Bride (21 page)

Utter stillness followed.

Struan saw Arran's mouth twitch. The traitor should suffer for that.

“I see I haven't arrived a moment too soon,” Blanche announced. “Don't worry about a thing, Your Grace. I have considerable experience in the matter of marriages. Since you'll obviously want to accomplish this one with all haste, you may count me your faithful, knowledgeable, and absolutely circumspect helper.”

“Who is this person?” Justine said.

“Grace's mother,” Struan said. By God, she was beautiful, but she was also white-lipped with fury. “Obviously this is all badly timed, my dear. Are you tired?”

“I am not tired,” she said without looking at him. “Did you think your little dancing lesson would tire me, Viscount Hunsingore?”

The dowager's eyes popped open. “Dancing lesson? What dancing lesson? You can't dance. You can scarcely walk. Why does the viscount find it necessary to have two drinks?”

He'd forgotten the whiskey glasses. Setting them down, he said, “Justine walks very well, Your Grace.” He would not lose his temper. “She expressed an interest in the dance. I was teaching her to waltz.”

“Among other things,” Arran said, grabbing the complete attention of all. “Don't look at me like that, Struan. You are my brother and I only want the best for you. Under the circumstances, the best will be your marriage to Justine at the earliest possible moment.”

“What things?” Blanche asked, her blue eyes glittering with interest. She deliberately sat farther back in her chair and concentrated on combing her nails through the feathers of her fan. “After all, the exact nature of what passes between people is important when considering exactly how much haste is necessary in such situations, isn't it?”

Struan moved closer to Justine. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “My fault. Entirely my fault.”

“My fault,” she said, still refusing to look at him. “You could not have known so much foolishness would follow a simple act of friendship.”

“Yes, I could. I was selfish. I admire you and I wanted your company.”

“And I wanted yours.”

Struan covered her hands where they rested, tightly twined and too cold, at her waist. “We shall weather this, Justine.”

“Not by my settling for an arrangement simply for the benefit of others,” she said. “What happened in the ballroom was a mistake. Useful, but a mistake. In future I shall ensure that we are more careful.”

Struan could not believe what she'd said. He swallowed air and coughed.

“Useful, hmm?” Calum said.

He was smiling, too, damn his soul. Struan said, “You are perfectly well aware of the book Justine is writing. I'm helping. She means our efforts in the ballroom were not entirely suitable for her work.”

“This is pointless,” Justine said. “I'd planned to visit Grandmama, but I find I'm very tired. If you'll excuse me, I'll return to the lodge. Potts shall take me in the cart.”

“We'll ride along with you,” Ella said promptly, and removed a wedge of fruitcake from Max's hand. As she passed Struan she rose to tiptoe and whispered, “All these noisy people are the problem. Lady Justine is gentle and very private and they confuse her. She loves you, truly she does.”

He leaned over the girl and said quietly, “Have Mr. Murray accompany you back. Do not ask why. Just do it.”

Ella met his eyes directly and gave a slight nod.

Overwhelmed with hopelessness, he watched the three of them go. He longed to follow Justine, to make her listen to him, to make her understand how much he wanted her.

“I trust you are well rested, Your Grace,” Arran said to the dowager. When she didn't respond he said, “Good, good. You will need your strength in the days to come. Word of the situation between Justine and Struan is all over the country.”

Struan drove the fingers of one hand into his hair.

Arran swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Devlin North—he's one of our neighbors—gets around a great deal. Young fellow. Fancies himself a bit of a Corinthian. Anyway, I ran into him in Dunkeld. Said he understood Struan was about to make a good match. Shocked me to silence, I can tell you.”

“For the first time in your life,” Struan said through his teeth.

“Devlin heard the news in London. Some gathering for an envoy of Wellington's.”

“The Duke of Wellington?” Blanche said, shifting forward on her chair again. “I hear he's such a fine figure of a man.”

Struan saw the dowager's knuckles whiten on her cane.

Calum clasped his hands beneath the tails of his coat. he also was observing his grandmother's reactions.

“Apparently the King was there,” Arran said. “Showed a great deal of interest—according to Devlin. You'll remember His Royal Highness lent his personal blessings on the occasion of Calum and Philipa's wedding.”

