Lucy Muir (12 page)

“Yes, but when they speak to
me
they speak in English,” Celeste replied unarguably. She laid her book down and got up, pacing restlessly. “I did not mean to cause problems in Lord Murray’s domestic staff,” she said penitently. “But it would be so much easier if Mrs. Baird would speak like everyone else.”

She went to look through one of the narrow windows, clasping her hands behind her back and staring pensively out the window.

“Celeste, do you truly think you will be happy here?” Phoebe ventured to ask, sensing that now might be a good chance to broach the subject. “I do not think it is quite what you had expected. Are you positive you wish to spend all your life here in the Highlands? You will if you marry Lord Murray. You
do
realize that?”

Celeste turned from the window and spoke thoughtfully.

“No, it is not quite what I had expected, but once we are actually married I shall tell Lord Murray we must spend at least six months in London each year.”

“But Lord Murray has many duties here,” Phoebe objected. “His kinsmen demand much of his time. I doubt he would be willing to be absent so much of the year.”

“Pooh! He can leave the running of his lands to his bailiff, and surely his kinsmen can get along without him for a few months.”

“But if you should change your mind and not marry Lord Murray you could return to London for another Season. You could undoubtedly meet a gentleman who lives in London all year, or who has estates nearer Town. Would you not like that better?”

Celeste looked at Phoebe in surprise. “Then he would not be a Highlander. And Lord Murray would probably return to England and offer for Olivia. After all we did to win his attention I could not bear to have that happen.”

Phoebe did not attempt to remonstrate further with Celeste, realizing the younger girl simply did not understand Lord Murray’s strong feeling of duty and devotion to his lands and people. But persuasive as Phoebe knew Celeste could be, she doubted Celeste could ever cause Lord Murray to fail in what he perceived to be his duty. Such a fundamental difference in outlook was bound to lead to unhappiness for both.

* * * *

Lord Murray considered his fiancée thoughtfully as he sipped his wine at supper. She looked quite charming in her simple primrose gown, a wreath of flowers in her hair, but her beauty was marred by the bored expression on her face. He feared she was not finding the Highlands to be what she had imagined from reading
Lady of the Lake,
and it was apparent she missed Town entertainments. She had little interest in the simple occupations they had to offer at Castle Abermaise. It worried him too that his servants and kinsmen seemed to avoid her. They were not taking to her, nor she to them, he added fairly. He sighed, hoping it would not be long before she informed him they would not suit.

Miss Hartwell looked up at the sound of his sigh and he smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him at her answering smile. He had recently had to question his original motives in choosing to offer for Miss Laurence. Had he not known from the beginning he and Miss Laurence would never suit, at heart? He could have offered for Lady Sheridan, or any one of several other eligible ladies. Had he, in his unconscious mind, always intended to suggest Miss Hartwell accompany his betrothed to Perthshire? And if so, what did that say about his character—that he would be willing to risk both Miss Laurence’s and Miss Hartwell’s happiness, not to mention young Atwood’s, just to have Phoebe near him?

“What are you thinking of so seriously?” his aunt enquired. “You are neglecting our guests.”

“I am sorry,” Lord Murray apologized, casting about in his mind for an excuse and remembering a letter he had received that morning.

“I was thinking of Miles. He is to join us here tomorrow. Miles Huntsford is my cousin,” he explained to his guests.

“Another cousin?” Celeste asked, a marked lack of interest in her voice.

Lord Murray grinned, realizing she was referring to his more distant “cousins” below stairs.

“This cousin is my uncle Malcolm’s son,” he explained. “He has been travelling on the Continent and is but recently come home to Scotland. He lives with my aunt and uncle in Edinburgh, but is accustomed to spending his summers here. I think you will find his company enjoyable.”

He watched his fiancée’s eyes brighten with interest at the prospect of a visit from this “real” cousin.

“It will be a pleasure to see Miles again,” Lady Melville commented. “He always knows the latest fashions and news.”

Lord Murray opened his mouth to tell his guests more about Miles when the sound of bagpipes invaded the room.

“Do not tell me Dinsmore has the right to play in the evening, too!” Celeste exclaimed in exasperation.

Lord Murray laughed aloud at the expression on his betrothed’s face. There was no love lost between his piper and fiancée.

