by Karen Ranney
A sister who did anything she wanted, Ross thought, and Ellice, whose penchant for scandal was only slightly less than his father’s. Add to that the termagant of a housekeeper and an adopted mother-in-law and Drumvagen was an asylum.
“Have you no control over the females in your life?”
To his surprise, Sinclair grinned at him. “Little or none,” he said. “Perhaps that’s why I’m so damn happy.”
Was there something to the man’s reasoning? Huntly was a peaceful oasis, but he hadn’t been happy for a great many years. Content, yes, but not happy.
What would marriage to Ellice be like? The fact that he was asking the question bothered him.
Sinclair leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and regarded the ceiling.
“Enid isn’t going to forget. She isn’t going to see you leave in the morning and think, ‘Oh, well, he didn’t want to marry. No matter.’ The woman is as tenacious as a bulldog.” His gaze moved to Ross. “I don’t know what kind of influence she still has, if any, in England. But she is the Dowager Countess of Barrett. If you make her mad enough, she’ll start writing people and they might listen to her.”
“If she went around saying that I ruined her daughter, you mean.”
Sinclair shook his head. “I doubt she’d word it that way. But a hint about your mental stability, your character, in the right places might well harm you.”
“Blackmail, in other words.”
“Not mine,” Sinclair said. “I’m not altogether sure you would be a good enough husband to Ellice.”
That comment had him sitting back in his chair. “Why is that?”
Sinclair didn’t look away.
Was he going to mention Cassandra? If so, he had to applaud the man’s bravery. No one in the last five years had the courage to look him in the eye and mention his wife.
“You don’t care about her,” Sinclair said, startling him. “You would agree to marriage for a selfish reason.”
“Marriage is inherently selfish,” he said.
Sinclair smiled again. “You really have to meet my wife.”
“Perhaps not all marriages,” he amended. “But most. Most in my circle of acquaintances. Bonds are made for a great many reasons and hardly any of them are for love.”
Sinclair nodded. “Perhaps I was better off growing up on the streets of Edinburgh.”
Surprised, Ross regarded his host. Macrath Sinclair’s reputation was that of a genius at business and invention. He was one of the new industrialists whose talent had enabled him to create a far-flung empire. He’d never once considered that Sinclair had done it on his own, without family resources.
“But Ellice is a woman,” Sinclair said. “Who was reared in London. She no doubt expected to marry at a certain age, like most women do.”
Ellice was not like most women. Why didn’t anyone realize that?
“If she doesn’t marry you, it’s conceivable she’ll be gossiped about to the extent she’ll be unable to marry anyone.”
Ross stood, walked to the window, staring out at the night.
“Yet you don’t think I’m good enough for her.”
“I don’t,” Sinclair said. “Not because you’re not a good man, Gadsden. But because you don’t care about her.”
He did, but not in the way Sinclair meant. She annoyed him, irritated him, and amused him. More, he wanted her, and it appeared as if her desire was as great as his.
“An arranged marriage wouldn’t be out of the ordinary,” Ross said. “But I would want some time to get to know her better. As you said, it’s only been a few days.”
How had he gone from protesting a union with Ellice to suggesting it might be a good idea?
“Is that calculation talking?” Sinclair asked. “Are you thinking that you can postpone the marriage until after the election? Then you could extricate yourself from the situation.”
He turned and studied Sinclair. “You think I would do that? Hardly the actions of an honorable man.”
Sinclair smiled at him.
“But then, my actions have hardly been honorable, have they?” he asked.
“If I were in the same situation, I’d be considering a variety of options. I’m not above lying in certain circumstances. But I’ll ask you not to in this one. Ellice is a young woman who’s not been treated all that well by life. She lost her father young, then her brother and a beloved sister. She was uprooted from her home in London to Drumvagen. She deserves to be treated with care. If not that, compassion.”
“You don’t mention love.”
Sinclair smiled. “Love is not your choice,” he said. “Love is like lightning. You never see it coming. If it strikes you, you know it instantly and it will forever leave its mark. Sometimes,” he said, picking up his glass once more, “you feel like you’re dying from it.”
“I don’t love her,” he said. He wasn’t certain what he felt around Ellice, but it wasn’t love.
He didn’t want to write sonnets to her. He didn’t want to bring her flowers or sit and wonder at her beauty. No, he wanted to toss her onto the nearest flat surface or kiss her until he was finally done with the need to kiss her. He wanted to shout at her, another indication that what he was feeling was most definitely not love.
He turned and faced the window again.
He was standing for election, and even Logan had hinted that marriage would be an asset. As a widower, he was tired of the hopeful mamas and properly schooled ingenues who seemed to follow him from one event to another. He had no heir, unless you counted an obscure cousin who seemed perfectly suited to managing his own estates and didn’t covet Huntly at all. His mother would be pleased.
“I’ll marry her,” he said.
“But will you be a good husband?”
He glanced at Sinclair again. “Yes,” he said. As good a husband as he knew how to be. That would have to be enough.
When Mairi knocked on the door of Virginia’s sitting room, it was answered by Mary, who smiled at her and nodded down to a sleeping Carlton in her arms.
