by Lauren Smith
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 Anthony’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 regret 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.
Last night in the stables, she had felt warm and safe. But then, any place was preferable to London’s icy alleys. She had woken once during the night to find Lachlan curled against her, his lips buried in her hair, his hands both possessive and tender as he held her. Whatever plagued him during the day seemed to vanish at night. His worry-creased brows had softened and for a moment she had a chance to admire his masculine beauty. His full lips, lips she now knew to be soft and hot, had looked so inviting. His proud aristocratic features seemed to be chiseled out of marble.
If only I could understand him and his changing moods.
His older brother’s death had to play some part in it. She understood that kind of heartbreak. Losing her mother to a weak heart, her father to prison, and her security to the courts, she’d had her heart broken over and over again. Lachlan had clearly been close to his brother and losing him…that could break even the strongest man. It was understandable for him to be rough and unfeeling when he was protecting his heart, but Daphne wished he knew he didn’t have to guard against her. They could band together in their grief and become stronger for their union. She just had to make him see that.
After she finished her bath, Mary helped her dress. Luckily, the maid was right, they were close in size, and the plain white stockings and sensible, dark blue gown fit well enough. Mary handed her a lovely red and green tartan shawl.
“’Tis the family colors, my lady. I thought his lordship would like to see you wearing it tonight at dinner.” Then Mary held up a rosewood box. “I’ve put your pearls inside, and if you leave the box on your vanity table it will be untouched.” The maid set the box in Daphne’s hands and Daphne couldn’t resist peeking in to see that her mother’s necklace lay safety inside the black velvet interior of the box.
Her throat tightened. “Thank you, Mary. I’m sorry I acted so silly, but they were my mother’s and I would…” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “They are all I have left of her.”
“I understand, miss,” the maid assured her before heading to the dressing room.
Daphne turned away to hide her embarrassment and to set the box on the dark brown vanity table beside the bay window. For a moment. she gazed at the box, remembering how her mother used to twine the pearls around her fingers as she dressed for dinner. Daphne’s father would then enter the room and smile.
“How’s my two beautiful girls?” he’d ask and then he would take the pearls and fasten them around Daphne’s mother’s neck and kiss her cheek, making her blush. It had been a romantic sight that Daphne, as a little girl, had safely locked away in her heart. Papa as he had been before they lost her mother and before he ruined her life.
“Are you ready for dinner?” Lachlan’s voice came from the doorway. She jumped yet again. That man had the worst
habit of sneaking up on her. She hadn’t even heard the door open.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She tried to smile at him as his cool gaze swept over her.
“You look acceptable.” He crooked his arm and she slid her hand through his arm, relief fluttering through her. Was he finally playing the part of a gentleman now that they were in his home?
“Thank you,” she replied a little stiffly.
She accompanied him down the corridor until they reached the grand staircase. As they descended, she brushed her fingertips over the polished banister. Huntley Castle was lovely, but would it ever feel like home? Daphne vowed at that moment she would do everything in her power to make this place somewhere she could belong. And, if she was lucky, win Lachlan’s heart, as well.
Chapter 5
Lachlan couldn’t get the memory of that kiss out of his head. Daphne had tasted as sweet as strawberries, her soft lips utterly tempting, and her curves made for his hands. It was a miracle he managed to stop. If he hadn’t heard her giggle, he might not have been able to. He would have laid her flat on the bed, her skirts tossed up over her waist and buried himself within her. He’d wanted her to clutch at his shoulders and writhe in ecstasy. The old Lachlan would have reveled in such reactions. Knowing a man could give pleasure to a woman so fully that she lost her control and sense of self had been one of his joys in life.
But that laugh of delight had been a douse of cold water. It shocked him from his haze of lust and, for that, he was grateful. Marrying her wasn’t supposed to be about making her happy or giving her pleasure. It was about justice. It was about revenge. It was about William. He could not dishonor his brother’s memory by becoming distracted by her. Oh, he would bed the pretty lass and likely enjoy it, but he was not going to allow her to have a happy life here. Her marriage would be penance for William’s death.
“You’re scowling again,” Daphne whispered as they entered the large dining room.
Lachlan tried to ignore how delectable she looked, even in a simple servant’s day gown and a tartan shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Freshly bathed, her hair smelling sweet and her skin glowing, she looked too innocent, too good to be Richard Westfall’s daughter. If only she wasn’t… If only.
“I’m not scowling,” he muttered.
“You are…” she said in that sweet voice. He was tempted to smile, but his mother waited for them, drawing his attention to other matters. They must have looked like a happily affianced couple, their bodies close as he escorted Daphne to her chair.
“There you are, Lachlan. I wondered if you two had become distracted.”
He forced a smile for her, even though it felt like a grimace.
“Come and sit by me, Miss Westfall.” The Dowager Countess patted the seat beside her.
“Thank you.” Daphne tried to pull free of his arm, but Lachlan escorted her all the way over to his mother and pulled back the chair for her. It gave him another chance to touch her, to brush his fingertips over her shoulders when he pushed her chair closer to the table after she was seated.
“Please, call me Daphne, my Lady.”
“Then you must call me Moira.” His mother beamed at Daphne. She smiled back, and for a moment Lachlan couldn’t remember why he’d brought Daphne here. All thoughts of anger and vengeance were obliterated like shadows beneath a noonday sun. The open joy in her voice as she spoke to his mother was entrancing.
I shouldn’t be captivated, not by her. Anyone but her... The guilt of his brother’s loss prickled like an incurable itch, just out of reach.
