A Scandalous Scot (32 page)

“I am indeed gifted today,” he said. “A clear sky and the Countess of Denbleigh come to see me herself.”

She didn’t bother smiling in return. She wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

Evidently neither was Mr. Prender, because he didn’t stand as she neared him.

“Why did you single out Donalda for punishment?” she asked.

Polite conversation was all well and good, but she had no desire to discuss the weather with him. All she wanted to do was find out if Aunt Mary’s suspicions were correct.

His eyes widened at her attack. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Countess.”

“You needn’t continue addressing me in that fashion, Mr. Prender,” she said. “I’m only too aware of your opinion of me. You can either call me Jean or simply nothing at all.”

He remained silent.

Had she angered him? Good. She’d been angry ever since learning of Donalda’s dismissal.

“Is it your aim to punish Donalda?” At his look, she added, “The girl who’s been dismissed for the theft of your watch.”

“I don’t know the girl,” he said, his attention focused on the squiggly lines on the canvas in front of him. “Are you thinking I should excuse her for the theft?”

“I’m thinking you orchestrated the theft,” she said. “But I don’t know why. I doubt Donalda’s the type to interest you, Mr. Prender. Did she spurn your advances in some way? Are you still angry that she didn’t wish to be painted?”

He turned his head and smiled at her. A perfectly agreeable smile if you didn’t notice the sharp and avaricious gleam in his eyes.

“I much prefer your sister, Jean,” he said.

She took a step back, his words washing over her. What had she expected? For him to act the part of gentlemen?

“You don’t like me, do you, Countess?”

“Am I expected to, Mr. Prender, after that remark?”

He stood, then came closer. She didn’t retreat, but remained where she was, fisting her hands in her skirt. They were similar in height, so she looked him straight in the eye when he was close.

“Are you like your sister, Countess? If so, I can understand why Morgan might be captivated.”

She could feel the warmth in her cheeks. She might not be versed in the ways of the peerage, but she knew that kind of comment was frowned upon in polite conversation.

She took a step back, ceding the ground. “And you, Mr. Prender, are you so captivated by my sister you would harm another?”

He smiled at her. “How very virtuous you sound, Countess. Perhaps Morgan isn’t that fortunate after all.”

She didn’t want to be here, and she didn’t want to converse with Mr. Prender any further. Besides, she already had her answer.

Turning, she left him, all the while feeling his gaze on her back. Could she ask Morgan to hint that Andrew’s stay as a guest had come to an end?

She couldn’t very well send Catriona away. What was she going to do about her? Her sister didn’t care whom she hurt, including Donalda.

Donalda. That situation must be rectified. She wished Aunt Mary had talked to her before banishing the girl. But she’d been with Mr. Seath, and Aunt Mary hadn’t wanted to disturb her reading to the ill man.

Instead of returning to the castle, she walked through the south courtyard to the stables. When she requested a carriage, the stable master didn’t hesitate, and when she told him her destination, he nodded, giving her an approving grin.

“A poor thing’s been done today, I’m thinking,” he said. “A poor, poor thing. I sent a wagon to take her home.”

Had he done so on her aunt’s orders, or had he simply made the decision himself? She smiled at him, grateful.

“Do you care to inform me about your charming conversation with Andrew?”

She turned to find Morgan leaning against the stable door, his arms folded in front of him in a nonchalant position. But she was coming to know him. He was feeling anything but calm at the moment.

His eyes flashed fire.

“I’ll just ready the carriage,” the stable master said, wisely removing himself from the scene.

“Your hair is tumbling down,” he said, his voice tight.

She felt for her bun, only to realize it had, indeed, come loose.

“No doubt Lillian was groomed to perfection,” she said.

“Why are you mentioning Lillian?”

“Because whenever I’ve done anything to annoy you, you think about her. Such as right now. You’re wondering if you can trust me.”

He unfolded his arms and strode across the floor, halting directly in front of her.

“Was I doing that?” he asked.

