“I thought we might write to each other.”
“How, I shall not know where you are.”
“You can send them to Father, and then when I am home…”
“That might do. Will you write to me?”
“If you like. I shall be away a lot, and I know not how often I shall be home to read your letters.”
“But you could call occasionally.”
“Aye, I could.” She took a deep breath and tried to pretend they were just friends.
“Will you come to America?”
“I hope to. Have you a concert hall in Colorado?”
“I am certain there is one in Denver.”
“Will you come to see me?”
“I doubt you could keep me away. I am excited for you, Malveen. You shall see the world.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suffer no illusions. I shall wear expensive, uncomfortable gowns, play until the stroke of midnight three or four times a week, sleep in so many hotels, I shall not know where I am, and I shall have little time for anything other than practicing. I expect to be quite bored and lonely, with little hope of marriage and children.”
“Why would you not marry?”
“What kind of life would my husband have? What lad would want a wife who is not home to cook his meals and lie in his bed? No matter how much I loved him, I cannae ask it of him.”
“I suppose not.” Again, he felt the pain of losing her, but she was right. “I have grown quite fond of you.”
“And I you.” He cautiously opened his arms, afraid she would reject his embrace. Instead, she went to him and when she did, he closed his arms around her and then his eyes. Her hair smelled of perfume, her body excited him and her cheek was soft and warm. “I shall miss you more than I can say.” At length, he kissed her and let his heart fill with an ecstasy he had never known before. Too soon, he stopped, let go and moved away. “Walk with me. We have another three days, and I wish to spend them with you.” When she nodded, he took her hand and led the way through the castle, and out the front door.
They were greeted by a spectacular sunset of yellow and gold, when he wrapped her arm around his, and started them down the glen. “Will you play again before I leave?”
“Indeed. I have promised Laird MacGreagor.”
“He shall invite you to come see us in Colorado.”
“I hope he does.”
“You will like Marblestone. ‘Tis a wondrous mansion and many of your old friends are there.”
“Then I absolutely must put it on my schedule. How long does it take to get there?’
“A fortnight or better; ‘tis a long voyage and several trains across half of America. You must come in summer, for winters can be harsh. In summer, we take everyone on a hayride.”
“A hayride? You ride on hay?”
“Aye, we pile it in wagons and sit on it. And on the hayride, we sing songs. We have a MacGreagor quartet, and we too perform, albeit locally. You must meet Mrs. Abigail Whitfield. She has fiery red hair and can speak for fully an hour without taking a breath. There are no secrets from Mrs. Whitfield and she is pleased to share them with anyone who will listen.”
Malveen laughed. “How divine. I cannae wait to meet her. What else do you do?”
“Mostly we…”
*
Leesil was expecting something grand, but not as grand as the ballroom her husband escorted her into. The high ceiling displayed a mural of ballerinas dancing in a sea of flowers. Gold leaf trimmed nearly everything in the room including the gigantic chandeliers, light fixtures at intervals along the walls, and the massive paintings of England’s royalty. More impressive were the ladies, dressed in pastel pinks, greens and blues. A few of the older women, including Lady Maude Okerman, wore bright colors, and some were cut scandalously low.
Musicians on a stage at one end of the room played a Strauss Waltz and couples were already dancing. The debutants, those young ladies wearing their hair down, had already been presented to the king by the time they arrived, and Cathleen felt a bit sorry for them. “How do they breathe?” she asked when Laura came to stand beside her.
“They hardly can, but it is a small price to pay for a wealthy husband,” Laura whispered, noticing the one with a tiny waist and jeweled hair Cathleen was watching. “First, the maid puts on her chemise, and then fits a long stay corset round her hips, which is tightened to the point at which she might pass out.”
“‘Tis akin to cruelty,” Cathleen giggled.
“Indeed it is. Yet, that is not nearly enough. She must be padded, you see, on her hips and under her arms so her waist will appear even smaller. Next, she wears drawers, and then a petticoat tied ever so tightly…”
“At the waist,” Cathleen guessed.
“Of course, my darling. After that, if she can move, she must step into her gown and thrust her arms into the sleeves. Naturally, she must somehow put her feet in her slippers, although she mustn’t lean over to see her feet. How fortunate she is to have a maid to help her. Once she is buttoned into a gown that only a much smaller woman would find comfortable, the maid adds a mountain of jewels to her fingers, wrists and neck. The heavier the better.”
“Expensive jewels?”
“The very finest. Now, if she survives the carriage ride to the ball, she is then faced with all manner of food, none of which the poor thing dare eat.”
Cathleen couldn’t help but laugh. “They are quite ridiculous, are they not?”
“I am happy you noticed that. I only come to watch them make court jesters of themselves.”
“What is there to eat?” Leesil asked.
“Well, it is always a lavish affair with such things as partridge, quail, grouse and tongue.”
Leesil scrunched up her nose. “I believe I have lost my appetite.”
“What, you do not fancy the most expensive delicacies in the world? Shocking,” Laura teased. “For the less brave, there is ham, lobster, fruits, jams and biscuits. The couple hosting the ball can easily hire three more maids yearly for what they spend on these feasts. It was not so abundant when Queen Victoria was alive, but her son enjoys a good feast.”
