A Scandalous Scot (25 page)

She should leave before dawn, not sleep with him all night, cuddled against his warmth, feeling his skin against hers even in her sleep.

Passion, or perhaps Morgan, was a net trapping her, yet she was doing nothing to free herself. When he touched her, she felt some unknown part of herself take over. The woman he summoned loved the stroke of his fingers, laughed when he tickled her, sighed when he entered her, and sobbed her pleasure.

Every night, they loved, and every morning she told herself she wasn’t his wife. Oh, it felt that way. She felt as if she had the right to stroke his hair back from his brow, and kiss the corner of his lips, or capture his earlobe between her teeth and tug gently in play.

To distance herself from thoughts of Morgan, she asked, “Are you feeling better today?”

“I’m not.” But the tone in which he said those words was not querulous or complaining. He said it merely as a simple statement. A comment with so little emotion that it might have been a remark about the weather.

She turned her head to look at him, wishing she had some words to ease him in some way. All she had was a silly tea, but she would brew a pot of it now if he wished.

He reached over and placed his hand on top of one of hers. She put her other hand on his, feeling his cold skin, as if his body was preparing for the grave.

She looked down at their joined hands, feeling tears again. Sometimes she couldn’t stop them when they came. Sometimes they were there before she knew it, the past rising up to envelope her in a fog of emotion.

“Did your mother die very long ago?”

“Two years,” she said.

“It was very painful for you, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “I miss her every day,” she said.

She looked down at their joined hands. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to truly cry? Too long, perhaps, because the tears began to run unchecked down her face.

Sweet man, to care so much for her pain, when it was her mother who’d suffered.

Toward the end, she and Catriona had only heard moans and cries from their parents’ bedroom. Her mother had wept to die, pleading with her husband to help her.

But she didn’t say that to Mr. Seath. Instead, she gripped his hand even harder.

In the next moment, she found herself engulfed in a hug. Her head was on his shoulder and she was weeping in earnest, great gulping sobs for her mother, and for her father as well.

Her arms encircled him, feeling the frailty of his body, knowing the same fate faced him. Perhaps some of her tears were for this kind and gentle man.

She allowed herself a few minutes of grief before pulling away, embarrassed. When he handed her a handkerchief, she took it gratefully, blotting at her face.

Her right hand was still gripping his, and she was gratified to note his touch felt warmer.

She wanted to do something to help this dear man. What could she do?

“What is your real name?” Mr. Seath asked.

All thought simply evaporated.

She turned her head slowly and looked at the steward. His expression hadn’t changed, and in his eyes there was a calm understanding.

Fear iced her stomach, banishing her grief.

He knew. Somehow, he knew.

Chapter 23

RULES FOR STAFF:
Any fraternization with the staff shall be grounds for immediate dismissal.

“I
s it MacDonald?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said, sighing. “It’s Cameron.”

He nodded. “Ah, I remember talk of a Dr. Cameron. Quite a scandal. I recall mention of two daughters.”

She folded his handkerchief, then folded it again. She couldn’t look at him. Her earlier sorrow had been replaced by something cold and sharp like terror.

“That’s why you wanted to know, of course. If a marriage was legal.”

She managed to nod.

“It isn’t, of course, but you knew that.”

Once again she nodded.

“And, so, you came to Ballindair not long after,” he said.

She nodded. “No one wished to have anything to do with us,” she said.

“How very difficult for you,” he said.

Difficult enough they’d nearly starved to death. Without Aunt Mary’s intervention, they might well have. Or Catriona would’ve achieved her goal of becoming a rich man’s mistress.

Hardly what their father would have wished for her.

They sat in the quiet for a few minutes, the peace of the garden and Mr. Seath’s silent acceptance washing over her.

Evidently, he wasn’t going to say anything. But how did she live with her daily guilt? How did she push away the feelings she was coming to have for Morgan? It was one thing to lie to the Earl of Denbleigh, another to lie to Morgan, a man who considered himself her husband.

