Bride (17 page)
Calum motioned frantically for Arran's silence. “Why would you look favorably upon an alliance with Belcher?” he asked his grandparent.
“Justine isn't strong,” Grandmama said promptly. “Belcher is past the stage of wanting a female for any shenanigans.”
“Except to
pinch,”
Justine said darkly.
The dowager was serene. “Belcher is a neighbor. It would be a simple matter for me to keep an eye on Justine. In fact, Lord Belcher has already agreed to her spending a good part of her time at Franchot Castle as long as she attends to those requirements he does have. The arrangement will be most agreeable.”
“For you,” Calum said.
Grandmama ignored him.
Struan regarded the old woman speculatively before saying, “Justine will not be going back to Cornwall—not unless she chooses to do so.”
Justine wanted to thank him. She could do nothing but look at him … and love him for his defense of her.
The dowager leaned on her cane. “What do you mean by that, Viscount Hunsingore?”
“I mean that the time for simple solutions in this matter has passed,” Struan told her. “We shall have to consider the next step with extreme care.”
A tinge of color streaked white skin. “You think you have played your hand so well. You are no match for me, Viscount Hunsingore. And Justine may be a cabbage head, but she will understand your despicable game when I explain it to her. A widower and a younger son. A man dependent upon the kindness of his elder brother. You lured a light-brained old maid into your snare. She was to supply you with means of your own and take the onerous matter of dealing with your brood off your hands.”
“No!” Justine clung to the ends of the purple shawl. “That is not at all what happened here. I intend to guide Ella and Max. I have promised them, and I shall take pleasure in the task.”
“Marriage to a man such as the viscount is out of the question for you.”
Justine stood as straight as her leg allowed. “No one has mentioned marriage here, Grandmama. I will remain and care for the children. That is all.”
“Out of the question.”
“On the contrary,” Arran said, and pulled the cord beside the fireplace. “A marriage will take place between Struan and Justine. I shall have you accompanied back to the castle, Your Grace. You must rest before we continue our preparations.”
“I agree with Arran,” Calum said. “Where your health is concerned. Your health and Justine's welfare are my concerns. You must submit to my wishes in these matters.”
Grandmama's lips disappeared. She held herself erect and stared unseeingly ahead.
The rapid appearance of Shanks, the bald-headed butler from Kirkcaldy, surprised Justine. “Thought you might require my presence, my lord,” he told Arran. “Just arrived.”
“You will accompany me, Justine,” Grandmama said.
Justine turned her back. “I shall go to my room here.”
“Lord Belcher will have you—”
“Not now,” Calum said. “I beg you, Grandmama, do not persist
now.”
Smoothly, Arran managed the amazing feat of having Grandmama leave the room without further comment.
Justine waited for footsteps to fade before rushing into the vestibule and pulling the door shut behind her.
She started toward the stairs, but paused. Calum's voice reached her through the heavy door to the great hall. “You're a bloody liar, Arran,” he shouted. “They aren't talking about it in Edinburgh. There hasn't bloody well been time.”
Justine crept back and placed her ear to a panel.
“Technicality,” Arran said.
“Technicality, my bloody arse!”
Justine flinched.
“Technicality because the moment I decide to take the news to Edinburgh it will no longer be a technicality,” Arran said. “Not that I would, of course. The point is that we've wasted days in discussion when a woman's reputation is at stake. Struan should marry her at once.”
After a small pause Calum said, “I'm inclined to think you're right.”
“Inclined?” Arran said, and laughed. “Then we are all but in agreement, my friend. The marriage must take place.”
“Yes. But not with conspicuous haste. Let us remember that despite certain unfortunate, er, appearances, my sister is not compromised.”
“Au contraire
. You have not denied that she is indeed compromised. You found her in a most compromising position with Struan. And we heard her detailed account of last night's events.”
“She is older than he is.” Calum sounded deeply troubled.
“A mature wife is exactly what he needs.”
“There is the matter of offspring.”
“Certainly,” Arran said. “That must be considered and we shall consider it. But, after all, he is the younger son. Further issue is not essential.”
