“In the meantime, Kincraig is already down in the stables,” said Ranulf. “Perhaps the gentlemen can go there, while the ladies take care of other matters. My father would greet you, but he is bedridden. He asks that you make yourselves at home and enjoy the hospitality of Spaethness.”
He tugged the elegantly embroidered bell pull, and in moments Gibbs appeared, accompanied by Mrs. Ross, the housekeeper. There was a babble of conversation as Gibbs and Mrs. Ross engaged to show Glencairn, Harriet and the Exencours to their rooms. The other carriages in their retinue having arrived, Isobel and Harriet bustled out in to the hall to check on their children and the nursemaids, while Ranulf told Gibbs to be sure refreshments were sent to each guests’ room. Sophy watched this whirl around her for a moment, and then began to follow Mrs. Ross out of the drawing room, sure that her bedchamber was near her parents’.
“Ah, Lady Sophia, if you don’t mind, I will escort you to your room,” said Ranulf.
She stopped in her tracks and looked back at him over her shoulder.
“It is on another corridor than the others’ bedchambers,” he continued. “I thought the noise of the children might bother you, and you would wish to sleep well here at Spaethness.”
“Oh! Yes, certainly, thank you,” breathed Sophy.
Ranulf took a step closer as Mrs. Ross popped back into the drawing room. He gently waved her away.
“I will attend to Lady Sophia,” he said. “You have enough on your hands with the others.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the housekeeper, bobbing a curtsey. “Mind, don’t keep her talking, she will wish to rest.”
“Talking is not the problem,” replied Ranulf, but so softly only Sophy could hear him. “Yes, Mrs. Ross,” he continued in a more normal tone, “I will be sure not to detain her.”
The hubbub of voices retreated as the other guests were led upstairs, and Ranulf offered Sophy his arm. She took it gingerly.
“Don’t fret. I promised Mrs. Ross to take you straight to your bedchamber,” he said.
Sophy looked around the hall as he led her toward the stairs. “It is so beautiful. Perhaps you could show me a few highlights on the way.”
“I’d love to. It pleases me immensely that you admire my home.”
“How could I not?” Sophy allowed one hand to trail along the uneven stone walls as they climbed the stairs.
“The tower is fourteenth century, but a great deal of the rest of the building was added later,” Ranulf informed her.
“What a fabulous place this must have been for a child. There must be so many places to hide!”
“I did hide from my tutor on many an occasion,” Ranulf admitted. “I never thought much about the place then. But now, I understand how much work it will be. There is always something that needs doing here.”
“But it is worth the travail,” said Sophy. “Only think, one day your grandson, and then his son, will be laird here.”
Ranulf looked down her enigmatically. “Or my cousin’s grandson,” he said.
Sophy, suddenly aware that she had ventured into uncomfortable territory, bit her lip. Ranulf laughed softly.
“Would you like to see the Gallery?” he asked. “It may not be as fine as that at Glencairn, but you might find a few paintings you would like to study.”
“I would love it,” breathed Sophy, relieved by the change of subject.
Ranulf led her down the passageway, stopping now and again to point out some particularly fine carving or an ancient tapestry. Finally he pushed open a door to reveal a long room that stretched down the north side of the manor house, its large windows flooded with the afternoon sun. Sophy gave a little cry of pleasure.
“How lovely!”
Ranulf stood back and watched as she wandered into the gallery, going up to each painting in turn and examining it closely. She stepped back from one, of a tall, slender gentleman in an elegantly powdered wig.
“Is this by William Aikman?” she asked.
“It is. That is my grandfather.”
“You look a great deal like him. Or you would, if you wore a grey wig!”
Ranulf raised a hand to his cropped head. “Wigs have been out of fashion for some years, but I would wear one if you wished me to.”
Sophy smiled at that. “You would look—” she glanced again at the portrait. “Very handsome, I suppose, if your grandfather is anything to judge by.”
Ranulf considered her. “I think that may be the first compliment you have ever paid me.”
Sophy flushed and moved on hastily to the next portrait. She paused, gazing up at it.
