by Karen Ranney
Scottish servants gossiped as well as those from London. She’d heard the Drumvagen maids herself. Granted, they were too wise to ever speak of Brianag, but she’d heard them talk about her. According to them, she was a sweet thing with a vacant look in her eyes.
She wasn’t particularly fond of that word—sweet. She didn’t want to be sweet. She wanted to be compelling, fascinating, or unique. After meeting her for the first time, people would want to continue their association with her.
Oh, Ellice? What a fascinating woman! Did you hear her story of exploring Huntly on her wedding night? My dear, she’s witty and bright and charming down to her toes.
Would she ever tell anyone about this? Would she write how the shadows of this narrower corridor were causing her to walk slower, wide-eyed, and wishing she’d never thought to seek out Ross? Here, there were public rooms, the footman had said. Not the ballroom, of course, since it was on the second floor and could only be reached by the sweeping grand staircase she passed five minutes earlier.
She missed the sound of laughter, children’s voices, the endless quarreling tones of Brianag and her mother. She missed noises because Huntly was suffused with the quiet of the grave.
If she shouted, would the sound echo?
She stopped, wondering about the source of the lemon scent. Was it coming from the pierced potpourri jar on the occasional table beside the window? Or from the wax that polished the wood?
The draft carried another scent, of growing things and newly blossoming flowers. Was there a garden just outside an open window?
The parlors and sitting rooms she passed were named for women: the Sarah Parlor, the Caroline Sitting Room, and more she couldn’t remember. She stopped before one open door and stared inside at the shadow draped furniture. She could barely make out a portrait over the fireplace. Is that how you could tell which room you occupied? Was there a Cassandra room here at Huntly? Would she, herself, be immortalized by appending her name to a chamber?
She left the room, grateful that the sconces had been left lit down this curving corridor. Perhaps that’s why footmen were stationed throughout Huntly. Not to guard against intruders as much as fire. As large as the house was, one wing could cheerfully burn to the ground before the inhabitants in the other wing realized it.
Here there was another junction. The one to the left would lead to the building occupied by the now Dowager Countess. The second corridor would lead to the earl’s library even farther away.
Had he wished to escape her so much?
Another door stood open, and she peered inside, expecting a duplicate of the first parlor she’d seen. This room wasn’t spacious at all. Instead, it was half the size of the other rooms and could easily fit into her new sitting room.
Windows, draped against the night, stretched along the far wall. A small fireplace sat in front of two chairs and a table. The room didn’t boast a rotunda or a corbeled ceiling or a cupola with glass inserts. Other than a settee, two chairs, and a small table, there was no other furniture.
In another house it might be considered a perfectly adequate room. At Huntly it looked like a miniature of everything she’d seen.
She loved it immediately.
Here, too, was a portrait above the mantel, but she couldn’t make out the features of the woman. She suddenly wanted to see her. Wanted to know, also, why this room had been picked for her.
One of the gas sconces was located right outside the room. She turned the key at the base of it until the globe burned brightly. The light didn’t illuminate the entire room, but it shone enough that she could see the woman in the portrait.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Cassandra. Cassandra was supposed to have blond hair and blue eyes. This woman’s hair was brown. Her eyes were brown as well, carrying a look of such warmth that Ellice felt touched by it. Her face was oval, her skin a perfect porcelain with a touch of rose on her cheeks. Behind her were several full bookshelves, a window that looked out over Huntly’s lake, and a curved iron staircase.
She stood looking up at the woman, wishing the light were enough to read the brass plaque beneath the painting.
“Are you lost?”
She closed her eyes and pretended for a moment. Ross’s voice was warm, not caustic. His question was not whether she was lost but if she knew whose room this was.
Pretense worked at Drumvagen, but it had no place at Huntly.
She turned and faced her husband. He was fully dressed, although not in the kilt he’d worn at the ceremony and banquet. Instead, he’d changed into a white shirt and black trousers. His hair was mussed as if he’d thrust his fingers through it. His eyes were polished marble.
He was a formidable man even if she could ignore how handsome he was.
“Who is she?”
He glanced up at the portrait. “My grandmother,” he said. “Mary.”
She wanted to ask him so many questions. Why were the rooms named for women? Why had Mary been relegated to this small space? But she asked the one question she was not truly prepared to hear the answer to, instead.
“Why haven’t you come to me?”
He only raised one eyebrow.
“Am I supposed to chase you and demand that you perform your conjugal duties?”
“Is that what you’re doing, chasing me?”
Yes, it was, and how humiliating to admit it.
She folded her arms, steadied her lips—she refused to allow them to tremble—and regarded him as stonily as he was staring at her.
“You didn’t have to marry me, you know,” she said. “I would have been just as content to remain unmarried.”
“So I gathered.”
“But once you married me, you can’t simply put me in a room and forget about me.”
“I can’t?”
She shook her head. “No. You can’t.”
“Go back to your room, Ellice. I have no intention of bedding you tonight.”
Well, that was certainly to the point, wasn’t it?
