With a flurry of skirts and cups clicked upon saucers, the room emptied, so that Ursula was soon alone with Lady Dunrannoch.
The countess set down McTavish and moved to take the seat next to her.
She spoke in a confidential tone. “I want to confide in you Miss Abernathy, to ensure you appreciate the unusual nature of our situation.”
She passed her hand over her forehead. “I’d almost given up hope of us finding the earl’s third son, Rory. It was a day of sadness when I received the telegram informing me of his passing. But one of joy also, since it contained news that his son would take his rightful place in this family. The Dalreaghs have lost so much—” She broke off, her eyes glistening. “Brodie and Lachlan—they weren’t my own, but I helped raise them. Their deaths have been so hard for us to bear.”
Pulling out a handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sure you can see the way of things. I have five granddaughters, Miss Abernathy, and I’m eager to arrange a betrothal to our new Lord Balmore. It may seem a hasty desire, and marriage to one’s cousin is not as usual as it once was, but I feel we should waste no time.”
Ursula was rather taken aback.
Does she intend the child to make a promise of betrothal to one of those girls? Could such a thing be binding?
The countess sat a little more upright in her chair, assuming a more businesslike manner. “The young fellow has great potential, but his manners are lacking. He is, without doubt, a Dalreagh, but he lacks the necessary refinement. I wish to rectify this in time for our festive cèilidh, and shall be encouraging him to make his choice on that very night. You’ll do all you can, I hope, to ensure a smooth transition for him.”
Ursula could not hide her surprise. It all seemed highly irregular.
At that moment, the door opened.
“Ah, and here he is! Our darling boy!” declared the countess.
Ursula twisted round to cast eyes upon her charge and almost choked on her own tongue.
The man standing before her was no child, nor a gangling adolescent. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was far longer than was fashionable for a gentleman, thick and curling at his collar and, though he’d changed his clothes, he’d not yet shaved, the stubble dark on his jaw.
Moreover, he wore no jacket, no waistcoat, nor a tie—only a linen shirt and moleskin breeches, the bulge of muscle evident on his upper arm and thigh.
To her horror, Ursula found that her pulse was racing.
His eyes twinkled as he walked towards them. He gave his grandmother a kiss upon the cheek and bestowed another on Ursula’s hand.
“Well, Miss Abernathy.” His lips curved in a half-smile. “It’s a true delight to have you here.”
Chapter Ten
Midday, 14th December
Ursula rolled up her clothes and shoved them back into her luggage. Her mind was made up. She wouldn’t stay another moment.
She’d had to sit there, listening to Lady Dunrannoch detail her duties, while Rye—or Lord Balmore as she was now supposed to address him—gave her that brash smile, his eyes crinkling up, no doubt having a good laugh at her expense.
The story he’d told her in the bothy hadn’t exactly been untrue of course, but he’d omitted all the salient details—and he’d let her ramble on, digging herself into an embarrassing hole.
The situation was insufferable.
She needed only to return to the platform and wave down the next train to pass through, reverting to her original plan of visiting Daphne. There must be several through the day, surely?
With a sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed. Impulsiveness had gotten her into this mess; perhaps it would be wise to wait until the next morning—at least she knew the time the early train crossed the moor, and the light seemed to be fading already, despite it being only midday.
Ursula passed her hand over her forehead. She hadn’t intended for everything to become so complicated. Most certainly, it would have been better if she’d never met Miss Abernathy.
One thing was for sure; she had no intention of carrying her bag again. She’d give it to Mrs. Douglas and leave her to distribute the contents.
It was the sensible thing to do but the thought of it made Ursula feel callous. Miss Abernathy had been kind, truly. Pulling the bag onto the bed, Ursula unsnapped the clasp. Perhaps she’d keep something as a token. Her hand fell on the flask that had contained the brandy and she took a sniff.
Had it only been last night? She’d enjoyed hearing his stories, then sitting in companionable silence, watching the flickering of the fire. Later, the comfort of him curled to her back, his arm across her chest.
She threw the empty flask back into the bag.
It didn’t change anything.
He was still insufferable.
And then, there it was again—the book: The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful. The flyleaf bore an inscription: To my darling Urania, from your ever-loving sister, Violet — December 25th, 1855.
The sister on the Dorset coast.
Would they have managed to contact her yet? To let her know that Urania had passed away? Probably not. They’d have been able to identify Miss Abernathy from the booking name on her overnight compartment but there mightn’t be anything else among her possessions to even indicate she had a sister.
As it was, there was no address book in Urania’s handbag. No doubt, she knew any address of importance by heart. She, Ursula, would have to take the initiative. She wasn’t sure how, as yet, but she’d find a way. There couldn’t be too many women by the name of Violet Abernathy living along that piece of coastline.
She’d write, letting Violet know that Urania had been thinking of her.
Ursula flipped through the pages: recipes, cures for ailments, rules of etiquette, and the usual pithy nuggets of advice.
The chapter on “Honesty” fell open, as if it had been often called upon.