The room smelled of baby and roses, a combination that was strangely fitting. Macrath had gardeners create a rose garden on the back lawn, large enough that Virginia could walk among the paths. Some of the bushes were already blooming. Soon the whole of Drumvagen would smell of roses.
Ellice and Mairi stood aside as the nurse carried the baby to his bed, where he would be tucked in and watched over by Mary.
Virginia wasn’t in her bed but seated in a chair beside the fireplace, her feet propped up on a large footstool.
Mairi and Virginia were sisters-in-law, and Ellice was Virginia’s former sister-in law. But as Virginia smiled and greeted the two of them, Ellice had the feeling that the skeins of marriage that bound them were only incidental to the love they felt for each other.
Virginia stretched out her arms to enfold Mairi in a hug, laughing when Mairi remarked on how well she looked.
“I feel absolutely wonderful. It’s your brother who has me confined to this cage,” she said. “If I had my way, I’d be all over Drumvagen.”
“Which is probably why he insists you rest,” Mairi said, sitting on the edge of the footstool.
Ellice had thought Virginia looked radiant while carrying her child, but she was doubly so now. Her black hair skimmed her shoulders and gleamed in the lamplight. Her skin was as perfect as one of her mother’s Royal Doulton porcelain plates. A soft rose glow brushed her cheeks, graced her lips with color. Her eyes, so pale a blue that they were always startling, were soft and held a look of contentment.
She was a madonna in the glow of the lamp. A woman other women aspired to emulate. Kind, graceful, and beautiful, Virginia was all the things she wasn’t. Macrath loved her desperately and it was evident to anyone that she felt the same for him.
“Our Ellice has gotten herself into a bit of a problem,” Mairi said, glancing at her.
She sat on the nearby chair, feeling like a puppy who was being chastised by olde
r dogs.
“The Earl of Gadsden,” Virginia said.
Surprised, Ellice nodded.
“A very attractive man, I hear.”
“One who bears a striking resemblance to her hero,” Mairi said. “After reading the book, I can understand why the man is desperate to halt its publication.”
Virginia placed both hands on the arms of her chair and scooted into a more comfortable position.
“Now that I hadn’t heard about,” she said, glancing at Ellice.
“He wants me to change Donald’s appearance. Make him so he doesn’t have gray eyes and black hair.”
“Or have his physique?” Mairi asked.
Ellice nodded, even though the earl hadn’t mentioned Donald’s figure.
“I don’t see how I can,” she said. “Lady Pamela remarks on his gray eyes several times.”
“You could make them blue,” Virginia said. “Like the Sinclair eyes. They’re very striking. Regardless, I need to read this book of yours.”
“Only after I finish it,” Mairi said. “But that’s not the reason we’re here. We’ve come to get your wise counsel.”
“You make me sound like an oracle,” Virginia said. “Should I be peering into a bowl of water or something? Shall we summon Brianag?”
Both Ellice and Mairi said, “No!” at the same time, resulting in laughter.
“We have a situation,” Mairi said, and went on to explain the embarrassing circumstances, glossing over the part where Ellice had been bent over the settee. What she didn’t say was that Ellice was only a moment or so away from willingly surrendering her virtue to the earl.
Virginia looked from Mairi to Ellice.
Ellice decided it was wiser to concentrate on the music boxes in the nearby cabinet than to meet Virginia’s eyes.
“What we really want,” Mairi said, “is for you to convince Macrath that there’s no reason to marry Ellice off.”
Was that what she really wanted? Oh, most definitely not.
“I kissed him,” she said, and looked away. “Besides the scene in my sitting room. I kissed him two other times.”
Both women glanced at her, surprised.
“I’m only mentioning it because Macrath was a witness to one of those occasions, which might have something to do with his decision.”
“Macrath feels very protective of you,” Virginia said. “If marriage is the best answer, he will insist on it.”
“There’s another alternative to marriage,” Mairi said. “If your book was published and sold well, you could have your own establishment.” Mairi’s mouth firmed, her chin jutted forward, and for a moment she looked just like a figurehead on a ship: all challenge and pride.
Did she want her own establishment? She wasn’t sure about that, either. She wanted a home of her own, one that wasn’t occupied by her mother or Brianag. One where she could sit and write for hours if she wished. One where there was peace and happiness, but an atmosphere she created, not one she borrowed.
“How do you feel about the Earl of Gadsden, Ellice?”
She glanced at Virginia. She wasn’t used to exposing her emotions in speech. People had rarely asked her to do so. Now, it seemed almost impossible.
She might be able to write about Lady Pamela seducing Donald, but to explain how she felt about Gadsden to the two women who sat waiting expectantly for her to speak? No, she couldn’t possibly.
He excites me. He makes me feel alive. I want to ravish him. When I’m around him, I want to touch him everywhere.
“You don’t dislike him, surely?”
She shook her head. No, that was definitely not the feeling she had around him. He occupied entirely too many of her thoughts. But thinking of him was better than not thinking of him. How did she explain that?
“Could you imagine yourself being his wife?”
