by Lauren Smith
So, I am damned either way...
Chapter Four
The following day, Daphne held her breath as she stepped out of the coach and faced Huntley Castle. It was a beautiful medieval grey stone house abutted by extensive gardens on either side. Much of what might have been old-fashioned in architectural style to some seemed classic to her, and not run down.
She wasn’t sure what she’d believed his home would look like. A dank, dreary place, perhaps? This home was certainly not any of those things. Rather, despite the winter, it appeared to be bustling with life and color. Candles were lit in windows and servants moved about the grounds tending the gardens, preparing them for the spring, still many months away.
“Not what you expected?” Lachlan asked.
She ducked her head, but couldn’t control her blush.
“I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but it is lovely.” She admired the towers and the stained-glass windows along one wing. Statues lined the gravel pathway up to the front entryway. Rosebushes, now dormant in the winter, would be stunning come spring.
Lachlan instructed their driver to attend to his luggage. She had none.
“This way.” He didn’t offer his arm, but stayed close as they walked up to the house. The door opened and a fleet of servants came out to greet them. The faces Daphne glimpsed were cheerful and curious, despite the black bands of morning on the arms of their uniforms. Their positive response to her gave Daphne a flutter of hope.
They might like me as their new mistress. I might be happy here, after all.
“Ahh, here we are,” Lachlan greeted the servants warmly before he turned to her. “This is Mrs. Stewart, the housekeeper.” He nodded to a matronly woman and then to a man in a black suit. “And Mr. Frampton is the butler. This is Miss Daphne Westfall,” he informed the staff. “We are to be married as soon as possible.”
“Married?” An older woman emerged through the doorway, her face mired with confusion. “You only left for London five days ago!”
Daphne had a moment to study the woman at the top of the steps. Her dark blue dress was adorned with a white apron of fine lace, which signified she was a woman of high social standing. Daphne’s heart jumped into her throat as she recognized Lachlan’s features in this woman’s face.
“Daphne, this is my mother, Moira, the Dowager Countess of Huntley. Mother, this is Daphne Westfall.” Lachlan finally offered Daphne his arm as he escorted her up to meet his mother. Lachlan’s mother speared her son with a penetrating gaze, not hostile, but certainly unamused. Daphne might have laughed as she realized his mother was the one he’d inherited that intense stare from, but, at the moment, she was struggling to remember to breathe. Daphne resisted the urge to cling to Lachlan like a frightened child. It wasn’t that she was afraid, but the shame of who she was and her family situation made her shift restlessly.
“Lachlan, you went to London to attend to business. You made no mention of an intent to find a bride.” Lachlan’s mother turned toward Daphne and suddenly smiled with genuine warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Daphne. I’m sorry we weren’t ready to greet you, my dear. My son, as usual, forgot his manners and didn’t send us any advanced notice.”
“Oh please, don’t be upset with him. We left London quickly and there wasn’t time to write. It’s nice to meet you.” She dipped into a curtsey.
“Ach, an English lass,” Moira chuckled and gave her son a rueful smile. “I suppose you never will do things as expected. Well, come inside, Miss Westfall. I’m sure you’re tired after the long journey.”
“Indeed, we are.”
Lachlan and Daphne followed Moira into the house, which was even more beautiful than the outside. Cherrywood banisters with delicately carved spindles led to the upstairs corridors. High windows allowed sunlight to illuminate the portraits hanging on green satin walls. There was an unexpected brightness to the castle that surprised Daphne. With Lachlan’s anger and grim moods, she’d expected to arrive at a dark estate sinking into the moors, not this place of sunlight and fresh air. It was clear that the house matched Moira rather than her son. She was a warm, smiling woman who had laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Where shall we put Miss Westfall?” Mr. Frampton inquired of Lachlan.
“The blue room in the east wing,” Moira said before her son could speak. Daphne didn’t miss Lachlan’s sudden frown. Was the blue room a good room or a bad one?
