“Just a few more days.”
“One thing you’re wrong about is that I will not slide my mother’s ring on her finger.”
“No?”
“My parents’ marriage is nothing I would like to replicate.”
“Then perhaps the occasion calls for visiting a jeweler.”
“Indeed. You mentioned that the others wanted to go into town? Why don’t we all go together? That will give Flora time to work on everything.”
“Splendid.”
Wolfe and Hamish left the room to find the others. At least going to town would provide him of some distraction, and in the meantime he could ensure that the ball was everything Flora desired as well.
Perhaps Flora was working, but Wolfe had a new task, one only for himself. He wanted to create the most wonderful ball in the world, for her. He wanted her to have the very best time imaginable. He wanted her heart to soar, and he wanted her to feel special, because she was. She was more special than any of the guests he’d invited.
Chapter Nineteen
Any delusions Flora might have had that Wolfe intended their liaison to be anything more vanished. Wolfe was always with his friends, and she was alone decorating the huge ballroom. She ironed ribbons that she’d purchased with Wolfe’s help, trying not to become sentimental. He’d been more skeptical of glossy fabrics than she was, stating a preference for the durability of linen that was decidedly a masculine instinct as well as an enthusiasm for tweed and tartan fabrics that suited his Scottish countryside upbringing. No matter. There was no point in growing sentimental at the sight of the ribbons. At least she knew now this was the end. She tried to think about how that could be a good thing, even though it seemed like just a minute more in his company, ten minutes more, would be everything.
She sighed. Tomorrow would be the Christmas ball, and the next day she would leave for her perfect position in Cornwall to be a companion to a young widow in a far off location where Mr. Warne would no longer find her.
She tried to push away the joy she’d found in the manor and the friendly staff. The staff in Cornwall were probably friendly as well, and it was wrong of her to feel any doubt. In fact, it would be good to go and not wonder if every footstep she heard was Wolfe and whether he would come to her room.
He never had.
Once she left, she wouldn’t have to studiously avoid looking at him when he was in her vision, lest she wonder when she looked at him why his face was rigid, devoid of any smile, devoid of anything else, that made her heart yearn.
She worked rapidly. She would make this ball wonderful, and that would be it. This would all be a memory, a foolish youthful indiscretion before she embarked on a road to certain spinsterhood.
THE SLEIGH SPED OVER the slopes, approaching the town’s familiar gray buildings. Isla’s coiffure was perhaps slightly less immaculate than when she entered the sleigh, though her smile was wide.
“How could I have forgotten this?” she asked. “It’s delightful.”
Wolfe grinned. “We’ll have to make certain this becomes part of the new McIntyre family tradition.”
“In addition to an elaborate ball?”
He nodded. “Naturally.”
“I visited the ballroom,” she said, her tone more serious. “It does look spectacular.”
“Doesn’t it?” He beamed, and his mind dwelled on Flora’s talents.
Isla gave him an odd look.
The driver stopped in the center of the square, outside of the public house, and soon Hamish and Callum, their wives, and Mr. Warne and Lord Pierce arrived.
“Don’t tell me they’ve brought their guests,” Isla said, in a mournful tone that sounded suspiciously like a groan.
Perhaps Mr. Warne or Lord Pierce might become his sister’s husband. Wolfe glanced at her, conscious of wanting to see what her impression of the men would be.
“You may find them amusing,” he said.
His sister’s eyes narrowed.
Devil it.
She was always clever.
“Both men are quite fine and unattached,” he declared, despising the slight defensiveness in his voice.
“One wonders why they’re unattached,” she said.
“Perhaps it’s because they haven’t met you.”
She laughed. “I’ve seen both of them in balls at London.”
Well.
This was evidently not going to be a case of love at first sight. No matter. He hadn’t loved Flora at once either, but he absolutely did now.
“I imagine you haven’t spent time with them,” Wolfe said.
“I never saw the need,” Isla grumbled.
“Be nice to them.”
“That’s not my natural inclination,” Isla said, and Wolfe rolled his eyes. “The men might think I desire to marry them.”
“You mustn’t speak like that,” he said. “There’s much to be commended about marriage.”
“Indeed? According to the man who’s never shown any interest in courting anyone before, despite the heavy suggestions of multiple matchmaking mamas and proud papas? And who’s spending nights with one of his servants? Really, no sense of morals at all.”
“No, I think it is important for you to have someone good in your life.”
“How hypocritical,” Isla murmured.
Wolfe winced. Perhaps it had been hypocritical when he’d arranged this, but he now knew it was true. His time with Flora had been wonderful, and he wanted Isla to experience the same. She couldn’t simply flit from house party to house party indefinitely. That was no life, even if he had tarnished her reputation. He was determined to make it better.
“Just be nice to them,” he said curtly, and soon he approached the others.
“Lord McIntyre. Lady Isla.” Lord Pierce dipped down into a bow and kissed Isla’s hand. Wolfe gave him an approving nod.
Lord Pierce was somewhat stocky and was active in parliament. Wolfe imagined Isla would find his parliament activity dull, though he hoped she would find his title respectable. Isla had of course always appreciated music. Both Lord Pierce and Mr. Warne frequented music gatherings.
