Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  Angus set off in the direction of the shop.

  “Really,” Mama said. “That man speaks as if he were a relation. Such familiarity on the part of servants should not be tolerated. Your sister agrees with me, Mrs. Pincham, I can tell you that.”

  “You and Theodora appear to be fast friends,” Melony said.

  “I admire her deeply.”

  “As she does you,” Melony responded.

  Grace allowed the chatter to flow over and around her. Before long, Angus and Kennedy returned with those items that could be immediately transported, and they set off for Charlotte Square.

  “The wedding dress is a dreadful disappointment,” Mama said. “Not at all what I had in mind for my only daughter. But then, one becomes accustomed to disappointment when one is alone in the world and dependent upon but one child—and a daughter—to provide for one’s small need for happiness.

  Melony said nothing, and neither did Grace. The wedding gown—the style and materials having been already picked out by Lady Cuthbert before Grace arrived—was made overly fussy by a profusion of inexpensive flounces and bows.

  They swept past the elegant curves of Edinburgh’s crescents where houses, three and four stories high, touched shoulders in a most agreeably complementary way. White stone steps, flanked by glossy black railings, rose to mahogany doors sporting highly polished knockers and letter boxes. Edinburgh’s servants were less well dressed than those in London, but they appeared ruddy-faced and cheerful as they went about their business.

  The Charlotte Square house was reached by driving around a pretty garden at the center of the square. Daffodils and narcissus nodded their cheerful heads in a warm breeze, and attentive nannies watched their small charges gambol on the grass. Beech trees, their new leaves bright green and trembling, spread lofty shadows over clumps of stubby crab apple trees. Spring’s warm, fragile scent was in the air.

  The thought that this was a place Stonehaven knew well made it engrossing to Grace. The house—referred to by Lady Cuthbert as overly modest—had been his Edinburgh home when he was a single young man coming and going from Scotland in the service of the king. “In the days before Stonehaven became so very strange,” Lady Cuthbert had said ominously. “Forgive me, Grace. I should not speak so carelessly, but I am concerned for your happiness—and your well-being.”

  A small knot of apprehension formed in Grace’s stomach, but she refused to allow it to shake her conviction that her marriage would be a blessed event. She had made great progress with Stonehaven—even if he didn’t appear to have noticed the fact—and she would continue to make progress.

  She missed him.

  Grace felt startled. A week ago she’d been ready to dash back to England and try to forget she’d ever met him. Now she was actually grateful for Mama’s rash behavior and ... “Oh, dear.”

  “What did you say?” Melony asked as they arrived at Stonehaven’s house.

  “I said, oh dear,” Grace said. “I will not pretend to you, Melony. I am surprised to find myself so committed to my marriage with Stonehaven.” And she was also surprised to find herself remembering Mama’s frightful gambling disaster without cringing. Really, she had changed terribly much in a few weeks.

  Grace became aware that Melony was staring at her, and smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m blatherin’, as Mairi would say. But I’m happy, Melony. Truly happy. I am convinced that Stonehaven and I shall have a congenial life together.”

  Angus handed Blanche down, but Melony hung back. “Tell me, Grace, why are you so certain of this?”

  “Assisted by your insights into the opposite sex, I have had a revelation. Men in general are very susceptible to women. Given that situation, and adding Stonehaven’s commitment to our match, success is inevitable because I intend to ensure that he views me kindly. I am going to be so considerate of him that he will come to bless the day I came into his life.”

  An unusual expression entered Melony’s face. She seemed to stare through Grace as if she weren’t there at all. Then she started and smiled. “I’m sure he will. Come, Grace, let us prepare for the musicale. Thank goodness it is in Charlotte Square. I don’t give a fig for Theodora’s opinion. I consider this among the most desirable locations in Edinburgh.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go. They say Sir Walter Scott may be there, and any number of other important people.”

  “You will enjoy yourself.” Finally Melony allowed a footman to assist her from the carriage, and Grace followed. “Wear the red this evening.”

