Lucy Muir (13 page)

She thought of Dinsmore’s words and gave a little laugh. “Dinsmore is convinced Celeste was sent by the Men of Peace to make mischief and disturb the happiness of your Castle.”

Lord Murray glanced at Celeste again and joined Phoebe in her laughter. “Miss Laurence
has
always put me in mind of a sea nymph,” he confessed, “but what makes Dinsmore think she was sent by the Daoine Shi’?”

“Well,” Phoebe explained, “at first it was her green eyes that gave him the idea, but then when he heard that she had ordered fish to be included on the menu, he became convinced that only someone sent by faeries would request such a thing.”

“I can well imagine the scene that must have transpired below stairs,” Lord Murray said with a chuckle.

Phoebe laughed again and recounted the episode, including the happy ending.

Lord Murray joined in her laughter at the completion of the tale, and then his face sobered.

“I think Miss Laurence is not completely comfortable with our way of life here. I fear she has not found Mr. Scott’s brave Highlands, but what must seem to her a parody. I hope she will not hesitate to call off the betrothal if she comes to believe we should not suit,” he dared to say, hoping Miss Hartwell would repeat his remarks to her friend.

“I believe Celeste is not sure what she desires at the moment,” Phoebe replied. “It is true her interest in the Highlands stemmed from reading the poem. I only hope,” she said, trying to give Lord Murray a hint that he might have to be the one to take the initiative, “that she can come to distinguish between her dreams and reality before it is too late.”

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying total ease. As Phoebe covertly watched Lord Murray she felt an almost tangible pull between them. She realized she was being provided with the opportunity to activate her plan of winning Lord Murray’s affections away from Celeste and turning them to herself. But now that she had the chance to flirt with Lord Murray she was not precisely sure how to go about it. She thought of Olivia’s tactics when dealing with her admirers and gave Lord Murray what she felt was a bold smile.

Lord Murray smiled warmly at her in return, and looked at Phoebe intently. His older guest appeared so softly beautiful in the candlelight that he had a sudden urge to reach out and run his hands through Miss Hartwell’s fiery hair. He wondered what her response would be if he did—did she have a passionate nature under the calm front she presented to the world?

Abruptly Lord Murray recalled Wilfred Atwood and was puzzled by Miss Hartwell’s behaviour. If it were not for Atwood, he would think she was trying to set up a flirtation with him. But while he felt no surprise to see Miss Laurence flirt with his cousin while being technically engaged to himself, he could not credit such discourteous conduct to Miss Hartwell. To flout convention was not in her nature. Perhaps his popularity in London had given him an exaggerated opinion of himself. He must be imagining things. Whichever was the case, to pursue Phoebe would be madness. Both he and she were engaged to others. Until that ceased to be, he must not allow himself to think of Miss Hartwell.

As a diversion, Lord Murray rang for a kinsman who played the harp. For all parties concerned it would be much safer to end the tête-à-têtes and share in a common entertainment.

* * * *

When Phoebe and Celeste climbed upstairs to their chambers at the end of the evening, Phoebe felt that her plan was off to a good beginning although it had not progressed as quickly as she had for a moment thought it might. She knew Lord Murray was attracted to her, yet he had drawn away. Had she been too bold? Not bold enough? Was it Celeste? He had not seemed unduly upset by her coquettish behaviour towards his cousin.

“I asked you what you thought of Miles Huntsford,” Celeste repeated for the second time. “You are wool-gathering.”

They had come to the door of Phoebe’s room and entered together.

“I am sorry,” Phoebe said, wrenching her thoughts away from Lord Murray. “I like Mr. Huntsford very much. I think he looks like Malcolm Graeme.”

“You noticed that, too?” Celeste asked, sitting gracefully on a chair by the fire. “And he has such address. Much more than Lord Murray. Lord Murray is too serious.

“Do you know, Phoebe,” Celeste added thoughtfully, “perhaps I made a mistake to accept Lord Murray.”

“Not a mistake,” Phoebe said as her maid helped her out of her gown, Celeste’s words causing her heart to leap with hope. “You merely agreed to visit Castle Abermaise in order to determine whether you could like living here. If you find you cannot, you can break it off, with no one outside the castle and our families any the wiser.”

