Rose In Scotland (16 page)

“Yes, my father was always one to fly into a panic,” the earl said stiffly. “And Caroline, of course, is possessed of a most excitable disposition. High-strung, just like her dearest mama.”

“Indeed? I have found Caroline to be a most sober young lady,” Hugh said, his voice soft as he gently called the earl a liar. “And as for the general, he has never panicked a day in his life. Did you have the opportunity to serve with him in battle, when the air is thick with lead and men are dying all about you, you would know he is a man who stands ever firm. Such men do not waver. They see what is to be done, and they do it.”

There was a brittle silence as Westhall studied him with narrowed eyes. “I see,” he said, taking snuff from a porcelain box and sniffing delicately. “And you are also such a man?”

“I pride myself that I am,” Hugh said, his eyes full of unspoken promise as he met the earl’s malevolent gaze.

The earl regarded him a long moment before nodding. “Yes,” he said, “I can see that you are. How interesting. How very interesting. I see I shall have to rethink the situation. Evidently things aren’t as simple as I thought they would be.”

Hugh wondered what the devil he meant by that, but the earl was already rapping on the roof with his gold-topped cane. The carriage pulled
over to the side of the street, and the earl leaned over Hugh to push open the door.

“I thank you for taking the time to chat with me, Mr. MacColme,” he said, his voice edged with mockery. “I can assure you I found it a most edifying experience. Do give my dear niece my best, won’t you? Tell her I am looking forward to seeing her soon.” And with that he slammed the door and drove away, leaving Hugh to glare after him in frustrated silence.

The sunlight was streaming through the opened drapes when Caroline opened her eyes the following morning. The first thought to register in her sleep-dulled mind was that it was far later than her usual rising time, and the next thought was that she wasn’t alone. She opened her eyes to see Helene setting a tray on her bedside table. Seeing she was awake, the maid stepped back from the bed, hastily averting her eyes as she dropped a stiff curtsy.

“Good morning, my lady,” she said, her gaze not meeting Caroline’s. “I trust you slept well?”

To her chagrin, Caroline felt her cheeks flame with hectic color. “Quite well, Helene,” she managed in a strained voice, grateful Hugh had possessed the sensitivity to return to his own rooms afterwards. “Is my husband awake as yet, do you know?” she asked, striving for a casual tone as she reached for the pot of chocolate sitting on the tray. She had a vague memory of his mentioning he had several appointments for the morning, and wondered if he’d already set out.

“Oh, awakened and gone, my lady,” Helene told her. “He left word with Mr. Beg-ley that he
would be gone for the rest of the morning, but that he hoped to be home for luncheon.”

“I see.” Caroline ignored a sudden stab of disappointment. “Did he leave a note for me?”

“No, I cannot say as he did,” Helene replied, her brow wrinkling in thought. “If he did, Mr. Begley has yet to tell me. Shall I go and ask him, just to be certain?”

“No, that is all right,” Caroline said swiftly, not wanting anyone else to know of her humiliation. “I will just enjoy my chocolate, and then I believe I shall dress for the day.”

Anxious to inspect her new home, Caroline bathed and dressed quickly. She’d seen but the first two floors yesterday, and the housekeeper had promised to show her the rest. The inspection took the better part of the morning, and the sheer size of the place astounded her. She’d thought her uncle’s house large by London standards, but her grandfather’s residence was easily twice that size. Knowing of her uncle’s greed, she wondered why he hadn’t attempted to claim it as well as his own residence, and when she asked the housekeeper the elderly woman gave a disdainful sniff.

“As to that, my lady, his lordship was forever trying to lay legal claim to the place,” she said, her pleasure he had failed at his attempts obvious. “But His Grace’s man of business was too sharp for him. Your grandfather’s terms made it plain the earl could only claim those properties entailed directly to him as earl, and that everything else was out of his reach.”

“Did he ever attempt to force his way inside?”
Caroline asked, recalling the butler’s conversation with Hugh.

“A time or two, yes, but like yesterday we were not allowed to grant him entry,” the housekeeper admitted, then cast her an uncertain look. “Do you wish us to continue denying him entrance should he return?”

