Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine

by Gerri Russell

  “Fin,” Claire called from the doorway, not wanting to startle the aging servant.

  He looked up. A warm smile came to his face. “Come in, milady. What can I do fer ye?”

  “Can I ask you about the ballroom upstairs? What happened in that chamber? Why did Jules forbid me from entering?” she asked in a rush.

  Fin’s expression saddened. “I’m nae certain the laird wants me tae share that information with ye.”

  She straightened. “I am his wife. If I am ever to help him overcome his past, I must know what troubles him.”

  Fin’s mouth quirked. “I canna argue with that.” He waved her into the chamber and toward the chair opposite him.

  Claire sat and then waited patiently as Fin studied her. “Ye’ll nae hurt him with this knowledge?”

  She shook her head even as her stomach clenched. She would never use the knowledge of what had happened in that chamber against him. “I want to help him heal and make new memories as he embraces his new life as the laird of Kildare Manor.”

  Tears came to the old man’s eyes. “I thank ye fer that. All right, I’ll tell ye. It does this old heart good tae see that Jules has finally found some comfort in this world.” Fin swiped at his eyes and turned his gaze fully on her. “But ye didna hear this from me. Understand?”

  Claire nodded.

  “That chamber was where Agatha, his stepmother, was found dead. I was the one who found her. She was cold and gray. The only sign of what had happened tae her was the overturned teacup and the remains of the tea. The shire reeve who investigated claimed he could smell and taste poison in the liquid that remained in the cup. That Jules had purchased that very combination of herbs in the village the day before led everyone tae accuse him of murder. He was sentenced tae hang.”

  “He was cleared of the charges?” Claire shuddered at the thought of what Jules had been through in the recent past.

  Fin nodded, but his gaze saddened. “Thanks tae Lady Jane, who testified that Jules was with her at the time of the murder. But even though he was cleared of the crime, there was an outlandish ransom tae be paid.” His old eyes were haunted. “No one tried verra hard tae release him, until recently.”

  A lump settled in her throat as she thought about how horrible it must have been for him. “Did Jules’s parents love him?”

  Fin’s eyes cleared. “His mother did, tae be sure. With his father, things were more complicated.” The aging steward paused a moment before continuing. “I think ’twas because Jules reminded him of his dead wife that the old laird kept his son at arm’s length and why it was easy fer him tae send him tae Lord Lennox. But at the end, I believe his father regretted their estrangement.” Fin shook his head as though clearing the thought. “Some things just come too late.”

  “Do you know who killed the second Lady Kildare?” Claire asked, the bold question burning in her chest.

  “Nay.” The steward sighed. “I would have killed her myself when she first wheedled her way into this family if I’d known the trouble she would eventually cause. But the answer is nay. I know nothin’ about her death other than that Jules dinna kill her.”

  “Thank you for telling me about the chamber and about Jules’s past,” Claire said.

  Fin nodded. “His future looks much brighter now that ye have arrived.”

  Claire drew a shaky breath. They had no future together—bright or otherwise. All they had was the here and now. But perhaps, now that she knew the truth about the ballroom, she could find some way to exorcise the ghosts of his past.

  Later that day, Claire tried to put thoughts of Jules and his suffering out of her mind as she worked in the soil. She paused in her gardening to push the escaping tendrils of her hair out of her face, then leaned on her spade and surveyed the rose garden with a sense of accomplishment. She had rid the ground of every last weed to expose the wildly overgrown stalks. Her reward for freeing them from their prison of weeds was the sweet, heady scent from open blossoms that reminded her of the summer she had spent learning how to paint roses, over and over again. She had filled twenty canvasses that summer with the wild pink, red, and orange blooms.

  Claire brushed her fingers over a soft, velvet petal. And just as they had so many summers ago, the blooms caused a riot of inspiration to crowd her mind. Ideas for how and where to add roses to the ceiling in the ballroom swirled through her head in prismatic colors—a blend of orange and yellow, a light hint of pink around the edges, the stamen a mixture of brown and red, with a light touch of yellow.

  The colors would fill her nights with activity and add just the right touch to the corners of the room. She would bring the outside inside and fill with light and beauty a room that had once been the site of so much anger and pain.

  For the past four days she had done nothing but garden in the morning, and paint at night by the light of many lamps. She spent the hours in between with their guests who were becoming more tired every day by the advancing stage of their pregnancies. But when the women did have energy, they, too, seemed eager to transform Kildare Manor while Jules was away. Nicholas and Hollister directed the men they’d hired to clear the briars and brambles away from the manor, while David and Fin busied themselves with the grass that covered the entire estate.

  Jane and Margaret were eager to share their knowledge of running an estate the size of Kildare Manor with Claire, for which she was grateful. Today they had interviewed two women who had come to the manor to apply for the position of cook.

  The manor was coming back to life, as was Jules’s reputation. He had said the villagers were frightened of him once. Well, something had changed in the last few days, because every day since Jules had left for Edinburgh, villagers came to the estate, asking for work. David and the others had put them to good use, inside and outside the house. Claire only hoped Jules’s pride could withstand the financial assistance his friends offered him, especially without his consent.

