Ranulf was clearly displeased by this reply, frowning for a moment before reflecting that Glencairn could hardly be aware of the level of intimacy he had achieved with his daughter. “Lady Sophia is of age, Glencairn, and I am five and thirty,” he said in a moderated tone. “Surely we can be trusted to manage such a conversation on our own.”
Glencairn shook his head. “I don’t think Sophy knows her own mind or heart. Perhaps she will welcome your offer, and to be sure, I hope she does. But if not, I would like to avoid a scene that might make it difficult for you to press your suit in the future. Do you take my meaning?”
Ranulf looked away, pondering the earl’s words. “Yes, I see your point, sir. Although I want to make an offer to her in person, immediately, it may be best for you to see how the wind blows. I do understand that she has very mixed feelings about herself, her aspirations, and not least, me.”
“Very well then,” Glencairn said. “I will speak to her, today if possible, and if not, tomorrow morning. “ He continued in a softened tone, “I would like nothing more than to call you son, but first we must do what we can to ensure that is possible.”
Ranulf nodded and moved his horse into a trot. The gentlemen continued their ride around Spaethness, studiously confining their conversation to farming and other conventional topics.
Later that afternoon, Glencairn found Harriet and Sophy coming in from a stroll in the gardens, and stopped them as they prepared to go upstairs to change for dinner.
“Ah, Sophy, please step into the drawing room with me for a moment,” he said.
Sophy gave him a questioning look, but followed him into the empty room, as Harriet went upstairs. She seated herself, and Glencairn stood by the fireplace. He cleared his throat.
“Ranulf Stirling and I went out for a ride around Spaethness this morning,” he remarked.
“Yes, Papa, I know that,” Sophy replied.
“In spite of his lack of experience in estate management, I think he will be a worthy successor to his father.”
“Yes, he seems to have a very strong sense of duty to the land and his tenants,” Sophy agreed patiently.
“Spaethness will need a lady as well as a laird,” Glencairn continued, eyeing her cautiously.
Sophy frowned slightly, and he continued without giving her a chance to reply. “Young Stirling has asked me for permission to pay his addresses to you, Sophy.”
Sophy clasped her hands nervously together in her lap. She had hoped that, after she had refused to open her door the night before, Ranulf might be wise enough to not proceed with his plan. Clearly, he thought the allure of his lovemaking was enough to hold her, however. “Oh, no, I couldn’t marry him!” she said firmly.
Glencairn, expecting a joyfully affirmative answer, glared at her. “And why not, miss?”
“He is so – he is too – I don’t…” her voice trailed off.
“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” demanded the earl.
“Why that, I don’t--I can’t—I--I don’t wish to marry him, Papa.”
“He is rich, handsome, responsible, and charming. You’ve done nothing but live in his pocket these past weeks, and I’ve allowed the two of you to be alone together more times than I can count, which has caused me some worries. I can tell there is at least some attraction between you, so do not try to gammon me on that subject, miss! Your stepmother realizes it as well,” Glencairn pointed out.
Sophy stared up at him, dismayed. She realized she had not counted on her family’s fondness for Ranulf. It was just like him, she thought bitterly, to use his charm to make it difficult for her to refuse him. “But I wish to paint! And you both said I might try! Will you renege on your promise to me now?”
“What nonsense it this? As though you’ve ever been refused anything. Ranulf knows about your painting and doesn’t appear to object to it,” her father pointed out. “He has even allowed you to paint a portrait of him.”
“Yes, but a gentleman expects to exercise a great deal more control over the activities of a lady once he marries her, than while he is courting her,” Sophy pointed out with devastating accuracy. The thought of life at Spaethness with a man so charming he could hold her in his thrall, but who was also unfaithful, made her heart sink.
