by Amanda Scott
“Then, by God, I’ll arrange for a special license,” Eustace declared.
“You will have to apply to the bishop, sir. I cannot help you with that.”
“Bishop!” Sir Eustace made a rude noise. “I have resources more powerful than mere bishops, I promise you.”
Lady Carmichael put a hand on his arm, saying, “Pray, sir, do not fly into a temper. As my uncle has said, this will all resolve itself in time. I trust you will not leave Mute Hill House before we have discussed it all thoroughly.”
He looked at her, and when she gazed soulfully into his eyes, he patted her hand. “I will not be so uncivil, certainly not to you, who have always been kind to me. Moreover,” he added, “your uncle is right. We should not waste all that food.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. Turning to Kit, she said graciously, “You must stay, too, Sir Christopher, at least until you have had an opportunity to prove that you are who you say you are.”
He was tempted to refuse, feeling as if he were being invited, however kindly, to enter a slaughterhouse. Neither her attitude nor Eustace’s sudden affability made sense to him, so he did not reply at once, trying to collect enough of his wits to compare his previous beliefs with his new position.
Just then, Anne emerged from the chapel and smiled at him, making the decision an easy one, after all. “I’ll stay, and gladly, madam,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Oh, this goes very well,” Catriona said, rubbing her hands together.
“Aye,” Fergus said, gazing raptly at her. “Ye’re a clever one, lass. I’ll grant ye that. O’ course, that other one—Mistress Fiona—she’ll ha’ tae play her part too.”
Catriona laughed. “Oh, she will. You just watch. How could she not find him singularly attractive after that fiendish man she just got rid of?”
Maggie shook her head. “Ye’d best learn no tae count things as done until they are done, Catriona. ’Tis only a matter o’ time before summat happens that ye dinna expect.”
“Not this time,” Catriona said confidently. “Watch.”
When the lad who had carried Fiona into the chapel left, Anne had all she could do not to leave her cousin drooping in the family pew and rush back out to the porch to see what was happening. There could be no question of that, however, until Fiona recovered her senses, if not her color and her composure.
When she finally opened her eyes, she sat up too abruptly and looked around dizzily and in panic. Finding herself alone with Anne, she said, “Is it true?”
“If you mean is the gentleman who interrupted the ceremony really Sir Christopher Chisholm, then yes, I believe he is, love. You will not have to marry Eustace after all.”
“No,” she said doubtfully. “You did say that something might happen, and it has, but shall I have to give back all the presents now?”
“Goose,” Anne said, repressing an impulse to laugh, “you should have more important matters on your mind than that.”
“Yes, but perhaps I need not give them back, for if I must marry Sir Christopher instead of his uncle, is it not much the same thing? I mean, after all, they are both Chisholms, so cannot the same presents count for either one?”
No longer feeling an urge to laugh but experiencing instead an unfamiliar desire to shake her cousin, Anne took a deep breath and said, “I think you should rest quietly here for a few moments whilst I go see what is happening outside.”
“Don’t leave me alone!”
“Compose yourself, Fiona. No one will harm you here in the chapel with Parson Allardice, your mother, and the others just outside the door.”
“But what if they come in?”
“I won’t let them. Moreover, I will return as soon as I believe it is safe for you to return to the house without meeting anyone who might demand answers you are in no condition to provide.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!”
“Then sit here quietly and collect your composure. You know perfectly well that I can look after things for you, do you not?”
“Oh, yes, Anne. You are always so good.”
“Then wait here. You need worry no longer about Eustace. Your betrothal to Sir Christopher must supersede any such arrangement with his uncle.”
“He… he will not want to be married straightaway, will he?”
Knowing that Sir Christopher did not want to marry at all made it easy for Anne to say, “No, love, I’m sure he will not want to rush into anything. But surely you would prefer to marry a man nearer your own age than Eustace is.”
Fiona shuddered. “I don’t care how old he is, as long as it is not Sir Eustace.”
“Then let me see what they are doing,” Anne said, patting her shoulder. “I shan’t be long, I promise.”
And with that, she hurried out in time to hear Sir Christopher agree to stay at least overnight at Mute Hill House.
Eustace was looking daggers at Olivia, so Anne had no need to wonder who had issued the invitation, but Parson Allardice was beaming.
“ ’Tis the very thing,” he said approvingly. “We’ll sort things out much quicker if everyone can sit down all together and discuss the matter.”
“Well, you can sort them out without my help,” Eustace said. “I’ve agreed to stay for this nonsensical feast of Toby’s, but I’ll have nowt to do with any discussion of a never-existent betrothal.”
Anne glanced at Sir Christopher and discovered he was looking directly at her, almost as if he expected her to speak. The intensity of his gaze reminded her of his kiss, and feeling her lips burn at the memory, she was sure she must be blushing. So determined had she been to produce him and thus stop Fiona’s wedding to Eustace that she had taken no time to consider her own position, or her feelings, if Fiona married Sir Christopher. Nor, however, could she consider them now.
Gathering her wits, she said quietly, “I thought I should let you know that Fiona is nearly herself again, Aunt Olivia. Still, I think it would be wise to take her up to the house as quickly and unobtrusively as we can. She does not want to meet anyone or answer questions just now, as I am sure you will understand.”