“My mother,” said Ranulf.
Sophy regarded the painting earnestly. “She was very beautiful.”
Ranulf came and stood at her side. “I suppose she was. I was not close with her. She did not care for the isolation of Spaethness and spent much of her time in Edinburgh. My father and she were not—well, let me just say that their marriage did not resemble that of your father and stepmother.” He caught Sophy’s eye. “Do not pity me, my dear. I was a happy enough child, and her absence was appreciated. It was when she was in residence here that I was miserable. She had quite a temper.”
“I suppose I can see that in her eyes. It is very well rendered.” Sophy leaned forward to look closely at the signature on the painting. “Anne Forbes!”
Ranulf turned to her in surprise. “Do you know of her?”
“Of course I do,” scoffed Sophy. “She is one of the first Scottish women to make her living as a painter.”
“She lives in Edinburgh,” said Ranulf. “Perhaps sometime you can meet her.”
“I would love to. I will ask Papa and Mama to take me there.”
“I’m sure you will meet her.” Ranulf’s expression was enigmatic. “And now I should show you to your room. Mrs. Ross will scold me if I keep you much longer.”
Sophy reluctantly turned away from the painting and allowed Ranulf to lead her from the room.
“You will be here some weeks, and you can visit the gallery whenever you choose,” said Ranulf. “I will make sure your studio is nearby.”
“Thank you.” Sophy looked at him thoughtfully. “You are being very kind to me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I enjoy being kind to you, when you permit it.”
She opened her mouth, but Ranulf interrupted her. “Don’t argue with me, Sophy.”
“I was not going to argue!”
“You were.”
Sophy lapsed into an annoyed silence that lasted until Ranulf, whose apparent amusement only irked her further, stopped in front of a door carved of dark wood. He pushed it open.
“Your room, Sophy. I hope you like it.”
Sophy entered, and gave a little gasp of delight as she looked around the light filled room. Clearly decorated for a lady, the walls had pale yellow wallpaper with a delicate floral design and chinoiserie paneled inserts made of silk, with painted decorations of ladies and gentlemen walking in gardens, boating, and dancing. A vast savonnerie carpet covered the parquet floor, lending softness and warmth. A delicate French escritoire with marquetry decoration stood before one of the windows, ready for a lady’s letter writing. It matched the enormous bed, also ornamented with inlay, and with a canopy and hangings of a pale yellow silk to complement the walls. The bed itself was strewn with pillows and a feather-stuffed comforter lavishly embroidered with flowers.
Sophy’s eyes were drawn immediately to the massive bed with its shiny silk coverlet. She could almost imagine what it would feel like against her back as Ranulf leaned over her. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the image.
“Is something wrong?” asked Ranulf.
Sophy looked up. “No, of course not. It’s stunning.”
Wallis bustled out from the alcove next to the wardrobe, stopping in her tracks when she saw Ranulf.
“Lady Sophia!” she said, startled.
“Yes, Wallis. The colonel was kind enough to show me up, as the housekeeper was much occupi
ed with my parents and the children. “
“Of course, Lady Sophia.”
Ranulf bowed. “I know when my presence is unnecessary. Besides, your brother is no doubt tormenting my stablemaster, and it would be unkind of me not to rescue him. I hope you are very comfortable here, Lady Sophia.”
With a nod at Wallis, he left the room. Sophy gazed after him for a moment, lost in thought, and then jumped when Wallis spoke.
“Oh, Lady Sophia, what if I hadn’t been here? You’d have been alone in your bedchamber with Colonel Stirling!”
Sophy squelched the thought that such a thing would not be so terrible. “Don’t be silly, Wallis. He’s our host.”
Wallis shook her head. “I’m thinking he’s more than that, Lady Sophia,” she said with some severity.
Sophy turned away, ignoring her remark, and merely said, “I would very much like to have a bath and change out of this riding dress. Could you please ring for hot water?”
