Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  “About ye goin’ to Edinburgh.” Mairi blushed brilliantly. “I’m sorry, miss, but people do talk.”

  “Let them. All that nonsense about the marquess’s first wife is purely malicious, too. I’ve no idea what really happened to her, but I’m sure it wasn’t anything like the wicked stories that have been invented.”

  “He’s a foul temper, has he not?” Mairi said, making a great deal out of tidying the scarves, fichus, pelerines, spencers, and other items of clothing Grace had assembled to wear at the necks of her gowns to render them as modest as possible. “And there’s none who can tell ye otherwise than that he’s capable of ... Well, ye know what he’s capable of.”

  “I do not know that he’s capable of the wicked things you’re suggesting.”

  Mairi straightened and folded her arms over her plump bosom. “I wasna’ goin’ t’mention this, but I think I may have to.”

  Grace’s hair, drawn back to a heavy braid at her nape, shone smoothly. Not a hint of a wisp escaped to form a tempting curl. She ran a hand over the top and inspected her face. Scrubbed clean and with no hint of blacking on her lashes or color on her lips or cheeks, she looked satisfactorily plain.

  “I probably will tell ye.”

  Of course, her lashes were dark anyway, except for the tips, which, for some odd reason, were gold. And her mouth managed to appear pink all on its own.

  “Mayhap I should just out wi’ it and—”

  “Mairi! Say what you intend to say anyway!”

  “Himself was in that Mrs. Pincham’s rooms in the wee hours o’ the mornin’! On the very night when he’d announced your weddin’ at dinner. There, I’ve told ye.”

  Grace sat very still with her hands in her lap.

  “A coorteesan is what they say that woman is. A coorteesan is a woman who—”

  “I know that a courtesan is a kind of woman we should not discuss, Mairi.” How could it be true? Why, Melony had been with Grace until very late that evening. “I’ve heard my Mama and her friends speak of courtesans as the destroyers of good husbands.”

  “Indeed,” Mairi agreed.

  Melony had been a pillar of strength and comfort in the days since that evening.

  “So,” Mairi said when Grace didn’t continue. “He canna verra well be in love wi’ ye, can he? He’s a bad man, miss. If ye’ll excuse me for sayin’ as much about your intended.”

  A bad man? “I thought poor Melony appeared distracted on the following morning,” she said vaguely. “I think I begin to understand why.”

  “Och, ye’re such a sweet-minded lassie. My father would have had an easier life if I’d been half as gentle a soul as ye are.”

  “Piffle! You are the sweetest, kindest creature on earth, and I’m so glad you came to me. Now. You have helped make things entirely clear to me.”

  “Deary me, I’ve turned your poor mind wi’ my news.”

  “Don’t you see, Mairi? It’s all a theatrical nonsense to hide his true feelings.”

  Mairi wound a primrose yellow shawl of China crepe into a creased rope. “I’m sure I dinna know what ye’re sayin’.”

  “The marquess, silly. We’re agreed that he’s a pigheaded, overbearing man—a cruel man, even.”

  “Aye.” The shawl became a crumpled ball. “I shouldna wonder.”

  “Only he’s not really cruel. He has true beauty buried in his soul, Mairi. True beauty.” Thinking of how he hid that beauty brought tears to her eyes. “You should hear him play the piano. Sounds of angels, he makes.”

  ‘Sounds o’ angels?”

  “Oh, yes. And this visit to Melony is a direct result of his fears.”

  “Aye ... No. No, I dinna understand ye, miss. Mayhap ye should go to your bed awhile. Ye dinna sound well.”

  Grace swung around from the glass. “But I am well,” she said stoutly. “I have not been better in a very long time. I was right all along. Stonehaven loves me, and that frightens his wits to shreds. He went to Melony in an attempt to prove to himself that he could, er, experience similar feelings with her to those he felt with me. He wanted to prove that they were not at all unusual. And he has not appeared since because it did not work, and now he is forced to confront the true situation.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “He is lost. Lost to me, of course.” She snapped her skirts across her legs. “He is a man who abhors weakness, and like most of his foolish sex, he considers falling in love a weakness.”

