On Wednesday afternoon, he found Peter in an enviable position, propped up in bed with Lucy seated next to him, her arm around him as she read.
“As you value your pence,
at the hole take your aim,
chuck all safely in,
and you’ll win the game.”
Peter glanced up at the doorway. “Mr. Alex.”
“I recognize that,” he said, and rattled off the rest of the children’s tale.
“Chuck-Farthing, like trade,
requires great care;
the more you observe,
the better you’ll fare.”
He smiled. “The Pretty Little Pocket Book. That was my favorite when I was a wee lad.”
“Miss Lucy is teaching me to read. I know my letters and I can count to one hundred. I can even write my name. Want to see?”
Lucy brought him the slate tablet upon which Peter had been practicing his writing. He smiled at the boy’s childish scrawl but recognized the achievement as significant. She’d spent only two days with him. He was like a sponge. The time Lucy spent teaching Peter had a positive effect on her, as well. She was continuing to blossom. It occurred to him, for the first time, that she would make an excellent mother.
“I’m proud of you, Peter,” he said.
Peter’s chest inflated. “I’m proud of me, too.”
Haddie appeared behind Alex in the hallway with a tray, and he moved aside to let her into the room.
“I’ve got your dinner, Peter. Mrs. Swenson’s made mince and tatties.”
“Wash your hands first,” Lucy said in a low voice. “And Haddie, will you please take Hercules out to do his business?”
Peter slid out of bed and dutifully scrubbed his hands in the washbasin. After Haddie had finished laying out the table, the boy pulled out a chair for Lucy, who in turn took a seat. He made a gentlemanly bow then proceeded to take his own seat.
She turned to Alex and explained, “We’re practicing our manners.”
Haddie exited with Hercules, her lips sucked in and pressed tightly together in an effort to keep from laughing.
Alex leaned against the door jam, arms folded across his chest. He’d seen Peter eat in the kitchen in the past, always hunched over his plate protectively, holding a spoon in a death grip, and shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could. Witnessing what followed was entertaining, but also disturbing.
Peter picked up a serviette, tucked it into the collar of his nightshirt, and delicately collected a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. The boy proceeded to eat—a slow, if not clumsy process—with occasional admonitions from Lucy.
“Take your time.”
Lucy demonstrated patience she’d never offered Alex before.
“Chew before you swallow.”
If he didn’t know better, he might be jealous of the attention she lavished on Peter.
“Elbows off the table.”
When Peter finished, he wiped his mouth on his serviette, placed it back on the tray, and said, “May I please be excused, Miss Lucy?”
After tucking Peter back into bed, Lucy turned toward the doorway and said, “Close your mouth, Alex.”
He jerked to attention and tipped his head toward the hallway. “Could I have a word, Lucy?”
“You forgot to say please,” Peter said.
Cheeky bastard correcting his manners. Christ, Lucy was creating a monster.
She leaned over Peter and whispered, “It’s not polite to correct adults, sweetheart,” and then kissed him on the forehead. “Sleep well.” She swept out of the room past Alex and down the hall.
He took one quick look at the smug child in the bed before he turned and stomped after her calling, “Lucy. I’ll have a word, if you please.”
The fact that he had to chase her all the way downstairs and into the library only added to his irritation. He found her searching for more books with which to educate the cur occupying the guest bedchamber. Lucy looked beautiful, as always, serene and self-assured.
Maddening.
“He’s not a pet, ye ken.” He used the voice of authority, a tone he’d often heard his father use when confronting his mother.
Lucy lifted an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“What you’re doing with the boy. It’ll be hard for him to go back to the stables after you’ve taught him to be a wee gentleman,” he said a little unkindly.
She lifted her chin to scan the bookshelves. “Maybe he doesn’t need to go back to the stables. Perhaps he would be of more use in the house as a footman, or an underbutler, or as your man.”
“My man?”
“Your valet. You know, to take care of your things and help you dress.”
“I am not a woman,” he said, his Highland accent becoming more pronounced with his rising anger. “I dinnae need help dressing myself. And we dinnae have butlers and footman at Balforss.”