  “Oh, no!” Instantly Grace collected herself. “I mean, I am exceedingly grateful to you for giving me the gown, but it will need some slight alterations before I can wear it.” The bodice alone needed a number of inches removed, and the waist did not fit as it should.

  “I’ll have Kennedy do what’s necessary,” Melony said. “She shall come to you at once. Mrs. Wren is looking forward to the event. So is Theodora, and so am I.”

  Grace saw her mother disappear into the house. “I’ll think about it,” she said. What she wished to do was be alone to think about Stonehaven and how she would pursue her quest to overcome his ill humor as soon as she got back to the castle.

  “We shall leave promptly at eight,” Melony announced, falling back to follow Grace up the front steps.

  In the pale green entrance hall, Grace paused beside a brass vase overflowing with white lilac that sat upon a demilune mahogany side table. She tried to decide how she could manage to remain at home this evening.

  “Don’t forget it’s to be the red,” Melony said, passing through an archway leading to the inner hall. “Since you did not bring the marvelous jewels Stonehaven gave you, I shall lend you my pearls.”

  Grace arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Melony walked ahead now.

  “I shall not go to the musicale.” Grace jumped at the sound of her own clear voice.

  Melony paused, then turned around. “Don’t be a silly goose. Of course you will.”

  “No. No, I’ve decided to remain here.”

  Slowly Melony descended until she stood a single step above Grace. “I don’t know what to say. He will be so disappointed.”

  Grace frowned. “Who will be disappointed?”

  “Why, Stonehaven, of course.”

  “He will not know. And anyway, he also would not care. He did not even particularly want me to come to Edinburgh at all.”

  “That was all an act,” Melony said. Finger by finger she removed her gloves. “And he will know because he has instructed a certain party to take note of your every move.”

  “What certain party?”

  “All I know is that there is someone who was appointed to the position.”

  Grace swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach. “But why does Stonehaven care if I go to this musicale?”

  “Because, my dearest little friend ...” Melony bowed her head. “It pains me to say this, but it is for your own good. Stonehaven is resigned to the match, but he is concerned at your lack of ... shall we say, social savoir faire?”

  “Oh,” Grace said softly.

  “Yes, well, to that end—to correct the deficiency—he regards it as most important for you to become exposed to situations in which a marchioness should be more than comfortable.”

  “Such as the musicale?” Grace asked, annoyed that her voice was so small.

  “Such as the musicale. You are tired, Grace. Rest for a while. But if you wish to prove to your future husband that you will do anything to please him, and make him proud of you, you will attend this evening’s affair.”

  “I see. And I’m to wear the red satin?”

  “The red satin.”

  “Very well.” Grace climbed past Melony and continued up. “I shall be ready at eight.” For Stonehaven’s sake alone.

  Calum and his gray had covered some miles before Arran finally sighted his friend’s flying cloak. Arran half-closed his eyes against the wind that tore at his face and closed distance until he drew within yards
of the gray.

  “Stop!” Arran shouted.

  Calum looked over his shoulder, but urged his horse on.

  Arran grimaced and leaned into Allegro’s neck until he drew alongside Calum’s mount.

  “Stop,” Arran demanded again.

  Calum ignored him.

  Leaning dangerously, Arran caught at the reins of Calum’s horse.

  “In God’s name!” Calum cursed loudly. “You’ll unseat me, man.”

  “If that’s what it takes to find out what’s afoot here, so be it.” With a mighty yank, Arran brought the gray rearing to a halt.

  “There is no time for chitchat,” Calum said through his teeth. “Go back. I’ll do what must be done.”

  Arran controlled his own skittering mount. “Enough of this gammon. Out with it, Calum. What is it that you are not to tell me?”

  “I swore I would not reveal the source of my information.”

  “Your first allegiance is to me. That aside, I overheard much of what you spoke of with MacFie. Only the details remain unknown to me.”

  “Very well,” Calum said. “Anything, as long as what must be done is done. Grace is to attend a musicale at the Muirs’ this evening. There is a strong possibility that she will be lured away and ... and seduced. Even riding as fast as we can, there’s a chance we’ll be too late.”