“Yes, oh, yes,” Olivia said. “But I’m sure I do not know how we can get her across the bridge and up to her room without meeting any number of people.”
Sir Christopher said quietly, “Is there an entrance that is less used than the others, my lady?”
Olivia looked at him with dawning appreciation. “Why, yes, a postern door between the kitchen and bakehouse. Anne, you must take Fiona in by that way. I warrant you will not meet anyone there who would dare to ask questions of her.”
“Yes, madam, but we still have to negotiate the gardens, and it is possible that everyone is not inside yet.”
“I’d be happy to accompany you, Lady Anne,” Sir Christopher said.
“You are singularly well informed, sir,” Eustace snarled. “I do not recall that anyone has made you known to her ladyship.”
Anne felt fire in her cheeks again, but if Sir Christopher was caught off guard, he did not reveal it by so much as a twitch.
Smiling ruefully at her, as if she were an injured party, he said, “I beg your pardon, my lady, but when you called Lady Carmichael ‘aunt,’ I knew you must be her niece. Your presence here at Mute Hill House is known throughout the area, but I should not have presumed to speak to you without a proper introduction.”
“You need not apologize, sir,” she said. “I am grateful for your offer. Fiona is rapidly recovering her composure, but I doubt that I could protect her by myself against anyone encroaching enough to invade her privacy. You, on the other hand, are large enough to daunt the most determinedly curious.”
“You cannot intend for this impostor to accompany you and Fiona to her bedchamber,” Eustace exclaimed, looking scandalized by the thought, just as if he had not been caught on the brink of entering Fiona’s room in the middle of the night, which in Anne’s opinion was far more scandalous.
“Have mercy, good sir,” Olivia said, claspi
ng a hand to her bosom. “I am sure Anne had no such improper intention.”
But Eustace was staring grimly at his nephew.
Parson Allardice said crisply, “I am sure we are all grateful for your assistance, young man, but ye’ll go only to the kitchen door wi’ the lassies.”
“I had no other intention,” Sir Christopher said.
Olivia turned again to Eustace and held out her hand. “If you please, sir, you may escort me into the house now. I vow, I weary of this discussion.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Eustace said. “Do you join us, Parson Allardice?”
“Aye, for I dinna mind admitting I’m that famished,” he said.
Kit touched Anne’s elbow, and she looked up to see him smiling. His features were harsh, his nose aquiline, but his teeth were white and strong, and she thought him very handsome. The hair she could see beneath his hat was a lighter brown than she had thought it, and his eyes surprised her. She had imagined they were dark, but they were light blue with dark rims to the irises, and his lashes were dark and unusually long and thick.
She did not want to look away, but when he nodded toward the chapel entrance, she remembered Fiona.
“Pray, let me go to her alone first, sir,” she said. “It will be better if I tell her you are to escort us than if you suddenly appear.”
“Of course, mistress. When you want me, just speak my name. I’ll hear you.”
“Thank you,” she said with, she was sure, far more sincerity than he would think the occasion warranted.
She hurried back to Fiona, saying as she approached her, “We are going into the house, love, so you must get up now and straighten your dress. We have a stout protector to accompany us, and you must not let him see you looking so mussed.”
“Who?” Fiona demanded, her eyes wide with apprehension.
“No one to frighten you, I promise. Only Sir Christopher, who will escort us as far as the kitchen door to assure that we get into the house unmolested. May I call him?” When Fiona nodded, Anne raised her voice, saying, “You may come in, sir.”
He stepped inside but showed the good sense not to approach Fiona.
“Are you really Sir Christopher Chisholm?” she asked shyly.
“Yes, mistress. I am sorry to have spoiled your wedding day.”
“That does not matter,” she said. “May we go into the house now, Anne?”
Anne exchanged a look with him but said only, “Of course, love.”
They made their way through the gardens without encountering anyone except a disinterested gardener near the rustic plank bridge that crossed the brook near the stable. Stopping at the postern door, Anne said, “If you will wait here, sir, I’ll return quickly and walk with you to the hall. You have been very kind to do this, and you should not have to confront that crowd alone.”
“With respect, mistress, you should perhaps stay clear of me for the present.” Slanting a look at Fiona, he added, “My uncle seems to suspect that we have met before. If I enter the hall with you on my arm, it may cause trouble later.”
“You are being absurd, sir,” she said, barely stopping herself from touching his arm to emphasize her point. “If you do not wait for me, I shall have to enter the hall alone, which would not suit me in the least.”
“I’d venture to guess you would manage quite well, however.”
“Yes, I would, for I have done so before, but your escort would lend me consequence. Besides,” she added in a burst of honesty, “I don’t want to miss anything, so pray do not go until I can go with you.”
He chuckled. “I see. Very well then, I’ll wait, but don’t tarry, or my uncle will doubtless send someone to fling me into the nearest dungeon.”
“Mute Hill House has no dungeon,” Fiona said.
“Take her upstairs, my lady,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and hurry back.”
