The Witch Of Clan Sinclair (31 page)

Author’s Notes

A
broadside ballad entitled, “Address to Robert Montgomery Esq; Late Lord Provost of the City of Edinburgh,” 1758, was my inspiration for Mairi’s poem about Logan.

A number of women met discrimination for one reason or another in the nineteenth century and went on to form their own journals and magazines. One of them was the
Women’s Journal
(1870-1917), published first by Lucy Stone, then her daughter, Alice Stone Blackwell.

The LNA, or Ladies National Association, existed, and was the first group to be formed and led exclusively by women. The Contagious Diseases Acts, the reasons for which the group was originally formed, were repealed in 1886. The SLNA is the author’s fabrication.

The Municipal Franchise act of 1869 applied to English women only. Early in the Parliamentary session of 1881, a member from Glasgow, Dr. Cameron, introduced a bill to ensure that Scottish women had the same rights as English women.

The Lord Provosts of Edinburgh were responsible for many changes and additions to Edinburgh, such as the adoption of, and statue to, Greyfriars Bobby, as well as the renovation of St. Giles Church. I’ve used some of the previous provosts as models for Logan.

The Edinburgh Press Club wasn’t formed until 1939. However, several organizations existed in the nineteenth century that would have hosted popular authors of the day.

In the way that it sometimes occurs, I happened on to the story of Jane Cunningham Croly after
The Witch of Clan Sinclair
was written. In 1868 she was barred from attending a banquet honoring Charles Dickens at the New York Press Club because she was a woman. At the time, she wrote a column for women for the
New York World.

Mary Louise Booth was the founding editor of
Harper’s Bazaar,
originally called
Harper’s Bazar,
in 1867.

A suffragette march occurred on Princes Street in Edinburgh in October, 1909, and was well attended by both participants and onlookers. (In 2009 another march celebrated the hundred year anniversary of that historic occasion.) To the best of my knowledge, a march did not occur prior to that time, but if it did, Mairi would have been there.

Want more of Clan Sinclair?

Keep reading for a sneak peek at Ellice’s story,

The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

Chapter 1

Drumvagen, Scotland

May, 1875

His lips skimmed down her throat and hovered at her shoulder.

“I knew you would taste like a sweetmeat.”

Lady Pamela shivered.

A teasing smile curved his lips.

Pressing one hand against his chest, she moved back.

He countered by grabbing her hand, turning it, and pressing a tender kiss to her palm.

“You have to leave,” she said.

“I am not leaving you until dawn comes, my dearest. Even then, I will have to be pulled from your arms by a host of your servants.”

“I’ve my reputation to consider,” she murmured.

He laughed, easing her closer until her cheek was pressed against his shoulder. She held back her sigh with some difficulty, closing her eyes and reveling in the feel of him.

“Banish me, then, lovely. Send me away with a gesture. Give me the word and I’ll leave your chamber, your house, and even your life if you wish it.”

How could she possibly send him away? If he left, he’d take her heart with him, not to mention the glorious pleasure she felt in his arms.

“That woman is the most annoying creature it’s ever been my misfortune to know!”

Ellice turned and stared at her mother.

Enid was advancing on her, determination in every line of her face.

Quickly, she flipped over a page in her manuscript so that none of the writing showed. Putting her pen down, she addressed her mother.

“What has Brianag done now, Mother?”

Enid stopped, narrowed her eyes and pointed at the door.

“That creature!” she said, singling out Brianag with that one imperial finger. “That abomination! That—That—That housekeeper!”

Her mother’s face was becoming a mottled red, her mouth pursed up until it resembled a furled rose.

Oh, dear.

Her mother dropped her arm, resuming the march toward her.

Any moment now she was going to notice the stack of pages on the surface of the desk and demand to know what they were.

That would be a disaster of the highest magnitude, worse than when they were living in London and pretending not to be poor.

Ellice stood, turned and faced her mother, blocking her view of the manuscript.

“She’s done something to upset you. What is it?”

Her mother stopped, frowned at her, and took a deep breath.

“That vile and despicable creature has insulted you!”

“Me?” That was a surprise.

Her mother nodded. “She bragged about her granddaughter getting married.”

“How is that insulting me?” Ellice asked, genuinely curious.

“She intimated that you would never marry. That you would remain on the shelf. That no man would ever want you. That I could not arrange a marriage for you as swiftly as she had acted the matchmaker for her granddaughter.”