Caroline thought of Hugh’s warning and nodded. “I think that might be best,” she said reluctantly, envisioning her uncle’s wrath at such humiliating treatment. “At least, so long as my husband is from the house. He has asked that I not receive my uncle alone.”

To her relief the housekeeper accepted her orders without quibbling. “Very good, my lady,” she said, giving a brisk nod. “And pray allow me to offer the staff’s best wishes on your marriage. Mr. MacColme seems a very worthy gentleman.”

As she’d spoken those very words herself not twelve hours earlier, this was a sentiment with which Caroline could heartily concur. “Aye,” she said softly, unaware of the glow lighting her eyes. “He is a most worthy gentleman indeed.”

Following her tour of the house Caroline retired to the library, where she discovered a stack of letters placed there by the ever-efficient Begley. She was sifting through them, deciding which to open first, when there was a knock at her door.

“I beg pardon, Lady Caroline,” Begley intoned with a stiff bow. “But Sir Gervase has arrived and is insisting he be allowed to speak with you. Shall I admit him?”

A frisson of fear shot through Caroline, but she
was quick to suppress it. Sir Gervase was an overfed buffoon, she reminded herself sternly, and the day she couldn’t deal with him she had yet to see. Then she thought of Hugh’s probable reaction, and shook her head. “I do not believe that would be wise, Begley,” she said, meeting the butler’s astute gaze with aplomb. “You will please inform the baronet that I am not at home to him.”

Begley allowed himself the tiniest of smiles before inclining his head. “It will be my pleasure, my lady,” he intoned, stepping backward and closing the door behind him.

Caroline thought that the end of the matter, and returned her attention to the mail piled before her. She reached for her letter opener and was about to open what looked to be an invitation when the door was unceremoniously thrown open. Sir Gervase stood in the doorway, his face flushed with drink and temper as he glared at her.

“Bitch!” he said, hurling the insult at her with undisguised contempt. “Presumptuous whore! Who are you to refuse to see me? You are in sad want of manners, my girl, and I am of a mind to teach ‘em to you!”

Caroline pushed her chair back, clutching the letter opener as she rose to her feet. “You are a fine one to speak of manners, sir, when you insult me in my own home,” she said coldly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. “You will leave at once. You are not welcome here.”

“Ain’t I?” Her brave words seemed to further incite the drunken man, and he staggered forward, a meaty hand raised in a threatening fist.
“We’ll see how welcome you’ll make me after I’ve beaten some sense into you.”

“You will not threaten my mistress, you drunken lout!” An indignant Begley had returned, several large footmen at his heels. “You shall leave, or else we shall throw you bodily from this house!”

Sir Gervase whirled around to face this new threat. “Do you think I’m afraid of a servant?” he sneered. “Touch me, old man, and I’ll break you in half! Then I’ll have you whipped for daring to lay hands on your betters!”

Angry that he should use his position to threaten her servants, Caroline charged from behind the safety of her desk. “You braying bully!” she exclaimed, the letter opener raised high. “If you think I won’t use this on you, you’re mistaken! Get out of here before I bury this in your back!”

Sir Gervase swung around, looking much like a bull preparing to charge. He took a threatening step forward, but before he could utter another word Hugh stepped into the room, a deadly-looking pistol in his hand.

“Take one more step and you die,” he said, his voice cold as he trained the pistol on Sir Gervase’s head.

Sir Gervase stopped, the sight of the pistol clearly having a sobering affect upon him. “Eh? What’s this?” he blustered, doing his best to salvage what he could of his dignity. “Who the devil are you?”

“I am Hugh MacColme, of the clan MacColme.” Hugh moved inexorably forward. “And the lady you have just insulted is my wife.” He
placed the tip of the barrel in the center of Sir Gervase’s forehead and gave a terrifyingly calm smile. “You will pay for that mistake with your miserable life.”

Temper and bravado drained from Sir Gervase along with his color. “You can’t shoot me!” he protested, his voice rising in panic. “I am a baronet!”

“And I am a man defending his wife,” Hugh returned, drawing back the hammer until it locked into place with a loud click. “English law gives me the right to kill you where you stand, and none will say a word against it. All here heard you threaten Caroline, and they will support me whatever I do.”