Glencairn had no ready rejoinder. He paced up and down the drawing room a few times, his hands behind his back, and then came to a halt in front of her. “Very well, I will tell him that you will not hear him now. But I will also tell him he may approach you again later.” He observed the mutinous look on her face. “Do not argue with me. I know very well, as does your mama, that you find Ranulf Stirling very appealing. I have no idea what notion has gotten into your head to turn away such an extraordinary man, and in this way I hope I may buy you some time. My fear is that he will lose interest in you when he finds out how little sense you truly have.”
Sophy hung her head. It was impossible to explain to her father the circumstances that made her feel marriage to Ranulf would be impossible. “Very well, papa. But please, may I return to Glencairn as soon as I can do so politely? It will be awkward to stay here.”
Glencairn glared at her. “Perhaps some awkwardness would be a just reward.”
But when a tear trickled down Sophy’s cheek, he couldn’t help himself. He gathered his daughter up in his arms. “Never mind, my dear. I think you two are well suited—perhaps, with a little more time, you will come to realize it too.”
Chapter 26
After her father had gone to tell Ranulf of her decision, Sophy sat for some moments staring blindly out the window. She had turned down an offer of marriage from a man who was not only wealthy and handsome, but who pleased her in every possible way. She bit her lip, reflecting that he had doubtless pleased any number of women in precisely the same ways. It would do him good to know the world contained at least one woman who was not his for the mere lifting of a finger. She realized with a sinking heart that he had never spoken of love to her, only of pleasure, and passion, and, in the end, the appropriateness of a marriage.
“I was right to deny him,” she muttered defiantly to the empty room. She stood up hastily and went out the doors to the garden, stepping down onto the velvety lawn. She walked some distance before turning to look back at Spaethness Castle. Its gray walls rose in front of her, both beautiful and forbidding. She would miss it, she realized. She had come to love this land, with its birch trees and bottomless lochs scattered among the misty hills. She gave a little sob.
“Sophy!”
She jumped at the sound of Ranulf’s voice and turned to see him striding down the path toward her. She looked over her shoulder, wondering if she could flee, but it was abundantly clear that he would only follow, and she would look like a coward. It seemed the matter needed to be faced now.
She stood and waited as Ranulf walked up to her, his face like a thundercloud.
“I have just had the most extraordinary conversation with your father.”
“You have?” she responded artlessly.
“I have indeed.” Ranulf folded his arms and regarded her steadily. “He tells me you do not wish to marry me.”
“That is correct.”
“What the devil are you playing at, Sophy? We discussed this last night.”
“Discussed? Did you consider that a discussion, Colonel Stirling? I rather thought it was something far more intimate. With just how many women do you have such discussions?” Sophy’s tone was biting.
Ranulf looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? Last night you told me you would stay at Spaethness as my wife. Today your father tells me that you will have none of me.”
“That promise was wrung from me under duress!” protested Sophy.
Ranulf gave a short laugh. “Duress? My dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman enjoy herself more than you did last night. You would have promised me anything for me not to stop.”
His response hardened Sophy’s resolve, which had begun to fade in his presence. “Exactly,” she sna
pped. “I would have promised you anything. But that does not mean I want to marry you. It only means that you hold me in thrall with your—with your manliness!”
“My manliness,” repeated Ranulf, clearly amused.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do indeed.” Ranulf stepped forward and tried to take her hands in his, but she retreated hastily. “Sophy, whatever is wrong with you? I thought we had come to an agreement.”
“You thought wrongly, Colonel Stirling.”
“It’s Ranulf. You’ve called me Ranulf for weeks now, at least when we are alone.” He eyed her for a moment. “We are alone now, Sophy,” he said, his voice softening. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong. I have simply decided I will no longer be only the most marriageable of your many conquests. I suppose you thought I would be honored that you chose me to be Lady of Spaethness. Well, I have no intention of sitting quietly by the fireplace on cold winter nights while you go off in pursuit of other amusements.”
The humor was chased out of Ranulf’s eyes by a look of annoyance. “Ah. I see. You have spoken with Davina.”
“Davina, is it?” Sophy flushed with annoyance.
“The Lady of Ardfern, I should say.”