“You were.”

He neither refuted her comment or agreed with it.

“Are you accusing me of lusting after your friend?” she asked. Disbelief held her in place, staring at him. “I haven’t the slightest interest in Andrew. He’s obnoxious and a boor.”

“What did he do to you?”

The question was asked quietly, but his voice held a world of menace.

“He did nothing.”

“He didn’t proposition you?”

She laughed. “Of course he didn’t.”

“Andrew’s been known to be direct to beautiful women. He didn’t insult you?”

For a moment she thought it was a jest. But after searching his face, she realized he was serious.

“I’m not beautiful, Morgan.”

“Of course you are,” he said. “You’re too pale, normally, but the moment your face gets a little color, you’re remarkably attractive.”

She was blushing even now.

“You can’t think to be jealous,” she said.

He waved his hand in the air.

“I’m not jealous. Call me protective, if you must. I won’t have you insulted.”

She blinked at him, uncertain what to say. His irritation felt, strangely, like a warm blanket he’d wrapped around her.

“What did he do? Why were you meeting with him, and where are you going?”

“Come with me,” she urged. “Come with me and I’ll answer all your questions.”

To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate, except to tell the stable master to inform Mrs. MacDonald they were going to be away for a time.

“Where are we going?” he said after they’d settled into the carriage.

“A girl was dismissed from Ballindair.”

“For theft,” he said, nodding.

“What do you know about her?”

He frowned. “Nothing. Should I?”

She nodded. “You should, I think. Don’t you see the people who serve you?”

“I try not to,” he said, to her surprise. “Sometimes, all those people, set to obey your slightest whim, are oppressive. Sometimes, all you want is a little privacy, so you pretend someone isn’t standing there, waiting for you to ask for something or send them on an errand.”

She’d never considered that.

“Nor did I particularly like being dressed by someone else. Or having my buttocks grabbed to ensure the fit of my trousers wasn’t too tight.”

Startled laughter escaped her.

He smiled. “My valet even tried to adjust my inseam, but only once.”

“Perhaps he was only impressed by your manly dimensions,” she said with a smile.

No doubt his look was meant to be quelling, but she couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Why are you going to see her?” he asked a few moments later.

“I’m going to bring her back to Ballindair. A wrong has been committed.”

“And you’re going to make it right?”

She nodded.

“Tell me about her,” he said, settling back against the seat.

“She’s been in service at Ballindair the last two years and is the sole support of her family, which numbers three,” she said, reciting the information Mr. Seath had provided her. “A younger brother, her mother, and her father who was injured a few years ago and can barely walk.”

To his credit, Morgan asked, “What will happen to her family if she’s not employed?”

Before she could answer that the situation would be dire, indeed, for the entire family, Morgan tapped on the driver’s window and gave him the signal to stop.

At her look, he said, “A bit of my past. Do we have time?”

She nodded.

“Then come and see,” he said, and leaving the carriage, held out his hand for her.

She dismounted, taking care as she descended the steps. Following Morgan, she wondered what had put that smile on his face.

Chapter 30

RULES FOR STAFF:
You are allowed one tallow candle per week, a ration of soap per month, and a towel.

S
he’d never walked this far on her half day off, but now Jean wished she had. From here she could see the shadowed mountains in the distance and the wider body of water. She’d have to ask Morgan what it was called.

Heather perfumed the humid air, and a line of dark clouds marched toward them, threatening another afternoon of rain.

Below, on the slope of the glen, nearly at the edge of the water, she saw a whitewashed long house, obviously deserted. The thatch roof was in pieces and the door stood ajar.

This was the desolation Mr. Seath had talked about; this was what the 8th Earl of Denbleigh had wanted and designed. There, on the heather covered hills, were the undulating flocks of sheep, black-faced and sturdy, eating their way across the earth.

Morgan was walking toward a sycamore tree that sat by itself in the middle of the glen. She followed, taking care to avoid the worst of the brambles and nettles, and an occasional hole in the ground leading to some animal’s burrow.