  Satisfied with her progress in the rose garden today and eager to find her paints, Claire set her gardening spade aside and headed back toward the house. No sooner had she entered through the kitchen and washed thoroughly when Margaret and Jane found her.

  “There you are,” Margaret said, a slow smile lighting her face. Jane was right behind her as they came into the empty space. “We’ve come to propose an idea to you.”

  Claire dried her hands on a linen towel and, with exaggerated care, folded it and placed it near the washbasin. “What manner of idea?”

  “One that involves you and Jules,” Margaret said with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. From the doorway, she waved the new cook, Mrs. Jarve, forward. The woman was herself a recipe of nationalities—part French, part English, part Scottish. She had impeccable references, but what had won her the position were the rhubarb tarts she had brought with her to the interview. The cook smiled shyly at Claire now, as she too came to stand before her.

  The three of them surrounded her. Claire’s nervousness rose in proportion to the glee in their eyes.

  “Hear us out,” Jane said, coming forward with a rustle of rose satin. “We know you and Jules married in haste with no one there to support you. I realize now it was most likely because of his financial situation that he kept things private. But we still want to celebrate with you both as is more in keeping with tradition. And now that we have a cook capable of the task”—she hesitated for a moment before continuing—“we want to prepare a wedding feast for you both when Jules returns. We will celebrate the beginning of your new life together the way it should have been celebrated in the first place.”

  Of all the things Claire had expected Jane to say, it had not been that.

  “Oh please say yes, Claire. There is nothing like a wedding banquet with all the delicious sweetmeats and the frivolity and the guests dressed in their most colorful velvets and satins.”

  “It seems like a lot of work, not to mention the expense, to celebrate something that has already happened,” Claire said.

  “
The entire event will be a gift from Nicholas and me.”

  “You’ve already spared no expense in order to repair the estate. We should wait for Jules to return before anything more is done.” Claire dipped her gaze. “I have not known Jules as long as you, but I do know he is a proud man. The changes that have been made in his absence will be difficult for him to bear.”

  Jane held out her hand. “Mercy, don’t you worry about that. Nicholas and Hollister will take care of everything. They will enter into some sort of arrangement with Jules that will keep his dignity and his pride. But that’s for the men to accomplish. Margaret and I have something to show you.”

  Claire stared at Jane, not moving, still unsure, so Jane grasped her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Come,” Jane said.

  Surrendering to her fate, Claire allowed Jane to lead her from the kitchen and through the house, up the stairs, and into the master’s chamber. Claire swallowed a thick lump in her throat. This was the first time she had seen Jules’s room, even though Jane and Margaret assumed she slept there. Her heart hammering as she invaded Jules’s sacred domain, Claire allowed Jane to guide her toward the great bed in the center of the room. The linen hangings were tied back. On the quilted comforter lay a dress. Jane lifted the magnificent emerald gown up for Claire to admire. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  Claire peered at the exquisite damask silk. “It’s the finest gown I have ever seen.”

  “Good,” Jane said with a broad smile, “because I purchased this gown for you to wear tomorrow night when Jules returns from Edinburgh.”

  Claire shifted her gaze from Jane to Margaret, who stood near the bedpost. Margaret nodded. “We’ve invited several guests to attend the banquet, people who used to come to Kildare Manor over the years, but have strayed away from Jules’s company.”

  “In order for Jules to be a successful laird, we need to relaunch him into society as a competent landowner and leader of his clan.” Jane’s expression grew serious. “A wedding feast gives us the perfect opportunity to celebrate both his marriage and his claim to his lairdship. Please say you will help us? Without his bride, we cannot do this.”

  Claire shuddered as fear gripped her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined herself in that dress, greeting her husband with guests all around them. He wouldn’t be able to run away with so many people expecting him to play the roles of groom and laird.

  A host of questions crowded her thoughts. Could she play the role of wife and seducer? Could she be everything Jules needed her to be in front of his friends and his peers? Could she set aside her own agenda and help him be the laird his friends hoped him to become? Could she give him something that might help him in his future without her? The thought brought with it a twist of pain.

  His future without her.

  Despite the hurt she would cause him, he would go on. He would be the laird of the MacIntyres, and he would assume his proper place in society if she did what Jane and Margaret asked of her now.

  “Yes.” The word was a whisper of sound that cut through her pain.

  “You’ll do it?” Jane asked with a look of hope on her face.

  Claire nodded and suddenly found herself hauled into Jane’s embrace. “Thank you, Claire. We will make this a night to remember, just you wait and see.”

  “Thank you for the lovely gown.” Claire was certain she would remember this night every day for the rest of her life. The memory would be steeped in sadness and pain. She would yearn for a husband she could never truly have, for all the moments of his life she would miss, and she would ache with loneliness that could never be assuaged, not because of what she did for her girls, but because she realized in that moment that she was utterly and hopelessly in love with Jules.

  She drew an uneven breath, at last recognizing the truth. She loved Jules.

  The words repeated, ran together, and stabbed deep. She had searched her whole life for this feeling, and only when her life had been turned upside down with threats and treachery had she found what she’d searched for all along.