“How are you finding your new life?” he asked.

She wasn’t appreciably happier. In fact, she might even say she was markedly miserable. She was enchanted by her husband, fascinated by their lovemaking, confused, and beset by a dozen emotions.

“None of the maids approve of me,” she said, grasping at the most idiotic thing to say.

His chuckle surprised her. She turned her head to look at him.

“Did you expect them to? People are people, my dear. You’ve risen from their ranks to be their employer. Don’t you think they’re wondering what you will do next? You’re suddenly in a position of power. They worry. They think, did she like me when we worked together? If she didn’t, will she use it against me?”

She gently extricated her hand from his. “I would never do any of those things.”

“Then prove it.”

She frowned at him. “How do I prove something I wouldn’t do?”

“By giving them a picture of who you are. Have you shown them who their new countess is?”

She told him of the episode of Mr. Prender’s room.

He nodded. “That’s a good start, but you need to carry your actions further. Ensure Donalda wasn’t harmed for her experience. Have you talked to her?”

She shook her head.

“She may well have felt intimidated by you even before you married the earl, simply because of your relationship with the housekeeper. She comes from a very poor family and desperately needs this job. Did you know that?”

Again she shook her head.

“Then let me tell you, my dear,” Mr. Seath said.

Jean listened to Donalda’s story, feeling more and more regretful as she did. She’d worked beside the girl for months and never knew any of what Mr. Seath was telling her now. Not once had Donalda ever confided in her. Not once had she ever complained. Yet she’d never been curious enough to ask Donalda anything about her past.

“She’s afraid of losing her position. If she does, it might put her whole family in jeopardy.”

Being a countess—being a responsible countess—was not as easy as everyone thought it should be. So far, she’d made a mess of it. All she’d done was weep in the garden, daydream of her husband, and be childishly annoyed by the actions of her former coworkers.

“You’ll need to tell the earl, of course,” he said.

“About Donalda?” she asked, turning to him.

“About you,” he said with a smile.

“How? ‘Your Lordship, not only have you married a maid, but you’ve married Jean Cameron. Yes,
that
Jean Cameron. If you thought scandal had touched you before, it is nothing to what people will say now.’ ”

“Do you think the earl cares that much about scandal?” the steward asked. “If he had, would he have divorced his wife? Wasn’t that a scandalous act in itself?”

“In his case,” she said, “it was the lesser of two scandals.”

“A matter of degrees,” he said.

She nodded. “I don’t think he anticipated the reaction of society, Mr. Seath. I think it caught him by surprise. People can be exceptionally cruel, especially to those who’ve stepped beyond the boundaries of society. My sister and I had done nothing, but we were treated with the same degree of horror people felt for my father. They didn’t see his actions as merciful, but rather, merciless.”

She looked up at the sky. “Can you imagine what society would do to Morgan once they discover who I am?”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re not married then, my dear,” Mr. Seath said.

Surprised, she turned to him.

“Without a legal marriage, he’ll be able to claim you as a dalliance, a misalliance. The whole thing could be passed off as a jest, perhaps. But what will happen to you when the day comes and the truth is known?”

The question startled her.

She thought of a suitable answer, discarded it, thought of another, and ended up saying, “I don’t know.”

“Is that why you haven’t told him?” he asked. His smile was infinitely kind.

She glanced away.

“A way will be revealed to you,” he said. “I have only confidence in you. You think you’re an improper countess. I can think of no one better. You’re exactly what the earl needs.”

She very much doubted that.

“You must understand, my dear, what kind of man your husband is. He might brave scandal for the sake of doing the right thing, but he has a great deal of pride. Even more, he holds himself to a higher standard than most. He believes he must be the epitome of all that is just and good about Scotland. He has his family’s earlier reputation to live down and his father’s heritage to achieve.” Mr. Seath shook his head. “The boy in the man will not allow any alterations in what he believes is true, even if it means accepting a falsehood.”

She didn’t speak, despite her curiosity. There were some things, perhaps, she shouldn’t ask. Questions that would not be considered proper, even from a new wife.