“Perhaps if you had left it at the Lady of Ardfern months ago we would not be where we are today.”
“Sophy, please listen to me. It is true that I had a—a liaison with her some months ago. It was wrong of me, I know, to trifle with another man’s wife. But I was bored, and so was she, and it amused us for a bit. I have not spoken to her or been near her since I met you.”
Sophy’s eyes met Ranulf’s, and her resolve was almost shaken by the sincerity she thought she saw there. “You seemed perfectly happy to see her last night. You invited her to your home.”
“I invited all my neighbors. Failing to invite the Laird of Ardfern would cause comment. I had no desire to see her.”
“Then why did you whisk her away? She told me you cuckolded her husband under his very nose. Was it her turn to be seduced on the terrace?”
“Sophy, you cannot possibly believe that was my intention.” Ranulf regarded her seriously. “What reassurances do you want of me?”
Sophy drew in her breath. “There is nothing you can do to placate me, Colonel Stirling. If you truly wished to marry me you would know what to say.”
He made a helpless gesture. “Sophy, I must be honest with you. I cannot speak to you of love, because I am not sure what it is. I can tell you that I care for you, that I admire your honesty and spirit, and I will never do aught to hurt you. I can promise you that I will honor you as my wife and the Lady of Spaethness.”
“How noble that sounds,” said Sophy bitterly. “Noble, and deadly dull. You honor and admire me. How long will that keep you warming my bed? Until the next bored wife you encounter? Until Davina sends you a note telling you she is lonely?”
He frowned. “Do you think so little of me as to imagine I would do such a thing?”
“All I know is that I have given in to you—willingly, it is true—and now I feel I can refuse you nothing,” said Sophy miserably. “If I wish to retain my dignity, I cannot marry you. I know you would not intentionally do me harm, but the small slights, the loss of affection, the dwindling into a mere wife is not something I wish to experience.”
“You are being foolish. Because I do not speak of love, but of respect, and desire, the things that are real—for that reason you refuse me?”
Sophy sighed. “I have examples you have never had, Colonel Stirling. My father loves my stepmother, as he loved my mother before her, and Francis and Isobel have a bond so tight no one can come between them. That is what I seek for myself.”
“So that is why you have toyed with the gentlemen in London and now with me? Because you wish to see if we are able to worship you enough to satisfy you?” Ranulf’s eyes grew cold. “I thought I could make you see sense, but now I realize that you are in truth what I first thought you—a spoiled, indulged girl, much cossetted by her parents and unwilling to take responsibility for herself. Oh, when you wish to seduce me you do so, but when I ask you to gamble on a life with me, you run away, whining of love. I see you are unwilling to do aught but hide behind your wealth and your name, pretending to be an artist, but always turning to your parents for protection.”
Sophy drew herself up. “Strong words from a man who is no more than a bully and a libertine.”
Ranulf’s lips curled. “At least I am straightforward with you, Sophy. I think it is time you are candid with yourself and decide what you want. I offer you an honest man’s affection, and the promise to take care of you. You want something that exists only in novels and dreams.”
“Then I choose my dreams,” said Sophy firmly.
Ranulf sketched a bow. “Thank you, Lady Sophia. I believe you have just saved me from a terrible mistake. I will relieve you of my unwanted presence.”
Chapter 27
Ranulf strode away, leaving Sophy on the verge of tears, and stalked through the gardens to the stable. One look at his forbidding countenance made the cheerful greeting on Sandison’s lips die, and he saddled his master’s horse in silence. Ranulf stood in the stableyard, waiting impatiently, his arms folded across his chest. He was glowering into the distance when Francis strolled up, dressed for riding.
“Ah, Ranulf. My arrival is well timed. May I join you?”
Ranulf turned to him, unable to summon a smile. “I don’t think I’m particularly good company at this moment, Exencour.”
Francis raised his eyebrows. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Lady Sophia.”
“Ah.” Francis regarded him. “For the past few weeks it has seemed as though the two of you have grown closer.”