“True,” Calum said.
“That is all,” Struan announced suddenly, his voice bearing an edge like fine steel. “All I will listen to from any of you. All I will tolerate in the way of interference.”
Justine straightened and walked away. She mounted the stairs, and slowly ascended.
“I will decide what is to be done here,” Struan shouted, his temper clearly deserting him. “And when I decide, I will inform you.”
She was not as much as consulted about her wishes.
“It may be,” Struan continued, “that all will be accomplished before you know it. Regardless, you may keep your opinions to yourselves.”
What if Struan did decide he should marry her? What would it mean to her?
Would it mean what Grandmama had suggested—a life of caring for someone who might respect her, but could never truly care for her?
Or would it mean a marriage in the real sense?
Could it mean…
It?
E
lla wore a dark-green riding habit, complete with a demure little velvet bonnet perched upon smoothly coiled black braids.
Max, a spanking new beaver clamped to the breast of his immaculate blue jacket, planted polished boots in a perfect imitation of his papa.
“What's this?” Justine asked. She'd ignored their persistent knocking on her apartment door until Ella had called out, begging to come in. “You look … you look most unlike yourselves, children.”
Even with the aid of enough pomade to turn his carrot hair dark red, Max's locks managed to pop up. He attempted to scrape the tufts down. “She doesna like it, Ella,” he said. “I told ye we wouldna do.”
“What will not do is the extraordinary manner of speech you've adopted,” Justine said sharply. “We must work on it promptly. As for your appearance. Both of you. You look first rate and you make me very proud. I simply fail to understand what brought about the change.”
“We're off to the castle,” Ella said. She twitched cream lace at her wrists. “Max will not speak whilst we're there. Except for what we've practiced. He's promised.”
Justine frowned. For the sake of these two she must put aside her own concerns—her own disappointments and embarrassment—but the morning's events had sapped her spirits.
Max scuffed his boots on the Spanish carpet that covered the floor in Justine's sitting room. “We heard it. The whole thing.”
“Max
,” Ella hissed. “I told you—”
“You heard what?” Justine interrupted.
“Hersel’,” Max said, raising his pointed chin defiantly. “In the hall wi’ Papa and Uncle Arran and the duke. We heard everythin’ the old witch from Cornwall said.”
This time Ella moaned, “Max!”
“I wanted t'carry her away t'the hill clans,” Max said as if his sister were invisible. “They've a rare way o’ changin’ the minds o’ thorny old witches, I can tell ye. Turn ‘em into bags fer their pipes. Cut off their hair and—
“Max
, you promised you wouldn't go on. You
promised.”
He stretched his thin neck. “Aye, well, mayhap there's not enough o’ her for a bag anyway. But we did hear everythin’ she said. Worse than Grumpy. She wants t'take ye away and we'll not hear o’ it. Ye've come and ye've said ye'll stay wi’ us. We don't want ye t'go.” He wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. “We love ye. There. I've said it.”
Perched on the window seat, Justine looked quickly outside and blinked back the tears she didn't want them to see. “I love you, too,” she told them. “I don't want to go.”
“And neither does Papa want you to go,” Ella said. “You can marry him and stay here forever. It will be perfect. He needs you and you need him and we need you, and … We are going to greet the dowager duchess.”
Justine looked at them aghast.
Ella raised both hands and her fine brows. “No, no, don't worry. Max will say nothing but… Go on, Max,
say
it.”
His freckled face pinched with concentration. “Good day to you, Your Grace.”
Ella, mouthing each word with her brother, had risen to her toes. “And?” she said, leaning earnestly forward.
Max frowned even more deeply. “Welcome to Kirkcaldy. We are delighted to see you again.”
“Yes.” Ella let out a huge breath. “That is all he will say. I shall ask after the duchess's health and tell her how glad we are that you've come to assist in our education at such a critical time in our lives. I shall remind her that we are motherless and that—in addition to practical considerations—we are in need of spiritual guidance. I shall not mention … I shall not mention M.”
Justine screwed up her eyes. “M?”
“You know.
Marriage
. But once we get rid of the old bat, we can get on with the wedding at once.”