However, Mr. Seath continued, as if he realized she was constrained by her own sense of propriety. “I’ve spoken of Donalda,” he said. “The earl’s father was instrumental in creating the poverty they experience now. Have you heard of the Clearances?”

She nodded. Tales had spread far and wide, along with newspaper accounts about how some lairds had pushed people off their property, finding it more advantageous to raise sheep than allow the crofters to continue to rent and farm the land.

“Morgan’s father gave me orders to do the same for an entire area of Ballindair land.”

“And Morgan doesn’t know?”

Mr. Seath shook his head. “The earl has not expressed any desire to know about the workings of the estate. Even so, I doubt he would tolerate any ill words spoken of his father.

“Donalda’s family still lives in a small cottage not far from here,” he said. “I took it upon myself to make the arrangements. I’ve not told the earl what I’ve done, but I could not sit by while people starved.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I would prefer you not tell him,” he said. “Of course, it is entirely within your power to do so. That, I can understand.”

“Shall we agree to keep each other’s secrets, then?” she said. “You have one of mine, and now I have one of yours.”

He reached out, patted her hand and smiled at her. A reprieve, and only that, because one day soon she knew she’d have to tell Morgan the truth.

In an extemporaneous gesture unlike her, she reached over and hugged Mr. Seath, wishing she could infuse him with her own health. He hadn’t upbraided her for her secret. Nor had he looked at her with contempt. For that alone, and even if she hadn’t come to feel a great fondness for him, she would have been grateful.

Jean pulled back, turning her head to see Morgan standing on the path. Instead of approaching them, he turned and walked in the other direction.

She frowned in his direction.

Was he jealous? Could he be that foolish?”

She stood, bent and kissed Mr. Seath on the forehead, surprising both of them, before heading in the direction Morgan had disappeared.

J
ean found Morgan in the library, the third room she visited since beginning to search for him. When she asked the maid if she’d seen the earl, Molly hadn’t even looked in her direction, merely shook her head.

Mr. Seath’s words came to mind. She stopped, wondering what she could say to ease the situation. Not a word came to her. Instead, she thanked Molly, and when the maid turned and looked at her in surprise, she began to understand.

Her behavior from this point on would form the foundation of her relationship with the staff. Gradually, they might come to respect her. But only if she demonstrated respect first.

She entered the library, knowing Morgan was there almost immediately. The room seemed changed with his presence. When she climbed the curving iron staircase, she saw his shoes first, then his trousers.

He turned and glanced at her disinterestedly, as if the book he held was of monumental importance and she less so.

“You can’t possibly be jealous of Mr. Seath, Morgan.”

He turned to face her, his features frozen into a mask, his eyes flat and cold.

“Perhaps it’s your upbringing,” he said. “Although I was given to expect better from you. My wife needs to be above reproach. Meeting a man and sitting with him in a garden, unattended by anyone else, is not acceptable behavior.”

She took a few steps toward him, stopping only when she was an arm’s length away.

“Even if the man is desperately ill? Or haven’t you noticed that?”

He didn’t answer, merely put the book back on the shelf. She took another step closer.

“Also, Mr. Seath is old enough to be my father.”

He glanced at her. “I’ve seen many unions, madam, between an older man and a younger woman.”

“I’d thought your accent was fading, but when you’re angry, you sound very English.”

He didn’t even look at her.

“Mr. Seath is dying, Morgan. Can you not see that? Can you not have some pity for the man?”

“I am not speaking of my steward, madam. But of my wife.”

She took a step backward, away from him. “How disagreeable you sound, as if I were some onerous responsibility of yours. Something you had to care for that annoyed you. My wife. My brass urn. My chamber pot.”

“What were you talking about with him? Why was he embracing you?”

He was the one to close the distance between them now. How very tall he was—nearly half a head taller than she. It annoyed her to have to tilt back her head to look up at him. But it further irritated her to see the narrowed and suspicious expression in his eyes.