Bride (16 page)
The dowager looked up into her much taller granddaughter's face. “It appears I have not come a moment too soon.” She scowled at Justine's robe and sniffed at her all-but-loose hair. “Not a moment too soon at all. I shall sort out this little
contretemps
before it proceeds a second farther.”
Justine wrung her hands. “But in a
cart
, Grandmama. A
cart
. Such discomfort, and for one who should be gently attended.”
“Pah!” The dowager raised her cane and delivered a smart tap to Justine's arm. “What of it? I am a strong woman. I am in full possession of all my faculties. A little ride in a cart will do me no harm, my girl.”
“But, Grandmama—”
“Don't Grandmama me, you ridiculous creature. It is you who are to be pitied. It is you who have behaved in a manner that might have caused my family's name—let alone their persons—discomfort. As for the cart—” She swept her pale, sharp eyes all the way to Justine's feet. “If it had been you making the journey we should have had cause for concern. I, at least, have two perfectly good legs.”
I
f there were three more marvelously favored men in all the land, Justine doubted her heart could survive the sight of them—at one time.
Arran, the tallest by a small margin, stood between Calum and Struan in the great hall at the lodge. The marquess's long unruly hair, in its unfashionable but rakish tail, shone blue-black. His body exuded muscular strength. His aristocratically handsome face showed nothing of what he was thinking.
Calum's dark hair showed the same red lights to be found in Justine's. His almost-black eyes stared into the middle distance in the way Justine had come to associate with, the approach of one of his rare rages.
And then there was Struan.
Justine glanced at him, met his brown eyes, and glanced away again. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life, but she would not bend before her grandmother. She would not beg forgiveness for wanting something for herself and for pursuing what she wanted.
She wanted to be free to write her book and she wanted to be with Struan.
Near Struan.
Simply to see him now and again …
He had looked steadily back at her and there had been no censure in his gaze. She raised her eyes to his again.
He smiled.
Justine's stomach dipped. Struan's heart was in his smile. His good, generous, kind heart. There could be no better man, no more charming man, no more beautiful man in body and in soul than Struan, Viscount Hunsingore. Every line of his lean face was precious to Justine. His lithe body, the powerful shoulders and arms, the legs any Corinthian would kill to possess … and any woman might kill to have brush her skirts.
Oh, my. If these were the thoughts of doxies or strumpets, or ladybirds, or whatever, then those females certainly did not live quite all of their lives in dejection over their lots.
Grandmama made repeated sweeps between the fireplace that soared higher than her head, and a round marquetry table on legs tipped with gold lions’ feet. “A disaster,” she said. “Philipa must be spoken to when we return, Calum.”
“How so?” Calum asked.
“Refused to tell me what I asked to know,” Grandmama said imperiously. “Collect that! Would not tell me exactly where this ninny had gone—where you had gone in such a hurry.”
“Who did tell you?” Calum asked mildly.
The dowager checked her pacing an instant. “That is neither here nor there. There are still those at Franchot who know their duties, my boy.” She moved on with short but measured strides.
Poor loyal Philipa, Justine thought. One could imagine the emotional torture she might have suffered at Grandmama's hands.
Mairi bobbed. Each time the dowager reached the fireplace and turned to retrace her steps, Mairi bobbed. The dowager duchess had ordered the bemused maid to the hall and instructed her to “stand quite still and say not a word until I am done with you.”
Potts, summoned to receive appropriate chastisement for his part in the plot, clutched his hat before him by the brim and kept his head bowed. Buttercup, a late arrival, had slipped into place just inside the doors.
“Conspiracy,” the duchess said. “Calculated outrage.”
Mairi bobbed.
The dowager pointed at her with the cane. “What is the matter with that gel? And who is she?”
“My maid, Grandmama,” Justine said from her place in front of the silk-draped Chinese screen. And that would be the last time her voice shook. “This is Mairi. When Grace is in residence Mairi waits upon her, but since Grace is—”
“I don't give a jot for whatever it is the creature does when she is not poppin’ up and down before my eyes like one of those wretched James-in-a-box things.”
“Jack-in-a-box, Your Grace,” Potts muttered.
The tip of the cane moved to the coachman. “Out,” the dowager demanded. “The duke will deal with you later.”