A loud chorus of agreement rose from the servants crowding into the hallway, and Sir Gervase grew even more alarmed. “Now see here,” he began, licking his thick lips, his eyes rolling with fear. “This is all a mistake …”

“Aye, a mistake it was, and you are the one as made it,” Hugh said, his accent more pronounced than Caroline had ever heard it. “I’ve killed a dozen men better than you before taking my breakfast, and not a thought did I give it. If you don’t want my face to be the last thing you see in this life, you will apologize to my wife, and you will do it now.”

Sir Gervase gulped visibly, sweat pouring from his brow as he cast Caroline a look of sheer terror. “My lady, I—”

“On your knees,” Hugh interrupted, his voice as implacable as death. “You will apologize to Caroline on your knees.”

Caroline opened her lips in automatic protest,
but the baronet was already doing his best to comply. Trembling so hard it was a wonder he could stand, he dropped awkwardly first to one knee and then the other, his hands clutched before him.

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded, his voice scarcely audible. “I implore you will forgive me for my words. I meant no insult, truly I did not.”

“Caroline?” Hugh glanced at her, his eyes almost silver with deadly anger. “Do you accept this pig’s apology, or would you prefer I put a bullet through his head and be done with it?”

“No!” An almost inhuman wail rose from Sir Gervase. “No, please, do not kill me! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Despite the fact she bore the baronet the deepest enmity, Caroline could not bear to see anyone groveling like a beaten dog. “I accept!” she exclaimed, terrified Hugh would ignore her and kill Gervase anyway. “I accept, Hugh!”

There was an agonizing wait, and then Hugh gave an indifferent shrug. “As you wish,” he said, stepping back and handing his pistol to Begley. He then reached down and pulled the baronet to his feet, despite the other man outweighing him by several stone.

“Listen well, you disgusting piece of
cack,”
he said, shaking Gervase as if he was but a rat. “The next time you come near Caroline, I will kill you. Not cleanly, not painlessly, but in ways that will send you screaming into hell. Do you hear me?”

Gervase nodded, speech having deserted him.

“Then mind you believe me.” Hugh turned and hurled him into the arms of the waiting footmen, who staggered under the weight of their
unexpected burden. “Take this bastard from my sight,” he ordered coldly, “and from now on have better care who you let though the door, else I’ll dismiss the lot of you.” He turned back to Caroline, the anger already fading from his face as he gave her a brazen smile.

“Good day to you, my wife,” he said, bowing deeply. “And how was the rest of your morning?”

T
he next several days passed quickly as Caroline adjusted to her new life as a wife. Of Uncle Charles there had been not a sign, but Caroline knew him too well to think he would surrender so easily. He was doubtlessly holed up somewhere nursing his anger and plotting. He would reappear when and where he would have the best advantage, and she grew increasingly tense as she waited for him to make his move.

Of Hugh she had also seen little, a circumstance which added to her mounting anxiety. Admittedly she knew little of what passed between other husbands and their wives, but it seemed to her that if Hugh had any regard for her at all, he might at least attempt to spend some time in her company. Other than accompanying her to the theater and a handful of balls, he seemed more interested in his own concerns, and his apparent indifference hurt.

Another thing which troubled her was the memory of the casual violence he had shown the day he had confronted Sir Gervase. She had never before witnessed such brutality, and she was not ashamed to admit it had frightened her.
Not for the first time she found herself questioning the true nature of the man she had wed, and she wondered if she had made an error that would cost her more than she could ever have anticipated.

A week after she and Hugh had arrived in London, they were to attend a ball being given by one of her grandfather’s oldest friends. She had been surprised when Hugh insisted they go. Until now he had shown a marked disdain for such frivolities, and she could only assume it had something to do with that mysterious business of his that seemed to occupy so much of his time. She was adding the finishing touches to her toilette when the door between their two rooms opened and Hugh walked in, as casual as if this wasn’t the first time he had been in her room since their wedding night.

“Ah, Caroline, how lovely you are,” he said, straightening his cuffs and studying her with an approving smile. “Your hair looks grand. Is that another hedgehog you’re wearing?”

She shot him a dignified glare, determined not to be charmed. “This style is called
à la conseiller,”
she corrected him, turning back to her glass. “And I will thank you not to insult it. It is all the rage amongst the ladies.”