To thine own self be true, as the great philosophers say. However, a lady knows when she must speak the truth and when diplomacy is the better course of action. Gifts should be professed to be exactly what one would wish, and a friend should be complimented on any achievement with which she is clearly pleased herself. Our own opinion need not unfailingly be expressed, to spare the feelings of others.
In most matters, nonetheless, honesty should be observed in more than spirit. To tell falsehoods may seem expedient but they are likely to trip one up, and to cause more difficulty in the long run.
Well, Ursula could hardly argue with that.
While Rye had been frugal with the truth, she’d hardly been liberal with it herself. And the tales she’d spun Lady Dunrannoch; if she stayed, it would be all she could do to keep those straight.
She’d keep the book. Perhaps, she might send it on to Violet—if she managed to locate her place of residence.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a rap on the door and, before she had the chance to rise, the heavy oak pushed open.
“You!” Ursula leapt to her feet.
The person standing in her doorway, having to bend to avoid the upper lintel, was none other than Rye himself.
“I’ve come to apologise.”
He had the decency to look sheepish, at least.
“I mean to say, there are things I should’ve mentioned.”
Ursula felt a surge of anger. She’d had enough of being told half-truths. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m only ‘staff’ but I still have a reputation. Did anyone see you come up?”
“But I’m only—” He looked confused for a moment then shook his head. “No. No one knows I’m here.”
“That’s something.” She barged past him to close the door then stood with her back to it.
Rye turned to face her. “I knew I ought to tell you, but I never could find the right moment.”
Ursula folded her arms. “I’m sure it was far too amusing, having me ranting on. Why would you want to stop me?”
“It wasn’t like that, Ursula.” He pushed his fingers
through his hair. “You made me laugh, sure, but I wasn’t laughing ‘at’ you.”
The look he gave her was earnest. In her heart, she knew he was telling the truth but her pride remained wounded.
“Since I won’t be staying, it doesn’t matter.” She stepped to one side, grasping the door handle. “I took the position on a whim and it was a mistake. If there’s a cart or something to take me, I’ll depart tomorrow. Now, I think you should leave.”
“Whoa there.” In one stride, he was in front of her, his palms on her shoulders. She was brought up short, confronted by the sheer physicality of him, smelling faintly of perspiration and sandalwood—more strongly of horse and leather and peat smoke. And his hands were so warm. She remembered how it had felt to have him lie beside her through the night, how it had felt to have him hold her while they were riding.
“There’s no need for you to go anywhere. We can forget all this, can’t we? Move past it; start again?”
She didn’t know why he was making such a fuss. It couldn’t matter whether she stayed. There were enough other people to show him the things they were expecting her to teach him.
Part of her wanted to agree to anything he asked. The way he was holding onto her made it difficult to think of leaving, but she shook her head. “You weren’t completely honest with me—”
He interrupted her before she could finish. “And you’re telling me that you have been?”
“I d-don’t know what you mean.” Ursula looked upward, into eyes that told her he wasn’t fooled.
“Well, Miss Abernathy, I can’t say that I understand what’s going on here, but somethin’ doesn’t quite add up—what with you thinkin’ you were comin’ up here to teach a child.”
“A simple misunderstanding.” Ursula shrugged away from Rye’s hold. “I was distracted when the initial letter of request arrived. There’s nothing more to it.”
“Uh huh?” Rye folded his arms. “So why is it I get the feelin’ you’re running away from somethin’?”
“Running away?” Ursula frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I came here to do a job.”
“And what’s with the accent you’re usin’ with my grandmother?”
Ursula had no answer for that—or none she cared to share with him.
He raised one eyebrow. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. Then you can decide how honest you want to be with me.”
“If you must.” Mrs. Douglas was sending up some lunch on a tray at one o’clock. She’d just need to be sure Rye was gone before then. Meanwhile, she might as well warm up the room. Bending to the grate, she fiddled with bits of kindling, only to find him kneeling next to her.
“I promised my father and I’m determined to see it through. I’ll be learnin’ everything about the cattle ’n’ the estate. I’ll take good care of the folks that rely on this place for their livelihood and—”
“—you’ll wed as your family see fit.”
“A wife will keep me on the straight and narrow, I guess.” Rye shrugged.
And put the necessary babies in the nursery for you. Ursula snapped a twig in two, throwing it on top of the others.
“It’s not how I imagined doing things, but they’re stuck with me, and I’m not what they were expecting. I need to make a few concessions.”
“But you’ve left behind everything you grew up with to come here. Isn’t that enough?” She sat back on her heels, glaring at him. If she felt indignant about it, why didn’t he?
“I told you, little bear; I’ve promises to keep.” He looked suddenly weary.
“And five young women lined up to flutter their lashes at you!” The words were out before Ursula had the chance to catch them. She bit her lip. He’d be thinking she was jealous, which was ridiculous. She’d only met him the day before; they didn’t know each other.
Neither did his girl cousins, of course, but that wasn’t going to stop him from marrying one of them.
