by Sandra Heath
The decorations were now virtually complete, and everything looked very lovely indeed. Tam had resumed the task of supervising the servants putting the final touches to the special stands where the blocks of ice would be placed shortly before the ball began. These stands were placed at regular intervals between the sofas, and had been elegantly adorned with luxuriant ferns, to enhance the impression of coolness. Flowers had been decked everywhere, even around the hammer-beams, and the floor had been carefully sanded, with the stencilled shapes of moons and stars scattered all over it. Lengths of the green-and-blue Ardmore tartan were festooned over the walls, and there were bows of the same tartan fixed among the flowers. It was very traditional and Scottish, Lauren thought approvingly as she gazed at the scene, and it would make Lady Mary Ardmore’s eighteenth birthday ball an occasion to remember forever. But then, this was a day for others to remember, not just Mary…
Lauren’s thoughts drifted back to the island, and the minutes she’d spent in Rory’s arms. Yes, this was indeed a day to remember. She was dragged back to the present by the sound of the main door opening and closing. Mary came in and made her way around the edge of the sanded floor toward the staircase. She still wore the apricot gown she had had on earlier, and she was carrying a little posy of flowers from the garden. There was a blush on her cheeks and a shine in her eyes as she held the flowers to her nose and breathed deeply of their scent. It was then that Lauren recalled not having seen Fitz at the recital either. Had he and Mary been together in the gardens?
Mary hurried up the staircase and halted on seeing Lauren. “Oh, hello, Miss Maitland. Don’t you care for Madame Santini’s singing?”
“Don’t you?” Lauren countered with a smile.
Mary smiled as well. “Touché. To be honest, I am reminded of caterwauling, and so I’m going to my room to paint for a while.”
“Paint?”
“With watercolors. I love to do it, and spend hours at my easel.”
“What do you paint?”
Mary hesitated. “Flowers mostly,” she said then, and raised the posy to her nose again.
“I trust you have an enjoyable few hours,” Lauren replied.
“I will. I will see you later, Miss Maitland. Oh, by the way—”
“Lady Mary?”
“I’m truly sorry about your locket. If it were not for me, it wouldn’t have been lost.”
“It was hardly your fault, Lady Mary.” No, it was Insufferable Isabel’s!
“Not in the true sense of the word, no, but I still feel to blame. I trust you will be able to forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, but if it will make you feel better, then of course, you have my forgiveness.” Lauren smiled at her.
“Thank you, Miss Maitland. Now, I really must get on with my painting.” Gathering her apricot skirts, Rory’s sister hurried away.
Lauren returned to her room, and hadn’t been there long when she remembered the birthday present she had brought for Mary. It was a fan she had brought with her from home, and of which she was particularly fond, but because it was exquisitely painted with scenes of Boston it seemed an appropriate gift. Maybe there wouldn’t be a suitable moment to give it to Mary at the ball, so perhaps the sensible thing would be to take it to her now, while she was in her room.
Madame Santini’s singing still echoed through the castle as Lauren left her room with the fan, to go down the hall to ask Tam for directions to Mary’s room. Her route necessarily took her past the room where the night before she had eavesdropped upon Rory and Jamie. Now, as then, the door stood open; now, as then, her curiosity got the better of her. But as she started to go inside she had the oddest feeling that someone was watching her from the staircase end of the passage. She glanced swiftly around, but there was no one. The feeling lingered for a moment and then faded, and so she went into the room.
It was a library, with arched gothic bookcases of such height that a wheeled stepladder was required to reach the upper shelves. Those walls which were not covered by the bookcases were paneled with dark, richly carved oak, and there were several ancient portraits above the elaborate wooden fireplace. The windows faced toward Ben Vane, and the afternoon sunlight streamed brightly into the room, falling right across the huge leather-topped desk where, unseen at first, Rory stood examining the contents of a large jewel box that was beautifully inlaid with ebony and mother-of-pearl.