“That is true,” Celeste said. She watched idly as Phoebe prepared for bed, a dreamy look on her face. “I wonder if Mr. Huntsford ever travels to London,” she said thoughtfully.

“You should not be thinking so much of another gentleman while you are still betrothed to Lord Murray,” Phoebe felt obliged to say.

Celeste smiled, her beautiful eyes unreadable in the firelight. “Don’t be so stuffy,” she said lightly, after which she rose and went to her own chamber, singing softly to herself.

Phoebe went to bed happier than she had been since she had arrived at the castle. How much more simple it would all be should Celeste fall in love with Miles Huntsford and break off her engagement with Lord Murray herself.

* * * *

Lord Murray and Miles Huntsford remained together in the drawing room after Lady Melville, Phoebe and Celeste retired, sharing a bottle of excellent French brandy Miles had brought from the Continent.

“
I notice you fully approve of my intended bride,” Lord Murray commented rather dryly to his cousin. It had not escaped him that Miles was as guilty as Miss Laurence of trying to set up a flirtation.

Miles grinned unrepentantly.

“I approve of Miss Laurence, but not of your betrothal.”

“That is plain speaking.”

Lord Murray rose from his chair and went to stand before the fireplace, thoughtfully regarding his cousin, who relaxed lazily in an armchair, his legs stretched out before him. Lord Murray supposed he should be angry with Miles for so blatantly trying to steal his fiancée, but he could not be. Nor did he feel piqued that Miss Laurence so obviously preferred his cousin to himself. If he felt anything, he decided, it was relief.

Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed. Miles looked at him quizzically, and Lord Murray picked up the decanter, pouring them both another drink.

“To Miss Laurence,” he said. That was as close as he would come to saying Miles might steal his betrothed with his blessing. To say it more clearly would be to insult Miss Laurence.

Miles drank and then proposed a toast of his own.

“To Miss Hartwell,” he said, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

* * * *

Over the next few days Phoebe was amazed at how easily her hopes were being realized. Miles Huntsford was apparently as drawn to Celeste as she was to him. They spent most of their time together, riding, walking and talking of his travels abroad. Lord Murray was busy with estate business, and Phoebe occupied herself by assisting Lady Melville with her duties and occasionally accompanying Celeste and Lord Huntsford on their rides and walks.

She wondered a little at Miles Huntsford so openly showing his interest in Celeste when she was technically betrothed to his cousin, and then realized shamefully that she had no right to criticise. What was she trying to do but win Lord Murray from her best friend? Could it be that Mr. Huntsford had already ascertained how unsuited Celeste and Lord Murray were for each other?

Phoebe was quite amused to see how well Miles Huntsford understood Celeste and used his knowledge to win her attention. One night soon after his arrival he appeared at supper in full Highland dress. Although he was not a large man, like Lord Murray, the kilt and hose suited his muscular frame, and even Phoebe looked at him admiringly.

“I can see I have made an error never to wear the traditional attire of my countrymen,” Lord Murray said to Phoebe as he took a seat next to her in the drawing room after supper. “Is it the philabeg or the man?” he asked, noting Celeste’s almost awed expression as she looked at his cousin.

“I must confess Scottish dress is very impressive,” Phoebe replied. “Something about it makes a gentleman look, well, different,” she finished lamely, unable to put into acceptable words that the costume seemed to make a gentleman appear more strong and masculine. “I have often admired Dinsmore’s dress, too,” she added, lest Lord Murray think she also was captivated by Mr. Huntsford.

“If I wore a belted plaid would you look at me as Miss Laurence looks at Miles?” Lord Murray asked so softly that Phoebe was not sure she had heard him aright, but the expression on his face told her she had.

Phoebe made no immediate reply, her mind conjuring up an image of Lord Murray in bonnet, plaid, kilt, sporran and hose. The picture was so vivid that she felt her cheeks grow warm.

“You are sitting too near the fire,” Lady Melville said, noticing the colour even from her chair halfway across the room. “Come and sit next to me,” she invited, and Phoebe was mercifully able to escape without having to give Lord Murray a reply.

Lord Murray watched as the rosy hue in Phoebe’s cheeks gradually subsided. He was not wrong. Miss Hartwell was attracted to him. Had she, like him, realized that she had made a mistake in her betrothal? Had she come to care for him in a way she did not care for Atwood? He felt instinctively that she had. Soon Miss Laurence would ask to be freed and he could speak to Miss Hartwell.

