Once Upon a Tartan (35 page)

“Can I sit down now?” Fiona aimed the question at her grandfather.

“May I.” He sounded exactly like Tye when he offered that admonition.

“May I sit down? My porridge will get cold.”

Something passed over the older man’s features, surprise, possibly, or fleeting humor. “Sit.”

Hester did not engage the man in conversation, though she studied him. He quizzed Fiona in French and then German, and Hester herself was surprised when the girl answered creditably well in both languages.

“When I go to Balmoral, we sometimes speak German when we play.”

“
You
go to Balmoral?”

“We’re neighbors.” Fee studied her porridge for a moment, as if pondering whether his lordship might need an explanation of the term. “Her Majesty comes to Aberdeenshire for only a few months every year, though. Do you like raisins?” She eyed the scone sporting an abundance of raisins on his lordship’s plate.

“It so happens I do. Hand on your lap, girl. I do not encourage pilfering at table, particularly not before the servants.”

“He talks like Uncle Tye.” This last was directed to Hester.

“I know. This is your uncle’s father, which I suppose explains many of Spathfoy’s unfortunate tendencies.” Hester realized what she’d said as she was putting the last bite of eggs into her mouth. The marquess was staring at her, glaring at her more like, and he’d put down his scone.

“Explain yourself, woman. And be quick about it.”

Fiona was looking raptly at Hester—and a little scared. Hester chose her words, though there was no disguising certain ugly truths, no matter how large and varied one’s vocabulary was.

“I have low expectations of a man who will ignore his granddaughter for years, then have her snatched away without the least courtesy to her family, your lordship. Such a man has little sensibility for the feelings of others, as demonstrated by his willingness to enlist his own son in this misguided adventure, and to enforce his high-handed whims without even writing to the belted earl who has provided for the girl’s every need for the entirety of her life.”

She expected to be tossed from the room, never to see Fiona again.

She expected a dressing down at the least.

She expected Quinworth to raise his voice to her—her own father had done so before the servants on many an occasion.

The marquess let out a bark of laughter. “You remind me of my marchioness. This is intended as a compliment. Pass the teapot and finish your toast.”

His lordship went back to interrogating Fiona, while he obliterated his breakfast. The questions ran the gamut from English history, to geography, to animal husbandry.

“I’m told you’re in want of a pony.”

Fiona stopped fidgeting. “I am not to have a pony just yet. I’m to be a great strappin’ beauty, and I will outgrow my ponies too quickly if I start riding them now.”

Her grandfather peered over at her. “This is sound reasoning, which unfortunately did not occur to me when I was nigh beggared keeping your aunties mounted practically from the cradle. Would you like to see the stables?”

“Yes, please, Grandpapa.”

His lordship scowled at his empty plate. “I suppose I am your grandpapa at that. Miss Daniels, good day. Where shall I send Miss Fiona when we’re done with our inspection?”

“I believe I’m in Lady Dora’s room, your lordship. Though I might explore the library for a book.” She should have asked for permission to use the library, but had the sense her manners would be lost on his lordship.

“Hmph.” He rose and did not bow to her. “Come along, Granddaughter.”

Fee bolted out of her chair, seized her grandfather’s hand, and dragged him from the room.

Hester had just finished her toast and poured herself a final cup of tea when Spathfoy came in, looking windblown and bemused.

“Did I, or did I not, just see my father being led by the hand around his own stables?”

“By a small child chattering a mile a minute? You did. Tea, Tiberius?”

He paused at the sideboard, but it was too late to correct the familiar address.

“Please. Would you like anything more to eat, and was Quinworth at least civil?”

“Nothing more, thank you. To Fiona, he was quite civil, if a little imposing. I don’t like him, though. He’s not only arrogant, he’s…”

“My mother said he was impossible on more than one occasion. Even his cronies call him a throwback.” Spathfoy took the seat beside Hester that Fiona had vacated. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept very well. Yourself?” He was a good host, she concluded with some surprise. That had to be his mother’s influence.

“Well enough. I thought to ride out with his lordship this morning—Rowan needed to settle his nerves over a few fences—though Quinworth and I were arguing before we’d reached the end of the lane.”