He smiled and spoke softly. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”
She gave a start, and whirled guiltily around. “Rory! I didn’t know you were there.”
“So I noticed,” he said, still smiling as he came around the desk toward her. He pushed the door to, and then took her in his arms, pressing his lips to her throat.
She went eagerly into the embrace, and closed her eyes with a soft moan as he kissed the pulse in her neck. Shivers of delight passed over her as she was awakened to the same exquisite desires she had experienced on the island. The flare of passion was instant and compelling, an aching need which seared through her as he raised his head to press his lips over hers. Her body felt as if it were melting against his, and she was conscious of his arousal. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears, and feel discretion slipping inexorably away. Take me, take me now…
With a slow sigh he drew back, leaning his forehead tenderly against hers. “You tempt me almost beyond endurance, my darling,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes, savoring the delicious sensations which quivered through her as he stroked her hair. “I love you so much, Rory.”
“As I love you, dear God as I love you…”
There was a soft sound at the door. They both heard it and leapt guiltily apart. Lauren remembered having felt as if someone had been watching her as she came into the room and she held her breath as Rory went quietly to the door. His fingers closed over the handle, and then he opened it suddenly and stepped outside, but the passage was empty. He stood there for a moment and then came back in, closing the door behind him again.
“We must have imagined it,” he said.
“Both of us.”
“I have to confess that Glenvane abounds in quite determined mice, too determined for the few castle cats to triumph over.” He smiled and took her hand to draw her close once more, but she had found the incident disturbing and shook her head.
He understood, and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “I don’t know how I will endure the ball, seeing you, dancing with you, and not being able to embrace you in front of them all.”
She closed her eyes again, putting her hand briefly over his, and then she moved away a little. Common sense had to prevail, and all her other senses must be denied that which they craved. She cast around for something distracting, and her glance fell upon the fan in her hand. “I…I was on my way to see Mary when I came in here. I have her birthday gift and wanted to ask someone the way to her room.”
He took the fan, and opened it over his palm to examine the little painted scenes. “It’s very beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you wish to part with it?”
“Well, I admit to being very fond of it, but somehow it seems the perfect thing to give your sister.”
“I know she will like it immensely.”
“You really think so?”
“Of course.” He smiled, tilting her face toward his and brushing his lips briefly over hers. “And as to find someone to take you to her room—well, you have found him.”
“I don’t want to take you away from whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted,” she said, glancing at the open jewel box on the desk.
“Actually, I was also engaged upon a birthday gift for Mary,” he said, returning to the desk. “It was my mother’s wish that Mary have a certain ring on her eighteenth birthday, and I simply can’t find it.”
Lauren joined him by the desk, and gazed at the treasure trove of jewels in the box. Her breath caught with admiration. “A veritable pirate’s
hoard,” she murmured, touching a strand of pearls which had tumbled over the side.
He smiled. “My mother was very fond of jewelry.”
“She had exquisite taste,” Lauren said, picking up a golden bracelet set with opals.
Rory nodded. “Yes, she did. Ah, here is the ring.” He held up a richly ornamented band of gold which flashed with diamonds. “It was her betrothal ring, and it mattered to her that it went to Mary.”
“I can understand that.”
He put the ring into the pocket of his waistcoat and then took out a locket. “This is the locket which so resembles yours.”
Lauren took it for a moment. The two pieces of jewelry were indeed very alike, but there was no doubt that Lauren’s had been more ornately decorated.
“Lauren, I’m so very sorry about what happened to yours. Isabel is quite devastated.”
“Is she?”
“But of course.” He searched her eyes. “You evidently don’t think so.”
“Rory, she loathes the very sight of me, and I promise you there wasn’t anything accidental about the way my locket was lost. It was all carefully contrived.” She handed back the locket.