  Mairi recollected the shawl and hurriedly tried to smooth it. “If ye say so. But I know what they’re sayin’ belowstairs, and it isn’t anythin’ like what you think.”

  “They are small-minded and mean. And they are gossips. Poor Melony. What a trial for her to have to deal with Stonehaven. You see, Melony is a most loyal friend, and she must have felt deeply troubled by the marquess’s behavior—because of that loyalty. But it shall never again be mentioned, and I shall learn from it.”

  Mairi frowned dubiously.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I know what I’m saying. And I do know what I’m doing. And what I’m going to do. I’m going to force him to give up his foolishness. I’m going to do all manner of kind and loving things for him until he cannot help but pack away his silly doubts. He will open like a flower, Mairi. Like a rose to the sunshine. Yes, indeed. I am going to be Stonehaven’s sunshine.”

  Mairi started to respond, but a rap on the door was followed by Melony’s entrance. She hurried in, ignoring Mairi and going directly to Grace. “How are you, dear one? Forgive me for taking so long to come. Theodora has been completely tiresome this morning. She insists she’s misplaced her wretched diamonds. Can you imagine? Anyway, I couldn’t get away sooner.”

  “I’ve decided on a course of action with Stonehaven,” Grace announced.

  Melony deared her throat and indicated Mairi. “Perhaps we should have a private little chat, dearest?”

  “Mairi’s perfectly trustworthy,” Grace said.

  “Of course.” Melony looked somewhat cross. “But there are things I would prefer to talk about between the two of us. I’m sure you understand.”

  Before Grace could respond, Mairi pulled the load of accessories from the bed into her arms and made for the door. “I’ll away and see t’these,” she said, never looking at Melony. “It’ll take a while. Send word if ye need me for anythin’.”

  As soon as the maid had left, Melony caught Grace’s hands in hers and peered anxiously into her face. “You appear pale.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “No.”

  “Has anything been said about our departure for Edinburgh?”

  “Mama said that Sir Mortimer said we’ll leave by the end of the week.”

  “Ooh!” Melony squealed. “Isn’t that the veriest excitement?”

  “The veriest,” Grace agreed, but her mind was elsewhere—on a tall, strong man with long black hair tied at his nape and eyes the color of deep-sea waters. “We are to buy my trousseau.” She wrinkled her nose, although the idea did bring flutters of anticipation to her stomach.

  “You do not appear ... I see it now!” Melony exclaimed. “You are not yourself. The falling collar. The artless hair. The sorry expression. Why do you appear so ... so dull and old-fashioned?”

  Grace smiled brightly. “Thank you, Melony. You have made me happy.”

  “I have?”

  “Indeed you have. Dull and old-fashioned—or at least exceedingly modest—is exactly as I wish to appear.” Whatever she said, she must not embarrass Melony by letting her know she had learned of Stonehaven’s behavior the other evening. “These past days have not been wasted. They have given me a much needed opportunity to analyze what it is that troubles Stonehaven and what I must do to help him.”

  Melony dropped Grace’s hands. “Help him.” She pursed her lips. “He is absolutely beyond the pale, and ... Oh, my, what am I saying? He is your fiancé, and I have no right to say anything unpleasant about him. For
give me. I’m certain the two of you will manage well enough.”

  Grace smiled at her friend. “You are not to worry further.” Melony must be afraid that Stonehaven’s strange humor would continue. “Please believe me when I say that the marquess is about to become a changed man. There will be no more exhibitions of ill humor. At least, there will be no more once he learns that happiness is within his grasp.”

  “I surely cannot understand what you mean.” Melony walked smoothly to stand before the fire and jiggled her fingers before the warmth. Her rose satin was, Grace thought, a trifle overdone for early afternoon. Nevertheless, its richness became Melony’s white skin and auburn hair.