Cathleen took her husband’s arm again and noticed a particular man boldly staring at her. “Who is he?”
Cameron followed her gaze and spotted the man making his way through the crowd toward them. “I believe you are about to find out.”
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing long and low. “I see you brought your lovely wife.”
“Cathleen, this is Mr. Chilton Ashford.”
She politely nodded. “Mr. Ashford.”
Ashford directed his question to Cathleen, “Might I claim a dance later, Your Grace?”
“I care only to dance with my husband,” she said, trying desperately to hide her contempt for the man.
“Surely, you…”
“My wife has spoken,” Cameron said.
Chilton caught the glare in the duke’s eyes, bowed again and then turned and left.
“At least now we know whom to avoid,” said Cathleen.
“At all costs,” her husband muttered. He took a step to the side, turned, bowed to her, and then held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She giggled and took his hand. “Indeed we shall.” If every eye was on the Duke of Glenartair’s new wife, Cathleen didn’t notice. She didn’t even notice if Hannish and Leesil were dancing. In the arms of her husband, the rest of the world was lost to her no matter where she was. Being married to Cameron was like a dream still – a dream she never wanted to wake up from.
*
While their husbands carried on the social duties of dancing with other wives and sharing a drink with their husbands, Leesil and Cathleen declined every offer and were content just to sit along the sidelines watching. It could not have been avoided, Leesil knew, but her interest grew when Hannish was put upon to dance with Lady Okerman. She would have loved hearing what was said, but she could tell by the way she seemed to be purring, that Lady Okerman�
�s vices were set. Leesil kept watching as Hannish smiled, leaned close to Lady Okerman’s ear and whispered.
Lady Okerman reeled back.
“Another husband?” she shouted. “A husband before you?”
The couples nearest them stopped dancing to listen and Hannish was happy to respond in an equally loud voice, “A Mr. Bartholomew of Spain, or so I am told. He claimed they were still married making my marriage to Olivia void. I cannae divorce a lass I am not married to.”
“You lie,” Lady Okerman shouted. “She was not married.”
This time, the whole room quieted and everyone was staring. “On whose word do you make that claim?” Hannish asked.
“I…I would know if she were.”
“How?” Hannish insisted.
Maude glanced around as if someone could supply her with the answer. “Nothing escapes my notice, if Olivia was married to another before she married you, I would just know.”
Hannish narrowed his eyes. “You call me a liar to my face and stand by it, do you?”
“Maude,” Thorndike said, taking her arm, “you have said quite enough.”
“He is lying,” she demanded, pulling free of her husband’s grasp.
“If he is,” Thorndike yelled, “he is not the only one in the room to do so.”
Maude turned to face him. “What do you mean by that?”
“We had an agreement,” Thorndike said. “I was to supply all your wants and you were never to humiliate me. You have broken your part of the agreement.”
“Because I call Hannish MacGreagor a liar?”
“No, because before we married, you claimed to be someone you are not. Oh, do not bother denying it, everyone has already heard. The ancestor you lay claim to died at the age of twelve and left no descendants.”
Maude’s jaw dropped and she lowered her voice, “Everyone has heard?”
“They have now,” Thorndike said. “Do not come home. You are no longer welcome there.” He was almost giddy as he watched his wife skirt around the people and disappear out the door.
As discretely as he could, Hannish left the dance floor, but before he could rejoin his wife, several men gathered around him. They spoke in hushed tones and as soon as the music started again, there was no hope of hearing any of them. Her husband was smiling, and that’s all Leesil needed to know. As well, Laura and Edward Bayington were happily confirming the bad news about Olivia to every one of their acquaintances.
Their life with the duchess was finally over.
Yet, there was one more little goose to cook, and the sisters turned their attention to Mr. Chilton Ashford. Apparently astute enough to know better, Mr. Ashford avoided running into Cameron again. His flirtatious manner with every woman he met made Cathleen nauseous, but she had no intention of leaving too soon. There was one particular lady Ashford asked to dance several times; each time whispering in her ear, and the sisters were certain she was the one.
When a waiter came to offer fresh drinks, Cathleen asked, “Who might that lass be…the one dancing with Mr. Ashford?”
The waiter watched until he got a good look at the woman and then answered, “She is Lady Bosworth, wife of Lord Bosworth of Suffux, Your Grace.”
“Well, her gown is quite marvelous,” Cathleen said. “Which one might her husband be?”
Again, the servant looked around. “I believe he is playing poker in the outer room.”
“I see, and where might the outer room be?”
“Through that door,” he answered nodding to one on Cathleen’s left.
“Thank you.”
No sooner had he gone than they saw Ashford usher Lady Bosworth through another door. He paused to glance back, before closing the door behind him.
“‘Tis time,” Cathleen whispered.
“Not quite yet,” Leesil said.
The door to the poker room opened and a woman came out. “Fancy that, Ann Landon has been in the outer room,” Leesil whispered.
“She is everywhere, is she not?”
“Ann…Ann?” Leesil said as loudly as she could. As soon as Ann spotted her, Leesil motioned her over.
