Marrying the Marquis

by Patricia Grasso

  Blaze followed her husband’s gaze. Several traveling bags had been set on one side of the foyer.

  “Ye’ve a houseguest,” Donal said, “sippin’ yer father’s vintage whisky in the dinin’ room.”

  A silver-haired woman walked down the hallway to the foyer. Though advanced in age, the woman carried few wrinkles on her face, and her blue eyes gleamed with genuine pleasure.

  “I’d recognize ye anywhere,” the woman said, walking toward Blaze. She placed the palm of her hand on her cheek. “Yer lovelier than I ever was at yer age. Most likely, the babe yer carryin’ gives ye more glow.”

  Blaze stared in surprise at the woman, who couldn’t possibly know of her pregnancy. She narrowed her gaze on the woman.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m yer aunt Bedelia Campbell.”

  “You’re alive?” Blaze exclaimed.

  Bedelia looked down at herself. “Apparently, I am livin’.”

  Standing nearby, Donal and Ina chuckled, and Ross joined them. Kyra giggled when her father laughed.

  “Papa speaks about you as if you were dead,” Blaze told her.

  “So does my father,” Ross interjected.

  “My husband Colin and I had high times with Magnus and Jamie,” Bedelia told them. “Those were the days. We could never anticipate their mischief-makin’.” She looked at Blaze. “Yer father hasna visited me since marryin’ that gossipin’ magpie.”

  “Gossiping magpie?” Blaze had never heard her stepmother described in those words.

  Bedelia nodded. “Och, the woman is a dimpled gossip. I’m surprised all of England doesna know the length of his pizzle.”

  Everyone chuckled at that.

  “What’s a pizzle?” Kyra asked.

  The chuckles grew into laughter.

  “Donal, have someone carry Bedelia’s bags upstairs,” Ross instructed his man.

  “Dinna do that.” Bedelia looked at Ross. “We willna be here long enough to unpack.”

  “Where are we goin’?” Ross asked, smiling.

  “We’ll be leavin’ for Newmarket in the mornin’.” Bedelia looped her arm through her niece’s. “D’ye know I’ve never left the Highlands before.” Bedelia held her hand out to the girl. “Come along, Kyra. Puddles, come.”

  “How did you know their names?” Blaze asked, stepping with her down the corridor.

  Bedelia gave her an ambiguous smile. “I know because I know.”

  Blaze laughed. “You sound like my sister Raven.”

  “I’ve a gift for ye in the dinin’ room,” Bedelia said.

  “We’ve arrived only yesterday,” Ross said, following them down the hallway. “Why would we leave?”

  “Bad news is comin’,” Bedelia answered. “Come along, Ross, and we’ll drink whisky together.”

  They sat at the dining room table. Bedelia and Ross had tumblers of whisky in front of them. Blaze sipped black tea and helped Kyra hold her glass of lemon barley water.

  When Ina served them tea scones and gingerbread cakes, Bedelia said, “Ye forgot the dog’s cinnamon cookies.”

  The old woman’s knowledge surprised Blaze. She looked at her husband. He appeared as surprised as she.

  “What’s that?” Kyra pointed toward the windows. A ball of white was climbing the draperies.

  “That’s Blaze’s gift.” Bedelia pried the kitten, claw by claw, off the draperies and gave Ross an apologetic look. “Sometimes they leave wee snags.”

  Bedelia set the white, blue-eyed kitten on Blaze’s lap. “Sugar needs yer protection because she’s deaf and canna meow.”

  Blaze cuddled the kitten for a moment and then called, “Here, Puddles.” She looked into the mastiff’s eyes. Guard Sugar.

  Puddles lay down beside her chair. Blaze set the kitten on the floor, and the mastiff positioned his front legs to surround the kitten.

  “Yer mothers were lovely women,” Bedelia said, her gaze on the portrait of Ross’s mother.

  “Ye knew my mother?” Blaze asked her.

  “Magnus worried for her health when she was carryin’ yer oldest sister,” Bedelia told her. “He sent Gabrielle and Smudge to me at Inverary where the air is clean.”

  “I never knew that,” Blaze said.

  “Ye werena born,” Bedelia said. “I advised Magnus to do the deed wearin’ his boots if he wanted sons”—she smiled at Ross’s chuckle—“but yer father never did take my advice on anythin’.”