  Arran shifted to see Calum’s face more clearly. “The devil you say.” Calum wasn’t given to idle invention. “Are you sure?”

  “No. But I’m damned afraid I should be.”

  “Lured away by whom?”

  “You will have to know eventually. Hector told me he’d ... he was in the way of being in a position to overhear an exchange between Melony Pincham and your damnable cousin Mortimer. The subject of their conversation concerned you.”

  “So why didn’t Hector come to me direct?”

  “Because he was afraid you might ask for particulars.”

  “Explain,” Arran said. “Quickly.”

  Calum bowed his head. “The fool has made some mistakes, not that they should matter. He had been with Lady Cuthbert in her chamber. To be precise, he was in the dressing room between that chamber and Sir Mortimer’s. Lady Cuthbert was—er—resting. Hector overheard Melony talking to Mortimer.”

  “In his chamber?”

  Calum shrugged. “Busy people, Sir Mortimer and Lady Cuthbert.”

  “I’m damned,” Arran muttered. “Surely Hector misunderstood. Mortimer’s a fool, but he’d hardly risk being overheard while he was plotting the seduction of my fiancée.”

  “Mortimer and Pincham were—” Calum cleared his throat “—in the throes of passion, so to speak.”

  Arran sat perfectly still. Then he gave a short laugh. “Mortimer and La Pincham? In the throes?”

  “Exactly. And quite something to behold, from what I could gather. Evidently Hector had been ... he’d been taking a nap. Mortimer and Pincham must have come in and not had any idea that Lady Cuthbert and Hector were ... Anyway, when Hector went into the dressing room, Mortimer’s door wasn’t quite shut. Pincham’s into pain. Silk bonds and flagellation. She likes to be hurt.”

  “And Mortimer—?” His cousin’s appetite for sex had never been in question, but Arran had always assumed him to be the passive type who would take his pleasure with leisurely command. “Mortimer? By God, Calum, Pincham’s his wife’s sister!”

  “If you ask me, the sister thing adds to the spice for Mortimer’s type. Anyway, they were in the thick of it all when Pincham suddenly says that Mortimer should regard what they’re doing as practice for what he’s to do to Grace.”

  Arran’s gut snapped in. “I would kill ... The fact that Melony said that—if she did—doesn’t mean they would ever really attempt such a perversion.”

  “They will, I tell you.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Calum’s horse skittered sideways. “I’m going to Edinburgh.” He began to ride.

  Arran tucked his heels into Allegro’s sides. “Mortimer’s a greedy fool, but he wouldn’t risk this.”

  “I think he will. This is his last desperate chance to get what he’s spent years lusting for.”

  They galloped side by side, spurring the horses on to greater speed.

  “What exactly is it that Mortimer and Pincham plan?” Arran cried. “Finish the story.”

  “Gladly. Melony spoke of Mortimer hiding in the pavilion at the Muirs’ place tonight. And Mortimer agreed that it would be a perfect spot for ...” Calum’s voice trailed away.

  “For ...?” Arran prompted. His breath jammed in his throat.

  “Soiling the goods. Putting any paternity in question. Initiation and ruination, my friend.”

  “How very grand it all is,” Grace whispered to Melony behind the red painted fan that went so well with the satin gown Kennedy had contrived to fit to Grace’s small figure.

  They sat on little ivory-colored tapestry chairs in the last row assembled in the Muirs’ elegant green drawing room. The company was richly dressed. Everywhere Grace looked, jewels flashed and the colors of the ladies’ dresses made a brilliant collage amid the gentlemen’s mostly dark evening dress.

  “I do think Madame Constanza may have an almond caught in her throat, don’t you?” Melony remarked, hunching her shoulders above the daringly low neckline of her magenta gros des Indes, and speaking behind her own delicate ivory fan.

  Grace rolled in her lips and willed herself not to laugh aloud. The soprano, who had been singing for a very long time, did indeed sound as if something wobbled in her throat, rather like the little bobbling ball that produced birdlike sounds in a water whistle.

