Amanda Scott (17 page)

“Do you think so? I think it rather dismal myself. That paper has been there since the castle came into my husband’s family, and I daresay this Turkey carpet is even older. But then I don’t like red in a bedchamber.”

“I think it makes the room seem warmer,” Mary said, glancing at the little fire crackling in the hooded fireplace.

“The fire would have warmed it properly if the girl had not left the window open,” Lady Balcardane said over her shoulder as she opened the large wardrobe. “But where are the rest of your things? There are only two old frocks in here.”

“They are all I brought.”

Lady Balcardane gaped at her, speechless for once.

Mary could not recall having felt so embarrassed by her circumstances before. The Macleans were a strong clan, and had once been a wealthy one. After Culloden, when the Crown had demanded forfeiture of their lands, she, her aunt, and her two cousins had found themselves reduced to living in a house much smaller than those they had known on the Island of Mull. But nearly everyone they knew or cared about then had been in a similar circumstance.

She had not visited a home grander than her own in seven years, and before that she had known few grander than Lochfuaran Castle. It was easily the equal of Craignure, where she had lived briefly before they had all left Mull for Stewart land in Appin. In the long ago days at Lochfuaran, although stately dinners and elegant apparel had doubtless been customary, she had been too young to indulge in them.

“This simply will not do,” Lady Balcardane said abruptly.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

“This!” She gestured toward the barren wardrobe. “No one owns only two dresses, Mary. I know that many persons hereabouts have fallen on hard times, but you are well bred, my dear, and I cannot believe that anyone related to Anne Stewart Maclean has no more than these few paltry things to wear.”

Suddenly an image of her formidable aunt swept into the room, and Mary felt herself stiffening in defense of her, and of herself.

“I know they are not suitable, ma’am,” she began, speaking with careful control over her surging emotions. “However—”

“Oh, pray, do not take a pet, my dear,” Lady Balcardane exclaimed, looking stricken. “I did not mean to offend you, indeed I did not, but I cannot believe this is all you own. I simply must know what horrid thing befell you to bring you to such a pass. I do hope it was not Duncan’s doing! Oh, pray, tell me it was not!”

“No, ma’am, of course it was not,” Mary said swiftly. Despite the words, however, she was thinking unkind thoughts about Duncan, for although he was not responsible for her dresses having been left at Shian Towers, he was certainly responsible for her present plight. She would not be facing it if he had left her comfortably at Maclean House. Gazing unsteadily at Lady Balcardane, she said, “It a long story, ma’am, but I will tell you if you want to hear it.”

“I certainly do,” Lady Balcardane said. She picked up her skirt and walked to the door, talking all the while. “But you come along with me to my bedchamber whilst you tell it, because I mean to ring for my woman at once. Between the two of us, we will find you something to wear. Now, come, come!”

Mary followed her downstairs to a much larger bedchamber than the one they had just left. It was a bit chilly, like every room in the castle, but the fire looked cheerful and the embroidered peach-colored bed curtains looked like velvet.

Lady Balcardane tugged the bell cord vigorously, then moved to a larger version of the wardrobe in Mary’s room and pulled open the doors. A cloud of varicolored materials billowed forth.

The next half hour passed in a daze while the constantly chattering countess supervised Mary’s dressing. Her woman, a tall, angular woman in a black dress, named Sarah, soon responded to the bell and set to work.

Lady Balcardane’s figure was much plumper than Mary’s, but among all the gowns in the wardrobe they found several from her younger days that would suit a more slender body. Sarah laid them out on the bed and over chairs and stools. She held them up, twitched them about, then flung each in its turn over Mary’s head to be buttoned, laced, tucked, pinned, and rearranged until finally all three women agreed upon the one gown.

In stays and petticoats, Mary sat at the dressing table so that Sarah could do her hair. She could scarcely breathe, for the countess and her woman had insisted that she lace her stays tightly. Since she rarely did so, she was half afraid the laces would pop, but she had only to sit while Sarah deftly wielded the curling iron that she had previously heated in the fire.

“That will do for now,” Lady Balcardane said when Sarah stepped aside to let her see. “I daresay we ought to cut and curl it into a more modern style, but she has beautiful hair, and you have done well with it, Sarah. Now, for the gown.”