“Mrs. MacGreagor, how happy I am to see you again.”
“May I present my sister, the Duchess of Glenartair?”
“Your Grace,” Ann said, deeply curtseying.
Before Ann could say another word, Cathleen asked, “Miss Landon, I wonder if you might tell Lord Bosworth I wish to have a word with him. He is in the outer room, I understand.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Ann hurried back inside and in only a moment, Lord Bosworth came out. He too politely bowed, “Your Grace, it is a pleasure…”
“Lord Bosworth, I fear I must speak to you alone about a rather delicate matter.”
“Of course.” He glanced around, offered his hand, helped her stand and then took her elbow. “This way.” He guided her to an empty corner of the room. “I am afraid this is a private as it gets without starting a scandal.”
“Very well.” Cathleen turned her face away from the crowd and leaned close to his ear.
“With my wife?” he asked, still not seeming to be bothered by it.
“There is more, I fear.” She leaned forward again, whispered once more and then leaned back to watch the color drain out of his face.
“Where?”
Cathleen pointed to the third door down, “They went out that door.”
All good manners were forgotten as Lord Bosworth practically shoved his way through the crowd to get to the door, yanked it open, and let it slam behind him. Someone shouted, the orchestra stopped playing, the dancers stopped dancing and nearly everyone stared at the door. Lord Bosworth shouted again, and that was followed by a loud thud. At last, the door opened and Chilton Ashford came running out. Blood from his split lip ran down his chin, but his hands were already full, holding up his pants.
Lord Bosworth opened the door, let it slam again, ignored all the gawkers and left by the same door as Ashford.
Suddenly, Cameron was standing beside Cathleen. “You look pleased with yourself.”
“You have been watching me,” she asked.
“I have not taken my eyes off the most beautiful woman in the room all night. What have you done, love?”
Leesil giggled, “She told Lord Bosworth, ‘tis known Mr. Ashford is diseased where a lad ought not to be.”
Cameron closed his eyes and couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Thankfully, not too many people paid attention to him. Most were more interested in watching to see when Lady Bosworth would come out…if ever.
*
They were a merry bunch on the journey back to the Bayington mansion that night. Everything seemed to go just as planned, and they thought they could finally leave the duchess and her escapades far behind them. Why not? Until her new husband tired of her, or she of him, she would likely stay vanished.
Two men, one they had never heard of before, would change all that.
CHAPTER 10
It was not hard to tell that the lady’s maid Liam sent to wait on the duchess had increasing contempt for her. Still she spoke little, and to get some small measure of revenge, the duchess began to eat her meals as slowly as possible, shaking her head each time the maid came to take her tray. That only lasted for two meals, before the maid simply left the old tray until she brought a next one.
Yet, when the duchess finished reading all the books she had, including The Scarlet Letter with its impossible plot, and requested new ones, the maid came right back with several. Of course, the maid plopped them down on a table, turned her back and went out the door without a word. The duchess listened intently, but once again, she heard the key turn in the lock.
“Can she not forget just once?”
She was in a room full of nice things, some of which she would happily take with her if the opportunity ever arose. How else was she to get back to London? For one whole day, she whiled away the time trying on every gown in the closet, most of which fit her
remarkably well. Was she still the same size as she was years ago? Perhaps, but she had acquired so many new wardrobes since, and recognized none of these. It did not strike her as odd, however, she only stayed with Liam for a month and some gowns were probably not even finished until after she left.
Unfortunately, trying on clothes only helped pass one day out of so many, she had lost count. In fact, she had no idea what day it was, and without a newspaper, how was she to know? It was unexpected then, when someone knocked on her door.
“Come in,” said she, as she heard the key turn in the door. She assumed it to be her husband, no doubt expecting her to be receptive to his advances, but instead, Mr. Sweeney opened the door.
“Your husband wishes you to take a walk,” he announced.
This was it then – this was the day she would die.
“I shall get my hat.” She went to the closet and once more tried to find the secret way out, but it was hopeless. At length, she grabbed a hatbox, opened it and added a black hat – fit for a funeral – to her drab green frock. “Is he taking me, or are you?”
“I am.”
The duchess puffed her cheeks. She hadn’t thought of it before, but with his beady eyes and ridiculous pointed goatee, he did look like every murderer she had read about. As soon as he opened the door, she walked out and started down the hall to the stairs. It occurred to her he might strike her from behind, but probably not in the house where it might bloody up the place. No, Liam was far too particular about his home for that.
The expected attack never came.
The pesky secretary stayed by her side as she walked to the end of the lengthy lawn and back. She considered trying to seduce him, but that idea didn’t appeal to her for once. She might have struck up a pleasant conversation, but about what? She could ask him about Jedediah Tanner’s horrible death, but she didn’t really want to know.
More importantly, she wondered if she could outrun him. She studied that idea for quite some time before she decided she could, but by then, he was taking her back inside. So engrossed was the duchess in her thoughts, she totally neglected to enjoy the sunshine and the exercise. Then she remembered – Liam said he was going to feed her to the sharks, and Liam always does what he says.
Marblestone Mansion, Book 5 Page 17