  “He loves me,” Grace told her simply.

  Melony swung around. “Loves you?” She pressed a hand to her throat and laughed. “What can you be thinking of? Men such as Stonehaven do not love.”

  “You are altogether too jaded. No doubt the result of your early bereavement. The sooner you find someone to love yourself, the better. I cannot bear to see your sweet, generous nature wasted on a lonely existence.”

  “I am not lonely.”

  “No, no, of course not.” Great patience and care must be exercised here. “And I assure you, my dear one, that no gentleman could look at you and not entertain thoughts of finding a way to make you his own. I believe you have been too distracted by grief, but you will soon be ready to entertain affectionate advances. Sincere affectionate advances,” she added with a meaningful glance lest Melony had any notion at all that Grace had learned of Stonehaven’s presumptuous visit.

  “There is no need to concern yourself with me. You and your wedding are what matter. And I want you to allow me to help you with every aspect of the arrangements.” Melony smiled sadly. “After all, I have had the joy of going through the arrangements for my own, sadly short marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Grace popped up and went to kiss Melony’s cheek. “And you are so generous to put aside the difficult memories to be a support to me.”

  “What did you mean about Stonehaven?”

  “It’s simple,” Grace said, swaying a little. “The first step was to change my style of dress—although I had not entirely formulated all of the reasons and results when I first made the decision.

  “Stonehaven loves me. I told you of our early meetings and how we were carried away on an in-rushing tide of incredible Passion.”

  “Yes.” The spots of color on Melony’s cheeks could only be caused by discomfort at Grace’s frank announcement.

  “Forgive me for being so forthright on this subject. But we are women of the world, and I know you want to learn every detail.

  “Those moments of extraordinary abandonment frightened him.”

  Melony tilted her head. “Frightened?”

  “Indeed. Frightened. He is afraid such powerful love will make him weak and that he will not be strong enough to resist such episodes all the time.”

  A strangled noise escaped Melony.

  “Shocking, I know, but true. There is such a ... a thing between us that I think it entirely possible we shall be unable to do anything at all but Sit Together if we do not find a means to control our impulses.”

  “Sit together?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I’ve come to understand so many things. Like the reason for chaperons. It is important for a man to maintain the notion that the object of his affections is pure. But when a man is alone with a woman and he can see and touch enough of her to cause certain sensations, then it is inevitable that he will soon be lost and have a desperate desire to Sit With Her.”

  “Ah.”

  Grace screwed up her eyes. There was something a trifle strange about Melony’s expression. Probably the result of too much stress of late.

  “This in turn leads to the man feeling compromised—because the effect of the female makes him vulnerable to her. So the course for me to follow is obvious.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I shall. No doubt you will find the process useful yourself in the near future. Firstly, I am going to be so sweetly generous and charming and modest toward Stonehaven that he will become a calm and entirely satisfied man.

  “Next, I intend to present an appearance to him that is so demure that not a single notion of Sitting With Me will ever enter his head.”

  “How—”

  “How shall I accomplish that?” Grace held out her arms and made a circle. “See? Skin is the problem, dearest Melony. The display of too much skin. Take it from me, that is absolutely the most dangerous element of all in this male-female thing. If a man can see and touch naked skin, he is lost!”

  Melony shuddered and let out a small moan.

  “Disturbing indeed,” Grace agreed. “So I stand before you as a solution to the dilemma. I need to see and smell and hear and eat—and use my hands. The rest, every inch of me, is covered in the most unappealing manner possible.”

  “I see.”

  “I knew you would. He will be forced to address matters of higher importance. Stonehaven will realize that it is my mind he loves, not my body, and that will cause him to become the sweetest-mannered of men!”

  Chapter 20

  “You are particularly bloody this evening, Arran.”

  “I am busy.” And in no mood for brotherly advice.

  Struan moved a chair close to the piano where Arran sat and picked up a violoncello. “Choose a fiddle, Calum. We haven’t done this in too long.”

  “You play with Arran. I’m not sure I remember how.”