“No. This will not be a usual occurrence, I promise, Miss Laurence,” he said aloud. “My kinsmen are having a dance in the Great Hall this evening. Would you care to join them?”

“Oh, yes, do let us,” Miss Hartwell answered quickly before Miss Laurence could speak.

Lord Murray saw Miss Laurence frown at Miss Hartwell and give a slight shake of her head, but Miss Hartwell pretended not to see, and the matter was settled.

* * * *

Phoebe and Celeste met Lord Murray in the drawing room after supper when they had dressed for the dance. Not being quite certain what the occasion was, they had chosen to wear pretty but simple gowns of yellow striped silk. Lord Murray was resplendent in a claret-coloured coat, dark brown kerseymere breeches and elegant clocked stockings. Celeste hardly glanced at Lord Murray, and Phoebe wondered how she could be so impervious to his dark good looks.

On their way down the stairs Phoebe felt an excitement rise in her breast as the pipe music became louder. There were two other pipers besides Dinsmore, and the wild seductive music made Phoebe long to join the dancers. As the three were ushered to chairs, Phoebe watched the dancing couples enviously, amazed when the men swung their partners clear off the floor so the women’s legs  extended horizontally with the stone floor.

“What kind of a dance is that?” Celeste asked Phoebe. “I should be afraid to be dropped.”

“I do not know,” Phoebe responded, “but I think it looks like fun.”

“It is a reel,” Lord Murray answered, overhearing Celeste’s question. “Would you care to try it, Miss Laurence?”

“No, thank you,” Celeste responded, looking horrified at the idea.

Phoebe hoped that Lord Murray would ask her, but he evidently felt he must remain at the side of his betrothed, for he did not ask. She was watching the dancers wistfully when one of Lord Murray’s kinsmen came up to her, and with a twinkle in his eye, asked her if she would care to stand up with him.

“Thank you, Mr. Spalding, but I am not familiar with the steps,” she protested halfheartedly.

“I am sure Spalding will be willing to teach you, so do not hesitate on that account,” Lord Murray responded, a twinkle in his eyes daring her to accept.

Phoebe could not resist the challenge and rose, putting her small hand into the Scotsman’s large one. He led her to the edge of the floor where he explained the steps to her and led her slowly through them. Phoebe caught on quickly and they joined the others on the floor. As Lord Murray’s guest, Phoebe expected to be treated with more caution, at least, and was surprised when her partner began to swing her about as though her weight were no more than a feather. When she first felt her feet leaving the ground, Phoebe had a moment of fright lest she should fall on the stones, but her fears quickly vanished in the exhilaration of the wild dance and she entered wholeheartedly into the spirit of the reel. She was sorry when it ended and Mr. Spalding returned her, flushed and disarrayed, to Lord Murray and Celeste.

“How could you,” whispered Celeste. “Were you not frightened?”

“At first, but you cannot imagine the feeling when your feet leave the ground. You should try it.”

“No, thank you,” Celeste replied. “I prefer a nice English cotillion.”

Now the women left the floor and swords were placed crossways on the stones. Three kilted Scotsmen performed the sword dance while the others watched. Phoebe was fascinated, but Celeste whispered that the bagpipes were giving her a headache and that she wished to leave. She repeated her wish to Lord Murray, who nodded his agreement. Phoebe, disappointed, stood up to leave as well, but Lord Murray stayed her with a gesture.

“I can see you are enjoying the evening, Miss Hartwell,” he said. “I shall accompany Miss Laurence upstairs, and entrust you to the care of Dinsmore.”

Although part of her enjoyment of the evening left with Lord Murray, Phoebe grasped at the opportunity to remain at the dance, and it was not until the wee hours of the morning that Dinsmore escorted her upstairs.

Upon entering her bedchamber, Phoebe discovered Celeste asleep on top of her bedcovers. Evidently her friend had dismissed her maid, wishing to talk when Phoebe returned, and had fallen asleep waiting. Phoebe stood looking at her friend, shading her candle so that the light would not fall on Celeste’s face and waken her. How exquisite her face was in repose, so young and innocent. At this moment Phoebe felt Celeste looked more like an angel than the mischievous sprite she sometimes appeared in the daytime.