Bowing, Potts backed away, but Justine saw him glance at Calum, who winked with the eye his grandmother's couldn't see.
The dowager turned her attention on Buttercup, who, with lips parted, concentrated on the three noblemen arrayed before her. “And you,” Grandmama said. “Your name?”
The maid wetted her mouth. Her shapely breasts rose and fell noticeably.
“Name?” Grandmama demanded.
“She's Buttercup, Your Grace,” Struan said, evenly enough. “Run along, Buttercup. I'm certain Lady Girvin has already assigned your duties for the day.”
Nodding, and staring at her master with open adoration, Buttercup followed Potts.
“And you, gel,” Grandmama said to Mairi. “Molly, or whatever foolish name you bear. From what I can gather from the totally impossible staff at the castle, you are little better than useless. I shall communicate with the marchioness and suggest she dismiss you forthwith. Out with you, too.”
Arran reached the open door before Mairi could scurry away. “Please check on Robert in the kitchens,” he said kindly. “Make sure the stable boy goes to Gael. Did I remember to give you the marchioness's regards? She asked me to compliment you on your attention to detail in the matter of her packing for Yorkshire. She will be glad of your help when she returns.”
“Thank ye, m'lord,” Mairi said, her fair skin flooded with color.
Arran closed the door and returned to stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, with Calum and Struan. The first rays of sun through sparkling windows shone on their impressively broad backs.
“Now,” the dowager said. “We shall deal with this piece of nonsense in short order. What can you be thinking of, Justine? Paradin’ about in your nightclothes? Lookin’ like a strumpet? Hair all flowin’ about. And such vulgar colors. Must be some-thin’ to do with your time of life. They say women faced with their latter years often suffer certain aberrant behavior.”
Justine looked down at her poppy-colored watered-silk robe and bit her tongue.
“I find Justine's robe delightful,” Struan said, so clearly that Justine jumped. “Women with vibrant coloring do well in strong shades, I believe.”
The dowager narrowed her eyes. Paper-thin skin drew down in a web about her colorless mouth, like the crazed surface of old, white china. “She has no money of her own, y'know,” she said, her pinched nostrils closing. “You've made a mistake, young man. But you're not the first younger son to think he could make a tidy sum by marryin’ a cripple.”
Justine saw Arran place a restraining hand on Struan's arm. They felt protective of her, these three. For that she was grateful—and deeply moved.
Calum said,
“Grandmama
. What are you saying?”
The old lady raised her chin, stretching the ropes of skin that disappeared beneath the frill on her high lace collar. “It's of no matter. There were the odd fortune hunters who came asking for Justine's hand. Naturally I protected her from the fate of watching a faithless husband use her connections and otherwise ignore her.”
Shocked, Justine turned away.
“Don't be a wet goose,” Grandmama ordered. “It was all too long ago to matter. You were young, for goodness’ sake. Which points out exactly how long ago it was. And not one of them was suitable or well-motivated. There. That's an end of it. You will have that incompetent creature dress you for travelin’ and we'll leave at once.”
“Your Grace,” Arran said, “Justine is a guest on my estate. I hardly think that is grounds for your annoyance. I'm certain she intended you no inconvenience.”
“Pah!” Grandmama thudded her cane on the floor. “She is not herself. That much I'll allow. But she considered neither my comfort, nor the matter of her family's honor. Runnin’ away. Alone, mind you. Like some silly, moonstruck girl chasin’ after a lover. A
lover
, mind you. Look at her. A
lover
—at her age!”
Justine wished the ground would suck her down. Her face must match her robe.
“Old
fool,”
Grandmama said. “Five and thirty and she suddenly tosses aside everything I've taught her in all those years to behave in a manner that'll make us the talk of the Polite World if I don't get her back to Cornwall quickly.”
“I'm not going back to Cornwall.”
Silence followed Justine's announcement.
“Madam,” Struan said, his jaw tensed. “You must be exceeding tired. My brother and I insist that you rest at Kirkcaldy—”
“You, sir, will
insist
upon nothing.” The cane rose once more. “You, sir, will be grateful that I have arrived in time to save you from being made the buffoon by this—by this ungrateful relative of mine.”
