Lessons in Loving a Laird (8 page)

He expelled a labored breath, and cast a meaningful glance at his brother. “They’ve arrived.”

Moments later, a footman announced the duchess and a second woman into the drawing room. Conall and Stewart rose in greeting.

The duchess herself was a beautiful woman, with striking Gallic features and a narrow waist. Dark hair was collected in curls at the crown of her head, revealing earrings of pearl that almost matched the paleness of her smooth skin. Her emerald dress draped handsomely down her lithe figure, and from the bodice shone a diamond and pearl brooch connected to a rope of pearls that encircled her high waist.

“Greetings, Your Grace,” Conall said, bowing before her. “I am Dr. Conall MacEwan of Ballencrieff. You are happily met. I hope your journey was not too unpleasant.”

“Quite uneventful, Ballencrieff. Please accept my gratitude for your gracious hospitality.”

It was not arrogance she wore, but eminence—as if a mist of regal distinction surrounded her at all times. The duchess waved to the woman beside her. “May I present my daughter, the Lady Violet.”

The other woman was a young doppelgänger of the duchess. Beautiful in face and form, with milky skin and shiny brown hair. Like her mother, she had wide, almond-shaped eyes that were distinctly alluring. Her dress, aptly enough, was a pale violet in color, and, although cut a bit low, set off her sylphid waist and high bosom to advantage.

Conall bowed. “Lady Violet, it is an honor to meet you.”

Lady Violet curtsied gracefully. “Dr. MacEwan.”

“You remember my brother, Stewart MacEwan,” he said, gesturing behind him.

Stewart effected a stylistic bow. “A great pleasure to see you both in good health.”

The look of pique upon the duchess’s face did not escape Conall’s notice.

“I’ve arranged for some refreshments. Won’t you please take your ease upon the settee?”

The ladies situated themselves next to one another, appearing like a couple of gemstones in a crown. Conall and Stewart sat opposite them in wing chairs.

The duchess placed her hands neatly in her lap. “Forgive my directness, Ballencrieff, but I am a candid woman, a fact for which my late husband Frederick often chided me. Therefore, to prevail over any lengthy awkwardness, I shall come straight to the point. You’ve no doubt been apprised of the reason for my visit.”

“I have read your letter, Your Grace.”

“The first thing to say is that I will not excuse my daughter for forgetting her good breeding and position of responsibility, both socially and morally.”

Violet’s eyelashes fell upon her cheeks as she blushed hotly. Her poise cracked ever so slightly at the reproof, but to her credit, she maintained her composure. Clearly, this was but one of the many times she had heard this remonstrance.

The duchess continued. “Children in this day and age are famously in want of strictness and restraint. Nevertheless, it is inherent to the conscience of every good mother that any fault found in her child is a fault in herself. While I do not condone the impropriety of my daughter, I must share in the blame for her failures.”

Conall glanced at Violet. Her back was straight, her legs were folded demurely at her ankles—yet despite the sting of the invective, she was enduring it graciously. He began to feel a need to defend the girl.

“Who among us has not fallen short of perfection, Your Grace?”

“It is not perfection I expect, sir. It is duty. Requirements are made of all of us, and she must comply with hers, just as we all must. Her dalliance with Mr. MacEwan ill befits a lady of her station.”

An unsettling thought was beginning to take shape in Conall’s mind. “May I ask what Your Grace specifically finds fault with? Is it the fact that your daughter has fallen from grace, or that in doing so she has landed in my brother’s arms?”

“My daughter has been instructed in every one of the social graces—piano, singing, dancing—as well as having been tutored in history, French, Latin, and dozens of other subjects that would strain the intellectual capability of most men. She is capable of masterfully organizing a masked ball for five hundred guests at a moment’s notice, and can speak on a variety of subjects to a person of any class, from a member of the clergy to His Royal Highness. Let us be perfectly candid with one another. How many masked balls do you expect your brother to hold?”

Conall shifted in his chair. “Surely that isn’t the measure of a man’s worth in your estimation?”

