Marshal and the Heiress

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Can we get a pony today?”

  Uncomfortably recalling several incidents from last night—or was it early this morning?—he looked around cautiously. Instead of answering, he asked, “Where’s Annabelle?”

  “Lady Lisbeth brought her some cream,” she said.

  Dear God, his instincts had gone straight to hell if someone had entered Sarah Ann’s room without his waking. “That was nice of her,” he said noncommittally.

  “It was … splen’id,” Sarah Ann replied.

  “Splendid?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yep, splen’id. That means very nice. Lady Lisbeth said Annabelle was a splen’id cat.”

  Lady Lisbeth was a liar. But bringing Annabelle her breakfast had been thoughtful, especially since the animal had twice scratched her.

  “When did she bring it?” he asked.

  “Just now. She was real quiet. She said she didn’t want to wake you. She hushed me.” Sarah Ann put a finger to her mouth and whispered, “Shhh.”

  “She did, did she?” Ben said, partly amused, partly even more concerned than before. What had happened to those damned instincts?

  Of course the door had been closed between him and Sarah Ann. And he’d stayed awake a good piece of the night trying to figure out Lisbeth Hamilton. Apparently, she’d had no trouble sleeping if she had been visiting at this early hour. That was a disgruntling thought.

  Annabelle joined them, cream dotting her ragged whiskers. She leaped next to Sarah Ann on his lap, kneading her paws on the trousers he’d decided to keep on when he’d returned to bed. The cat was perilously close to a part of him that he definitely didn’t want clawed.

  “Now that Annabelle has eaten,” he suggested, “I think we might go in search of food.”

  “And then a pony?” she asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I don’t know how long it will take us to find one.”

  “I think we’ll find a splen’id one today,” she said confidently, quite pleased with herself.

  He grimaced. He didn’t want to dim her enthusiasm, but finding a pony might not be all that easy. Ben disengaged Annabelle and placed her on the floor, then sat upright. He set Sarah Ann on her feet.

  “You wash,” he said. “Do you know which dress you want to wear?”

  She tipped her head in thought. “The blue one. A pony will like the blue one.”

  He sighed. He was not going to be able to divert her thoughts from that damned pony.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m going to shave, then I’ll come in and help you with the buttons.”

  “I can button the blue dress myself,” she said. Which was one of the reasons she liked it best, he knew. Managing the buttons, which were in front, made her feel more grown-up.

  “Well, I’ll help brush your hair, then.”

  “All right,” she said happily, imitating the way he’d said it. “Come on, Annabelle. We’re going to get a pony.” She disappeared into the next room in a flurry of red curls and white nightgown.

  He shook his head. A child’s faith. And all her faith was placed in him. Somehow he had to find her a pony.

  He also had to face Lisbeth Hamilton in the glare of daylight. The memory of her body pressed to his last night stirred an ache deep inside him. It had been months since he’d slept with a woman. The last one had been Sarah Ann’s mother, a thought that sent a shard of pain into his heart.

  He hadn’t loved Mary May; he hadn’t known her long enough. But he’d liked her more than any woman he’d ever met, and, given more time, he probably would have loved her. She’d had a zest for living that was rare. And a sense of humor to boot.

  Lisbeth Hamilton had a sense of humor, too. Calling Annabelle “a splendid animal” certainly required a sense of humor; so did naming a furry behemoth Henry the Eighth. Ben stopped shaving long enough to grin.

  But the grin faded quickly. Instincts, he warned himself. Don’t forget your instincts. Lisbeth Hamilton, Lady Calholm, wanted something from him, and she probably stood to profit if there was one less heir.

  Ben stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the lines in his face. Those around his eyes came from years of squinting into the sun. Others stemmed from less benevolent causes: war, pain, responsibility, too many split-second, life-or-death decisions. He was ready for a more peaceful life, and Sarah Ann deserved one, too—a peaceful life free from any more uncertainty and loss.

  He wasn’t sure Calholm was the place to find that life.