“About?” She did not want to encourage his confidences, but the footmen had left when his lordship had departed, so she did not change the topic.

“I should have looked in on my mother when I was in Scotland. What sort of son am I, to pass right through Edinburgh and not take the time to see to her and to the estate I’ve turned over for her use?”

“Your father can’t hop a train to check in on his wife?”

“Hopping is not within his lordship’s gift. He seldom goes anywhere anymore, just rides the length and breadth of the shire in all manner of weather.” He fell silent and tucked into his breakfast while Hester tried to fathom a marriage where a man did not care enough to visit his wife, but could castigate his son for the same shortcoming.

The longer she contemplated this conundrum, the more clearly she understood why Tiberius Flynn might not have been eager to plight his troth to anybody, ever.

And yet he had offered marriage to her.

***

A week went by during which the hope Tye stubbornly nurtured for a future with Hester Daniels was severely buffeted. After the first day’s outing to the stables, the marquess virtually ignored his granddaughter. The pony procured for Fiona—a rotund little slug cheekily named Albert—could not fly over fences as Rowan could, and thus his hairy company was not sufficient to distract Fiona from increasingly severe bouts of homesickness.

Connor MacGregor called with his wife Julia, and gave Tye such broodingly thoughtful looks as to make Tye wonder if Fiona ought to be put under guard, but before he took his leave, the man brought a smile to Fiona’s face and promised to visit her again soon.

Which meant Fiona loudly and frequently missed dear Uncle Con and Aunt Julia in addition to Uncle Ian, her parents, Aunt Augusta, the dratted baby, and Aunt Ree.

In utter desperation, Tye bribed his sister Joan to show Fiona some painting basics while he cornered Hester in the library, which had become her haunt of choice.

“It’s a pretty day, Hester Daniels. Will you ride out with me?”

She set her book aside and regarded him with an expression he was seeing on her face more and more frequently. Not a scowl, but a knitted-brow, considering, unsmiling look. “Yes, I will ride out with you. Give me time to change, and I’ll meet you in the stables. Fiona will be busy with Joan for quite some time, if even half of her questions are to be addressed.”

He wanted to offer her his hand, to assist her to her feet, to wing his arm at her as if she needed escort to her own quarters, but he didn’t. He kept his hands to himself and settled for a whiff of lemons as she sailed past him.

At the stables, he fared little better. Hester used the lady’s mounting block to climb aboard a mare Tye’s sisters kept as a guest horse. As the horses ambled out of the stable yard, Hester maintained an aggravatingly serene silence.

“I’ve been arguing with his lordship.” As conversational gambits went, Tye considered that among his worst—though commendably honest.

“I heard you. When I retire after dinner, or Joan and I are strolling the gardens while Fiona goes on a mad tear, Quinworth raises his voice at you.”

“He maintains the lungs need exercise the same as the rest of the body.”

This, of all things, provoked a smile. “Like you and your swearing.”

“Not at all like—” He fell silent for a moment. “Viewed from a certain perspective, there is a rough parallel. His lordship is adamant that Fiona remain here at Quinworth.”

“Did you really think you’d change his mind, Tiberius?”

He was in pathetic damned straits, because just hearing his name on her lips warmed his heart, even in the context of that gentle, hopeless question.

“I have changed his mind on other matters, though it’s usually a Herculean labor. I am convinced you have the right of it, though. He has brought Fiona here for a purpose, to make some point, though I’ve yet to divine what it might be.”

“Fiona does not keep to her own bedroom at night, you know.”

Yes, he did know. Fiona had told him her bedroom up on the third floor was cold, lonely, and plain. She dutifully went to bed up there each night, waited until the household was quiet, then stole into Hester’s rooms and spent the rest of the night on a sofa.

“I am aware of this, and dreading the day you depart for parts north.”

She fiddled with her reins, then fiddled with the drape of her habit. “I should leave soon. I fear the longer I stay now, the worse it will be when I do go.”

“Worse—for Fiona?”

She nodded and said nothing further. An image came to Tye’s mind, of him and Fiona waving good-bye to Hester at the train station in Newcastle, of Fiona bursting into tears, and Tye not knowing how he’d comfort the child while dealing with his own upset.