“I will question her—”
“No.” Lauren put her hand gently over his. “The locket was no longer of great consequence to me, for I would never have worn it again. As a memento of the past it had some significance, but it wasn’t precious any more.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
In response she moved closer to him, linking her arms around his neck and stretching up to kiss him lingeringly on the lips. “I’m quite, quite certain,” she whispered.
He held her for a long moment, and then went to replace the locket in the jewel box, which he locked and took to one of the bookcases. To her surprise, she saw that it wasn’t a bookcase at all, but a carefully concealed hiding place. He put the box inside and then turned the key on the cupboard door, before putting it in his waistcoat pocket alongside the ring for Mary.
He looked at Lauren again. “By the way, as you know, I spoke to Jamie earlier. I think that in spite of himself he now views you with grudging respect for the way you manipulated everything last night. I do not know that he will be able to look you in the eye when next you meet, but he has bowed to the inevitable and now accepts that the Ashworth fortune is not for him.”
“What of his debts now?”
“I’ll bail him out just once more. After that, he really is on his own.” He looked away for a moment. “It’s a terrible thing to say, Lauren, but although he is my brother, and I love him, I no longer like him particularly. He has changed for the worse since meeting his married inamorata.”
Lauren lowered her eyes. Should she tell him what she knew? Or would such a revelation cause more trouble than it was worth? She didn’t want to be responsible for driving an even greater wedge between the brothers.
As she deliberated, Rory gave her a quick smile. “I digress, do I not? Come, I’ll take you to Mary now,” He went to the door and opened it stealthily, peeping out once more to make absolutely sure there wasn’t anyone there to see them leave the library after being closeted alone together. She was forcibly reminded of seeing his brother do exactly the same thing earlier that very morning, when Emma had left his room…
“All’s clear,” he said, stepping outside.
She followed him out into the passage and they walked away from the library.
Mary’s room proved to be almost directly above the library, with windows looking across the loch toward Ben Vane. It was a pretty room, with curtains and bed hangings of rose velvet and all manner of feminine clutter, from an untidy dressing table lavishly hung with frilled muslin to a selection of shawls scattered on the bed, as if their owner had given up attempting to select the right one.
The tall window was open and Mary was standing by her easel in the embrasure. She wore a blue linen smock over her gown, and there was a smudge of paint on her nose. Whatever she’d been painting had been hastily hidden from view beneath a cloth, and she looked a little flustered as her maid announced Rory and Lauren. Putting her brushes into the jar of water beside her paints, she quickly wiped her hands on a towel and came to greet them.
“Two visitors? How very agreeable,” she said, glancing back at the easel as the breeze from the window threatened to dislodge the cloth she’d put over it.
Rory took the diamond ring from his pocket, and pressed it into her palm. “Mother wanted you to have this today, and I’m honoring her wish.”
Mary gazed down at the ring. “Oh, Rory,” she murmured, slipping it on to her finger and then admiring it.
“It seems the perfect fit.”
“It is.” She hugged him. “Thank you.”
“It’s Mother’s gift, not mine,” he said, returning the hug before releasing her. “Now, if you will both forgive me, I really do have much to do, and am not simply crying craven where Madame Santini is concerned. A sheaf of legal documents awaits my immediate attention, and I’ve put it off for long enough.”
Inclining his head to them both, he withdrew from the room, but at the opening and closing of the door, a draft swept through the room and the cloth over Mary’s easel fluttered to the floor, exposing the painting beneath.
Mary gave a cry of dismay and hastened to replace the cloth, but it was too late, for Lauren had already seen the portrait of Fitz. It was an excellent likeness, and very lovingly painted. To Mary he was a hero—strong, romantic, and chivalrous, a veritable Sir Lancelot—and that was the Fitz who gazed from the easel. Bronzed and golden, all he lacked was the suit of shining armor.
Hot color flooded into Mary’s cheeks as she replaced the cloth, but she knew her secret could not help but be out now. “I…I suppose you think me very foolish,” she said, not looking at Lauren.
