Dair Devil

by Lucinda Brant

  With a confident tread, Antonia, Duchess of Kinross swept into the gigantic foyer of what had once been her home. Her four grandchildren were rushing down the wide curved staircase to greet her, squealing and giggling with delight, nursemaids, servants and tutors in their wake. She floated to the marble floor in a cloud of soft silk, opened wide her arms, and scooped them all up in one loving embrace.

  THIRTY-ONE

  W ITH THE DUCHESS of Roxton and the Duchess of Kinross putting their heads together to organize every aspect of Rory and Dair’s wedding, from the guest list to the dishes to be served at the wedding breakfast, there was little for Rory to do but enjoy each day closer to the ceremony with a heightened sense of anticipation, as if she were living a dream.

  She did not even have the drama of indecision regarding what gown would be most suitable. Her sister-in-law tried to convince her an ivory or lemon silk would be best for a bride, but neither suited Rory’s pale complexion. And she had promised Dair to wear the pink-lavender open-robed gown of silk and matching shoes he had seen her in on the stair of the Gatehouse Lodge. Edith knew just how to arrange her hair, despite Silla’s insistence she was more expert in such matters. And as for jewelry, Rory was perfectly content with her pale lavender sapphire betrothal ring—the color perfectly matched her choice of gown. Again, Silla said this would never do. She would find something suitable for Rory’s décolletage and wrists. Secretly, Rory hoped her search was in vain.

  The next day Lord and Lady Grasby strolled up to the dower house from the Gatehouse Lodge to have morning tea with Rory on the terrace. Enjoying their second cup of tea, they presented Rory with a flat square jewelry case. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a four-strand choker of luminous pearls and a matching bracelet. The set had belonged to Rory’s mother and worn on her wedding day in Oslo, and now it was Rory’s, a wedding gift from her brother and his wife. Rory was brought to tears, surprised Silla could part with such pearls.

  Silla ruined the moment with the revelation she had a much more expensive five-strand choker with a long length of pearls fitted off with a gold and diamond clasp, and that it came with two matching bracelets and a pair of earrings. The set was a gift from her parents on her marriage into the Talbot family. Rory made no comment other than she was certain Silla’s pearls were beautiful indeed, to which Silla replied Rory would see them for herself when she wore them to the wedding ceremony the day after tomorrow.

  Rory exchanged a look with her brother, who merely rolled his eyes, bit down on a retort, and silently drank his tea. Yet not five minutes later, Silla outdid herself with an insensitive reply to Grasby’s innocent enquiry as to which of her walking sticks Rory had chosen to use for the big occasion. The Malacca stick with the ivory handle carved in the shape of a pineapple, was Rory’s preference. In fact, he had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday, did he not remember? It was also the one she had with her that fateful night at Romney’s Studio. Grasby laughed at that and said it was the perfect choice, and wondered aloud if his best friend remembered the offending instrument.

  Silla found nothing to laugh at. In fact, she was alarmed to think Rory was going to be married with a walking stick. Setting her teacup in its saucer, she said bluntly, oblivious her words were in the least offensive,

  “Rory cannot possibly be married with her stick, Grasby. Have you ever seen a bride with a walking stick? No. It simply won’t do. You must lean on the Major’s arm. That is more fitting and thoroughly acceptable for a new bride. People will then think you are emotionally overcome by the ceremony and will be none the wiser—”

  “Silla! How can you say—”

  Grasby was cut off.

  “As it is a family wedding, Silla, everyone is wise to the fact I use a walking stick,” Rory replied without heat. “And I am not such a poor creature that I am likely to faint at my own wedding.” She dimpled. “I am more likely to be wearing a silly grin of happiness, which I must temper or I shall appear a fool.” She touched her brother’s upturned cuff. “You will tell me by some signal or other, if I start grinning like a Bedlam inmate, won’t you?”