Mary stood up to let them put it on her, trying to see herself, but able to see only bits and pieces at a time in her ladyship’s looking glass.

“Stand still, my dear,” Lady Balcardane said when everything was in place. “Let me look at you.”

Mary stood nervously, waiting for the verdict.

Made of pink brocaded damask, the gown was of the sort called a sack with a closed skirt over plain dimity petticoats. Mary was two or three inches taller than the countess, but the skirt was full enough to accommodate the round hoops worn twenty years before, so over the more modern fan-shaped hoop, with but a few tucks and stitches, it draped at just the right length. With full sleeves, a low, snug bodice, and creamy lace trim, Mary felt elegant, but Lady Balcardane was frowning.

“Fetch my jewelry box, Sarah.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Mary protested. “I couldn’t!”

“Don’t be foolish. Here now, let me see,” she added when Sarah presented her with an open box chockful of glittering baubles. “Ah, yes, put this on, my dear.” She held out a pink velvet ribbon with a small gold locket attached. “It is no more than a trumpery kickshaw, but it will look well with that gown.”

Mary looked into the glass to tie the ribbon, but to her dismay her hands shook. Sarah took the ribbon from her and tied it around her neck.

Tears pricked her eyes when she turned back to say, “Thank you, ma’am. You are very kind.”

“Fiddlesticks, we have enjoyed ourselves immensely, have we not, Sarah? I have never had a girl to dress, you know, having borne only sons, and them not wanting me to have a thing to do with their dressing once they were out of short coats. But come, my dear, we must go downstairs now. How Duncan and Balcardane will stare! We have done very well, I think, very well indeed.”

Mary was not so certain. Her hair looked and felt odd to her, for she had become accustomed simply to twisting it up and pinning it in place whether she was dressing up or not. It curled naturally, but the riot of curls that Sarah had created looked very different from her soft natural ones, and made her imagine she was seeing someone else altogether in the mirror.

When they returned to the yellow saloon, she saw that Balcardane had joined Serena, but Duncan was not there.

“How vexing,” Lady Balcardane murmured beside her.

The other two did not seem to have noticed their arrival. They remained deep in conversation, and it was evident from the earl’s chuckles that he enjoyed flirting with Serena. He looked at them only when he could no longer avoid doing so, and his eyebrows rose in mild surprise as he got to his feet to greet them.

“Can this be the same young woman I saw not long ago in my library? I swear, I would not have recognized you, mistress.”

Lady Balcardane folded her fan with a snap and said, “If that is all you can say, my lord, I am prodigiously disappointed in you. Why, I can remember when you were a dab hand at paying a pretty compliment, sir.”

“He still pays pretty compliments,” Serena said, smoothing her skirt.

The earl’s cheeks flushed, and Lady Balcardane said, “Where is Duncan? They will announce dinner soon.”

“Aye, so they will,” Balcardane said, “and we shan’t wait long for him.”

They did not have to wait at all, however, for Mary and Lady Balcardane had no sooner taken seats than Duncan entered. His gaze rested first upon Mary, but before he could speak (if, indeed, he had intended to do so), Serena jumped to her feet and hastened forward to meet him.

“Lud, sir, how very late you are! I had expected to see you long before now, and I can certainly tell you that when I am Countess of Balcardane, I shall not stand for such shabby treatment.”

“Have you plotted to murder my mother and marry my father, Serena? Because if you have not,” he added in the face of her speechless astonishment, “I cannot imagine how you intend to become Countess of Balcardane.”

Recovering quickly, she said with a nervous laugh and a glance that darted to Balcardane and back to Duncan, “Why, I protest, sir, I never meant I should do so at once. I was referring, I hope, to the far distant future. You need not fear that I have come to prefer your papa over you,” she added, giving his arm a familiar squeeze.

Duncan said, “Mistress Maclaine, that gown becomes you well, but you ought to wear pearls with it instead of that trumpery locket.”

Feeling sudden, inexplicable sympathy for Serena, Mary said quietly, “Thank you, sir, but I am quite happy with the locket your mother very kindly lent to me.”