“Why not?”
She waited for him to answer her, to tell her something pointed and hurtful. He couldn’t forget Cassandra on this night of all nights. Or she wasn’t pretty enough or attractive enough or desirable enough.
Instead, he simply turned and walked away.
She stared after him. Was she supposed to chase him? Did he expect her to follow, weeping, and beg him to treat her with kindness? Or, at the very least, remember that she was his bride?
Lady Pamela would have simply stood at the doorway, watching him leave.
Ellice didn’t do that. She walked out of the room and turned left, intent on her room. If he asked, she’d tell the kind footman that she’d indeed found the earl.
But she wished she hadn’t.
Chapter 20
She returned to her chamber without, blessedly, seeing another servant. To her surprise, she fell asleep with ease, waking in the morning to her mother’s knock.
The Dowager Countess entered the room as if a fierce gust of wind propelled her. She did not, however, ask questions about Ellice’s wedding night. Nor did Enid’s eyes ever meet hers, almost as if her mother were embarrassed by the whole situation.
Instead, Enid began to give her another lecture, this one about remembering who she was, her family’s antecedents, and the fact that the Scots, however civilized they might appear to be now, had been bare-assed and carrying clubs when the English were making laws. Not that her mother would ever say the words “bare assed,” but she implied it with a wrinkle of her nose and pursed lips.
Ellice nodded, torn between two feelings, both of which she was familiar: love and frustration. She loved her mother but she wished her gone. Let her lecture Brianag, who was more equipped to deal with the irritation Enid fostered. Let her yell at the gorse and pontificate to the heather, just not at her for a little while.
Breakfast was a formal affair, with Ross entering the cavernous dining room after all the overnight guests had been seated at the twenty-foot-lo
ng table. He inquired as to their sleep, then thanked them again for attending the ceremony at Huntly.
At every plate there was a small gift-wrapped box. Inside was a gold enameled box featuring a lid painted with a rendition of the great house. Engraved on the inside was the date of their wedding.
She hadn’t known anything about the gifts but suspected that her life would be marked by thoughtful tokens like that, especially to strangers.
How Ross treated people who were close to him—or supposed to be close to him—was another matter entirely. Would he continue to be so distant to her?
The man who sat opposite her was pleasant, approachable, and personable to his table mates. He smiled. He laughed a time or two. He asked questions of Macrath and complimented Virginia. He endured Mairi’s probing, and exchanged more than one look with Logan. He was unfailingly polite to her mother, even when she made a disparaging comment about the size of Huntly.
“I imagine it’s cold in the winter,” she said. “A house as cavernous as this can’t be heated properly.”
“My grandfather was an inventor of sorts,” he said. “He designed a series of flues that carry heated air into the larger rooms. Perhaps you’ll visit in the winter so I can show you how comfortable Huntly truly is.”
Her mother only inclined her head in a queenly gesture.
Ellice wondered if people would notice that Ross hadn’t looked at her once. Nor had he spoken to her.
Were they supposed to be shy around each other? Or circumspect in public? If what should have happened last night had actually happened, how would they have acted?
She would have looked around this morning for some salve to put on her skin, perhaps, because his kisses had been so intense. Her lips would have been swollen, her cheeks abraded by his night beard.
Would she have been flushed with color at the thought of sharing a table with her relatives after having been thoroughly rogered the night before? She would probably have stared at the tablecloth, as she did now, or noted the trembling of her fingers as she brought the cup to her lips.
She stared at his hands, wondering what it would be like to have his fingers on her bare skin. He’d touched her face with such tenderness. Surely those fingers would be just as gentle on her breasts.
They might have even been late to breakfast, and instead of coming in separately, would have arrived hand in hand. He would have led her to her chair, bent over her, brushed her hair back to place a kiss against her cheek. In plain sight of everyone, he would have whispered an endearment to her.
“ . . . wind was so fierce. Is it ever so?”
She blinked, brought herself back to the table. Her mother had said something and was now intently regarding Ross.
“I’m sorry that it kept you awake.”
“I didn’t say it kept me awake, only that it was annoying.”
Perhaps it was for the best that everyone was leaving this morning. Her mother was acting every inch an autocratic English countess and Ross’s smile was tight.
She doubted her ability to be a peacemaker. She’d never been accomplished at the role before. Her mother always brushed her words aside, and Ross would probably not even notice her, let alone what she said.
When Macrath thanked Ross, explaining that they needed to return to Drumvagen because of the children, she wanted to stop him. Or ask if she could ride back with them. Drumvagen had never felt like her home but it was certainly more so than this British Library of a house.
Instead, she bit back her panic, stood, and walked with Ross to the rotunda where everyone’s bags had been delivered. They took their place on the steps as a half-dozen footmen placed everything in the three carriages, the empty wagon waiting to join the procession. Two maids appeared, dressed in dark green, each carrying a basket of food and drink for the journey.
Another example of effortless courtesy delivered to almost strangers.
Her mother-in-law had not made an appearance this morning. Instead, Ross had conveyed her apologies.