Lucy tore herself away from the bookcase to look at him. “Why not? Is there a law against having footmen in the Highlands?” She gave him a sweet smile. It’s what she did when she said something sarcastic. He hated it.
“Look,” he said, trying to maintain his temper. “I dinnae mind you teaching him his letters, but I’ll ask you to stop teaching him to bow, and say please and thank you, and calling him sweetheart, and—”
“Alexander Sinclair. Are you jealous?” Lucy advanced on him with a predatory look.
He backed away a few steps and fetched up against the desk. “Dinnae be daft. Of course, I’m not jealous of…of…” Alex had never seen her look at him this way, half amused and half…what? Hungry? She leaned against him, and his traitorous body responded in opposition to his brain.
“Are you sure you’re not just a little jealous?” she whispered very close to his mouth.
He felt himself surrendering. “Well, you never call me sweetheart.”
“That’s because I have another name I call you.” She placed light kisses on his neck.
“What name is that?” His question came out as a groan.
“I can’t tell you until after we’re married.” Then, she kissed him full on the mouth.
He was struggling not to lose track of the conversation. Her bold behavior shocked him, but he liked it. A lot. She pushed herself away from him, laughing, then glanced down at the bulge in his trousers. Lucy was in no way disquieted. Quite the opposite. He saw a flush of pink creep up her chest. She was pleased with what she’d done to him, the minx.
“Come help me select another book for Peter.”
He was about to protest, but she put a finger to his lips.
“Dinnae fash, Alex,” she said, using the common Scottish phrase to tease him. Then, more seriously, “Peter gets impatient with the etiquette quickly. It’s just a game to him. He likes learning to read and write, but he’s eager to get back to the stables. He loves horses. That’s all he talks about, really. Horses and you, whom he admires above all other men. When he gets back to the stables, I’m sure he’ll chuck all his manners. But he’ll have them if ever he needs them.”
Speechless, he gave her an apologetic look. She returned a look of complete forgiveness. And he felt the last tumbler fall into place as his heart unlocked. He was in love with her. Completely, immutably in love with Lucy.
Should he tell her? Did he have the courage? Would she laugh? Perhaps if he whispered the words in her ear… He reached to pull her close, but the rumble of hooves and rattle of harness pulled his attention away from his purpose. He went to the window to see who had arrived. One look at the occupants of the carriage and he backed away immediately.
“Oh, Christ. Dig me a grave.”
…
Utterly baffled by Alex’s reaction to the carriage, Lucy asked, “Why? What’s the matter?”
“My mother’s kin come for the wedding.”
“But the wedding’s not until Sunday.”
Flora called from above stairs, “Alex! John! Cousin Diana is here with Sir Ranald. Alex, where a
re you?”
Looking like a cornered animal, he whispered, “Dinnae tell her where I am.” He folded himself into the wingback chair facing the fire so he couldn’t be seen. Just then, the door to the library opened and Alex’s father John slithered inside, holding a finger to his lips. He went straight to the wingback chair and, finding it occupied, said something in Gaelic that sounded like a curse word.
“Get out of my chair,” John said.
“I got here first,” Alex hissed.
“Well, it’s my chair.” John attempted to remove his son bodily from the seat. A scuffle ensued with much grunting and growling and, Lucy thought, some laughter.
“What is going on with you two loons?”
Lucy, John, and Alex whipped their heads around to see Flora, hands jammed on her slim hips.
“Fighting like a couple of weans when you should be out greeting our guests like proper hosts.” Her scolding evoked shamed faces from the men, whereas Lucy was bewildered by everyone’s behavior.
Seeing her confusion, Flora said, “My dear Cousin Diana and her husband Sir Ranald of Ulbster have arrived. I wonder if they’ve brought Liam and Elizabeth wi’ ’em. Come with me, Lucy. I cannae wait to introduce you.” Flora turned and glared at the men. “And you two, get out there and greet our guests. Now.”