  Donal walked into the dining room, followed by a courier. The man handed Ross a missive.

  “It’s from my father.” Ross read the note and looked at them, his expression grim. “Hercules died on the way to Epsom Derby. We’ll be leavin’ for Newmarket in the mornin’.”

  Bedelia nodded. “Someone fed Hercules poisoned carrots.”

  “I dinna want ye to go,” Kyra cried.

  “I couldn’t live without my little girl,” Blaze told her. “You’re coming with us.”

  Her husband looked irritated. “Blaze—”

  “I can protect her.”

  “Let the girl come,” Bedelia said. “My niece would protect her from Old Clootie himself.”

  Blaze looked at her. “Who’s Old Clootie?”

  “Satan.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What do you think?” Blaze asked.

  Aunt Bedelia peered out the coach’s window at her nephew’s estate. Manicured lawns, precisely clipped shrubs, neat rows of trees. In the near distance rose the mansion with its landscaped front courtyard.

  “I think my nephew’s estate is contrived,” Bedelia answered her.

  Blaze glanced at her husband holding his daughter on his lap. He was smiling at the old woman’s criticism.

  “What do you mean?” Blaze asked her.

  “The Highlands is a fresh-faced maiden whose natural beauty is unequaled,” Bedelia answered, “and this English estate is an artfully adorned matron tryin’ to recapture her youthful beauty. No cosmetics or jewels can make a woman young and beautiful once her time has passed.”

  “Ye possess a poet’s tongue,” Ross told her.

  “The Highlands affects people like that,” Bedelia replied, “which ye’d know if ye visited more than a week or two or three.”

  The coach halted in front of Inverary House. Ross passed Kyra to Blaze and climbed down first. Then he turned to assist the women.

  The front door opened. Beneath Tinker’s supervision, two footmen hurried toward them to assist Ross and carry the bags inside.

  Holding Kyra with one hand and cuddling Sugar with the other, Blaze ushered Bedelia into the foyer. The mastiff followed behind them.

  “Welcome home, Lady MacArthur,” Tinker greeted them, his gaze shifting between the girl and the old woman. “We did not expect you in Newmarket for several weeks.”

  “My husband wants to investigate his horse’s death.”

  “A sorry business,” Tinker said, shaking his head. “And who are these lovely young women?”

  “Kyra is my little girl, my husband’s daughter,” Blaze answered, “and this is Aunt Bedelia Campbell.”

  “You’re alive?” the majordomo exclaimed.

  “My heart was still beating the last time I checked,” Bedelia answered.

  “I said the same when we met.” Blaze smiled at the man. “Where’s my father?”

  “Their Graces are taking tea in the drawing room.”

  “Bring a bottle of my nephew’s best whisky to the drawing room,” Bedelia told the majordomo.

  “Yes, my lady.” Tinker hurried down the hallway.

  When Ross walked into the foyer, Blaze passed him Sugar. Taking her stepdaughter’s hand, she looped her arm through her aunt’s.

  Together, the three climbed the stairs. Ross and Puddles walked behind them.

  “Papa, look who I’ve brought,” Blaze called, walking into the drawing room.

  The Duke of Inverary’s expression registered surprise, and then he came out of his chair. The duke hurried across
the room to pull the old woman into a lingering hug, and she patted his back as if consoling a small boy.

  “Come and meet my wife,” the duke said, his arm around her.

  Holding a bottle of whisky, Tinker rushed into the drawing room and passed it to his employer. Bedelia lifted it out of her nephew’s hand, telling the majordomo, “Dinna bother with glasses.”

  “Tinker, fetch my daughters,” the duke ordered, and the majordomo hurried out of the drawing room.

  “Aunt, I present my wife,” the duke introduced the women. “Roxie, meet Aunt Bedelia Campbell.”

  The Duchess of Inverary stared at the old woman. “You’re alive?”

  “What have ye been tellin’ them?” Bedelia asked. “Everyone believes I’ve gone to meet my Maker.”

  Blaze laughed and sat on the settee with her husband. She pulled her stepdaughter onto her lap.

  “Magnus speaks so highly of you in the past tense,” the duchess said, “I thought you were a dead saint.”