  “But, dearest, you’ve never been the center of attention before,” Silla argued. “And you’ve never danced. You’ve always sat in out of the way places at functions. So there are quite possibly those who have no idea who you are! Believe me, having everyone stare at you is more nerve-wracking than you can possibly imagine.”

  Rory suppressed a smile at her sister-in-law’s conceit, and said levelly, but with tongue firmly planted in cheek, “Even more reason to use my stick upon this occasion. After all, one day I will be Countess of Strathsay, so the sooner I become accustomed to being the center of attention the better. Don’t you agree, Grasby?”

  “Most certainly. In my book, you can’t become the center of attention soon enough, sister dear.”

  Brother and sister laughed, but Silla saw nothing to be amused about. After thoughtful consideration she said, “I suppose that is true, Rory. And with so many titled relatives in attendance, we can’t have the bride falling flat on her face.”

  “No. No, we cannot,” Rory agreed and when her brother pulled a funny face at her, out of his wife’s line of sight, she giggled into her teacup. When she had regained her composure, she added, “What an inauspicious start to our marriage if I were to trip, twist my good ankle, and land on my face! Poor Alisdair!”

  Silla gave a prim little cough into her gloved fist.

  “Dearest, it is only ever Alisdair when you are private, and once he is your husband,” she enunciated in a patronizing tone. “Always Fitzstuart in company, and my lord before the servants and other menials.”

  Stunned by such an unwarranted rebuke, Rory could think of nothing to say, so went about organizing the tea things, undecided if she should be angry or embarrassed.

  Grasby stepped in, patience worn thin. His wife might be with child, and he was warned not to upset her delicate nerves at such an early stage in the pregnancy, but he was not going to sit idly by and let his sister be told how to conduct herself, which was none of his wife’s business. Irritated to anger, he said what was on the tip of Rory’s tongue but which good manners dictated she not voice aloud.

  “Where do you get your singular notions to lecture us? My sister is a Talbot, and we Talbots know how to conduct ourselves in any company. Besides, she can say what she likes—call her husband Rover or-or Spot if it pleases him, for all I jolly well care! By the bye, where is Rover—er—the lucky groom?” he asked, taking his temper down a notch, and shifting in his chair to look left and then right, as if he expected his best friend to leap out from behind a statue to frighten the life out of him. It had happened before. “I thought he’d be here, with you.”

  “Not until nuncheon today,” Rory told them. “He has business to discuss with the Duke.”

  “I thought we’d done all the settlements and such yesterday,” Grasby remarked. And when Rory frowned, explained. “Grand and me, Roxton and Dair, worked out the settlements, your dowry and pin money.” He smiled as if he was well-pleased with himself. “I don’t mind telling you, sister dear, that you are being well looked after, with all eventualities covered.”

  “Eventualities?” Rory had no idea what he was talking about.

  “You know… If anything were to happen to Dair—Not that it’s likely to!” he assured her quickly when her frowned deepened. “He’s given up playing at spy—Now there’s something I didn’t know about him, and he my best friend! A spy all these years! But, Rory, please. Don’t look at me like that! I hadn’t the foggiest notion. But he’s given all that shadow-and-stab stuff up. And so he should, now he’s to be married. He has other responsibilities—you being the most important one, and so I told him! But I haven’t any worries, have I, when he’s practically stitched himself to your skirts!” He teased his sister. “And if he’s not sewn to you, he’s looming large like a shadow, just one step away. And the poor fellow can’t keep his eyes off you. I’d say he�
�s got it bad—”

  “What? What’s he got?” Silla asked swiftly, a hand to her bodice. “It’s not contagious, is it? The baby—”

  Lord Grasby put up a shoulder and stuck out his bottom lip. “That’s difficult to say—”

  “Oh, stop your teasing, Harvel!” Rory admonished him lovingly, cheeks red with embarrassment. “Your baby is perfectly safe, Silla.”

  Lady Grasby heaved a huge sigh of relief and fanned herself, as if she truly believed Major Lord Fitzstuart was infected with the plague.