Dearest Philippa,
We have several days at Spaethness, and how lovely it is! You have no notion how delightful the countryside is, with its sunlit lochs, wooded glens filled with mossy pines and birch, the burns flowing through them, and soaring hills rising above all. Only yesterday we drove out to Loch Katrine, which of course you will recall is the home of the Lady of the Lake! We had a glorious picnic on the shores! I know, of course, that it is only a story, but I fully expected to encounter Ellen Douglas and James Fitz-James, or by chance look up and see Malcolm Graeme swimming across the loch! No such thing happened, naturally, though we had a lovely meal and strolled along the water. Rob Roy was also born on the shores of Loch Katrine, you will remember, and Colonel Stirling has promised me a visit to Balquhidder, where we can view his grave. I'm sure you think me very silly, but I cannot deny the romance of the land, nor do I wish to!
We are all enjoying ourselves immensely. Dear Euan and Douglas have found some excellent streams for angling, and they and Francis and the colonel often ride out to shoot. I am quieter, of course, but I like to stroll in the gardens or take little Euan for a walk along the pathway that leads to the village. Isobel is often with me, and I think she is enjoying the time away from Ballydendargen, even though she is unable to root about in her Roman fort.
Colonel Stirling has been very kind to Sophy as well, for all she has been so cold to him in the past. He has arranged a studio for her in Spaethness Castle, a large room with windows that let in a great deal of light. She seems to be charmed by the neighborhood, and often goes out to sketch or paint, but many a sunny morning finds her locked away in her studio for, only fancy, Colonel Stirling is sitting for a portrait! I was amazed when I heard of it, but Sophy tells me she thought it would be a way to thank him for being so kind to our little family. She seems to have grown up a bit; a year ago she would not have thought to thank our host in such a way, but now she seems to be quite aware of her duty as a guest. I had hoped against hope, as I told you before, that the two of them might make a match of it, but they are still only polite to each other, and I know I must not press the issue. After all, Sophy is quite determined not to marry, and Colonel Stirling seems to think of her as an amusing child, which is a shame. Still, a handsome gentleman who is heir to a fine estate will always have his pick of ladies, and Sophy did nothing to attract him when they first met.
And now I must go; I hear Glencairn calling my name, for he has promised to drive out with me this afternoon to visit the village of Luss on Loch Lomond! Such lovely names they have here, so musical. I wonder sometimes how I will be able to leave it!
Your loving sister,
Harriet
Chapter 19
Sophy stood in her studio, staring at the painting occupying the easel in front of her. It was very clearly a portrait of Ranulf Stirling, but she felt discontented with it. Something was missing, though she could not decide exactly what. She sighed and dropped a cloth over it, feeling a strange discomfort with it. She turned to gaze at another painting, a charming watercolor she had begun based on her sketches from the day spent on the banks of Loch Katrine. It was beautiful, but she could not shake the notion that it was insipid. With a sigh, she turned back to the portrait and lifted the cloth covering it, staring again into the deep brown eyes that she found there.
“Am I disturbing you?”
Sophy squeaked and dropped the cloth, looking up wide-eyed to find Ranulf standing in the door.
“Oh! No! You are welcome here, of course. It is your home, after all! I was merely thinking.”
Ranulf raised his eyebrows and approached her. “About me?”
“About your portrait,” said Sophy primly.
“Ah. I am becoming rather jealous of it. You seem to find it far more interesting than you do me.”
Sophy gave him a severe look. “I would hardly know it. Since the day I arrived, you’ve not---” she broke off.
“I’ve not what?”
Sophy detected a glint of amusement in his eyes, and she turned away. “You know very well.”
“I do indeed. I’ve been nothing but a gentleman, making unexceptionable conversation, escorting you and your family about the countryside, and sitting docilely for a portrait you refuse to show me. Yet somehow you seem annoyed.”
“You said you wished to spend time with me.”
“I did, and I have. Those times I kissed you, Sophy—that is not what I wonder about. I know how lovely you are, and I know how sweetly you respond to me and how much I want you. But I also wish to converse with you, and understand you better. I watch your face when you paint. You are so intent, so fierce, and I can see every emotion in your eyes—frustration, pleasure, anger, excitement.”