“What is it?” she asked, reaching him.

His palm pressed against the bark of the tree. Above his fingers something glittered in the bright sunlight. Several coins had been hammered into the bark.

“It’s a wishing tree,” she said, amazed.

He nodded, his fingers trailing over the coins.

“My father and I did this first one,” he said, pointing to the lowest coin. “When I was a boy.”

She kept silent, hoping he would tell her more.

“Every year on my birthday,” he said.

She counted them. “There are only ten.”

He nodded again. “That’s when I went away to school.” He pointed to another coin all by itself, high above the others. This coin hadn’t been hammered as deep into the bark.

“On the day I was leaving Ballindair, I asked the coachman to stop,” he said. “I hammered it in myself with the heel of my boot.”

He grinned at her, the expression transforming his face. In that instant she could almost see him as he’d been on that long ago day.

“You didn’t want to go?”‘

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave Ballindair or my father.”

“You loved him very much,” she said.

“He was the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

Knowing what she did about his father, she kept silent.

A few moments later they returned to the carriage.

Once inside, she faced the window, marking the location of the tree in her mind. Perhaps they would come back here again one day, and she’d have the opportunity to hammer in her own coin.

“What did you wish for when you were a boy?” she asked.

“What did I wish for?” he repeated, looking startled at the question.

He sat opposite her, his back to the horses, and regarded her with such a vague glance she knew he was recalling the past and not seeing her.

“I suppose I wished for the things all boys do.” He looked away, as if suddenly embarrassed. “That last year,” he said, “I wanted to stay at Ballindair.”

“Didn’t you like school?”

He sat back, smiling. “I enjoyed learning. I had a tutor at home, but it was nothing to all those minds assembled in one place. I could ask questions of anyone, not simply my father.”

“Was your father proud of you?” she asked.

He continued looking out the window as he spoke. “I suppose he was.”

“Did he never say?”

He turned to her. “Why are we discussing my past, when you’re so reticent to speak of your own upbringing?”

“Because my upbringing in Inverness was nothing to living at Ballindair,” she said.

He only nodded, as if he agreed with her.

For several minutes they didn’t speak. She folded her hands, pretending an interest in the passing scenery. In reality, she was thinking about her own wish.

In Inverness, she’d wanted to survive. She wanted food, heat, and some sort of future.

When first coming to Ballindair, she wanted a way to accept her role, to cope with her circumstances.

Now? A way to tell the truth, to stop living the lie. To make Morgan understand and accept what she’d done and make it right, somehow. Wasn’t that the most foolish wish of all?

The coachman evidently knew his way, because he drew to a halt several minutes later.

When he opened the door, he cautioned, “I’m sorry, Your Ladyship, Your Lordship. I can’t go no farther.”

Stepping out, Jean was assaulted by the grimness of the landscape. The verdant glen had given way to gray, brown, or tan, with an occasional startling note of green. As if the earth wanted to remind a visitor this was not a stark and alien land after all.

A whitewashed long house, similar to the deserted one she’d seen earlier, sat shelved on a steep hill, bracketed by gorse, rocks, and clumps of purple heather. A serpentine path led to it, winding around boulders that looked as if they’d been tossed there by a giant, querulous child.

She waited until Morgan was beside her to start walking toward the cottage.

“What are they doing living in such a desolate place?” he asked. He scuffed the toe of his boot in the rocky ground. “I doubt this would grow anything. Why did they choose this place?’

“Mr. Seath gave them the cottage,” she said. “Or the use of it, at least. They had no other place to go.”

She argued with herself for a moment before telling him the rest. “Your father evicted them, so he could put sheep in their place.”

He halted beside her on the path and stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted two heads. He didn’t move, even when she continued walking.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked when he caught up with her.

“From Mr. Seath,” she said.

“You can’t be right,” he said. “You must have misunderstood.”

She stopped, held onto her skirts with both hands and stared down at the gravel path.