The first three points weren’t troubling, especially since they were probably true. The last comment, however, had her staring wide-eyed at her mother.

Oh, dear.

Her mother was looking at her with such intensity that Ellice wished she would blink. Finally, Enid nodded just once, a sign that she’d made up her mind about something.

Once determined on an action, her mother never changed course.

Calm. She needed to remain calm, that was all. She wouldn’t fidget, which was—as her mother had often told her—a nervous habit, one her sister, Eudora, never had. Nor would it do any good to let her mother know she was terrified. Eudora had always been poised and in command of a situation.

“You’re of an age to be married,” her mother said, moving through the sitting room, touching objects Ellice had brought from London to give her a bit of comfort in the Scottish countryside. A book Eudora had given to her on her fifteenth birthday. A sketch of her brother, Lawrence, framed in silver. A small porcelain statue, called a Foo dog, that resembled a wrinkly lion more than any dog she’d ever seen.

“You’re not a child anymore, Ellice. You need to give some thoughts to a home and family of your own.”

She was aware of her own age and circumstances, perhaps a bit more than her mother, who occupied herself with quarreling most of the day.

Because of Macrath’s generosity, she and her mother had been given a home at Drumvagen, almost as if they were family in truth, instead of claiming only a tenuous relationship.

Virginia, Macrath’s wife, had once been married to Ellice’s brother. After Lawrence’s death, Virginia had fallen in love with Macrath Sinclair, a Scot who made even Ellice’s heart pound occasionally, especially when he looked at Virginia across the room with that certain look in his eyes.

Perhaps it was that look that had sparked her imagination. What would she feel if a man looked at her in that way, or treated her as if there was nothing more important in the world than her?

The problem was—she didn’t want just any man for a husband. Where did she go to find another Macrath?

Her mother was still walking through the sitting room, her substantial skirt and train grazing the tables and brushing against the wall.

“Why should I marry?” Ellice asked. “I’m perfectly happy.” A bit of a lie but was it necessary to be honest all the time, especially about something so personal?

Her mother drew herself up, shoulders level, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Enid was a short woman, one whose bulk made her appear squared. A small yet disquieting enemy if she wished to be.

“Marriage is a woman’s natural state, Ellice.”

“You’re not married.”

“I have mourned your father all these years, child. I do not wish to replace him in my affections.”

Not once had she ever heard her mother speak fondly about the late earl. Whenever Enid referred to her long dead husband it was in an irritated tone, as if his demise had been solely to annoy her. Now she was claiming to feel affection for him? Ellice didn’t believe it. She was not, however, unwise enough to make that comment.

Enid, Dowager Countess of Barrett, never forgot a slight, even one from her own daughter.

“Is it truly necessary that I marry?” Ellice asked. “Could we not find a small cottage somewhere? Not every woman marries.”

“Only if they are desperately poor and without family. Or,” she said, eyeing Ellice, “they are of a temperament unsuited to be a wife.” She abruptly sank into a chair. “Tell me you haven’t done anything to shame the family.”

She eyed her mother. Was she supposed to be a child, ignorant of how, exactly, they came to be living at Drumvagen?

If Virginia hadn’t bent the rules of society, with her mother’s encouragement and collusion, they wouldn’t be living in this grand house, each given a lovely suite, and treated like family members.

Perhaps it was best not to pursue that topic of conversation at the moment.

“No,” she said. “I haven’t done anything to shame the family.”

She wanted to—did that count?

“Thank the good Lord and all the saints for that, at least.” Enid fanned the air in front of her flushed face.

Should she tell her mother she was still a virgin? Not because she was all that virtuous and proper. The groom she’d met last year had been remarkably handsome, with soft green eyes, a quirk to his lips, and a Scottish accent that made her toes curl.

He’d been new to Drumvagen and hadn’t known who she was. He’d kissed her soundly, leaving her to wonder at what she hadn’t experienced. He’d gone on to work in Edinburgh, but she remembered him sometimes, and wondered what he might have done if he hadn’t heard someone coming.

Society, however, would have skewered her had she done anything shameful. So she was left to view the smoldering looks between all the couples in her life, catch the sight of swollen lips and flushed cheeks and pretend she had no interest in such things.

What a silly notion.