Flora, John, Alex, and Lucy lined up outside the front door to Balforss while the driver helped the passengers disembark. A big woman, both in size and volume, was the first to emerge from the carriage. Lucy guessed the woman was Cousin Diana. She and Mother Flora embraced. At last, Diana released Flora and proceeded down the receiving line, giving John a bear hug he half-heartedly returned, and planting at least six kisses on Alex’s face, all the while talking to him like he was a baby.
Extricating himself from her grasp, Alex said, “Cousin Diana, this is my fiancée, Miss Lucy FitzHarris.”
Lucy bobbed a curtsy, and Diana let out a startling cry. “Ooo hoo hoo hoo hoo. There you are. Aren’t you lovely. Just lovely.” Diana called to her husband, who was making his way down the receiving line in a much more sober manner. “Ranald. Ranald. Isn’t she lovely?”
Lucy bobbed a curtsy Sir Ranald’s way.
Sir Ranald smiled genially. “How do you do, my dear? Yes, yes. Very lovely indeed. Congratulations, Alex. Well done.”
She found it curious that neither Diana nor Sir Ranald had the Scottish burr she had become used to. Were they English?
Diana was a statuesque woman of about fifty who had maintained her good looks. She wore a gown of lavender lawn cloth trimmed with brilliant fuchsia and yellow ribbon rosettes. A green bonnet with red ostrich plumes and long red kid gloves accented her gown. Her ensemble was blinding. Just like her personality.
Diana swept Lucy along with her on her way into the house, Sir Ranald trailing behind. In doing so, Lucy missed being introduced to…what had Flora said their names were?
“Perhaps you’d like to go directly to your room and rest after the journey?”
Ignoring her suggestion, Diana whipped off her bonnet and tossed it on a chair. “Thank God we got here in time for dinner. I’m absolutely ravenous.”
Diana’s voice echoed around the entry hall, making the picture frames rattle. Without waiting for further invitation, she walked into the dining room and plopped herself into what was normally John’s chair. Sir Ranald looked around the entry hall and then at Lucy. He smiled stupidly and nodded, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“Won’t you please follow me, Sir Ranald. I’ll see about the meal.” She led him into the dining room. Instead of sitting, Sir Ranald stood in a corner, admiring a small framed engraving of a ship. Diana emitted loud sighs, signaling her hunger and fatigue.
“Excuse me, Lady Diana, while I go talk to Cook.”
“Aren’t you a darling. Thank you.”
She hurried out of the dining room and down the back corridor. By the time she reached the kitchen, Mrs. Swenson was already loading trays and boiling water.
Mrs. Swenson waved her off. “Dinner’ll be ready in a trice.”
“Did someone tell you Sir Ranald and Lady Diana—”
“Dinnae have to. I heard her coming.” Mrs. Swenson gave a slight roll of her eyes.
Lucy smiled. “You’ve met her before, then.”
“Aye. She’s loud, but she’s harmless. Dinnae fash. She’ll no’ stay forever.” Mrs. Swenson filled a platter with cold sliced beef. “Sir Ranald, now, he’s a quiet man but very deep. Always thinking and planning what’s best to do for Scotland. You’ll like him.”
“Do you recall the names of their son and daughter?”
Mrs. Swenson suddenly stopped what she was doing. “They brought Liam and Elizabeth?”
“Yes. That’s it. Liam and Elizabeth.”
The cook brushed nonexistent crumbs from her apron as if her life depended on it.
“Is anything wrong, Mrs. Swenson?”
“Och, nae,” she said, snapping back to her bubbly self. “I’m sure everything will turn out fine.” Lucy sensed a strong note of uncertainty in the woman’s voice.
When she returned to the dining room, she found Flora sitting at Diana’s elbow, listening to her chatter. Diana stopped long enough to ask if she brought her anything to eat, and Lucy assured her food was on the way.
Laird John, Sir Ranald, and a well-groomed younger man, who must be Liam, stood in the corner, also chatting, but at a much lower volume. Lucy remained standing for some time before Liam noticed her and introduced himself.
“So you’re the one Alex will marry. I’m Liam Ulbster.” Liam made a courtly bow, and she matched him with a curtsy.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Ulbster.”