“Lachlan, dear, when is the wedding to be?” Moira asked when he sat down across from them.
“The day after tomorrow,” he replied.
His mother’s brow knit with confusion. “So soon? That’s hardly sufficient time to prepare.”
“I need only to meet with the vicar at the Kirk of Huntley and schedule a quick service.”
His mother was openly frowning now. “But your bride needs a proper trousseau.”
“She doesn’t require such fine things.” He smiled at his mother, his tone teasing, yet as he turned to Daphne, he added a bite to his gaze. “Do you?” A spark of fire blazed in her eyes, and her lips parted in protest before she composed herself.
“Quite right. In fact, I insisted that we not make a fuss. It seems so unkind to focus on a wedding whilst the family is still in mourning for William. A quiet, simple wedding is proper.”
“Really Lachlan, you must be willing to spend a little on your bride. This doesn’t happen every day. I know society dictates we stop living while we mourn, but I, for one, think it is wrong. Weddings should be a happy affair and we should act accordingly. We are quite comfortable and can afford to buy her a trousseau.”
He didn’t miss the way Daphne shifted in her chair at the mention of money.
“If you don’t wish for a trousseau for her, fine,” his mother continued. “But we must still invite a few friends to the wedding.”
Lachlan did not want anyone to be there, but a few witnesses would be required.
“What about Cameron McLeod and Eliza?” Moira asked. When Daphne showed open confusion, Moira patted her arm and added. “Cameron and Lachlan have been friends since they were wee bairns. They live only a short distance away. Cameron recently married. Eliza is a sweet lass.”
“Oh, that would be lovely.” Daphne’s shoulders sagged in relief and Lachlan now frowned. He didn’t want his close friends to see him marry the daughter of the man who had driven William to his death. Not that anyone except him would ever know the truth, but his victory was grim and he didn’t wish to celebrate it.
“Please, Lachlan.” Daphne breathing his first name drew him from the thoughts that shadowed his heart.
Candlelight illuminated her features, showing her full and beseeching eyes. That soft part of his heart he thought he’d buried with William resurrected itself.
“I should like very much to meet your friends.” Her smile was tentative and shy.
He tried to cling to the edges of his anger and bitterness. Tell her no, just say no. But the refusal never made it past his lips.
“Er… I suppose I could invite them. We will need witnesses, after all.”
“Wonderful!” Moira exclaimed. “We will make a party of it. I know we must still mourn, but I could do with a bit of laughter in this house. I believe it’s what William would have wanted.”
Both women turned to him, hope shining in their eyes. Lachlan knew he would never win an argument if both his mother and bride aligned. He stared down at the food as dinner was brought in, but did not think he could eat. Conversation moved around him and he felt much like a large stone cast in a stream. The rivers of words flowed around him, unstoppable, soothing. He hated how easily his mother and his fiancée got along. He threw in a word or two when questions were sent his way, but the ladies seemed content to talk on without him.
He had made the foolish assumption that by bringing Daphne here, he could control her happiness and keep her defeated and miserable. But he hadn’t planned that his mother would take to Daphne so quickly. Since William’s death, she’d been quiet, her heart wounded by her grief. Now he saw the glint of joy in her eyes and he welcomed the return of her smile. If he ruined Daphne’s happiness, it would make his mother retreat into her pain all over again and he could not do that to her.
I should never have agreed to meet Daphne. Damn Anthony and his foolish ideas.
He could still break the contract and send Daphne back to Anthony. But Lachlan couldn’t stomach the thought of another man claiming her.
He listened to his mother and Daphne talk, but the longer he watched them, the more his stomach turned to knots. He shoved his chair back and stood. Moira and Daphne turned to him, eyes wide in surprise.
“Excuse me. I’m afraid I don’t feel well.” He offered no other explanation, but simply left the dining room.
The corridor outside was dark, with evening shadows playing tricks up
on his eyes. He paused at the base of the grand stairs to face the portrait of his older brother. William stood proud in his kilt and black coat. His face held an eerie, life-like quality. The artist had captured the hint of sorrow in his eyes and the worry lines around his mouth. William had always been one to fret over even the smallest of details.
Brother, why did you do it?
He closed his eyes. The memories were there, swirling just beneath the surface like the waters of a deep loch. He couldn’t block out the past; it came rushing up to meet him, drowning him.
The late fall at Huntley Castle was always exquisite. The gardens were just beginning to lose their summer blossoms and the walkways were littered with colored petals. The trees were turning a brilliant array of reds and golds, which set the sky on fire when the sun began to set behind the edge of the castle.
Lachlan soaked in the beautiful view as he rode up to the front steps. As he dismounted, he felt that the world held out every answer, every dream to him. He smiled as he dropped the reins into the hands of the waiting groom and took a step toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw William at the window of his study, watching him. Lachlan waved, eager to see his brother. He’d only just returned from a month in London.
But William hadn’t waved back. He hadn’t seen Lachlan, at all. His gaze had been distant, seeing things beyond the window’s view. Then he noticed the pistol in William’s hand.
Why—
Lachlan rushed into the house, but he only made it a few feet before the shot rang out.
“William!” Lachlan plunged into his brother’s study, skidding to a halt inside. He saw William’s leg stretched out from behind his elegant desk.
“Will—” the name choked him. William didn’t move.
Lachlan stumbled forward, his legs leaden and his hand shaking as he approached the desk and leaned over to stare down at the pistol laying close to William’s right hand. And when he turned his gaze away, he saw the crimson splatter staining the wall.