  “What do you think of Sir Walter Scott?” Melony asked.

  On Grace’s other side, Mama, who was sitting with the Reverend Mr. Felix Bastion, leaned to frown absolutely ferociously at Grace.

  Grace smiled demurely and looked straight ahead at the florid-faced, straining Madame Constanza. The Reverend Bastion had hung on Mama’s every word from the moment they’d been introduced. He was, according to Lady Cuthbert, “a nonentity. A widower with a small living in some godforsaken place in Somerset. However, he is very respectable.” Lady Cuthbert, openly annoyed with Sir Mortimer for refusing to escort them to the musicale, had been contentious all evening.

  Respectable was the only word Grace had heard and noted. Let Mama enjoy whatever brief attentions came her way.

  “He is puffy-faced and sickly-looking,” Grace murmured to Melony, speaking of Sir Walter Scott. “His eyes are shrunken to little slits. He and his wife both appear to be ailing.”

  “I understand it is the pressure of preparing for the royal visit,” Melony said, also looking straight ahead. “This room is horribly hot. We could excuse ourselves and find some lemonade.”

  “Would that not be considered rude?”

  “Not at all. Lean on me and use your fan vigorously. If we are questioned, we shall say you were overcome by the vapors and that I am conducting you to find some fresh air.”

  Grace did not like deceit, but she longed for a little peace and a place to be cool. “Very well.” She inclined her head to Mama. “Melony and I are going to find some lemonade. I am overheated.”

  Mama tutted and returned her attention to the singer.

  WIth her hand through Melony’s elbow, Grace allowed herself to be led past Lady Cuthbert—whose tutting sounded exactly like Mama’s—and from the room.

  “Whew,” Melony said as soon as a footman closed the drawing room doors behind them. “I thought I should die in there.”

  “Mm. I don’t care for the soprano, but I am looking forward to some of the other music later on.”

  “That won’t be for ages,” Melony said, starting downstairs. “There’ll be an intermission. Then they will serve refreshments. That will take forever. Do let’s go out into the gardens.”

  “I thought you said we should go for lemonade.”

  “And so we shall. Later. For now I
think I may just die if I do not get out of this house for a while.”

  Grace was certain they should do no such thing, but she seemed to have no choice but to follow Melony down flight after flight until they reached the ground floor.

  “Surely it is not wise for us to venture forth—alone?”

  “Nonsense. Don’t be such a cuckoo.”

  At french doors that opened from a small parlor onto a terrace, Grace stopped. “Really, Melony, I should prefer to have lemonade now.”

  “Oh—” Melony closed her mouth and considered. “Very well. We shall compromise. I’ll go with you for lemonade. Then you’ll come with me outside. It will be so very exciting.”

  “Exciting?” Grace echoed dubiously.

  “Absolutely. We shall be like two jolly boys on a lark. I know of a place I can take you where no one ever goes.”

  That did not sound at all appealing to Grace.

  “It isn’t far. And you will have a most exhilarating time there, I promise you.”

  “I believe I am tired.”

  Melony caught her hand. “Lemonade will refresh you, and then we shall go. Lovely gardens with an elegant white marble pagoda beside a small lake. At night it will be beautiful—and wonderfully tragic by moonlight. Of course, if you are afraid of adventure, then—”

  “Like a temple to the moon,” Grace said, imagining the picture. “How romantic.”

  “Very.”

  “Moonlight on water is so lovely.”

  “Ah, you have experienced moonlight on water many times,” Melony said.

  “Never,” Grace told her. “But I have imagined it.”

  “Then you must see it for yourself one day, but I quite understand if you are afraid at present.” Grace peered through glass panes and said firmly,

  “I have changed my mind. Take me now.”

  Once they were outside, dew on the grass quickly soaked Grace’s red satin slippers and the feet of her lace stockings.

  “Hurry,” Melony cried when they were beyond a wall that separated the formal part of the Muirs’ garden from an area choked with trees. “Quickly. We must not take too long.”