“No, of course I don’t.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“I’d already guessed,” Lauren replied frankly.
Mary’s eyes flew toward her. “Guessed? How?”
“I saw it in your eyes.”
“Oh, and I thought I was being so circumspect.” Mary went to sit on the bed, leaning against one of the posts. “May I confide in you, Miss Maitland?”
“Of course you may.”
“It’s so hopeless, but I can’t help it. I cry myself to sleep most nights.”
Lauren went to sit next to her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Does Lord Fitzsimmons know how you feel?”
Tears suddenly brimmed in Mary’s eyes, and she nodded. “Yes, and he feels the same for me.”
“He does?”
“Yes. Oh, please don’t tell anyone, not even your cousin, for I really shouldn’t divulge such secrets to anyone at all, but I do so need to talk to someone.”
“Your secret is safe with me, although I should tell you that Hester already knows I suspect you to be in love with Lord Fitzsimmons. Oh, don’t look so anxious, for she has already given me her word she won’t relay anything to anyone else.”
A little reassured, Mary searched for a handkerchief to mop her eyes. “I didn’t ever imagine that I would fall in love with Fitz. Not Fitz. I’ve known him all my life, you see, right from the day I was born. I didn’t realize how I felt until the day I heard he was married. It broke my heart, and I cried for days. Then he came here on his own to see Rory, only Rory had just left for America. Jamie wasn’t here, either.” A dreamy look entered Mary’s dark eyes. “We were thrown together, if you like, and it was the most wonderful time of my whole life. He told me that he was unhappy in his marriage, that he and Emma are oil and water, chalk and cheese… I found myself telling him that I loved him, that I yearned to be with him always. At first he was startled, for I really don’t think it had entered his head, but then he thought about it and began to see, as I had done, that true love had been there in front of him all the time. He won’t take it any further, though—he’s too worthy for that. He wouldn’t do anything to put my repu
tation at risk, and he knows that the merest whisper about us would do just that. Lady Mary Ardmore and Lord Fitzsimmons—such a scandal.”
Lauren’s heart went out to her. “You mustn’t give up hope, Lady Mary.”
“I have to, for he is married to Emma, and that is the end of it. Oh, what is it about us Ardmores that we love so foolishly? First there was poor Rory and his entanglement with Fleur, and now me. As for Jamie, well, he has never loved wisely and sometimes I think he never will.”
Lauren didn’t know what to say.
Mary wiped her eyes again and then gave a sheepish smile. “This won’t do, or I’ll have horrid red eyes at the ball tonight.”
Lauren remembered the fan. “I almost forgot the reason I came here. This is for you.”
The diamonds on Mary’s finger flashed as she took the fan and opened it, and her breath caught with delight as she saw the scenes painted on it. “Oh, how lovely! And such magnificent painting! Whoever made this is an artist indeed.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I can’t possibly accept, for you must love it dearly.”
“I can always get another, and I really do want you to have it.”
“Thank you, Miss Maitland. For everything.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
Mary smiled. “You have. You’ve listened to me. It’s a relief to have unburdened myself.”
“If I can help at all…”
“Thank you.”
Lauren left her then, and returned to her own room. She was now more determined than ever to do what she could to help Lady Mary Ardmore find true happiness. Something had to be done!
Chapter 15
The sun was beginning to set as the ball commenced. Music echoed over the loch—sometimes the refined notes of the orchestra and sometimes the stirring skirl of bagpipes—and added to both was the laughter and witty conversation of the guests as they applied themselves to the business of enjoying such an elegant occasion in surroundings that were both romantic and steeped in history.
No setting could have been more perfect for the eighteenth-birthday celebrations of a young Scottish lady from so ancient and revered a family, and no one present could honestly have found anything to complain about regarding the sumptuousness of the decorations or the lavishness of the hospitality. Glenvane Castle was at its magnificent best, and few grand houses south of the border could have rivaled it tonight.