspondents over the years, but until now their paths hadn’t crossed.
Peter winced. ‘He needs a strong hand. It’s why he doesn’t get out much. None of the lads can ride him when he’s fresh and I rarely have the time. I get him out on the leading rein when I can.’
Niall studied the gelding. A beautiful specimen. Glossy black coat. Heavily muscled. He ran a hand down its nose and patted its neck. The animal didn’t flinch or start and nor were there any signs of malice, just high spirits. Fortunately, while Ian was the only one of the Gilvrys who owned a horse, he’d been generous in sharing Beau as needed.
Ann Lethbridge Page 4