  Ben finished shaving and pulled on a clean white shirt and changed to a pair of riding trousers. What did one wear in the morning in the Scottish countryside? He didn’t know, and he really didn’t care. He wasn’t going to confine himself in a cravat and waistcoat.

  He went into Sarah Ann’s room. She had, as promised, dressed herself and was patiently lacing up her best pair of shoes. Her dress was a little askew, the buttons in the wrong holes. The dirty scarf was tucked in the collar of her dress.

  She looked up at him. “You look very handsome,” she said solemnly.

  “And you look very pretty, Lady Sarah Ann.”

  “I’m not—”

  “A lady, I know,” he said, “but you soon will be.”

  “Ladies have ponies, don’t they?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that, Sarah Ann,” he said seriously. He brushed her hair and tied it back with a blue ribbon. She stood proudly before him, as if at inspection. As surreptitiously as he could, he fixed the buttons while looking at her admiringly. “You look very royal, Sugarplum.”

  “I like sugarplums better than ladies.” She was very serious, and he had to stifle a chuckle. He had to hide his amusement often, for fear of offending her. Before he became her guardian, it was rare for him to even feel amusement.

  “I can understand why you’d prefer sugarplums to ladies,” he finally said, realizing she was waiting for approval.

  “Do you like sugarplums better, too?”

  He choked. “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  The infernal questions again. She looked at him expectantly as if waiting to hear a great truth.

  “Depends on the sugarplum and the lady.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly stymied by the enigmatic answer.

  He felt a moment of triumph, but it was quickly squashed.

  “Do you like Lady Lisbeth?”

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “A lot?”

  “I don’t know her that well.”

  “What about Lady Barb’ra?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “What do you think?”

  She pondered the question. “She’s very pretty.”

  “Yes.”

  Just then, Annabelle jumped into her lap, and Sarah Ann’s thoughts were diverted. “Do you like it here?” she asked the cat.

  Annabelle didn’t deign to reply.

  “I think she does,” Sarah Ann proclaimed on Annabelle’s behalf.

  “Why?” Ben thought he would turn the tables on her.

  “Because she’ll have a pony to play with.”

  Turning the tables by asking questions seemed of no use. Sarah Ann couldn’t get her mind off the blasted pony. “I don’t know if Annabelle shares your enthusiasm for a pony.”

  “She will. She likes everything I like.”

  That was a dubious assumption, but Ben didn’t really feel like a new round of questions. “Let’s go, Sugarplum.”

  “We’ll take Annabelle.”

  “I think we better leave her here and warn the maid. You don’t want her to get lost.”

  “Henry goes everywhere,” Sarah Ann argued.

  “Henry doesn’t scratch everyone.”

  “Annabelle doesn’t, either. Just when she’s scared.”

  Which was most of the time. “You can play with her after breakfast. I think she needs some sleep. She had a hard night.”

  “Did y
ou have a hard night?”

  “A very hard night,” he said. “Now, come along.” He picked up Annabelle and put her in the basket. Since the cat was quickly learning how to open it, the measure was temporary at best.

  “What’s a hard night?”

  “It’s one when a cat jumps up on you when you’re sound asleep.” Not an entirely accurate account of last night’s activities, but true enough. Annabelle would ruin anyone’s sleep—even without help.

  “Oh,” she said again, her face creasing with sudden worry. “Annabelle was a bad cat?”

  “Annabelle was Annabelle,” he soothed. “Now let’s go eat.”

  Sarah Ann looked puzzled, but decided to leave well enough alone. She put her hand in his, and they left together for their first full day at Calholm.

  After bringing a bowl of cream to Annabelle and looking in on Sarah Ann, Lisbeth had taken Henry out for a run. Now she walked into the dining room, Henry at her heels.

  Much to her shock, Barbara wandered in, looking splendid in a violet day dress, her dark hair caught in a chignon in back. The severe style, which would have looked terrible on Lisbeth, flattered Barbara’s elegant face. Lisbeth felt a little like a crow in her black riding dress.

  “You’re up early,” she observed pleasantly. “A special occasion?”