“My mother is awaiting a shipment of wool from the Hebrides,” he said.
“Evidently, a shipment of wool is of greater importance than being polite,” her mother had whispered.
Ross overheard them, smiled and said, “To my mother, yes. For that, I apologize as well.”
Her mother swept her into an uncharacteristic hug. “Remember your upbringing, child.”
Ellice was frankly surprised not to hear about Eudora at their parting, as in: Eudora would not need my warnings, child. She would be the perfect countess.
She nodded to her mother, kissed her cheek, and tried not to reveal her relief when Enid finally entered the carriage.
Virginia hugged her as well. Her comment, “Be happy, my dear sister,” almost made her cry.
“Demand your happiness,” Mairi said, and that swept her from near tears to laughter.
Macrath enveloped her in a hug, then said something that troubled her. “You’ll always have a home at Drumvagen.”
Did she need one?
Logan, however, was the one who left her staring at him. “He needs you.”
She couldn’t imagine anyone who needed her less than the Earl of Gadsden.
She stood and watched as the vehicles, her mother occupying the head carriage in sole and regal splendor, pulled away from the steps of Huntly, out into the courtyard, and beyond to the road to Drumvagen.
The two of them stood there silently until the carriages were out of sight.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She wanted to deliver a scathing announcement to him, something about being uninterested and supremely bored about any conversation he wished to initiate.
Instead, she only nodded.
To her great surprise, he took her hand, but instead of turning back and entering the house, led her across the courtyard.
She stopped in the center of a brown circle, tugging on his hand.
“What is this pattern?”
“It’s a Celtic knot. Evidently, my great-grandfather didn’t want anyone to forget he was a Scot. You’ll see it in various places throughout Huntly.”
“I would bet my family goes back as far as yours,” she said. “Perhaps even farther,” she added, to tweak his nose. “But I wasn’t constantly reminded of my ancestors’ presence.”
“Perhaps because you weren’t the heir,” he said.
She held his gaze as long as she could. Normally, she didn’t have any difficulty appearing placid and agreeable. Why was she finding it so difficult with him?
Because he was handsome? Was she that shallow a woman?
Because he was charming when he wished to be, like now? Was she that needy to crave kindness from a man who was more a stranger than a husband?
She was very much afraid that the answer to all those questions was yes, she did have an appreciation for his form and his face, and yes, she was feeling adrift at the moment.
Still, was it fair to call him a stranger? She’d been closer to him than any other man in her life. Probably any other person.
“No,” she said, slipping her hand free of his on the pretense that she needed to lift her skirts. “I think it’s because they hadn’t built anything like Huntly.”
She stopped in the middle of the courtyard and turned in a full circle.
“It really is magnificent,” she said. “Like living at the Vatican. Or Versailles, from what I’ve heard.”
“If you think this is impressive, wait until you see the family entrance,” he said.
Surprised, she turned to him.
“The formal entrance is on the other side. A road stretches between the lake and the house, and that’s where guests usually arrive.”
She hadn’t seen a road, but then she’d barely seen anything but her room. Or the corridors she’d walked last night.
Yes, they really did need to talk.
“My ancestor had a great appreciation for large buildings. He said why build anything unless you can guarantee pe
ople will notice it and it’ll be around for centuries?”
“He didn’t build the Coliseum, by any chance?”
He smiled. “Are you well traveled, Ellice? Or just well schooled?”
“I’m not well traveled. Coming to Scotland was as far as I’ve ever been. Nor am I excessively schooled. My father barely noticed us, the two girls, being concerned mostly with my brother’s education. However, I read a great deal, and it’s said that an armchair education is sometimes the best one.”
He frowned at her.
“Females do read, your lordship.”
“I am aware of that, your ladyship.”
She blinked at him. How very cold his voice could be sometimes.
Looking ahead, she picked up her skirts and made her way over the cobbles.
“Why are we going to your library?”
“It’s actually Huntly’s library more than belonging to any one man. I thought we might have some privacy there.”
“I cannot imagine that it’s the only place at Huntly to find some privacy. What about your chamber or mine?”
He didn’t answer her.
“You’re going to lecture me, aren’t you, and you want an official place to do it? My first lecture as a married woman.” She frowned and dropped her voice. “ ‘My dear Ellice. You mustn’t cavort around Huntly in your nightgown. If I’d wanted to come to you I would have. Have you no propriety, no sense of decorum?’ ” She shook her head, resuming her normal voice. “Is that it?”
He still didn’t answer, but his face now wore a frown as fierce as the one she pretended.
“Oh dear. Am I allowed to guess what my punishment will be? Are you going to show me your library—Huntly’s library—only to take it away from me? For your sins, Ellice Traylor, I ban books from you.” She lifted her head and stared up at the sky. “It doesn’t matter, you know, I’ve brought my favorites with me.”
“It’s Forster,” he said.
She glanced at him.
“Your name is no longer Traylor. It’s Forster.”
“But the rest is right?”