Lady Balcardane said, “You are right, Duncan, of course, but I knew she would never accept pearls. Why, the poor dear scarcely knows me, and it is prodigiously awkward to borrow jewelry from anyone but one’s mother or sister. Not but what I should have been perfectly happy to lend Mary anything she liked, and you must admit she looks quite elegant, even without pearls.”

A lackey entered just then, and Balcardane said, “It looks like they’ve got dinner ready to serve at last. Will you take my arm, my dear?”

To Mary’s surprise, he extended his arm to her, but she understood more clearly when he added, “Duncan will escort Serena.”

“Then I shall be pleased to go in with you and her ladyship,” Mary said, putting a hand on his outstretched arm.

“What? Oh, yes, of course. Come along, madam. Not but what you don’t know your own way, I’ll wager,” he said, adding to Mary with a laugh, “The dining parlor lies just above this room at the top of the stairs.”

At the table, Mary sat alone opposite Duncan and Serena, with his lordship at the head and Lady Balcardane at the foot. A lone servant served the first course, then placed side dishes on the table and left the room. Lady Balcardane talked incessantly, and although Mary did her best to respond to such gambits as seemed to require a response, she quickly realized that the others had developed a habit of ignoring her ladyship’s constant chatter.

Conversation between Serena and the two gentlemen continued in spite of Lady Balcardane, and Mary soon found that she could easily listen to everyone, since no one seemed really to require a response from her. All in all, the meal proved relaxing. No one expected her to do anything but eat her food.

When the servant brought in a decanter of claret and set it on the table, Lady Balcardane arose at once, shaking out her skirt in preparation to withdraw.

Serena said hastily, “I hope you gentlemen mean to join us soon, for I think we would all enjoy a rubber of whist this evening, don’t you agree?”

“An excellent notion,” Duncan said. “Why don’t you join the ladies down in the saloon now, sir, and I’ll attend to those letters you asked me to write.”

Serena said in dismay, “We want you to play, Duncan!”

“You have not counted, Serena. There are five of us.”

Before Mary could say that she would be perfectly happy to go to bed, Serena said with a heavy sigh, “In that case, I daresay no one will want to play.”

“Suit yourself,” Duncan said. “I’ve still got letters to write.”

“I’ll come with you,” Balcardane said. “I’m in no mood for cards either. Bring the claret to the library, Donald.”

“Aye, m’ lord.”

So it was that the three ladies went alone to the saloon, where Mary soon pleaded exhaustion and asked to be excused.

“Of course, my dear,” Lady Balcardane replied instantly. “Can you remember the way to your bedchamber?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you. Good night.”

“You will need help undressing. Just pull the bell and someone will come.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will. Good night, Serena.”

After a brief pause, Serena said, “Good night, Mary.”

Leaving them, Mary hurried across the shadowy hall, but the library door opened before she reached the stairway, and Duncan said, “Mistress, is that you? One moment please. I want a word with you.”

Wondering what she had done now to annoy him, she turned reluctantly.

“You should have a shawl,” he said, as he approached. “You must have been chilly throughout dinner. That dining parlor is never warm.”

“I sat near the fire, sir. I have not been cold till just now.”

“I won’t keep you. I wanted only to assure you that the children are faring well. Chuff has already made a friend of the cook, and she is determined to fatten them both up.”

“I’m glad of that, sir. Thank you for telling me.”

“You will find Pinkie awaiting you in your bedchamber,” he said. “Don’t coddle her, though. You will do the child no favor by spoiling her.”

“Both of them could do with some spoiling, I think,” Mary said. “They have not enjoyed a pleasant life. I do understand you, however, and I will try not to let her acquire notions above her station. Is that all you wanted to say to me, sir?”

“Aye, for now. Good night then, Mary Maclaine.”

He turned on his heel, but a moment later when the library door shut behind him, Mary still had not moved. She stood staring after him, thinking that perhaps Balcardane Castle cast some sort of odd spell over its inhabitants.

The earl was nothing like she had expected him to be, bearing little resemblance to the ogre she had long thought him.

As for Lady Balcardane, she was like no one Mary had ever met. The plump little woman seemed never to cease talking, but beneath the chatty exterior beat a warm and generous heart, and Mary already loved her dearly.