  Barbara shot her a suspicious look. “I just wanted our … guests to feel at home.”

  “And Hugh?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a bear in the morning.”

  Lisbeth helped herself to the food on the sideboard. She had ordered more than usual, not knowing the eating habits of Ben Masters and Sarah Ann. She filled her plate with bacon and scones and eggs while noticing that Barbara took only a slice of toast.

  Lisbeth liked to eat. And she worked hard enough during the day to wear it off.

  “You have the appetite of a peasant,” Barbara said distastefully as Lisbeth slathered cream over the scone.

  “Aye,” she replied contentedly. “You don’t know what you miss.”

  “I don’t see how you can eat anything in the morning.”

  “Sleeping well gives me an appetite,” Lisbeth said. It was a lie, at least as far as last night was concerned, but it was as good a retort as any.

  “How nice.” The deep masculine voice came from behind her, startling Lisbeth and bringing color to her cheeks. Her skin prickled with awareness. She could literally feel the American’s presence; she probably would have known he was there even if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Good morning.”

  He sounded so self-assured. The unbidden, unwanted memory of the feel and sight of his naked flesh made her face flame even brighter. Oh, why did her mind insist on thinking the exact thought she, most wanted not to think at that moment?

  Barbara smiled prettily. “Good morning, Mr. Masters, and to you, too, Sarah Ann. I thought we might go into the village. There’s a little shop there and a dressmaker. We can order some new dresses for Sarah Ann. And a new scarf,” she added with distaste.

  “I don’t want a new scarf,” Sarah Ann said. She went over to Henry, kneeling and pressing her head against his, receiving a big swipe of a tongue in return. She giggled and stood, totally ignoring Barbara.

  “Of course you do,” Barbara said confidently, obviously certain she could turn Sarah Ann to her way of thinking.

  Ben Masters simply leaned against the sideboard.

  “No,” Sarah Ann said flatly. “Papa said we could look for a pony, and I don’t want a new scarf.”

  Barbara looked pleadingly at Masters. “I really would like to take her shopping.”

  He hesitated. Lisbeth thought that perhaps he wanted to accept Barbara’s offer.

  “I want my own scarf,” Sarah Ann insisted stubbornly, “and I don’t want a new dress. I want a pony.”

  “The scarf was her mother’s,” Ben explained kindly.

  Lisbeth could see he felt sympathy for Barbara, and she wanted to kick him. Barbara was a superb actress; Lisbeth doubted she felt any real concern for Sarah Ann.

  “Oh,” Barbara said, giving Masters a grateful smile. “I understand.” Turning to Sarah Ann, she said, “Then of course you must keep your scarf. And tell me something about your mother sometime.”

  Sarah Ann, having won her point, smiled.

  Lisbeth watched Ben help the child select her food, bending down and asking what she wanted, and placing two scones and an egg on her plate. He filled his own plate with ham, salmon, eggs, and a scone, then carried both plates to the table. He set them down and held out a chair for Sarah Ann. The pillow was in place, and he shot Lisbeth a quick smile of thanks. She felt the impact of that smile all the way to her toes.

  Sarah Ann was also looking at her. “You said we can go find a pony.”

  “It depends on your father,” Lisbeth said. She gave him a challenging look, expecting him to take Barbara’s offer instead.

  Masters nodded. “I won’t hear anything else until we do,” he said. He turned to Barbara. “Perhaps we can take her shopping another time. Next week perhaps. I have to meet John Alistair in Edinburgh this week.”

  “I’ll go to Edinburgh with you,” Barbara said swiftly. “I can introduce you to dear Mr. Alistair and to some other families. My family—the MacLeods—maintain a town house you can use.”

  Ben hesitated. He wasn’t sure about the proprieties. “I think a hotel might be better.”

  “Oh, I’ll stay with my sister,” Barbara said. “She’s married to a marquess who’s in the Parliament.”

  Lisbeth noted that Barbara conveniently forgot the fact she and her sister disliked each other intensely.