“Not if we’re discussing humanity, Ballencrieff. But we are speaking of practical matters. Now that she is damaged, I cannot in good conscience give her hand in marriage to a man of equal breeding. Neither, however, does one indiscretion make her fit only for dogs.”

Stewart leaned forward. “Dogs? You do me a great disservice, Your Grace. Although I am no prince, I cannot allow you to slander me—”

With the quiet dignity of an elder statesman, the duchess halted Stewart’s argument. “Please contain your protestations, Mr. MacEwan. While I can certainly appreciate your sordid interest in Lady Violet—my daughter is a pearl after all—it is beyond the pale that a presumed gentleman should take advantage of a girl of such tender years. My daughter has defended you by claiming you did not force yourself upon her, but I think I can say without contradiction that you and I know better than that. We are worldly people, you and I, and we know that in moments of passion, the sword will demand its sheath. You’ve behaved reprehensibly, and I regret that my daughter did not realize earlier on that you were nothing but a common lothario. To my knowledge, your only known achievement is having seduced scores of women, and that is a shabby accomplishment indeed. You would do better to become a chimney sweep, sir, for then you can claim to have done some good in the world.”

Stewart reacted as if he’d been slapped. He ground his teeth and gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. Although Conall reluctantly shared the duchess’s opinion, he felt sorry for his brother. The duchess seemed to possess the cruel skill of exploiting people’s insecurities. But Conall was surprised to notice the pained expression on Violet’s face. Once the duchess’s ammunition turned upon Stewart, Lady Violet seemed prepared to jump out of her seat to protect him.

“Your Grace,” said Conall, “as reasons for the liaison between these two, you’ve cited the moral decline in our society, the laxness of your maternal guidance, and the recklessness of my brother. There is one reason that you did not mention. Had you stopped to consider that Lady Violet and Stewart might be in love?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the duchess answered. “Does that matter?”

Conall searched her face. He had never seen a countenance so beautiful, yet so cold.

The duchess continued. “People of noble birth do not have the luxury of love, Ballencrieff. Matches must be made to the advantage of both families. This is as it has been for hundreds of years, and how it always shall be done. Empires rise and fall on alliances made at the altar. And for peers of the realm, a good alliance makes the bloodline stronger, while a bad one ends in disgrace.”

“An alliance to the bloodline of MacEwan is the same whether your daughter is wed to my brother or to myself.”

“Let us not quibble, Ballencrieff. I think you understand precisely the point upon which I stand.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, I believe I do.” He’d say one thing for her. She was venomously direct. “Nevertheless, I do not believe that a woman should be dragged to the altar. What, may I ask, does the young lady opine about all this?”

The duchess turned gracefully toward her daughter. Not a single perceptible change in the duchess’s expression had occurred, but Violet seemed able to read her mother’s face a great deal better than Conall.

“I … am receptive to becoming better acquainted with Dr. MacEwan, er, Ballencrieff, if he’ll do me the very great honor of paying court.”

The duchess returned a triumphant look at Conall. “Are we then in agreement?”

He glanced at Stewart. His brother’s face dissolved from offended pride to sullen rejection to … jealousy?

Conall cleared his throat. “I would consider it a very great privilege to become better acquainted with Lady Violet. I find her delightful and charming, and I am certain that her heart is as pure as you claim. But I am a recent widower, as you know, and it has been a challenge to overcome the feeling of loss I had when my wife departed this world. I would like an opportunity to get to know Lady Violet at leisure, and allow her equal time to consider me. Perhaps then, in due course, she may choose—”

“There is no due course, sir. The banns must be published immediately.”

“Your Grace, this is beyond tolerable. I will not be marched down the aisle at the point of a rifle—”

“There is a child.”

The last word seemed to echo in their ears.

The silence stretched tight. Conall’s eyes darted from the duchess to Violet. Violet’s gaze was riveted upon Stewart.

“Lady Violet, are you quite certain?” asked Conall.

The younger woman’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I missed my monthly courses, sir.”

“A fact she confessed to me only last week,” the duchess added with a clip of irritation. “So you see, we also do not possess the luxury of time. My grandchild may have been conceived a bastard, but I will not have it born as one. We can have the wedding at Basinghall within the month. On the wedding day, I will bestow upon you a dowry of fifty thousand guineas, plus her goods and a house in St. James Square. You should also know that Violet is the sole heiress to the estate of Basinghall, and upon my death, it too shall proceed into your hands.”