  “Thank Goodness! Deb Roxton has put such an effort into your wedding, and she heavy with child, too,” Silla said dramatically. “What a disappointment for her and her Grace of Kinross, if, after all their planning and hard work, the wedding was to be called off because the Major is struck down with the flu!”

  “Oh yes! Let’s not disappoint the Duchess—two duchesses, in fact,” Lord Grasby scoffed and put aside his teacup and saucer. “Never mind disappointing his bride!”

  When Rory opened wide her eyes at him, he knew he had gone too far with his chastisement of his wife and did his best to temper his annoyance. It was not only Silla who had put him out of charity. If he were honest with himself, he had been out of sorts with the world since learning of his sister’s engagement to his best friend. Selfishly, he did not want her leaving the family fold. He did not entirely understand why she was staying with the Duchess of Kinross before her marriage, and not at the Gatehouse Lodge with her immediate family. His grandfather’s explanation was that the Lodge was small, and with William Watkins in the house, it was best for Rory to be elsewhere.

  But then William Watkins had departed for London under a cloud only the day before. He was not given the full explanation, only that the Weasel was needed in the city on Crown business. Grasby knew that was only part of the story. The other part he had heard loud and clear through the thin walls of the Lodge, because he just happened to be sitting just outside the study, on the first step of the staircase, reading the Gazette.

  The Weasel accused Dair of being a traitor—nothing new there—he was always trying to discredit the Major, and it had become a long-standing joke between Grasby and his grandfather. But this time, the Weasel said he had proof, a letter in the Major’s hand to his brother Charles. It had come into the Weasel’s possession by mysterious means he was not prepared to divulge. There was then a lot of back-and-forth arguing between the Weasel and the Spymaster General, and Grasby could only catch the odd word. The upshot was the Weasel screaming for Shrewsbury not to toss the offending letter into the flames.

  Mr. William Watkins had then exited the study, took one look at Grasby, and blurted out that the House of Lords was filled with blackguards, and the sooner it was abolished the better for the country! To which Grasby replied mildly that such words were treasonous, and if he really wanted to make a difference somewhere, there was a revolution going on in the American colonies. He was confident the patriots would welcome a man of the Weasel’s abilities and philosophical leanings with open arms. He then returned to reading the Gazette as the Weasel stomped past him up the steps to have his bags packed.

  Memory of the exchange brought a smile back to Grasby’s face, and he was more in charity with the world, thinking the Weasel might yet decide to throw in his lot in with a bunch of revolutionaries and run off to America, and so leave him and his wife in peace.

  “There’s nothing at all wrong with Dair,” Grasby told his wife gently. “To point out fact, all’s right with our Major. He’s just in love with my sister, and hooray for that.” He smiled at Rory. “I couldn’t be happier for you both. I should have known it when I saw you at the Banks House wall.” He sat back with a wink at Rory. “If Dair’s not needed here, Cedric and I will claim him tomorrow morning. We’re off hawking with Roxton and a few of the local gentry, all come to celebrate the poor fellow’s last hours of freedom; before he’s leg-shackled for life and can never move again without the wife demanding to know his whereabouts.”

  Silla, not seeing Grasby’s wink, sat up very tall. But before she could launch into another lecture, the object of their discussion came into view, crossing from the stables to the house.

  DRESSED IN A riding frock and jockey boots, his shoulder-length hair wind-tussled, Dair had just ridden over from the big house. He was, as always, slightly disheveled, and had not bothered to shave, all the more handsome for the stubble to his face. This was Rory’s assessment, and her blue eyes lit up as he came lightly up the stone steps to join them. Her brother was of the same opinion, watching his sister’s skin glow pink at the sight of his best friend, and his wife sit forward and gaze up at him with limpid longing—she, too, wishing to be noticed by the Major. But Grasby held no malice, and just shook his head, not only on the effect the Major’s untidy masculinity had on the fairer sex, but also that the man himself seemed oblivious to his effect on females.