  “What about Hugh?” Lisbeth said and almost immediately regretted it. She attributed the question to the devil that sometimes ruled her tongue. She hated being snide, but Barbara seemed to bring out the worst in her.

  Barbara cast an irritated glance her way. “Hugh can take care of himself.”

  “So can I,” Masters said, “and I really would prefer a hotel. We’ll just be there a day.”

  “We?”

  “Sarah Ann and I.”

  Barbara’s face fell. “I thought Fiona and Maisie could care for her here.”

  Fiona, Ben had learned, was the cook, and Maisie, Barbara’s maid. Effie, Maisie’s sister, was Lisbeth’s maid. The sisters had helped prepare Ben’s and Sarah Ann’s rooms and tended to Sarah Ann’s clothes.

  “No,” he said flatly.

  Barbara shrugged again. “I would still like to travel with you. I need some new dresses.”

  This time, Lisbeth kept her tongue in place, merely lifting an eyebrow.

  “And you, Lady Lisbeth,” Ben Masters asked, “would you like to go with us?”

  “Just Lisbeth,” she insisted. “We are practically relatives, and I know Americans aren’t comfortable with titles.” She smiled. “Neither am I, actually. And thank you, but I have too much to do here. Shadow’s training is critical now.”

  Ben Masters nodded and finished his breakfast. She enjoyed watching him eat, for he obviously relished it.

  “You like scones?” she asked.

  “I like anything except beef jerky and hardtack.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She saw the doubt in his eyes, but then he answered. “Hardtack is a hard biscuit made of flour and water, and jerky is beef cooked so long you can hardly chew it. But they both keep a very long time if you’re on a trail.”

  “On a trail?”

  He hesitated, and she wondered why. Was he hiding something?

  “A long ride,” he said a moment later.

  She puzzled over that. He’d said earlier that he rode “a little.” Yet it sounded as if he’d eaten a lot of that hardtack and jerky that one only ate on the trail.

  “Don’t you have trains in America?” Barbara asked.

  He looked amused. “Yes, but America is very, very large and there a
re great expanses of territory without roads, much less trains.”

  “I think I would like to go there someday,” Barbara said dreamily.

  “Despite the Indians?” he asked.

  She shuddered. “Are there Indians in New York?”

  “No. They’re all pretty much west now.”

  “I’d like to go to New York, then.”

  “I would like to go west,” Lisbeth said. “I’ve read about it. It’s said the mountains are greater than our Highlands.”

  “Lisbeth is from the Highlands,” Barbara said almost apologetically.

  Lisbeth knew Barbara and Hugh considered being a Highlander akin to being a barbarian. She, on the other hand, considered most Lowlanders less Scottish, and knew them to be more favorably disposed toward their English neighbors. But she decided not to be affronted. She was too interested now that the American was beginning to talk.

  “I would like to visit the Highlands someday,” he said, turning the subject away from himself.

  Lisbeth thought she would like to show them to him. She loved the craggy, majestic mountains. They had been her escape, a thing of beauty away from a home filled with ugliness.

  “In the summer,” she said, “they’re covered with heather. That is the time to see the Highlands. They can be bitter cold in the winter.”

  “All Scotland seems cold,” he said. “The wind bites through you.”

  “Is it not so in America?” Barbara broke in.

  She looked decidedly irritated, Lisbeth thought, undoubtedly because it was the first time a man paid more attention to Lisbeth than to Barbara.

  “In some places, it is,” he replied. “Winters in Colorado and Chicago can be damnably cold, though there’s not this constant damp.”

  Sarah Ann started squirming then, and Lisbeth rose. As much as she would like to learn more, she knew the child must be tired of sitting. She’d been very good to stay still this long.

  “If you’re ready,” she told Masters, “we’ll go down to the stables. Callum, our trainer, should be there, and he might tell us where we can find a pony. You can pick out a horse for yourself.”

  She noticed the quick flare of pleasure in Masters’s eyes. Had he minimized how well he rode? She would soon find out.

  “Sarah Ann will need her coat,” he said.

  “So will you,” she replied. “I’ll meet you at the front hall in five minutes.”