Justine almost laughed. “Ella!”
Ella's expression became angelic. “Trust us, Lady Justine. We shall do nothing to shame you. We shall merely further the cause.”
“I think this is a bad idea. Particularly after hearing Max's notions about the disposal of my grandmother.”
“He will have his little jokes,” Ella said, pulling on green leather gloves. “Don't give another thought to what he said. Come, Max. Let us visit Lady Justine's grandmama.”
“I don't think—”
“Good day to you, Lady Justine,” Max said, strutting behind his sister. “I expect the old bat will want us to take tea wi’ here. If there's a jelly roll about, we'll probably gi’ her the pleasure o’ our company. I'll not drop crumbs on the carpet.”
After they'd left, Justine remained where she could see through the leaded casement panes. Below the windows spread the swaying branches of a wych elm loaded with clusters of purple blossoms that heralded bright leaves to come.
The bursting forth of new things. New beginnings.
She had chosen a new beginning, also. Not the kind most single women dreamed of, but enough, certainly, for one who might have lived her life without any fulfillment. She spared a thought for the suitors Grandmama had evidently turned away but could summon nothing more than vague interest. Not one of them had been Struan. Grandmama had been wrong, but she had done Justine a favor. How empty life would be without at least knowing Struan shared some portion of it.
Then there were those two marvelous children and there was her book. The children would do very well. And her book would be a success—of that she was certain. The book was an event long overdue.
Dear Struan. He was a kind man who—once all the silliness about reputations had faded—would accept her presence in the capacity she'd suggested and give her pleasure simply by his occasional presence.
It was not enough.
She tipped back her head and closed her eyes. Why could she not tame this, this passionate part of her nature that had no right to exist?
“May I come in?”
Justine swiveled on the window seat. “Struan! I didn't hear you.”
Standing with his hands behind his back, he regarded her intently. Today he wore a black coat and stock, stark against exceedingly white linen. Buff breeches fitted powerful thighs with never a wrinkle.
The same wind she'd watched in the trees had made a fine tousle of his black hair, and … She was staring. Struan stared back. A faint smile played about his mouth.
“You surprised me,” she said awkwardly.
“So it seems. I am in the habit of coming upon you unawares.”
Justine wished to tell him she loved seeing him whenever he chose to appear. Instead, she nodded.
He strolled closer. “I saw Ella and Max. They look splendid, don't you think?”
“Absolutely splendid. You must be proud of them.”
He chuckled. “I am proud of them. They told me of their mission.”
Justine felt her color mount. “I suggested they reconsider, but—”
“But they are determined. I told them their motives are the best and wished them luck at the castle. Arran is fond of Max, y'know. The lad is quite musical and Arran has undertaken to give him some instruction.”
“Oh.” Justine smiled with genuine pleasure. “That is excellent news.”
“Mairi has gone with the children.”
“She has?” Puzzled, Justine frowned.
Struan came to stand beside her. “I suggested she should spend the afternoon there. One of her younger sisters works in the kitchens now. They'll enjoy the visit.’
“How kind you are.” Justine fiddled with the small buttons on the bodice of her rose-colored gown.
Struan cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, it would seem appropriate for you and me to … to discuss certain things.”
She could think of no response.
From behind his back, Struan produced a bouquet. “I brought you these,” he said, grimacing. “Not exactly hothouse beauties, but lovely in their own way.”
Justine's next breath lodged in her throat. The flowers were small, shades of blue and mauve and purple. “Thank you.” The hand she extended shook. “What are they, please?”
“Mmm. Early orchid and dove's-foot. And bilberry. One of the benefits of countryside allowed its head. Wildflowers. They remind me of you.”
She took the flowers and held them in her lap.
“They are delicately made but strong,” Struan said. “Persistent. Perhaps a little deceitful in the faces they show to the world.”
Justine looked questioningly at him.
“Oh, I mean what I say as a compliment, my dear. The beautiful wildflowers flourish despite odds. Like you, hmm?”
“I… I am not accustomed to responding to such words, Struan. I have brought you trouble, haven't I?”
