Lucy Muir (14 page)

That was as close to a declaration of his feelings as Lord Murray felt it was proper for him to make at this time, but he wished Phoebe to understand his intentions were serious. He stood, held out his hand to Phoebe, and when she took it, he pressed it lightly and pulled her up.

“We had best return to the castle,” Lord Murray said simply, knowing they should return before his feelings overcame propriety and he kissed Phoebe again. For the first time since he had set out on his search for a bride he felt he would win the lady he had most desired in his heart and in his home. He was sure Phoebe had understood that he had been referring to her engagement to Atwood as well as his own to Miss Laurence, and that she would break hers off when she returned to London. He only wished she did not have to wait so long to do so.

Feeling that they were in perfect agreement and that each one understood what could not yet be said openly, they began the walk back. Phoebe was a little abashed when she saw the gillie was still following them and realized he must have observed their kiss, although he gave no sign he had seen anything. Lord Murray noticed her apprehension and smiled at her reassuringly.

As they neared the castle, Phoebe was surprised to spot a carriage being unloaded before the entrance.

“Did you invite more guests?” she asked Lord Murray.

“No, I am not expecting anyone. I wonder who it can be?” he replied, as they quickened their steps.

The carriage itself gave them no hint as to the identity of the visitors, for it was a hired one. Filled with curiosity they hurried up the steps to the castle. The great door swung open as they approached, revealing three people standing just inside the huge stone-paved great hall. One of them came forward, smiling broadly, to greet them.

“Lord Murray. We have been on our excursion to Loch Katrine and were so near your castle that we knew you would never forgive us if we did not stop and make a visit.”

Chapter Nine

Olivia’s smile grew broader as she saw the look of surprise and shock that flashed across Phoebe’s face. Lord Murray, however, evinced no surprise, but strode forward to welcome Olivia, her mother, and brother with apparent sincerity.

Olivia had been furious and mortified when Lord Murray had left London without offering for her. When she had heard from her father that Phoebe and Celeste were going to stay at Castle Abermaise that summer, she had come to the unpalatable conclusion that—for reasons she could not fathom— Lord Murray planned to marry one of the two.

After Olivia’s boasts of Lord Murray’s interest in her, the comments of Society when no announcement had appeared in the
Gazette
had not been kind. To end the gossip, Olivia had put it about that she, too, had been invited to stay at Castle Abermaise after her excursion to Lake Katrine. She gambled that Lord Murray would have no choice but to welcome them, particularly given he had stayed at her father’s home just the month before. Her mother had not discouraged her plans, and Wilfred’s objections had easily been overridden.

Olivia noted that Lord Murray was busy talking to her mother and took the opportunity to approach Phoebe.

“I knew you and Miss Laurence would be pleased to see me,” she said sweetly, kissing her with apparent affection. “How delightful it will be for the three of us to enjoy a visit here together.

“Where is Miss Laurence?” she finished, wondering where the younger girl could be since the two friends were almost always together.

As if in answer to her question, Celeste and Miles Huntsford entered the castle. Lord Murray presented Olivia and her family to his cousin, and Olivia looked at Miles Huntsford speculatively. Should she consider him a candidate for marriage as well as Lord Murray? He was not of as high a rank, for Lord Murray had introduced him as plain Mr. Huntsford, but he might have estates and wealth that would help her overlook that flaw. He was well enough looking, although she personally preferred Lord Murray’s dark rugged visage to Mr. Huntsford’s more polished appearance. She would have her maid make enquiries about Mr. Huntsford amongst the other servants and see what she could discover about his circumstances.

Olivia kissed Celeste’s cheek and was pleased to see a sulky look enter that young lady’s eyes. She wondered which of the two friends Lord Murray had either offered for or was thinking of offering for. Well, there was time enough to find out. She planned to stay as long as Phoebe and Celeste did, or until Lord Murray offered for
her
hand.

Olivia turned back to the others. She was now ready to remove the stains of travel and put on a more becoming gown. Noticing the red-haired man in Highland dress Lord Murray had presented as his piper standing nearby, she addressed him with authority.

“You shall show me to my rooms,” she ordered, ignoring the anger that flared in his eyes.