He strode through the streets of the town.
“My lord.” A few people nodded to him.
“I didn’t realize you were so acquainted with the people here,” Callum remarked.
“Perhaps I’m more memorable than you are.”
Callum frowned. “Nonsense.”
Wolfe had always assumed London to be far superior, and he dismissed this town as being close to where his parents had lived, but he was enjoying returning here, even if his last trip here, with Flora, had been decidedly more enjoyable.
He resisted the temptation to drag the others into the haberdashery. He doubted the experience would be the same without her.
The sun shone brightly, and the weather was colder than on the other days. The brisk wind constantly nipped at the back of his neck and the place where his gloves and coat sleeves met, as if trying to reach any way to chill him, no matter his carefully chosen woolen attire.
Callum’s wife drew Callum’s attention to something, and soon Wolfe found himself walking with Mr. Warne. Callum was not particularly close to Mr. Warne, but he often found the man at musical events.
“What a lovely town,” Mr. Warne declared. “I am enjoying it.”
“Good,” Wolfe said.
“You don’t mind the cold?” Isla’s lips curled, and Wolfe shot her a warning glance.
“It is a welcome change from the south coast,” Mr. Warne said.
“Where are you from?” Isla asked, and Wolfe sent her an approving nod.
She was making conversation. This was wonderful.
“I’m from Sussex,” Mr. Warne said. “Near Hastings.”
“Ah, a place abundant with smugglers,” Callum murmured.
“Yes,” Mr. Warne said. “Quite.”
“I heard they can be quite violent in that area,” Hamish’s wife said.
“Perhaps that’s why h
e’s moved to London,” Isla said, “and perhaps it’s why he doesn’t find it too cold here.”
“It would be a long way for smugglers to come here,” Wolfe demurred, “even if this is on the coast and even if this area does have a good relationship with France.”
Mr. Warne gave a polite smile. “I find the landscape more dramatic. It suits my sensibilities.”
“A romantic man,” Wolfe said. “Quite Germanic.”
“I’ve met some Germans in my time,” Mr. Warne said.
“Do you enjoy their music?” Wolfe asked curiously.
“How could I not? Especially the newer things that are happening there. So romantic. So much emotion. Has there even been a better composer than Beethoven?” The man spoke with passion, and Isla’s eyes practically glittered.
Wolfe stepped away so the two might continue their conversation. Isla shared his passion for music.
Wolfe was happy Isla seemed content. He entered into a conversation with Lord Pierce. The man’s interest in music was decidedly less developed. Lord Pierce’s interests were more in the direction of helping others, and he proceeded to speak about intricate politics instead.
Wolfe eventually made an excuse so that he could visit the jeweler. When he found the group, they were debating the merits of visiting The Lamb’s Inn.
“Let’s go to the tavern,” Callum said. “I haven’t been there in years.”
“I’m sure it’s not proper to take the ladies there,” Hamish said.
“Ha,” Callum scoffed. “This isn’t London. We can find a private room there.”
Wolfe followed them into the tavern. It didn’t matter what they did now. He had the ring.
He entered the now familiar tavern, ducking slightly to avoid the low medieval beams. Wolfe scanned the crowd. Several of the men had been there when Flora and he had been there last.
“Ah, it’s the earl,” one of the people in the tavern said.
“Where’s your lady friend?” one person asked.
The others looked at him.
“Lady friend?” Callum asked, and Wolfe attempted to appear unfazed by the comment. He’d promised himself to not reveal anything about Flora, and he certainly was not going to break that vow before Lord Pierce and Mr. Warne.
“They played the most beautiful piano together,” one man said, and his eyes took on a dreamy tone.
“Is that so?” Mr. Warne asked.
“Aye. It’s rare to see a woman play so well.”
Wolfe cleared his throat. “They are referring to my Christmas consultant.”
Mr. Warne’s eyes widened. Evidently Harrison was not the only person who found Flora’s occupation unexpected.
“You’re not speaking about Flora?” Callum asked.
“I am,” Wolfe said. “She is remarkably talented.”
“Like an angel,” the burly publican said, and his eyes glazed, as if he were even now remembering her music.
Wolfe didn’t blame him in the slightest.
“How extraordinary,” Callum said.
“Remarkable,” his wife breathed.
“You appear shocked,” Mr. Warne said, addressing Callum.
“She used to be my wife’s maid,” Callum said.
“A maid?” Mr. Warne’s eyes narrowed, and he steepled his fingers together. “How very extraordinary to find her so talented. I would have thought it odd that she’d even know how to play.”
“We weren’t aware of it. But we would have let her practice had we known.”
“Oh, indeed,” the duchess said.
“We don’t need to speak about her more,” Wolfe said quickly. He knew she respected her privacy.
“Oh, but you must. She truly is such a good musician,” the publican said.
She was.
All these people were so eager to have her play for them again. If he could not convince Flora to remain with him, he wanted to give her the opportunity to play her compositions before an audience. It was her dream after all. She’d never even heard her work be played before. The musicians he’d hired would be able to do that.