“You must call me Liam. We’ll be family now.” Taking her un-offered hand, he kissed it with wet lips. He dressed like a London dandy—fawn-colored pantaloons, Hessian boots, navy tailcoat with brass buttons, and an elaborately tied cravat with ruffles bursting from a silk waistcoat. At one time, she had found this mode of dress attractive. Now it seemed effeminate compared to her kilted Highland warrior. There was something Lucy did not like about the man, despite his stylish dress and manners.
“By the looks of you, no one had to twist Alex’s arm to marry you.” Liam let his eyes travel up and down her body. That, along with his comment, offended her.
“I assure you, Mr. Ulbster, no one had to twist anyone’s arm,” she said, her voice as brittle as autumn leaves.
Liam laughed, a nasty, unholy laugh.
“You sound English,” Lucy said. “But not like any Englishman I’ve ever met.”
“Elizabeth and I spent most of our lives in England. I was educated there. We only come to the Highlands once or twice a year for brief stays.”
At the mention of Elizabeth’s name, she glanced around the room. Alex and Elizabeth were not to be seen. If Elizabeth was anything like her mother or Liam, she ought to go rescue Alex.
She made to leave the room, but Flora called to her. “Oh, Lucy, do join us.”
“I’m just going to find Alex.”
Diana bellowed, “He’s with Elizabeth. Leave them be, dear, and talk to us.”
Against her better judgment, she joined Flora and Diana at the table. When Mrs. Swenson and two kitchen maids entered with the meal, the men took their seats. Unfortunately, Liam took the seat right next to hers and sidled up to her.
She half rose saying, “I should tell Alex and Elizabeth dinner is served.”
“They’ll be along.” Diana motioned for her to sit. Goodness, everyone seemed determine to leave Alex to his fate.
Liam buttered a scone vigorously and leaned toward her. “Worried about Alex and my stepsister, are you?”
“Of course not. Why should I be?”
“Surely he’s told you about him and Elizabeth?”
Lucy felt her cheeks flame.
“Oooh,” he said chuckling. “I do apologize. I’ve spoken out of turn. Well, I’ll leave it to him to
tell you.”
She wanted to stab him with her fork. He wasn’t sorry at all. He relished telling her—and what the devil was the disagreeable fop implying?
“I’m sorry. Did I spoil your appetite?” Liam bit his scone.
At that instant, the men rose to their feet, and Alex entered the room with Elizabeth draped on his arm. They seemed alarmingly familiar with each other. Lucy felt a swell of jealousy. Elizabeth was stunning—blond, perfectly coifed, not a hair out of place. Merde. How did she do that? She’d just gotten out of a carriage, for goodness’ sake.
Elizabeth wore a pastel green gown with lace overlay, long sleeves, and low square neckline. She laughed at something Alex said, as though he was the most entertaining person in the world.
How dare she?
Lucy stood and prepared herself for introductions.
“Miss FitzHarris.” Elizabeth bobbed and gave her a cool smile.
“Miss Ulbster.” She bobbed and mirrored her exactly.
The exchange lowered the temperature in the room ten degrees. All conversation came to a halt, the room deadly quiet but for the rustling of Elizabeth’s skirts. Alex pulled out her chair with a screech that made Lucy’s teeth buzz inside her head.
John, bless him, engaged Elizabeth in conversation. Soon, the room began to hum again. Alex had the presence of mind to help Lucy back in her seat before taking the last chair available. Next to damn-her-eyes Elizabeth.
Throughout the meal, Elizabeth monopolized Alex. Diana and Flora were deeply engaged, as were John and Sir Ranald at the other end of the table. She wished Liam was a polite conversationalist but, truth be told, the man turned her stomach. When she couldn’t stand his innuendo any longer, she excused herself, explaining that it was time for her to check on Peter.
As she quit the room, Lucy heard Flora talking about the groom’s convalescence at Balforss. She ran up the stairs and down the hall to Peter’s room. Knocking, she heard Hercules bark.
“Come in, thank you,” Peter called.
Tying the Scot Page 18