“If you follow me, miss,” Mrs. Stewart said to Daphne, “I’ll show you to your room.”
“Rest and have a bath, Miss Westfall,” Moira said. “We shall dine in an hour, if that suits you.”
“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.” Daphne peeked at Lachlan, but he was already striding away. The sight of his retreating form sent a flutter of panic through her. He was the only person in this castle she knew and he was already abandoning her.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” Moira gave her shoulder a motherly squeeze. “He’ll be back soon enough. He never likes to let the dust of travel linger and is likely going to have a bath himself.” Moira was still smiling but there was a hint of concern that transformed the laugh lines around her eyes into something akin to sorrow. Daphne knew why. She, too, sensed something wrong, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
She trailed after the housekeeper, who led her up a grand staircase and down a corridor. They passed through a drawing room with oak paneled walls and eighteenth- century furniture. The delicate chairs with gilded arms and embroidered upholstery were exquisite. The desk, which sat at the far end of the room, was covered with books, many open, their pages reflecting the early evening sunlight. Daphne could only imagine how beautiful this room would be with the fireplace and chandelier lit.
The room was far more beautiful than her father’s townhouse, and yet she remembered her father’s pride in their little house in Mayfair. She could still see his face as they entered the white painted entryway for the first time. She’d just turned fourteen and the thrill of living among titled peers and wealthy aristocrats had been exciting. It had been her father’s dream for years to live in that part of London.
“She’s beautiful, eh? We shall certainly fit in here, won’t we?” Her father’s brown eyes had twinkled merrily.
If only she had known how desperate he would become, trying to maintain that way of life, that he would destroy them both.
Daphne paused behind Mrs. Stewart as the housekeeper unlocked the bedroom door and smiled at her.
“In here, miss. This is the blue room.”
Daphne entered and glanced around. The bedroom had robin’s egg blue walls and a bright walnut, four poster bed. Framed watercolor sketches of Highland wildflowers hung on every wall. The warmth of the room was both feminine and welcoming.
“Once you and his lordship are wed, we shall move you to the chambers for the Countess of Huntley in the opposite wing. I’ll have the footmen fill your bath. Do you have luggage?” Mrs. Stewart was now surveying her closely, and Daphne had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.
“She doesn’t have any clothes, Mrs. Stewart,” Lachlan said from behind her, making both ladies jump. “Mrs. Stewart, tomorrow, be so kind as to fetch the modiste from the village. I wish to have Miss Westfall fit for clothes. You might as well make inquiries about finding her a lady’s maid, as well, unless one of the upstairs maids will do?”
“We do have Mary. We can spare her if you wish to elevate her to a lady’s maid,” Mrs. Stewart said.
“That will be acceptable,” Lachlan replied, then glanced at Daphne. “Mrs. Stewart, you may return to your duties. I should like a moment alone with Miss Westfall.”
Daphne wrung her hands as the housekeeper left. Lachlan closed the bedroom door. They were alone in a bedroom, which shouldn’t have worried her. They were engaged, after all, and she had slept with him in a hay loft, yet this felt more…scandalous.
“We have to have a story,” he said quietly.
She tried not to appe
ar restless under his intense stare. “A story?” she echoed.
“Aye. How we met. I meant to discuss this with you in private before we arrived, but I’ve been distracted these last two days. My mother will not approve if she thinks we met at an auction.”
“Oh…yes. I understand.” Daphne relaxed a little. “Perhaps we ought to stick to the truth as close as we can? You met me through Stirling, a mutual friend. You heard I fell on troubled times, you thought marriage might be beneficial to us both.”
Lachlan placed his hands on his hips as his gaze roamed the lovely room, looking anywhere but at her.
“Aye, that might work, but my mother will be surprised I did not marry for love.”
At this Daphne had nothing to say. She too had wanted to marry for love, yet here they were, no love between them.