  “Only his youth died,” Bedelia said, sitting beside her nephew on the sofa. She opened the whisky bottle and sipped. “There’s nothin’ in the world like Highland whisky.”

  “What finally pried you out of the Highlands?” the duke asked her.

  “I’ve come to catch a murderer.”

  The Duke of Inverary frowned at Blaze, but his words were for his aunt. “How do you know about that?”

  Bedelia looked into his eyes, her expression deadpan. “I know because I know.”

  “Aunt Bedelia arrived at Kilchurn House to inform me bad news was comin’,” Ross said, “and the bad news arrived soon afterwards.”

  “I’m sorry about Hercules,” Duke Magnus said. “Your father feels responsible.”

  “What killed Hercules?”

  “Someone fed him carrots dipped in poison, we think.”

  Ross slid his gaze to Bedelia, a surprised expression on his face. The old woman gave him an I-told-you-so look.

  “Who is this?” the Duchess of Inverary asked, her gaze on the little girl.

  “I present Kyra MacArthur, my stepdaughter,” Blaze answered.

  “Stepdaughter?” The duchess snapped her gaze to the marquis. “I didn’t know—”

  Ross held his hand up. “My first wife died shortly after deliverin’ Kyra.”

  The Duchess of Inverary looked at her husband. “Did you know?” When he shook his head, she asked, “Are you lying to me?”

  The Duke of Inverary smiled and shook his head.

  “Are you lying about lying?” the duchess asked.

  The Duke of Inverary laughed as did everyone else.

  Kyra leaned close to Blaze, whispering, “Yer supposed to say my little girl.”

  “Oops, I made a big mistake.” Then Blaze announced, “Kyra is my little girl.”

  The four unmarried Flambeau sisters appeared, hurrying across the drawing room. Their surprised expressions announced that Tinker had told them the silver-haired woman’s identity.

  “Aunt Bedelia, I present my daughters—”

  “Dinna say another word,” Bedelia interrupted him. “I know my own nieces.” She paused to take a sip of whisky from the bottle and then gestured to the first sister. “Bliss will always keep her sisters in coin, and Sophia—beside her—loves painting and colors.” She winked at her, adding, “I ken ye see people’s colors.”

  “What are people’s colors?” the duke asked.

  “Ye wouldna understand,” Bedelia said, patting his hand. She looked at the next sister. “Light and airy as a sprite, Serena sings and plays her flute. She can calm the waters or call down a tempest. Figuratively speakin’, of course.”

  Bedelia sipped her whisky. “And this is Raven who sometimes knows what others do not.”

  Raven registered surprise. “How do you—?”

  “I know because I know.”

  Everyone laughed. Raven had spoken those same words more times than anyone cared to remember.

  “I’m an old woman close to death”—Bedelia took a healthy swig of whisky—“and God has shown me how yer problems are resolved.”

  “Sisters, meet my little girl,” Blaze said, breaking the silence that followed the old woman’s comment. “Kyra is Ross’s daughter. Aunt Bedelia gave me the white fur ball Ross is holding. Sugar is deaf.”

  “Kyra has your eyes,” Raven told Ross, and the other sisters nodded.

  “James will be thrilled to see you again,” Magnus told his aunt.

  “Invite James here alone first,” Bedelia said, and then looked at the duchess. “Ye must then invite James and his wife to dinner on Saturday.”

  “Why do you want James to visit without his wife?” the duke asked.

  “The reason is this,” Bedelia said, annoyance tingeing her voice, “I want to see James but not his wife.”

  The Flambeau sisters laughed. Blaze knew they were laughing because no one had ever spoken in that tone to their father.

  Magnus patted her hand. “We’ll do things your way.”

  “Dinna patronize me.” Bedelia sipped the whisky. “Yer denser than a brick and canna conceive what I know.”

  “I apologize,” the Duke of Inverary said. “I meant no disrespect.” He looked at Ross. “Constable Black is traveling from London, and we’ll be meeting the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here,” Ross said, and then looked at his wife. “We need to leave now.”

  “Ross, take Kyra and give Blaze the cat,” Bedelia ordered. “I need a private word with yer wife.”

  Ross lifted his yawning daughter into his arms and started toward the door, calling, “Come, Puddles.”

  Bedelia looped her arm through Blaze’s and walked her to the door. “Leave Juno and Beau here until Sunday,” the old woman whispered. “Bring me somethin’ belongin’ to Celeste.”