  Merciful heavens, it was so unfair. Visions of Jules came to her, whispering, insinuating their way into her heart, gathering the air around her until it filled her with all the joy and hope and the splendor of what was possible.

  Love.

  Love was a gift not to be taken for granted. It was precious and fragile, elusive.

  But how could she ever indulge in her newfound feelings without sacrificing the girls? She’d never had any doubts that they would be killed if she didn’t do exactly what she’d been instructed to do—to break the heart of the man she loved. She would break her own as well. Claire released her breath in a painful sigh. She moved away from Jane and Margaret’s puzzled stares to the window.

  Her heart was beating so quickly she could hear it in her ears. Was there a way to keep what she had suddenly found? Could she tell Jules the truth? Would he be able to help her rescue the girls? Or would the kidnappers make good on their threats to kill the girls immediately if she so much as uttered a word to her husband?

  “Claire, is everything all right?” Jane asked from behind her.

  She would take that risk with her own life, but not with Penelope’s, Anna’s, and Eloise’s. Claire clasped her trembling fingers before her and turned around, suddenly finding the courage to go forward, despite the pain and anguish that pulsed through her with every thudding beat of her heart.

  Claire met Jane’s concerned gaze and nodded. “If we are to have a party, then we will need a room that can accommodate all of our guests.” This time it was Claire who took Jane’s hand and pulled her from the room, down the hall, and up the stairs until they stood before the boarded-up chamber Jules had barred her from entering on their first day together.

  “The old ballroom?” Jane’s eyes went wide as she pulled her hand from Claire’s. “Jules has made it clear to anyone who knows him that no one is to enter that room.”

  “Well, I am not no one. I am his wife.”

  Jane smiled. “I knew I liked you.”

  Claire pulled on the boards she had loosened, setting them against the wall until she cleared a large enough hole to step through. “I’ve made a few changes to the room over the last few days.” She stepped back and allowed Jane and Margaret to precede her into the chamber.

  “Jules hates this room. He—” Jane broke off as Claire pushed open the shutters, allowing the golden daylight to fill the chamber. “Sweet Mary, who painted the ceiling? Jules does not have the funds to hire a painter, especially one of this caliber.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Margaret said with awe, then turned to Claire. “You did this, didn’t you?”

  A rush of fear and pride brought the sting of tears to her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted, desperately wanting their approval.

  She waited breathlessly as both women leaned their heads back and studied the beginnings of the elaborate painting she had planned. At the center of the room, Claire had painted the ceiling in perfect perspective so that the flat surface opened up into the illusion of a three-dimensional dome. After learning of the sorrow that had befallen not only Jules, but this room, she had wanted to transform it, make it appear as though it opened up into the heavens above.

  “How on earth did you do that?” Jane asked, her voice tight with reverence.

  “I paint,” she said simply.

  “You do far more than paint,” Margaret said with a laugh. “How did you manage to make the ceiling look as though it had sprouted arches and pillars? It looks three stories high.”

  “The technique is called quadratura, and unites architecture, painting, and sculpture into one form. I taught myself how to paint this type of mural by imitating the work of the Italian painter Andrea Pozzo.”

  “Does Jules know you possess this talent?” Jane stared at Claire now.

  She shook her head.

  “Good.” Jane smiled. “It will be a fabulous surprise for him.” Jane’s gaze shifted back to the ceiling and the compilation o
f angels and stars and flowers. “When you are finished here, I would love to commission you to paint something, anything at all, at Bellhaven Manor.”

  Margaret let out a gasp, clutched her belly, then laughed. “The baby,” she said in the way of an explanation. “This one kicks like a mule.” She smiled fondly at Claire. “I suspect it will be many years before Claire ventures outside of Kildare Manor. She’ll be busy with her own babies before long.”

  Claire tried to laugh, but the words were like arrows, driving deep. She would never have babies with Jules. She wouldn’t even be around long enough to finish the ceiling completely—that task would take two years or more.

  “You’re right, Margaret. Then let’s enjoy this beautiful ceiling, show it off to our guests, and plan for the perfect wedding feast tomorrow evening upon Jules’s return.” Jane laughed, a cheerful sound, but to Claire it sounded like a hollow echo in an empty room.

  Tomorrow they would celebrate a wedding that was real, but a marriage that had been doomed from the start.

  Claire clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle an agonized moan. She would give anything to make this marriage real.

  The Doric. The name of the inn circled in Jules’s mind like a tiresome nursery rhyme as he stepped into the darkened interior of the building on Market Street. Loud voices, smoke, the smell of bodies, whiskey. And people. Too many people. The impressions came at him at once as he searched the dark interior for a hooded figure.

  He hadn’t expected to find the person that night. Jules frowned as he scanned the tables in the center of the room and the booths in the corners. The person he sought could be anyone, anywhere in this room. With a muttered curse, he made his way to the long wooden bar on the left-hand side of the room. He pushed his way through the crowd to the man behind the bar.

  “I need some information,” he shouted above the noise to the man a person’s length from him. When the innkeeper paid him no heed, Jules placed a gold coin on the bar.