Her gaze flew to meet Mairi’s.
“I never could,” Mairi said. “Not Logan’s, I mean. It was such an impossible thing that I never allowed myself to envision it. Do you?”
Ellice shook her head again.
That was not quite true, though, was it? If she married Gadsden, it would be the result of her own choice, wouldn’t it? After all, she was the one who decided to kiss him, not once but twice. She had dreams of him. Her imagination had furnished her with all sorts of images, things she’d like to do to him, not to mention what she wanted him to do to her.
“Macrath will want what’s best for you.”
She nodded again.
“I can’t see myself remaining at Drumvagen for the rest of my life.” She looked at Virginia. “It’s a lovely place.”
“But it’s not your place,” Virginia said, smiling softly.
Ellice nodded.
Now she glanced at Mairi. “I don’t want to have my own household. I don’t want to be alone.”
How did she tell them that contrary to any good sense, she wanted the Earl of Gadsden? The idea of being able to be close to him anytime she wanted was heady, making her pulse race even now.
A knock on the door made them look at each other. The visitor could only be Brianag or her mother, neither of whom she wanted to see.
Mairi opened the door to Enid, who entered the room as if she were the queen and the rest of them merely her lowly subjects, none of whom deserved an iota of attention.
“There you are, child. I’ve been looking for you.”
Ellice had the strangest feeling that she was about to be beheaded. Either that or sent to the Tower.
Her mother’s face was more florid than usual, her lips smiling instead of thinned, and there was a look in her eyes that spoke of hard won triumph.
“You’re to be married, child. To the Earl of Gadsden.”
Ellice clamped her lips shut to hide her relieved smile.
Chapter 16
Ellice didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or terrified.
She stood outside Macrath’s library, fist raised to knock on the door. It was a very solid oak door with carved panels and a shiny brass handle. None of the hardware at Drumvagen ever creaked or groaned. If she pressed down on the handle it wouldn’t squeak. The hinges wouldn’t betray that she’d opened the door.
Everything would change the minute she walked over the threshold.
Stepping back, she dropped her hand. She couldn’t marry the man; she barely had the courage to see him.
“The earl will attend you in the library, Ellice,” her mother had said. “Be on your best behavior child. Do not embarrass the family.”
Be more like Eudora, in other words.
She was to be married by default, because she was shocking. Because she was brave and outlandish and had the entire family talking about her.
The Earl of Gadsden was going to marry her. A man who wouldn’t have ordinarily looked at her but for the intervention of Lady Pamela. How very odd that a character in a book had aided her more than any real person.
The door opened suddenly and Macrath stood there. She was still trying to think of something to say when he bent and kissed her on the forehead.
“You two need to talk, I think,” he said, abruptly leaving her.
There was nothing more to do but walk through the doorway.
The earl stood in front of the window, with its view of the clear, moonlit night. Was he intrigued by the glow of the moon reflected on the ocean?
As she entered, he turned to face her. Without speaking, he walked past her to close the door, then came to stand in front of her in the middle of the room.
He was the most handsome creature she’d ever seen. Not even Donald had as perfectly sculpted a face. His eyes were steam now, his mouth thinned a little, the muscles in his jaw flexed.
She wanted to place her hand on his cheek and soothe him in some way.
Instead, she kept her hands clasped in front of her.
“We are to wed,” he said, his voice as cold as winter at Drumvagen.
She held herself tight, merely nodding at his words. Couldn
’t he have pretended a bit of interest or enthusiasm?
“Because of my schedule, I would appreciate some flexibility on your part. I’m standing for election as a representative peer in a little while. I’d prefer to wed shortly.”
What, exactly, was shortly?
He answered in the next breath.
“I realize that three weeks is not very long, but it will have to suffice.”
She nodded. She’d never been one of those girls who dreamt of her wedding. If it was to take place, then why not as soon as possible?
“I’ve another favor to ask of you.”
She waited, silent.
“The weddings of the Earls of Gadsden have always been held at Huntly. It’s a tradition I’m loath to break. Would you mind being wed there?”
She shook her head.
“Have you nothing to say?”
“Is my conversation truly needed at this point? It seems as if all I need to do is simply be there.”
Some of the steam left his eyes.
“If you object, then we can talk about alternatives.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t object to being wed in three weeks. It seems to me if I’m to be married, why wait? It’s not as if I’m going to France for a trousseau.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something, but she held up her hand. “As far as being wed at Huntly, that doesn’t matter to me, either. One place is as good as the next, isn’t it?”
If he was going to treat the whole matter with sang froid, then so was she.
“Why does your mother think you’re odd?”
She hadn’t expected that question. She glanced at him, then away.
“I’m not my sister. My sister was perfect. I’m not.” He might as well know the whole truth now. “I don’t care very much about what other women seem to,” she said. “I haven’t any interest in fashion. Jewels bore me. I don’t like gatherings all that much. I’m a lamentable dancer and I sing like a tortured owl. I’d much rather be reading or writing.”
His face changed, so subtly that if she wasn’t watching him so closely she wouldn’t have seen it.
“About your writing . . .” he began.
“No,” she said.