“Very close indeed,” agreed Ranulf. “But very little good it seems to have done me.”
Francis rested a foot on the mounting block and regarded him steadily. “Do enlighten me.”
“Don’t glare at me so, Exencour. It is not my doing, but the lady’s. She still will not marry me.”
“No? I thought you had rather more finesse than that, Ranulf.”
“Oh, I have finesse,” the colonel said wryly. “So much so that she now thinks she—and every other lady in the kingdom, so far as I can tell—is ‘in thrall’ to it.”
“In thrall?”
“Indeed. She holds my past affaires against me, and implies that I will marry and then abandon her for—for any woman who crosses my path.”
Francis’s eyes widened. “Have you given her reason to think you might do such a thing?”
“No, but the Lady of Ardfern took care to plant that seed. It has flourished mightily in a very short amount of time.”
“It is never wise to allow one’s former paramours access to one’s intended,” observed Francis.
“I can hardly keep my neighbor’s wife out of my home,” said Ranulf bitterly. “As much as I might want to. I could wring her neck.”
“Let that be a lesson to you. If you dally, do it far from home.”
“I no longer mean to dally. But Sophy will have none of it.”
“She refused you again?”
“I did all that was right. I asked her father’s permission, and he spoke to her. She told him no, and, just now, she repeated that to my face. I am a libertine, she will have me know, and she will not lower herself to marry me.”
“You had Glencairn speak for you?” asked Francis.
“It was his notion. He thought Sophy might not know her own mind.”
Francis sighed. “Ranulf, a woman does not want a cold, businesslike proposal of marriage delivered through her father, especially a woman such as Sophy. She wants to be swept off her feet. You did tell the girl you love her, did you not?”
Ranulf glared down at his boots. “Of course not. I told her I would treat her honorably as my wife.”
“I wouldn’t marry someone who told me that, either,” said Francis flatly. “Why did you
not tell her that you love her?”
“I cannot lie to her,” protested Ranulf.
“But you do love her,” Francis pointed out.
Ranulf snorted. “I know you and Lady Exencour speak of love, but what is love but desire dressed up in fancy words? I wanted to marry Sophy, but I will not delude her with fairytales.”
“Then I suppose it is best she refused you.” Francis eyed him for a moment. “I think it a great pity, but if you are such a fool as to let her go, there is nothing I can do about it. On the cold, dark, winter nights, think on whether perhaps you love Sophy or not.”
“You are an old friend, Francis, and I know you mean well. But I begin to think I dodged a bullet. She is too young for me, too volatile and romantic, too used to having her own way in all things.”
“Ah, you are thinking of that grateful widow you spoke of.” Francis smiled. “Doubtless you will continue your search for her. I imagine she need not be beautiful—you would not want her to be ugly, but she could be a bit plain, certainly. You would not want her to be foolish, I suppose, but to be sure, cleverness is not something needed in a wife. She should be quiet, and calm, and always happy if you have a moment to spare for her. Have I got that right?”
“Something like that,” snapped Ranulf. “At least I would have some peace.”
“Peace is over-rated,” observed Francis simply.
Ranulf turned away as the groom led his horse to him. He swung lithely up into the saddle. “Peace is what I spent years fighting for. I did not return home from Waterloo and India to fight every day with a woman.”
Francis shook his head as his Ranulf trotted away. He turned back toward the castle. It occurred to him that Isobel would find his conversation with the colonel very enlightening.
Dearest Philippa,
I write from Glencairn, and while I am indeed happy to be home, I find myself missing the glory of the countryside surrounding the Trossachs, and still more the company of dear Colonel Stirling. We left in some haste, which made me very sad, but you will not be entirely surprised to learn the reason. Colonel Stirling made an offer for Sophy’s hand, and she refused him! I could not have been more surprised, for she had been all but living in his pocket, spending time with him not only in her studio painting his portrait, but also walking, and riding, and indeed, they were seldom apart.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 19