Sophy frowned. “But the way you behave now—it is just as all the gentlemen in London do.” She noted his raised eyebrow, and hurried on. “Of course, you are far more amusing than they are, but you are so polite, and gentle, and you speak to me as though I were a child.”
“Compared to me, you are,” observed Ranulf. He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a steady look. “What would you have me do, Sophy?”
She colored. “I don’t mean to marry, you know.”
He nodded. “So you’ve informed me.”
“If I don’t mean to marry, then my—my—well, it is not necessary for me to—for me to not—”
After watching her struggle for some moments, Ranulf came to her rescue. “Ah, I think you take your meaning.”
“After all,” continued Sophy airily, “It is not as though times have not changed. We can very well do without the morals of the past.”
Ranulf smiled. “The morals of our king and his set, who are all a great deal older than either of us, would appall you, my dear. But I take your meaning.”
“Precisely. I can do as I please.”
Ranulf gazed down at her, his expression enigmatic. “Sophy, I want nothing more than to do as you suggest. But I cannot take advantage of you, here in my home with your family as my guests, and maintain my honor.”
“First you refused me in my home, and now you do the same in yours!” protested Sophy. “Why do you toy with me this way?”
Ranulf ran a hand through his hair. “I have very little experience with virginal young women, Sophy.” He watched as she flushed, and tamped down the desire to take her in his arms. “I realize that the way I have dealt with you has not been all it could be, and I think it best not to overstep my bounds. I don’t want to do something for which you could not forgive me.”
“I find it difficult to forgive you now,” said Sophy heatedly. “You led me to believe that you—” she broke off angrily.
Ranulf looked shamefaced. “I regret angering you, Sophy. I want nothing more than to take you in my arms this moment, but it would be wrong.”
“Wrong.” Sophy spat the word out. “I had no idea you were so conventional, Colonel Stirling.”
“Please try to understand--you aren’t like the other women I know.”
“I do under
stand,” said Sophy bitterly. “You will give pleasure to them, but not to me.”
“I’m trying to treat you as you deserve,” protested Ranulf. He paused a moment, then blurted out, “Sophy, marry me.”
Her mouth fell open slightly as she processed his words. “Marry you?”
“Marry me.” Ranulf took her hand in his. “Why not?”
“Why?” Sophy asked flatly.
“I have need of a wife, and you would be more than appropriate. It appears you very much wish to be with me, and I know I want to carry you off to my bedchamber this very moment. If we wed, both of our needs will be met.”
“Except that neither of us mean to marry, nor do I wish to be anyone’s appropriate wife,” said Sophy stiffly. “I have told you over and over that I mean to be a painter.”
“I will not keep you from your work,” said Ranulf. “I have more of an understanding of it than you are aware.”
“How generous you are,” said Sophy with barely concealed anger. “You are willing to marry me so that you may produce an heir, and you are kind enough to say that my silly ambitions will not bother you.”
“I didn’t say that—at least not in that way.”
“Oh, I think you did.” Sophy pulled her hand from his grasp. “I thank you, Colonel Stirling, for your very generous offer, but I cannot agree to marry you.”
Ranulf stepped back. “I regret that I have offended you, Lady Sophia,” he said coolly. “I will not importune you so again. If you will excuse me, I imagine the portrait has progressed far enough that I no longer need to sit for you. I’m sure your brother and father would be happier with my company than you appear to be.”
Sophy watched angrily as he strode from the room, but as the door closed behind him, she was horrified to feel tears welling up in her eyes.
“I do not wish to marry,” she muttered defiantly. She turned back to her paintings, studiously avoiding the portrait under its cover, but found that she could not concentrate. She had offered herself to him, and he had turned her away. She reached for a brush and her colors, and dabbed angrily at the watercolor for a few minutes, not caring that she was ruining it. An overwhelming sense of embarrassment flooded through her, and, with an angry exclamation, she flung down her brush and ran from the room.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 13