“And I’ll be the one doin’ the choosing.” He spoke softly.
“That’s what they want you to think.” She picked up a larger piece of kindling, attempting to break it over her knee. “They don’t know the first thing about you. They employed someone to make you fit in. Doesn’t that irritate you?” After several failed attempts she threw the wood aside, sucking at her thumb.
They’ll polish down your rough edges to turn you into something they think acceptable. They’ll dictate your clothes and manners and change your accent if they can—that honeyed drawl that’s part of who you are. And they’ll marry you to their own to keep everything within the status quo.
“I need you, Ursula. I need you to help me, so that I can do what’s right.” He brought his hand over hers. “Show me what it is they’re expectin’ and I’ll do my darndest not to let them down.”
What other people were expecting? He was right that she was on the run—and it was other people’s expectations she was running from.
Yet here he was, running towards them.
His situation, of course, was different from her own. Ultimately, he’d have charge of his destiny in a way she never would.
She pulled her hand out from beneath his and brought it to her lap. He didn’t need to know how she’d ended up here, nor what she planned for her own future, but she could give him a few days.
“All right. I’ll stay.” She rubbed at the splinter in the pad of her thumb, keeping her eyes down. “But don’t ask me anything else.”
Leaving, he paused on the threshold and she glanced up then, but he was only checking that the passage was clear.
He didn’t look round again but she heard him as the door clicked shut.
“Fair enough, little bear.”
Chapter Eleven
Early-afternoon, 15th December
Blackened with centuries of soot, the vaulted rafters of Dunrannoch’s banqueting hall stretched high above, leading the eye to a minstrels’ galley occupying one end, large enough to accommodate a small orchestra.
It wasn’t hard to imagine a gathering. The room had been built for that purpose—to bring together every member of the household in communal festivity. The cavernous fireplace would have blazed high, while long tables and benches would have filled its length and the hall would have resonated with the chatter of several hundred voices.
Now, the emptiness echoed.
In preparation for the Yuletide cèilidh, the staff of Dunrannoch had begun to hang greenery and a small fire had been set at one end of the hearth, producing a modicum of warmth to supplement the cool winter light entering through the hall’s windows of leaded glass.
It was here that Ursula was to teach Lord Balmore the deportment required of a gentleman. So far, they’d addressed the conventions of cutlery and glassware, as well as various other table etiquette—from how to use a finger bowl to the correct manner in which to pass a bottle of port. Where Ursula had been unable to recall the details herself, Miss Abernathy’s little guide had lived up to its title.
After a luncheon of venison pie, a hurried conference with MacBain, the butler, had apprised Ursula of the customary toasts of Burns’ Night, and other festive occasions unique to the Scots. She’d located a volume of poetry by the great man for Rye to study at his leisure.
Ursula entered the banqueting hall to find him already waiting, bending over something on a side table. As he did so, his shirt pulled tight across his back. His physique spoke of his working life, there was no doubt about that, and he’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to his forearms—as if to take up a scythe, or manhandle a sheep for dipping. She hadn’t forgotten how easily he’d lifted her, helping her into the saddle and out of it the day before.
It seemed that someone had brought in a gramophone and he was leafing through a stack of recordings—frowning at some, peering at the typeface upon others. She observed him remove one from its case and place it upon the turntable, winding the handle upon the side before lowering the needle. The shrill, wailing drone that emerged had him jumping back in horr
or.
Ursula rushed forward to lift the needle.
“Bagpipes.” She held up the case, indicating the picture upon the front. “They’re good for accompanying the Highland Fling and such—country dances, you know.” She moved her feet in the semblance of a jig, to demonstrate. “But the clans used them for centuries in battle, since you could hear them over the din of all the fighting.”
“No kidding.” Rye shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone’s meant to dance to this. More like a bag o’ wildcats fightin’ each other than any music I ever heard.”
“It’s all part of your heritage.”
“Are you ribbin’ me, Miss Abernathy?” Rye cocked an eyebrow.
“Certainly not, Lord Balmore.”
“Call me Rye, please; you know that’s m’name.”
Removing the offending bagpipes, she flipped through the other recordings, selecting an alternative.
“You’ll have to get used to it. Officially, everyone will refer to you as Balmore from now on—or Dunrannoch, when you come into your grandfather’s title.”
Rye frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used t’that.”
As the first strains of the music rose, she directed him into position, placing his right hand on her waist. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Helping you get used to new things. Now, I’m going to teach you to waltz, your lordship.”
She placed one hand in his, and her other on his upper arm—an appendage, she noted, that was hard with muscle.
With a grin, he wrapped her more firmly. “If it means holdin’ you like this, I’ve no objection.”
For a moment, she wanted only to remain still and savour how close they were standing; the way his arm was encircling her.
His fingers crept round farther, and he was staring hard into her eyes. He wasn’t just teasing. She felt the force of something altogether more powerful. She’d never felt like this before, but she had an inkling of what it was.
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