Suddenly, Phoebe had a vision of how Celeste’s face would appear in repose ten years from now if she married Lord Murray. It would no longer be smooth and beautiful, but lined with the marks of discontent and boredom.

Phoebe blew out her candle and began to undress herself in the dark, thinking. The betrothal could not be allowed to continue. She saw only too clearly that if it did, two people she cared for very deeply would become excessively unhappy.

Yet how could she stop it? Her attempts to talk seriously to Celeste about her engagement to Lord Murray had failed. Celeste was determined to see herself as the heroine of a Scottish epic, and also to make a match that would be the envy of Olivia and the rest of Society. The only way to end the matter would be through Lord Murray. Would that serve? Could she win his affections from Celeste? Phoebe felt she could, for she had sensed his admiration of her. She could at least try.

As Phoebe slipped into the bed next to her friend, she felt some qualms about her plan. Would it not be a betrayal of Celeste in one sense? Yet surely to allow the betrothal to continue and end in marriage would be a worse betrayal, would it not?

Chapter Eight

In her dilemma over whether to try to win Lord Murray’s affections from Celeste, Phoebe had forgotten that Lord Murray’s cousin, Miles Huntsford, was to arrive the following day. Celeste, however, had not.

“Lord Murray failed to mention how old his cousin is. I wonder what he looks like. Do you suppose he is dark like Lord Murray?” Celeste eagerly speculated.

“I could not hazard a guess,” Phoebe responded, her conscience feeling partially relieved by Celeste’s interest in the visitor. Surely if Celeste cared deeply for Lord Murray she would not be so curious about another gentleman.

However, Celeste’s excitement was infectious, and when Miles Huntsford arrived early that afternoon, Phoebe was almost as eager to meet him as was Celeste. Her first thought upon seeing him was that here was Mr. Scott’s Malcolm Graeme come to life. He was tall and slender, with a muscular frame and wavy fair hair, and Phoebe felt all he needed to complete the picture was a belted plaid.

Miles Huntsford first greeted Lady Melville, and then Lord Murray presented Celeste to him.

“So this is your choice for your lady, Robert?” he asked. He took Celeste’s hands and looked at her with open admiration. “But she is much too beautiful to be immured in a lonely Highland castle. Indeed, Robert, the thought is positively Gothic.”

Celeste smiled and returned his greeting warmly. Mr. Huntsford’s light banter was very much to her taste.

Nor did Mr. Huntsford ignore Phoebe. “Miss Hartwell. I am indeed charmed to make your acquaintance,” he said when she was presented to him. “Your presence adds a glow to Castle Abermaise that was heretofore lacking.”

“Are you referring to the colour of my hair or my presence?” Phoebe asked mischievously.

“Your beauty and your presence both, of course,” he replied with a twinkle. “But your hair is not the least of your beauty.”

During supper Miles Huntsford kept them all entertained with stories of his adventures on the Continent, not forgetting to include details of the latest fashions and dances. Phoebe and Celeste, and Lady Melville as well, were particularly interested in his descriptions of the new German dance called the waltz.

After the meal the men did not remain long talking over their port, but joined the three women within the half-hour. Lady Melville dozed by the fire she always had lit, contriving to look dignified even when asleep. Miles Huntsford promptly attached himself to Celeste, and Lord Murray was left to converse with Phoebe, to her great pleasure.

Phoebe and Lord Murray were speaking companionably when a peal of laughter from Celeste caused them to turn and look at her. Celeste’s whole attention was on Mr. Huntsford, and her very being seemed to sparkle. It was clear she was in a happier mood than she had been in for a long time. Phoebe involuntarily shook her head at Celeste’s behaviour. Should Celeste conceive a liking for Miles Hunts-ford, Phoebe would be the first one to promote it, but for Celeste to show her preference for another’s company when her betrothed was in the same room was not at all the thing.

“I hope it is not my fiancée who causes, you to shake your head so reprovingly,” Lord Murray said, reclaiming Phoebe’s attention. “I imagine Miss Laurence is starved for Town gossip. I am sure she means no harm.”

Phoebe turned back to Lord Murray, unsure how to respond. Now was her chance to indicate how unfitted for Highland life Celeste was, but Phoebe could not bring herself to say anything disparaging about her friend.

“Celeste does miss London,” she said carefully. “It will be quite an adjustment for her to live so far away year-round.”