“Then tell her the truth, that you rescued me from the streets. I can bear the shame of my situation, if it eases your mind.”
He spun to face her. “Why must you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Accept the shame of your condition? You never fight, lass, you simply…” He made a frustrated noise and raked a hand through his hair.
“Never fight?” she whispered. Her body vibrated with anger. “I have fought, Lord Huntley. I fought every day to keep myself clothed and to find a dry place to sleep. I begged every friend for work, I tried to find any employment I could, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?”
“But my father committed a terrible crime, and was punished for it. The reach of his ruination went deep. Not even the street sweepers would take me on.”
A pause filled the air between them, and when Daphne spoke next, it was with a heavy air that almost dragged her to the floor. “I am tired, Lord Huntley. I am tired of fighting. When you rescued me, I thought…I thought perhaps I might have a moment of happiness, that I might have a home. And if not that, then perhaps a little peace. If I have caused you trouble, if I am not the woman you imagined I would be, then why not send me away?”
Daphne began to tug at the gown she wore, desperate to be free of it and everything else that did not belong to her. She’d made a grave mistake in agreeing to marry a stranger. She wasn’t going to stand here and take any more of his judgment when he didn’t know what it was like to starve and beg.
Just then, his hands clasped her face and tilted her head back. She had only a glimpse of the emotions that warred upon his face before he lowered his head and kissed her.
Lachlan’s mouth moved over hers, bruising her with his intensity, yet she welcomed the passion. The blaze of heat that flowed between them left her dizzy and she curled her arms around his neck. She’d never been kissed before, but it felt wonderful, terrifying in a way, but absolutely wonderful. One of his hands fisted in her hair at the nape of her neck and the other gripped her hip possessively as he pulled her closer.
“God, you taste sweet,” he murmured between kisses. Daphne threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands as her body pulsed with a sudden awareness of Lachlan’s strength. He was so much taller. His strong arms could so easily harm her, but they held her gently, firmly, and he kissed her until she felt faint. It made her think of the first time she drank a glass of sherry—the delightful buzz, the warm tingling that flowed through her body, but there was something else, a sharp pain deep in her womb.
She rocked her hips, needing to be closer. “Lachlan, I feel…”
“I know, lass.” He lowered his lips to her neck and nipped her shoulder, which sent fiery tingles down her spine. His fingers played with the buttons of her gown and she couldn’t help but giggle. It was the first time in so long that she’d laughed.
The sound broke through whatever wildness seemed to hold him and his hands dropped from her body. He stepped back and the distance between them became a chasm.
“Apologies. That was presumptuous of me. Dinner is in one hour.” His tone was polite but distant.
She nodded, her heart now aching from his sudden coldness.
“Very good. I’ll fetch you then. I’ll have a maid find you something to wear this evening. The modiste will come tomorrow to fit you for some proper clothes.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.
Was he angry? Why? What could she have done to upset him? Daphne bit her lip as she watched him leave. She’d never met a man so determined to walk away from her.
She collapsed onto the bed and stroked the blue satin coverlet as she tried not to cry.
He isn’t worth your tears, the voice inside her insisted, but it didn’t prevent the prick of those treacherous tears. She reached into the pocket of her gown and felt for the pearls, relieved as the silken beads slid between her fingers.
For a long moment, she didn’t move as she studied the beautiful blue room and the single tapestry hanging behind the headboard of the bed. A unicorn was encased in a circular fence with maidens dancing around it. The scene of the ladies in the forest with the unicorn teased her imagination and her longing. Her mother had loved to tell her stories about maidens fair and unicorns as pure white as snow. The ache in her heart grew deeper, pulsing like an old wound struck anew.
I don’t deserve to be here, not after what father did.
The thought filled her with a sinking uncertainty. Could she handle being the Countess of Huntley? Could she handle living with Lachlan? What had she agreed to by coming here and marrying him? Lachlan’s behavior baffled her. One minute he was furious, the next he was cold, and the next he was kissing her until she grew dizzy and breathless.