The dowager smote the carpet with her cane. “Gossip. How people love to spread gossip. Edinburgh to London in almost no time.”

“In no time at all,” Struan muttered, catching his brother's sharp green gaze.

“Understand Sir Walter Scott intends to send his congratulations,” Arran said, smiling. “Probably write an ode or something, I should think.”

“You will roast for this,” Struan said.

The dowager duchess rose. “Very well. On her own head be it. I will not have my family's name besmirched from Edinburgh to London.”

“And on to the Continent,” Arran added.

Calum, Struan noted, no longer seemed to find much of amusement in the situation. His mouth was set in a grim line and he clearly had a great deal on his mind that he chose not to say—yet.

“There will be a marriage,” the dowager said. “We shall have to find a minister prepared to—”

“Already done,” Arran said.

Struan's brother wanted this marriage, was determined that it should take place.

“Let me see,” the dowager said. “Three Sundays will take us—”

“Tomorrow and next Sunday will make the three,” Arran put in. “The banns have already been called once.”

Calum swung around. “Where?”

“Here in the castle chapel, of course.”

“To a packed congregation, no doubt,” Calum said under his breath.

Arran ignored him. “The license will be in order. The marriage can take place in little more than a week.”

“We shall have to discuss a suitable settlement,” the dowager said. “That foolish girl. Belcher would have paid us.”

“The matter of Justine's dowry is my affair,” Calum said. He switched his attention from his grandparent to Struan. “I shall expect my sister to be treated kindly at all times. As for finances, I will never allow her to want for anything.”

Struan made fists, then forced himself to relax. “Contrary to your apparent assumptions, I am not a poor man. Justine will require no dowry and I shall be happy to add to the Franchots’ endangered coffers if that will make you think more kindly of me.”

The dowager swept to confront him. “The Franchot coffers are not endangered, young man. This is simply a matter of commerce. It has been by commerce—of an appropriately gentlemanly sort—that the Franchots have reached their enviable position in the Polite World. One can never be too cautious in the matter of fortune hunters.”

“Grandmama,” Calum said firmly. “We must attempt to reach a peaceable resolution between our families.”

“The wedding must be quiet,” the dowager said. “Only fitting under the circumstances.”

“It should be quiet enough without a bride,” Struan blurted before he could contain himself.

“Pish posh.” With a wave of a clawlike hand, the dowager dismissed what Struan suggested. “The chit will do as she's told. Then she'll reap the miserable reward for her mistake, poor creature. And I shall show her no pity, no pity at all.”

“Quite right,” Blanche said.

Arran rounded on his mother-in-law and said, “Kindly hold your tongue, madam.”

“Well, really.” Settling her neck deeper into her shoulders, Blanche pouted.

The tip of the dowager duchess's cane rose and came to rest on Struan's chest. “You, Viscount Hunsingore, shall regret thwarting my wishes. I do not pretend to understand your reasons, but I have no doubt they will become obvious.”

He yearned to snatch the cane and toss it aside.

“Thanks to you and that ridiculous female, I am exhausted. I must rest. You will attend me tomorrow afternoon at two. Alone. In my apartments. There are concerns we must address.”

“I shall count the hours,” Struan told her, staring directly into her bright, hard eyes.

Calum shifted and said, “I shall be present, Grandmama.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. Where Justine's future is concerned I insist upon being involved.”

“And I must be certain my brother's interest's are protected,” Arran said.

The dowager's face settled into its expressionless folds. “Why not? If we all understand the facts, so much the better.”

“How jolly,” Blanche said, smiling. “I shall come and stand in for Grace.”

“No, you won't.” The chorus that arose would probably, Struan thought, be the last moment of accord among most of those present in the room.

Fluffing out her skirts, Blanche rose. “You are being most unfriendly. I shall communicate with Grace at once and let her know I've decided to accept her offer of a home here.”

In the act of raising his glass, Arran's hand hovered in midair. “Offer of a home? What can you be speaking of, Mother-in-law?”