  “I should warn you, two carriages are on their way from the big house,” Dair told them as he came to stand by Rory’s chair. He placed an ungloved hand gently on her shoulder and her fingers immediately found his and held on. “One full of children, the other full of their attendants. The Duchess has invited them for a picnic lunch. I was able to ride over here, but Cedric had no such luck. Roxton’s twins have taken a shine to Ced, so he was bundled into their carriage before I could save him.”

  “Ha! I’ll wager you made no such effort to save him! Poor Ced,” Grasby replied without sympathy, as he scraped back his chair. “Serves him to rights for being about as tall as a shrub. Possibly mistaken for a brat himself. Come, wife! Best take you home. You need to rest, and we can’t have the baby exposed to mites with coughs and snotty noses, even if they are ducal mites.”

  Lady Grasby showed no objection. In fact, she could not move fast enough to put distance between herself and the dower house. She was off down the terrace steps ahead of her husband, who stopped to have a last word with the couple.

  “Not abandoning you. I’ll return as soon as I have Silla settled,” he confided. He held Rory’s gaze. “Perhaps we’ll get to have a proper chat about that matter we touched on yesterday…”

  When Rory nodded, Grasby took his leave. But even with her brother out of earshot, and she alone with Dair, she did not elaborate on the cryptic sentence. Dair did not need to be told the subject matter to know something grave was weighing on Rory’s mind. Her thoughts should not have been clouded by anything more serious than her wedding gown and last-minute preparations for their impending nuptials.

  He did not like to see her so solemn. And although he could not help her if he did not know what was the matter, he knew he could fix the immediate problem. Without warning, he scooped her up and ran with her across the lawn to the pirate ship tree house. Before she could stop gasping and squealing with laughter at the same time, he had hauled her over his shoulder as if she were nothing heavier than his frock coat. He then climbed the ladder up a three-hundred-year-old oak and into the magical world of a two-level tree house fashioned like the quarterdeck of a pirate ship.

  Dair lifted Rory onto the boards, and she crawled away from the ladder and the long drop to the ground, to allow him space to hoist himself up to the safety of the wooden floor. Once secure, she sat up on her knees and took a peek over the side of the painted railing at the view.

  “Oh! How delightful! You can see everything, from the terrace to the pavilion and across to the jetty. I wish I’d come up here sooner. Though this ship seems to have appeared from nowhere. It wasn’t here last summer. Perhaps it was sailed in on a cloud by a band of fairy pirates and got stuck? What do you think?”

  “This is only my second time aboard. Kinross had it built for the Roxton brood, just after Easter. But I like your explanation better.” He joined her, crossed arms leaning lightly on the railing. “The boys will be here soon enough, and will head straight for the gangway to clamber aboard. This pirate ship is all they can talk about!”

  He turned from the view
and sat with his back up against the side of the ship, long booted legs sprawled out before him. When she joined him, sitting to face him, he took hold of her fingers and gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand. He smiled wistfully.

  “We’ve not had a moment alone since your grandfather toasted to our future happiness, have we? We’re forever surrounded by a hive of activity, and I suspect it won’t let up until we can run away together after we’re married. I know I’ve been kept occupied going over settlements, estate documents, and discovering precisely what mess my father left for the old Duke and then Roxton to clean up, after he ran off to Barbados! But what about you? Lady Grasby looks to have recovered from her dead faint at our announcement…”

  “Oh, but we must feel for her position,” Rory said with smile that mirrored his own. “She is finally breeding, which is such badly wanted news by the family. And what do we do, but spoil her moment in the sunshine by announcing our engagement to be married. She should still be basking in all the attention. As it is, her baby has become secondary to our wedding. So I do have sympathy for her. Though, I could do without her good advice on being a bride, of which I’ve had a milk pail full.” Her smile was impish. “The only topic she has not broached is the wedding night, and I am certain her restraint is only due to my brother’s presence. Poor Harvel would faint from mortification if he ever suspected she would dare try to give me advice about that.”

  “I can’t imagine what she could possibly confide in you,” he commented with a chuckle.