  Arran spread his hands on his thighs. “You two don’t intend to go away, do you?”

  “No.” Struan began to tune the violoncello, then stopped. “What ...?” He leaned the instrument into his lap and bent over. “What in God’s name is that?”

  “The spike on the bottom? It’s my invention. Try it. You’ll find playing much easier. One day all violoncellos will be played balanced on the floor with a spike.”

  “If you say so, then they probably will,” Struan said doubtfully. He swung the instrument this way and that, played a little, and swung some more. “I do believe you’re right. My brother the genius. When will you stop hiding and share yourself with the world?”

  “Whatever little good I do will not be wasted. Someone will take it where it can be best utilized. Fuss bores me. I don’t want public recognition. This is where I want to be, and without intrusions.”

  The unexpected sound of Calum stroking an almost forgotten melody from a fiddle silenced them both. That fiddle had been given to Calum by Arran’s father.

  Arran caught Struan’s eye, and there was between them the old closeness, the ties of two brothers who had shared many interests, a love of poignant music well played being one of the best.

  Calum played on. “‘The Heather Road,’” Struan said softly enough, only Arran could hear him. “He always played with his heart. He makes me see what he plays.”

  “Aye,” Arran said, because it felt right. “Moors. High moors beneath a sky brushed free of cloud by the wind that bends the purple heather. He was always gentle inside that tough hide of his.”

  “He needed the tough hide to survive,” Struan said. He lowered his voice even more. “Does he ever speak of—”

  “No. But the day will come when he’ll have to confront the past.”

  Struan rested his chin on the scroll and stroked the strings until they whined a little.

  Calum’s eyes were closed. He drew the bow, and a muscle in his cheek flickered.

  “Father gave us so much when he gave us the music,” Struan said. “I wish Calum had been our brother, too.”

  “So do I.”

  “Does Calum?”

  Arran considered. “I think not. I think perhaps there’s something stronger that’s starting to call him now.”

  “Call him to what?”

  With a smile, Arran began to play with Calum. “Some things are inside us, Struan. You know that. Inside Calum there’s something as strong as the winds over t
he moors that he loves so much. And it’s wild—perhaps with anger. That troubles me. There may come a day when he’ll need us as much as he needed us as a small boy.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps. He’s a man who ought to marry.”

  “He almost did. Or have you forgotten. That brought him close to despair, and it may have been the beginning of this anger I feel in him.”

  “Marriage could make him whole,” Struan persisted.

  “You’re hardly a man to have strong opinions on that subject,” Arran said, leaning into the gentle music.

  “And you are?” When Arran’s forgers grew still, Struan was already shaking his head. “Forget my careless tongue. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “Yes you did. You always were an irritating devil. And you’re right, so that’s an end of it.” Raising his voice for Calum to hear over the sound of the piano, Arran said, “It must be past your bedtime, Struan—and Calum’s.”

  “Oh, we’re not at all tired. We’ve got a thing or two to discuss with you.”

  Arran rested an elbow above the keyboard and regarded Struan. “Discuss away. My life is completely turned upside down. I am no longer master in my own home. My decisions are made for me. Discuss—” He stopped. Struan was looking past him and smiling.

  Calum’s violin fell silent.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  Arran gritted his teeth. Grace, for God’s sake. He turned slowly—in time to see her cross the gallery carrying a small tray upon which sat a delicate cup and saucer.

  “My, my, all three of you,” she said, smiling as if it were four in the afternoon and this were tea at Marlborough House with the duchess presiding, not two in the morning in a place to which she had not been invited. “If I’d known you were together here, I would have been sure to bring enough. No matter. I’ll give this to Stonehaven and return with more as soon as possible.”

  Arran caught Calum’s eye and saw a threat there. He, Arran Rossmara, Marquess of Stonehaven, was to humor this strange female who had been foisted upon him or risk his old friend’s wrath.

  “You should have retired hours since,” Arran said, trying not to sound as truculent as he felt.