Mairi had been the one to educate her, if only by accident. Macrath’s sister was knowledgeable about a whole world of things, one of which was passion. Ellice could tell that from the way she looked at her husband, at the laughter they shared, not to mention Mairi’s love of lurid novels.

On one of her visits to Edinburgh, she’d discovered two of Mairi’s favorite books, devouring them on quiet afternoons when she was alone in the house, accompanied only by the servants. She learned a great deal from
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
and
Tom Jones
. Coupled with her observations of life in Scotland, she’d gotten a very good education, enough to realize that Drumvagen was teeming with passion.

“Is there any reason I should rush to be married?” she asked. Other than her mother’s wish to best Brianag?

“You are not getting any younger. Do you wish to be dependent on Macrath’s charity for the rest of your life? A poor sad female reading in the corner of the room, hoping no one notices her?

Well, she did that now. She’d learned to keep silent, retreating into herself. At least she could write her feelings. Every word she’d never spoken, every thought she wasn’t supposed to have, went into her manuscript.

Lately she’d had a great many adventures in her imagination, all of them centered around Lady Pamela.

Lady Pamela wouldn’t meekly sit back and let someone else plan out her life. She wouldn’t acquiesce to a marriage simply to have a place to live. She’d create her own world, with a smile and a promise in her eyes.

Men would drop at her feet.

Her mother stood, brushing down her skirts.

“Eudora would have been married at your age, child. No doubt I would have been a grandmother by now.”

“Do you want to be a grandmother?”

To her surprise, her mother seemed to consider the question.

“Once I was in my own establishment, surely. What would truly be preferable is if your husband could defray my expenses so I wouldn’t have to use my own money.”

Now she was not only supposed to be married, but to be married well? What else did her mother want, a title? She didn’t bother to ask. As the Dowager Countess of Barrett, of course she wanted a title for her last remaining child.

Where was she supposed to find a titled bachelor in Scotland? No, if she were going to get married, let him be handsome, gifted with a sense of humor, and that indescribably deliciousness that some men had. She wanted to feel the air charged around him. She needed him to look at her with eyes that smoldered with passion.

“We can afford to stay in Edinburgh for a few months,” her mother said. “Long enough to find a husband for you, even if he is a Scot.”

The glint of determination in her eyes warned Ellice.

For the next months she would be paraded in front of every available man, given endless lectures on decorum, especially peppered with comments about how her dear, departed sister had been so much better at everything.

Nor would she have a moment to herself. She’d be in her mother’s company every hour of every day until she was married.

Why had the housekeeper challenged Enid?

Ellice didn’t say a word as her mother sailed out of the room with the same disregard she’d shown entering it.

Suddenly, the suite was too close and confining.

She threw open the window to breathe in the spring air, heavy with the sweet perfume of roses and heather. To her right was the rolling glen beckoning her to come and walk.
Sit here awhile and dream your thoughts on this flat rock.
How often had she done that?

The day was enchanted, like most days at Drumvagen, promising its inhabitants tranquility and joy. Wagons would rumble down the road from the village bringing provisions. People would walk from the house to Macrath’s laboratory. The staff would be intent on their tasks, as they were even now. Someone was whistling, and before the day was out she would probably hear someone singing.

If she belonged here, she’d feel blessed. Because she didn’t, all this happiness was simply too much.

She felt like she had in London after Eudora’s death. Her mother had retreated to her rooms, leaving Ellice to find her way through grief. She couldn’t chastise the servants for the occasional laugh or jest. Their joy never touched her, however, and that’s what she felt at Drumvagen as if she were in a bubble that prevented her from experiencing the happiness of others.

She wasn’t unhappy. She just couldn’t borrow someone else’s emotions. She couldn’t live off Virginia’s joy. Even her mother’s constant harping at Brianag was to be envied because it was heartfelt and real.

What did she feel?

Anxious and impatient for her life to begin. Not what her mother wanted for her, but what she wanted for herself.

Perhaps that’s why her book meant so much to her. She felt every page of it, every paragraph, every word. The love Lady Pamela experienced for Donald was the love stored away in Ellice’s heart, just waiting for the right person. The passion Donald and Lady Pamela knew was hers. The yearning each felt was what sat, impatient and heavy, in her own heart.

She wanted to be away, leaving her suite, Drumvagen, and all of its inhabitants behind.