Conall began to squirm under the pressure. There was no denying that marriage to Violet would reverse his financial woes. And indeed, Violet herself was a very beautiful and well-mannered young woman. Not to mention what a blessing it would be to the poor girl to take her out from under her mother’s dictatorship. But every single one of his instincts screamed that marrying Violet would be a colossal mistake. The reasons could not be put into words, because there was only a face: Shona’s.

“That is … a very generous offer, Your Grace. And your daughter is worth marrying even without all the added inducements. But I regret to tell you that I am not the right suitor for her.”

For the first time, the duchess’s expression lost all serenity.

Conall leaned forward. “We will, of course, take full responsibility for the child. You may stay at Ballencrieff for the duration of Lady Violet’s pregnancy and confinement, with full assurance of our discretion. Should you determine that the needs of the child are best served by giving it over to the parish authorities, then I will of course deliver the child personally without naming its mother.”

Lady Violet whimpered, drawing Conall’s eye to her. She merely wrung her hands in her lap.

The duchess looked up at him from under her delicate brows. “I am sorry to hear that you will not be cooperative. I must therefore tell you that if you do nothing to protect my daughter, I shall do nothing to protect your son.”

At the mention of his beloved child, Conall’s body tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I have it on the very best authority that your wife did not die of childbed fever, as you have so often asserted.”

The ground disappeared beneath him. “I beg your pardon?”

The duchess spoke with complete equanimity. “Christina MacEwan may have met her fate in bed, but it was not a disease which claimed her life.”

His vision clouded over with rage. He never thought to hear these words outside his own head, but it infuriated him that they were carried on the tongue of such a ruthless serpent.

“Well, Ballencrieff?” she asked. “What is to be your answer?”

THIRTEEN

Shona bounded through the house looking for Conall. She had a small fortune in a case under her arm, and maybe, just maybe, it would earn her another trip out to the tollhouse.

He wasn’t in his study, and he wasn’t in the library. Just then, she saw Mrs. Docherty emerge from the kitchen with a large tray of tea and scones. Shona reached over the housekeeper’s shoulder and swiped one from the dish.

Mrs. Docherty turned angry eyes upon her. “Those are for the guests, Shona! Put it back!”

But Shona had already taken a huge bite of the warm, buttery cake. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten in ages. Who’s here? And why are there so many coaches outside?”

Mrs. Docherty walked toward the end of the hall. “I haven’t got time to gossip idly about the guests. I’m as behind as a cat’s tail. Look at the time, and I’ve just got the tea prepared.”

“Where is everyone?”

“In the drawing room.”

“I’ll get the door for ye.” Shona jumped in front of her, and swung the doors wide open on the drawing room. “Greetings, all! I bring good news of—”

The cheer she brought with her was quickly sucked out through the door. A pall of moroseness hung about the room like a thick winter fog rolling over a dark loch.

Conall stood. Though he was dressed handsomely in a burgundy-colored coat, a doomed expression weighed down his features. “Er, Shona, this isn’t a very good time.”

Worry gripped her. “Is everything all right? What’s happened?”

“There’s no need for you to be alarmed. We just need a few moments to sort things out.”

The two beautiful women on the settee stared at her in polite curiosity. Dressed in emerald and amethyst, they looked as if they belonged in a painting.

The older of the two subjected her to an inquisitive assessment. A wave of self-consciousness splashed over Shona. Shona’s hair was unpinned and tossed about by the fierce winds outside, and her new bluebell-print day dress, though presentable, was leagues beneath the elegance of the ladies’. Although there was no expression of disdain on the woman’s face, Shona could sense her contempt.

“Will you not introduce us, Ballencrieff?” the duchess asked.

Conall’s lips thinned. “If you wish it. Your Grace, may I present Shona MacAslan, my factor. Shona, this is Gwendolyn, Duchess of Basinghall.”

Shona dipped down, as she knew she had to before a peeress. “How do ye do?”