Hester turned a faint smile on him. “Shall we let them stretch their legs?”

“Of course. If we trot to the edge of the trees, we’ll come to the sheep meadows. The mare is a solid performer over fences if you get her to a decent spot.”

“Lead on, Tiberius.”

He set a reasonable pace over stone walls, stiles, hedges, and two streams, with Hester and the mare following three lengths behind. She was a natural equestrienne, one who didn’t overmanage her horse, but rather let the beast have a say in how the ride went on. When they came down to the walk two miles later, Hester’s cheeks were flushed, and her smile was closer to the bright benediction he’d had from her in Scotland.

“That was marvelous, Tiberius. I can see why your father enjoys riding his acres so much. Was he the one who taught you to ride?”

“He tried, but my mother had to intervene. She has more patience, which is a valuable commodity where little boys and ponies are concerned.” He turned Rowan up an old cart track, unable to make small talk when he might never enjoy another ride in Hester’s company. “I don’t want you to leave,” he informed her. “Not until you know if there are consequences from my visit north.”

Her gaze went to the green hills around them, to the sheep in the next meadow, to the gray stone wall undulating up the acclivity to their right. “That will be at least another week yet, Tiberius, and I don’t know if I can bear to remain here that much longer. Fiona cries, and I can offer her no comfort. Your father barely says two words to her when he comes up from the stables for breakfast, and your day is much taken up with estate matters. My heart—”

She lapsed into damnable silence.

“My heart too, Hester.” He nudged Rowan back to the walk, the pleasure of the shared ride swallowed up in the pain of the parting she was determined to bring about.

***

“Where is that ray of perpetual sunshine known as my niece?” Lady Joan paused in the door of the breakfast parlor to fire her question at Hester. In their brief acquaintance, Hester had realized a tendency to use military analogies where Lady Joan was concerned. She was strikingly tall for a woman, brisk, and bold. Her walk took her places swiftly and directly, her laugh charmed, and her penetrating green eyes were the antithesis of the term “dreamy artist.”

“Fee has gone to collect some flowers for her uncle’s office. I expect she’s waiting for her grandpapa to come in from his ride as well.”

Joan took a seat across from Hester, setting down a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast. “She’ll have a long wait. I swear his lordship has cast my mother aside for the company of his horse.”

Hester tried not to let her surprise at such a comment show. “He cast her aside?”

“Or maybe they cast each other aside.” Joan closed paint-stained fingers around the teapot handle. “I will ask Mama about this before I decamp for Paris this fall.”

“Tiber—Spathfoy said you were longing to live there.”

“Hah.” Lady Joan sprinkled salt on her eggs. “Longing is such a polite word. I am desperate to go there, mad to live there, ready to commit rash acts and so forth. Fortunately, Tye has convinced his lordship to allow it.”

“The marquess was quite set against the notion?” This was shameless prying, but Joan didn’t seem to regard it as such, and Hester was willing to exploit any avenue to gain insight into the man who’d turned her—
Fiona’s
—life upside down.

Joan picked up a point of buttered toast and considered it. “I suspect Papa is contrary as a means of gaining Mama’s notice, and she’s indifferent as a means of maintaining his. The four of us children have learned to navigate between the two, though I must admit this is part of what makes Paris attractive.”

“You want to get away from your family?” And
this
was the milieu in which Fiona was to be raised?

“I adore my siblings.” Joan tore off a bite of toast with straight, white teeth. “And when I was younger, Mama and Papa were alternately squalling like cats and cooing like doves. I shudder to think what manner of husband Papa would have found for us if Tye hadn’t intervened.”

Hester’s breakfast started a quiet, uncomfortable rebellion in her vitals. “I beg your pardon?”

“Papa was grumbling about it even yesterday: he promised if Tye brought Fiona to Quinworth, then Mary Ellen, Dora, and I might have our choice of husbands—within reason. Fiona’s here, and my sisters and I are breathing a collective sigh of relief. My year in Paris was part of the bargain as well, though I suspect Tye is footing the bill rather than Papa. More tea?”

“Please.” Hester pushed her cup and saucer across the table only to realize the cup was more than half-full. “Just a touch.”