Struan stepped in front of the dowager and said, “There is no means by which Justine could make a fool of me, Your Grace. She is as generous and gracious as she is honorable.”
“Honorable, indeed,” Arran said, his chest expanding with an apparently thoughtful breath. “But there are, nevertheless, the facts.”
Justine stared at him, uncomprehending.
He spread a hand. “The matter of Lady Justine having spent a night with my brother.
Alone”
The next silence rang in Justine's ears. She stepped backward, bumped the screen, and knocked a cascade of brilliant silk to the floor. Awkwardly, she stooped to pick up the shawls.
“Justine did
what?”
Grandmama asked. “No. Absolutely not. You will do well not to add falsehoods to an already unpleasant situation, young man.”
“Nothing false about it,” Arran said. “Struan and Justine spent a night alone in this very room. On that very chaise.” He pointed to the daybed—now returned to its original place beneath the windows.
The dowager's mouth fell open and remained so. Her small, sharp eyes bulged.
Suddenly chilled, Justine draped a purple shawl about her shoulders.
“Tell the truth of it, Calum,” Arran said. “After all, it was you who found the pair of them.”
Calum coughed and frowned and approached Justine with question in his eyes. “Can't you do something?” He removed the rest of the shawls from her hands and tossed them onto the screen once more.
“Is it true?” the dowager duchess demanded.
Calum bowed his head and swung to face her. “It is, Madam, Absolutely true.”
“That settles it, then.” She wiped all traces of concern from her face. “We must move with all speed away from this place. If we do so, we shall get past this inconvenience.”
“I doubt it,” Arran remarked.
Grandmama made a most unpleasant sound. “Surely you don't truly think … You cannot think anyone would believe a man like the viscount would deflower a woman like—”
“Grandmama.”
Calum roared the word and went to take his grandparent's elbow.
“I believe,” Struan said with a quiet control that clearly cost him dearly. “I believe it far more likely that no one would believe Lady Justine would want a man like me.”
Tears—foolish, unwanted tears—rushed to Justine's eyes. “Oh, Struan. Do not feel you must defend me.”
“I don't,” he said, staring into her eyes. “You need no defense, my lady—from any man, or woman.”
“That will do.” Grandmama jerked her arm from Calum's hand. “I am taking the demented creature home.”
“The event that occurred here is already the talk of the countryside,” Arran said, fascinated by plaster stags on the ceiling now.
The dowager was unmoved. “Who takes notice of the opinions of peasants?”
“All of Scotland's inhabitants are not peasants. Edinburgh, I need hardly remind you, has a very active and influential Society.”
“Edinburgh is hardly likely to hear of this.”
“Really? It is my duty to inform you that Edinburgh has already heard of it. And naturally, the talk of Edinburgh becomes the talk of London in short order. Then…” He shrugged eloquently.
The dowager's eyes darted from Justine to Arran and back. “If you had been where you should have been, granddaughter, I should have had the pleasure of telling you that there has been a fresh offer for your hand.”
Justine felt dizzy and slightly sick.
“Lord Belcher of Havershill has declared his very generous interest in taking you on, Justine.”
“Belcher?”
Calum said, his lips curling. “He has not spoken to me.”
“You were not there,” Grandmama said. “You had already left for Scotland. Lord Belcher spoke to me in your absence.”
Justine's mind cleared. “Lord Belcher is ninety, if he's a day.”
“Don't exaggerate,” Grandmama said. “He isn't a day older than I, and I am certainly not ninety.”
“Oooh,” Justine muttered. “Ninety and constantly in his cups. And there isn't a young girl in the county who doesn't make certain to avoid his hands.”
“Justine! Such talk. And who else do you think would be likely to marry a woman with a ruined reputation? And a lame leg—and who is already on the verge of becoming elderly?”
“Madam,”
Struan said through his teeth.
Justine was beyond hurt. “Some man approaching his ninety-fifth birthday might also find me a boon.”
A fine tremor jerked the corners of Grandmama's lips. “Disrespectful chit. And about the man who will save you from disaster.”
“I am in no danger of disaster.”
“None at all,” Arran agreed. “Despite the additional questions raised by last night's events.”