“This way, please,” Dinsmore replied impassively, the necessity to be polite to guests restraining his natural indignation at being spoken to as though he were a footman.

Olivia followed Dinsmore cheerfully, quite satisfied with herself. She would rest, select a particularly fetching gown to wear for supper, and easily outshine both her friends.

* * * *

The Atwoods did not take dinner at noon, for they were resting from their journey, but all the guests appeared at supper. Olivia looked extremely beautiful in a yellow silk evening gown with a very low décolletage that displayed her generous curves.

Phoebe smiled at her “friend” and politely enquired after her health, thinking that the Atwoods’ arrival boded no good. Things were never pleasant around Olivia. She wondered how the others felt about the addition to their company, and glanced about the table, trying to read their expressions. She had no success reading Lord Murray’s expression, for he was clearly concealing any adverse reaction he may have had. Lady Melville also wore a mask of perfect politeness. But Celeste was not bothering to hide the evidence that she was downright sullen, and Mr. Huntsford appeared amused, as usual.

“Lady Atwood, how do you find Scotland in your travels so far?” Miles enquired politely of Olivia’s mother as Phoebe’s glance rested upon him.

“Oh, it is wonderful,” Olivia declared before her mother could reply. “The countryside is so beautiful. Just as Mr. Scott described in his poem. I simply adore everything Scottish.”

“Indeed,” Miles commented, adding mischievously, “Miss Laurence would not agree.”

Olivia looked at Celeste as though astounded. “Oh, how could you not find all things Scottish enchanting, Miss Laurence? Scotland is a fascinating country.”

Celeste looked daggers at Miles Huntsford and attempted to defend herself.

“I agree that Scotland is a beautiful country, but the customs here are very different and it takes time for one to become accustomed to them.”

Phoebe could almost see Olivia mentally calculating how much to her advantage it would be to defend everything Scottish since Celeste had admitted she was not as enchanted as she should be. Olivia’s next words confirmed Phoebe’s suspicion.

“I am persuaded that you at least must agree with me, Miss Hartwell. I can see Scotland has done you both wonders. You look to be in robust health, and Miss Laurence’s complexion is quite blooming, without a sign of spots.”

Celeste, who had never been plagued with spots and was angry at the implication she had been, particularly in front of Mr. Huntsford, looked stormy. Phoebe hastily intervened telling Olivia she was “too kind,” and adroitly drew Lady Atwood into the conversation, forcing Celeste to keep quiet.

The rest of the supper passed uneventfully but uncomfortably. It was not at all like the meals they had shared in the past, and Phoebe was glad when the evening was finally over and they could escape to their bedchambers.

“Why did Olivia have to come and spoil everything?” Celeste complained when the two got together for their customary evening visit in Phoebe’s chamber.

“I suppose we should have expected their arrival,” Phoebe answered. “We knew Olivia was to travel to Lake Katrine this summer.”

“We must think of a way to get rid of her,” Celeste proclaimed, throwing herself across Phoebe’s bed and staring at the ceiling, frowning in concentration.

Phoebe, knowing Celeste’s temper, was made uneasy by her words. “We cannot get rid of Olivia,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at Celeste seriously. “This is not even our home. The Highlanders have very strict ideas of hospitality and the proper treatment of guests. Did you notice how Dinsmore said nothing when Olivia ordered him to show her to her rooms, despite the fact he must have been terribly insulted to be addressed like a servant?”

“Oh, I did not mean to order the Atwoods out of the house or anything of that sort. But there must be a way to make Olivia
want
to leave.”

“I cannot think of any, short of your actual marriage to Lord Murray, and even if there were some way to encourage her to leave, good manners forbid it,” Phoebe replied. “Promise me that you will abandon your notion, Celeste.”

Celeste remained obstinately silent.

“Promise,” Phoebe commanded.

“Oh, very well,” Celeste agreed grumpily. “But you shall wish to reconsider soon. Did you hear her at supper? ‘Oh, Lord Murray, the very air of Scotland improves one’s health. Oh, Lord Murray, tartan is so beautiful. Might I have a length of it to have a skirt made? I simply
adore
everything Scottish.’ ”

“She did rather overplay her hand,” Phoebe laughed. “But you encouraged her by confessing there were things about Scotland you did not find congenial.”