If she did decide to stay with Wolfe, she might still be nervous of playing in London, even under his protection.
But this was Scotland. This was the upper, fairer portions of Scotland, away from whatever harm she’d come from. Why not have her play here?
He smiled, contemplating how he might make the ball even nicer.
Chapter Twenty
The musicians were practicing, and the house was filled with Christmas music, even though their guests would not arrive for a few hours. Wolfe paced the ballroom, but everything was perfect. Garlands draped from wooden beams in the old ballroom, melding well with the old fashioned wood. His parents had always despised the room, thinking it should be more modern, more like the glittering ballrooms that let in lots of light, even though people only danced in them at dark. Those ballrooms had cerulean ceilings with gods and goddesses perched on clouds wearing very little. But there was something about this starkness that Wolfe appreciated. It was not pretentious, in fact with Flora’s touch it felt like home, more even than when he was a child.
The air was infused with the scent of oranges and cloves. Fire danced in the great stone fireplace in one corner of the room. Flora had found dark red curtains that suited the Christmas spirit and had draped them over the windows, including the ones that led to the few balconies.
Flora flitted about the ballroom, making everything look lovely. It was difficult for him not to stare at her.
It would be easy to say she was below him, merely because of her birth. Many other people would say the same. Perhaps if he married her he would spend the rest of his life noting the raised eyes that lifted when they entered a room together.
Devil it.
He wanted to speak to her. He crossed the ballroom, despising the way her eyes widened, as if she didn’t expect to see him.
“It’s you,” she breathed.
“You appear surprised,” he said softly.
“We had a good time. That is all. You needn’t be speaking more. You certainly haven’t been doing that lately.”
“Oh, Flora,” he said. “I have longed to speak to you.”
Her eyes knit with confusion. “To say goodbye?”
“No,” he said.
For a moment her face seemed to crumple. “I am leaving in the morning.”
“Look,” he said. “Just promise to save me a waltz.”
“But I’m a guest,” she said.
“And yet I cannot think of a lovelier waltz partner,” he said, taking her hands in his. He wanted to take her in his arms and he wished the ballroom were not filled with quite so many footmen.
He left her, wanting to say everything to her, but not wanting to disrupt his sister’s event.
Finally, horses pranced outside the windows. The first guests were arriving. Festive jingles rang out, and Wolfe smiled. He offered Isla his arm. “I believe now is the time when we should greet our guests.”
“Your guests,” she said. “You arranged it.”
“With some help,” he said. He touched his pocket, conscious of the ring inside. He was eager to propose to Flora, but he would wait until after the ball. Isla deserved that. He didn’t want anyone to speaking about anything except how beautiful his sister was.
“You look magnificent,” he said.
“It’s really no effort,” she said nonchalantly, but her eyes sparkled, and he knew he’d made her happy.
She wore a ruby colored dress that glimmered in the light. Black lace was embroidered around the neckline which was rather lower than he thought appropriate, though he wasn’t going to begin the ball by questioning her on that. There were some things one shouldn’t discuss.
“That color is very festive,” he said.
“Oh?” She waved a fan.
“It’s almost as if you truly like Christmas,” he said.
“Perhaps this was a good idea. It was quite amusing to look for this.” S
he glanced at the ceiling and at the many garlands. “I do wonder what our parents would make of all this.”
“Most likely they would lecture about how this is a fire hazard.”
“Yes. They were always sensible.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But they weren’t always kind.”
Isla squeezed his hand. “You’ve made things up to Callum,” she said gently.
“Do you mind that I gave him back the castle Father took from him? I should perhaps have asked you, but—”
She shook her head. “No. It was good you did that.”
More people streamed into the room. The musicians played a minuet, and some enthusiastic party-goers began to dance.
“This is quite the grandest ball the Highlands has ever seen, my dear brother,” Isla said.
He grinned proudly. “Ah, yes. I am glad you think that.”
“What some of these people want all the way in the Highlands is beyond me. I’m sure they don’t all have relatives here.”
“Perhaps some of them desire to spend time with you,” Wolfe said gently.
“Oh. I see. Is that why there are so many eligible men here?”
“I’m glad you found them eligible too.”
FLORA CONTINUED TO move about the room, making certain everything was lovely. People laughed and danced. Some exclaimed over the Christmas tree, and others marveled at the yule log.
Her heart still raced, pondering Wolfe’s strange desire to dance with her. He’d abandoned her easily once his sister and friends arrived. Why would he want to dance a waltz? They’d danced a waltz together before, and it had been intimate and incredible, and not something she could dance before hundreds of guests without revealing just how much she cared for him.
Wolfe’s gaze seemed to be often on her. He was standing before the Christmas tree now, speaking with one of the musicians. He turned toward her, and she abruptly averted her gaze, but not before she saw a smile spread on his lips.
How on earth was she going to forget his smile? She hadn’t forgotten him ever since she was a child, and she knew him so much better now.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wolfe announced, and the room quieted. “I would like to announce, that we have a talented artist with us tonight.”
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