* * * *

When Celeste heard Lady Melville invite Phoebe to sit by her, she wondered guiltily if she had been failing in common civility towards the older woman these past few days. Certainly she had allowed little time for Lord Murray’s aunt, spending every moment she could with Mr. Huntsford.

“Remembering your social duties, Miss Laurence?” Miles Huntsford asked.

Celeste turned to face him, once again disconcerted by the ease with which Mr. Huntsford read her thoughts.

“Yes, I fear I have not been as attentive as I might,” she admitted.

Miles smiled at her, and Celeste felt another thrill go down her spine. All thoughts of neglect vanished. How handsome Mr. Huntsford was in his kilt and all! That was how a Highland lord should look, not all plain and ordinary like Lord Murray in his stuffy evening clothes. As she absorbed Mr. Huntsford’s romantic appearance like a rare perfume, she knew for certain that she would be ending her betrothal with Lord Murray very soon.

Miles Huntsford was aware of Celeste’s almost reverent admiration, and was at once amused and touched. One of the things that most appealed to him about Miss Laurence was her youthful romanticism. He played his part to the hilt for her benefit, but he could not say that he did not understand her need to follow her heart. The same longing for romance and adventure was what had driven him to travel. He would never be a settled landowner like his cousin. Robert was a fine fellow, but rather dull. The quicksilver child he had chosen was not for him. The time had arrived for Celeste to be awakened from childhood, but Robert was not the man to do the job. Not that he had to worry about his cousin, Miles thought. Clearly
his
affections lay elsewhere. He glanced briefly at Lord Murray sitting with Miss Hartwell and then back to Celeste. He sensed he had not much longer to wait before Miss Laurence would end her betrothal.

* * * *

The following morning while on his way to his bailiff, Lord Murray encountered Phoebe clad in her walking dress.

“Are you setting out for a walk, Miss Hartwell? May I accompany you?” he asked impulsively, thinking how pleasant it would be to share some quiet time out-of-doors in her company.

Phoebe agreed, also happy at the prospect of some moments alone with Lord Murray. Or almost alone, she amended, as they left the castle, the ever-present gillie following at a distance. Phoebe started down her usual path, but Lord Murray stopped her and led her to one she had not seen before.

“I would like to show you my favourite place,” he said. “The view of the loch is incomparable.”

The two made fairly slow progress over the less-travelled path, and Lord Murray had to assist Phoebe over some rough places, but they finally reached their destination. He led her to some rocks poised precipitously over the lake, and Phoebe, tired from the climb, sank down gratefully.

However, when she surveyed the spectacular view, she knew Lord Murray had found a beautiful spot and that the difficult walk had been well worth it. Directly beneath them the lake lapped greedily at the shore showering the rocks lightly with its spray. Thick forests loomed darkly to their left, and to their right fields dotted with white sheep spread beyond the far shore.

They sat silently for a long while and Phoebe was startled when she heard Lord Murray’s voice.

“Hold still a moment, there is a spider on your shoulder.”

Phoebe obediently froze, having a strong dislike of spiders. She fell Lord Murray’s hand brush her skin through her light pelisse.

“It is gone,” Lord Murray said reassuringly, but he did not remove his hand. Instead, he caressed Phoebe’s shoulder lightly, and then gently turned her so that she was facing him.

Time seemed suspended for a long moment as they looked into each other’s eyes, seeing there what neither of them had yet dared to confess.

“Phoebe,” Lord Murray said softly, speaking her given name.

Phoebe’s lips parted in unconscious invitation. She heard Lord Murray draw a sharp breath, and then he leaned forward, covering her lips with his. His kiss was soft and slow, and she returned it, tentatively at first, and then with awakening passion. As she began to feel that she was melting into his very being the memory of certain facts intruded and she pulled abruptly away.

“Please Lord Murray, this will not serve while you are betrothed to Celeste,” she protested.

Lord Murray did not attempt to retain his hold on her.

“No, it will not,” he agreed, his eyes still dark with passion. “Not while neither of us are free to follow our hearts. We shall wait until circumstances are such that we may embrace with no shame or guilt.”