She patted strands of jet beads threaded through her hair. “It was always understood that there would be a place for me with my daughter should the need arise. Now that I'm a widow again, the need has arisen. My dear Felix has passed on.” Her sigh was abject. “Twice a widow, and at such a young age. Really, it seems so unfair. I would have written, but there was so much to do. Dealing with his wretched, grasping relatives. I'm sure you all know what I mean. They would have had me walk away without a single prize to show for my devotion. I made certain that didn't happen, I can assure you.”

“The Reverend Bastible is dead?” Arrah frowned. “My sympathies. When exactly did this occur?”

Blanche pursed her lips as if calculating. “Oh, two months ago at least.”

“I cannot believe you didn't inform us earlier. What of your home—the home you shared with Reverend Bastible?”

“What of it?” Lace ruffles required primping. “That was part of the unpleasantness with his other relatives. Anyway, my place is with those who love me. I must put my troubles behind me and concentrate on my dear daughter and granddaughter now.”

It was Struan's turn to suppress a grin. Arran was a man cast suddenly into despair. He regarded Blanche as if she were an invading army. “Grace isn't here,” he said weakly.

“No matter. How fortunate that I am here to take her place. I've arrived just in time to help everyone, especially the dear dowager.” She threaded her arm through one of the old lady's and moved her toward the door. “You and I have a great deal in common, Your Grace. We have both suffered at the hands of those for whom we've done the most. Fear not, I shall help you through your time of trouble.”

As the high voice faded, Struan crossed his arms and prepared for Arran's outburst.

“Duck!” Calum shouted.

Struan ducked.

Arran's glass hit the wall beside the door and exploded into a thousand glittering shards.

Chapter Thirteen

“W
hen shall we travel to Edinburgh?” Ella asked. Dressed in a night rail and robe, she stood behind Justine at her mirror.

Justine found she could scarcely concentrate on what the girl said. “I'm sorry, Ella?”

“For the dresses and things. For my Season.”

Ella had not brought the subject up before. That she did so now pleased Justine. “Of course, dear. But London, not Edinburgh. I told you we should go to London.”

“I've never been to Edinburgh,” Ella said, carefully brushing Justine's loosed hair all the way to its thick curling ends. “Could we not visit there for a short while first? I think we should go soon.”

It was natural for a young girl to be too swept away with the promise of such excitement to be concerned with the problems of an old maid. “I'll speak to your papa,” Justine said. How would she bear to see him, to be near him after all that had passed between them? “You should be in your bed.”

“I sent Mairi to hers so that I could help you,” Ella said promptly. “I wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“We've already talked.” And talked, and talked. All the way back from the castle Ella, with Max chattering his opinions, had lauded their papa's virtues—and the virtues Justine would add to his if they were to marry. “The subject you wish to pursue is closed, Ella. Do not distress yourself or me by raising it again.”

Ella hung her head and replaced the silver-backed brush on its crystal tray. “Sometimes we have to learn to embrace what we cannot change,” she said. “It will not be easy. I so wanted you and Papa … At least you will be here with us. I must be grateful for that much. Good night, Lady Justine.”

Justine was surprised by the girl's ready acceptance of the inevitable. “Good night, Ella. We'll start making plans for our shopping—in Edinburgh to begin with if you'd prefer that.”

She raised her cheek for Ella's kiss and watched her young charge leave.

After she and Struan had parted—before Calum came to take her to the castle—she had almost made up her mind to leave. But how could she when Ella and Max needed her so?

“How fortunate that they want you to stay, Justine,” she told herself aloud. “They make a wonderful excuse for you to do what you want to do.” She was despicable. Even with herself she found honesty uncomfortable.

At Kirkcaldy Struan had apologized to her for the fuss. He'd said it was his fault. He'd said they'd “weather this.”

And she wanted to believe he truly felt something for her.

Pride. Yes, pride would stop her from as much as testing for the possibility that he might care for her other than as a friend.

Pride threatened to make her the most unhappy woman in the world.

She was already the most unhappy woman in the world. Struan had wondered if she should have taken her notebook with her to the ballroom. He'd been afraid she might forget something. Her smile was bitter. She closed her eyes against a rush of tears. Never had she been moved to tears as easily as she was now.