“That was Mr. Huntsford’s fault for bringing up the subject. I believe he did so intentionally,” Celeste said, frowning darkly. “At least I was honest, which is more than one can say about Miss Atwood.”

Celeste vented her complaints about Olivia a few moments longer and then retired to her own bedchamber. Although Phoebe had refrained from agreeing out loud, lest she seem to endorse Celeste’s plan, she also felt that if Olivia were to stay on that their sojourn at Castle Abermaise would be very different. The peace was lost, and she doubted it could be restored.

* * * *

When Phoebe and Celeste went in to breakfast the next morning, they found Olivia already at the table with the other guests. She gave the friend’s toilettes a quick review, and, apparently deciding hers was the most attractive, smiled and bade them a good-morning. Phoebe and Celeste responded politely and filled their plates at the sideboard.

“It is an interesting custom to have the pipes played in the castle mornings,” Lady Atwood commented as Celeste and Phoebe joined the others.

“I do not care for it, myself,” Celeste was incautious enough to remark.

“Oh, but I think it an
enchanting
custom!” Olivia exclaimed, glancing at Lord Murray. “I quite adore the sound of bagpipes.”

“Don’t care overmuch for them m’self,” Wilfred said. “Say, what’s that you are eating, Miss Hartwell?” he asked, looking curiously at Phoebe’s plate of brose.

“A kind of porridge made with oats and barley water and seasoned with salt and butter. We were given some the day we arrived, and I found I quite liked it.”

“Oh, is it a traditional Scottish dish?” Olivia enquired. “I must try some.”

Lord Murray politely rose and filled a plate at the sideboard. Olivia thanked him prettily and tasted the mixture.

“But this is quite delicious,” she proclaimed. “You say that it is made from oats. Then I should say it is a shame that we eat so few things made from oats in England. They are mostly fed to horses.”

“Some say that is why the English have the finest horses and Scotland the finest men,” Miles Huntsford interposed, greatly diverted by Olivia’s gushings.

Phoebe did not share Mr. Huntsford’s amusement. Celeste was right, she thought as she watched Olivia eat her brose, praising the divine taste after almost every mouthful. Her determination to extol the virtue of all things Scottish was quite nauseating. And so obviously insincere. Phoebe could have sworn she saw a fleeting look of distaste cross Olivia’s face when she had first tasted the brose. So Olivia doted on oats, Phoebe thought grimly. She would be sure to mention that to Mrs. Baird. The Highland code of hospitality would require that Olivia be offered oats at every meal. She would see how she liked that!

Phoebe was suddenly struck by inspiration. Of course! Perhaps there
was
a way to rid themselves of Olivia, as Celeste had suggested, or at least speed her departure. Not only would she inform Mrs. Baird of Olivia’s newly acquired devotion to oats, she would also mention to Dinsmore how much Olivia loved the pipes. She might even suggest to the good man that Olivia might enjoy having them played outside her chamber door early every morning. Phoebe smiled brilliantly, and Celeste looked at her friend in amazement, wondering what there was about the miserable breakfast to cause her friend to be so happy.

* * * *

Lord Murray was glad to escape his new guests after breakfast with the acceptable excuse of pressing estate matters to attend to, although he felt guilty to be so relieved. As a Highlander, he was obliged to welcome his guests and offer them his best hospitality even if they were one of his worst enemies, which of course they were not. The Atwoods had showed him every kindness during his fortnight in London.

Altogether, Lord Murray reflected, he had rather mixed feelings about the Atwoods’ arrival. His first thought had been that the visit was a stroke of good fortune, for Phoebe could now break off her engagement to Atwood without having to return to London. But Lady Atwood’s and Miss Atwood’s company was not congenial, to say the least. He could see, too, that Miss Atwood’s presence was upsetting Miss Laurence, and there was no predicting what starts Miss Laurence might get up to if she were upset. A tap upon his study door interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called, and Atwood came in. Although it was not yet noon, the younger man’s attire was already sadly rumpled, and Lord Murray wondered idly how Atwood managed to keep a valet from giving in his notice after a single day in his service.