Anne’s intentions were good, but it was only by hardening her heart against Fiona’s pleas to stay that she was able to get away, and by the time she did, she was certain that he must have gone. Nonetheless, she hurried down the service stairs and out the postern door.
Chapter 10
Sir Christopher was leaning against the wall of the bakehouse—arms folded across his broad chest, black hat tilted over his forehead—watching the kitchen doorway. When he smiled lazily at Anne, she noted again how handsome he was, but to attract Fiona she decided he would need some furbishing up. His hair was too long, his clothing sadly out of fashion. The hat was too large, too, and his russet-colored doublet and hose lacked the heavy padding, slashing, and puffing of current styles, although they certainly showed his splendid physique to advantage.
“Do I meet with your approval, my lady?”
She realized she had been staring and collected herself, saying, “I was just thinking you look as if you’ve been out of the way of fashion for some time.”
“Ah, my clothing. My cousin already took me to task for my sad lack of style, so you may rest easy. I promised him I would order new things soon.”
“Your cousin?”
He nodded, straightening as he did and offering her an arm.
As she placed a hand on it, noting instantly how warm the sun had made the russet-colored cloth, she said, “Does your cousin live near here, sir?”
“Curiosity is an unhappy flaw in a female,” he murmured.
“Yes, so I have been told,” she said, smiling up at him. “Nonetheless, it is the only way to get answers to one’s questions.”
He put his left hand atop hers on his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Are you never at a loss for words, lass?”
“I have not given you leave to speak so informally to me, Sir Christopher.”
“Very true,” he agreed, idly stroking her hand with a fingertip. “And we have seen, have we not, what a stickler you are for the proprieties.”
Feeling flames in her cheeks at the memory of their first meeting and her insistence then that a young woman riding alone at night was no occasion for comment, Anne said no more about informality and hoped he would take the hint.
Evidently he did, for he did not press the issue, saying instead, “The cousin I mentioned lives in the Highlands. His father is Lord Chisholm of Dundreggan, and serves as the Sheriff of Inverness-shire.”
“I collect, then, that you returned to the Highlands before coming here.”
“I did, but only because I knew I’d be welcome there. I did not yet know my father had died, you see.”
She looked up again sympathetically. “That must have been hard, learning you would have no opportunity to say goodbye.”
“Or to make my peace with him,” he said. “We are being observed, lass, so try not to rip up at me for the next few minutes or so.”
They had rounded the corner of the house and were indeed within sight of the main entrance, where a small group of guests had gathered. Several heads had turned their way, so Anne resisted the temptation to scold him for his mockery.
She had no more to complain about in his behavior, however, for he escorted her inside and through the crowd to Olivia, who sat regally acknowledging the many guests who approached to commiserate with her at the wedding’s failure.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Anne murmured politely to him.
“It was my pleasure, my lady.” He turned to Olivia, adding, “May I ask, madam, when you believe we can further discuss the question at hand?”
She gazed at him in apparent confusion. “But my dear sir,” she said, “surely you cannot expect to discuss such an important matter in the midst of this revelry!”
“In fact, madam, I had hoped we might retire to some more private place.” If Olivia detected the sardonic note in his voice, Anne saw no sign of it.
To her surprise, Olivia fluttered her lashes and tilted her head coyly as she said, “My dear Sir Christopher, you must know that what you suggest is most improper. You should never ask a woman in mourning to be private with you.”
Sensing th
e shift of his emotions from irritation to annoyance, Anne said hastily, “I believe Sir Christopher assumed that Parson Allardice, Eustace, and perhaps your uncle Toby would be with you, Aunt Olivia. Surely, you must see that the sooner this tangle is unraveled the better it will be for everyone.”
“Indeed, I do see that, Anne. I am not a noddy, for heaven’s sake. But you might show more concern for my nerves. Today’s events have created a shattering ordeal for me. As for Sir Eustace, he has made his position clear, and if he is furious, I am sure no one can blame him.”
A manservant approached with a silver salver and hesitated expectantly. At Olivia’s nod, he moved forward, saying, “Pray, forgive the intrusion, my lady, but a letter has arrived for Lady Anne.”
“Mercy,” Olivia said, taking the missive from the salver. “Who can be writing to you on Fiona’s wedding day, my dear?”
“I am sure I do not know, madam.”
Glancing at the wax seal, Olivia exclaimed, “Why, that is Armadale’s seal! I’d know it anywhere. But who can have had the effrontery… Mercy on us!”
Anne, realizing then who must have sent the letter, said, “I believe Mr. Scott, my father’s man of affairs, sent the earl’s personal seal to Cousin Thomas, madam.” To Kit, she added, “Thomas Ellyson of Dumfries and Stirling is my father’s heir—to the earldom of Armadale, that is.”
“I understood that,” he said, smiling at her so warmly that she looked quickly back at her aunt and tried to ignore responsive warmth spreading deep inside her.
Breaking the seal and unfolding the letter, Olivia muttered, “But why should he write to you and not to me? He has always been the most inconsiderate person, and elevation to the earldom clearly has done nothing to alter that. Naturally, I sent him an invitation to Fiona’s wedding, but he did not even deign to reply. Although I suppose I should be grateful now that he did not attend it.”