  Blaze stared at her a long moment and then nodded. “You can depend on me.”

  The ride to MacArthur House was short and silent. Kyra had fallen asleep on her father’s lap, and traveling had wearied Blaze. Sugar snoozed on her lap, and Puddles sprawled on the coach’s floor.

  “Welcome home, my lord.” Dodger stood in the open door and ushered them into the foyer. “I’m sorry about Hercules.”

  “Thankye, Dodger.”

  “Sugar is my deaf kitten,” Blaze told the majordomo, “and I require a box of sand in my chamber. Puddles is my dog.”

  “The mastiff is enormous.” Dodger smiled, adding, “I feel safer knowing he lives here. Is Puddles gentle?”

  “Your only danger from Puddles is being slobbered to death,” Blaze answered, and then followed her husband upstairs.

  The drawing room was formal, almost too formal for Newmarket. A black marble hearth was the room’s focal point. Above the hearth, Celeste’s portrait looked down on the room’s occupants. Persian carpets in gold, cream, and shades of blue covered the hardwood floors. The furniture was a mixture of textiles in the same colors. Exquisite brocade draperies dressed the windows.

  Blaze doubted her menagerie would please Celeste. She could almost hear the witch’s shrieks when Sugar climbed those drapes.

  “I need a list of anyone who had access to Hercules,” Ross said without greeting or preamble.

  “I knew ye’d come home,” his father said. “I’ve listed the names already.”

  “What’s she doing here?” Celeste asked, her gaze on the sleeping girl.

  “Her name is Kyra,” Blaze answered, “and she lives here.”

  Celeste glanced at her husband and amended herself. “I meant, Kyra is usually absent when I’m in residence.”

  Blaze gave the woman a serene smile. “Usually does not include this time.”

  “I wonder you didn’t leave her in the Highlands,” Celeste said to Ross.

  “Her name is Kyra,” Blaze repeated.

  “My wife didna want to leave her little girl behind,” Ross said.

  “Kyra is the marquis’s daughter,” Blaze said, earning a frosty look from
the woman. “She is also the duke’s granddaughter.”

  “Old people canna remember everythin’,” the Duke of Kilchurn teased his wife.

  “Tomorrow I will embroider Kyra’s name on the front of her clothing,” Blaze told her father-in-law, making him chuckle. “We dropped Aunt Bedelia at Inverary House.”

  The duke grinned. “Bedelia Campbell?”

  Celeste looked at him. “I thought she was dead.”

  “I never told ye that,” James said. “I’ve got to ride over there.”

  “Wait until tomorrow,” Celeste said. “The journey must have wearied her, and the dinner hour is approaching.”

  “I dinna care aboot dinner,” the duke said, “but yer right aboot Bedelia. She isna gettin’ any younger.”

  “My aunt is spry enough to sip whisky out of a bottle,” Blaze told him.

  “That sounds like Bedelia.” The Duke of Kilchurn laughed. “When yer father and I were boys, Bedelia persuaded Uncle Colin she wanted to feel the thrill of raidin’ like in the old days of clan feudin’. During the next full moon, Colin and Bedelia sneaked onto MacArthur land and lifted my father’s sheep. Of course, they sent him a note the next day confessin’ what they’d done and promised to return the livestock.”

  “Blaze dear, what are you holding?” Celeste asked.

  “Bedelia gave me Sugar, a deaf kitten.” Blaze stepped aside. “And here stands Puddles, my dog.”

  “I dislike children and animals underfoot.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Blaze told her.

  Celeste looked at her husband. “James?”

  “Like she said, ye’ll get used to it.” The duke turned to his son, saying, “Put Kyra to bed, and yer wife looks like she needs a rest, too.”

  Ross and Blaze quit the drawing room, the mastiff following behind. Together, they climbed the stairs to the third floor, and Blaze could not help thinking that she and her husband would climb the stairs every night for the next forty years or so. When Kyra grew older, her husband would be carrying their children up the stairs.

  “Considerin’ the disruption to the household, Celeste seemed reasonable,” Ross remarked.

  “What disruption can a five-year-old, a dog, and a kitten make?” Blaze countered. “Celeste seems reasonable because she hasn’t figured how to deal with me.”