Could she really marry a man whose moods changed so unexpectedly? Then again, what choice did she have? If she broke the contract, she would be sent back to London. The contracted money wouldn’t last forever. Perhaps Lachlan’s mercurial moods would settle once they married.
She could only hope that would be the case.
A knock came at the door and she glanced up, expecting to see Lachlan, hoping for a chance to speak to him and try to fix whatever had gone wrong at the end of their kiss. Her heart sank as a young maid of perhaps sixteen or seventeen entered the room. Her arms were full of clothes, which she set on the bed.
“Afternoon miss, my name is Mary. I’m to help you while you are here. I’ve been properly trained as a lady’s maid.” The girl was bright-eyed and quick to smile, but blushed when she did so.
“Thank you, Mary.” Daphne returned the girl’s smile.
Mary began setting brushes and hair pins out on the vanity table. It reminded her of home. She missed Eugenia, her maid. When her father had been convicted, she had been evicted from the townhouse, she had urged the few remaining loyal servants to seek new employers for she could no longer pay them. Eugenia had pleaded to stay with her, but Daphne couldn’t hurt one of her few remaining friends by dragging her down too. If Eugenia had stayed with her, they both would have ended up on the streets without work. It was better for Eugenia to find a new lady to serve.
“I brought fresh clothes for you.” Mary walked over to the bed and held up a simple, dark blue walking dress and the necessary undergarments. “I know they aren’t much, but we are similar in size and they will do until the modiste arrives. Mrs. Marchby usually has quite a few gowns ready-made that she can adjust to fit most ladies who need something quickly. Should I call for a hot bath?”
“Yes, please.” Daphne was looking forward to soaking in a tub. She’d only had the chance to bathe once at Stirling’s, and she was desperate to do so again.
Mary pulled the bell cord by the bed, then set about retrieving fresh bed linens from the dressers.
“Mary, could you tell me more about the house and the servants? I should like to know as much as possible about my new home.”
“Of course, miss.” Mary’s delighted smile and happy tales about life on the estate eased Daphne’s weary heart. Huntley Castle sounded like a wonderful place to live. She only hoped Lachlan would not regre
t bringing her here.
Daphne and the maid spoke in whispers as footmen carried in buckets of hot water and filled the copper tub in the dressing room. The young men glanced their way, trying to hide their smiles.
Mary finally intervened. “Off with you now! She’s got plenty of water.” One of the young men dared to steal a kiss from Mary when he thought Daphne wasn’t watching. But she saw the tender scene reflected in the mirror and smiled. Maybe someday she and Lachlan would be that spontaneous, feel that sort of love, and steal kisses when they thought no one was watching. If the kiss they’d shared a short while ago had been a bonfire, his kisses would warm her through the coldest winters, burning through the dark and healing her heart.
“Ready, miss?” Mary returned and helped her out of her clothes.
When Daphne was undressed, she stood naked in the dressing room, clutching the pearls to her chest. Where could she put them and feel confident that they would not be lost? Mary didn’t miss her possessive hold over the necklace.
“Shall I find a small box to store those in for you, my lady?”
The word no was on the tip of her tongue, but this was her new home and she had to make herself comfortable here. Being able to leave her mother’s pearls somewhere safe during the day would be necessary.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
“Of course.” The maid smiled and carefully collected the pearls from Daphne’s hands, then left her alone to bathe.
Daphne sank into the large copper tub, allowing the hot water to slip over her skin, its warmth sinking deep into her tired muscles. The hot water reminded her of being wrapped in Lachlan’s arms, how he’d held her close in the hay, his body heat warming her. A tremor shook her and the spot between her thighs pulsed with a sharp ache. His lips had pressed into her hair…hair that now hung damp against her neck. Daphne reached up and touched the locks, feeling once again his lips so close to her neck, wishing she could feel more of his delicious, forbidden heat.