Strathinver Castle was, in Izzy’s eyes, the worst sort of house in the world. It was still at heart a medieval castle, but with odd wings and towers added on as the owners saw fit and the purse allowed. The result had neither old-fashioned charm nor modern elegance. Surrounding it were haphazard and much neglected gardens. She had not seen it for years for the late earl had hated the place, preferring to live at his Leicestershire house.
On being assured that the ladies were at home, they entered the gloomy hall, and followed the butler at a stately pace upstairs and along a gallery above the hall to a small drawing room. It was gloomy, too, with panelling so dark as to be almost black, and the upper part of the walls covered in a paper that might once have been a pretty brocade, but was now dingy with age.
Izzy knew the three ladies seated within. The Countess of Kiltarlity, still in unrelieved black for her late husband, sat ramrod straight in her chair, her face unwelcoming. She had never approved of Izzy, or of Robert’s desire to marry her, and was grimly pleased when Izzy had chosen Ian instead. She inclined her head regally in response to Izzy’s curtsy, a little deeper than protocol dictated in deference to the older woman’s age and bereavement.
It amused Izzy to think that if she had married Robert five years ago, she herself would now be the Countess of Kiltarlity,and this woman, her mother-in-law, would be merely the Dowager. With a thrill that was also part pain, she considered that there might even now be a son and heir in the nursery here. What was the title for the Earl of Kiltarlity’s heir? Lord Strathinver, she thought. Now that would be something!
The other two ladies were old friends. Lady Lucilla was Izzy’s age and had made her come-out at the same time, but several promising suitors had faded away, leaving her still unwed. Lady Elizabeth was two years older, but an ill-advised romantic entanglement, culminating in a botched elopement, had ruined any chance of a suitable alliance. Now the two were doomed to a life as spinsters following in their mother’s wake for ever more, a fate Izzy regarded as only marginally preferable to death.
As the duchess introduced the Miss Plowmans and settled into conversation with the countess, the Osborn sisters jumped up and rushed across the room to enfold Izzy in delicately scented embraces. “Izzy! What are you doing here, so far from amusing society?”
“I am provided with ample amusement at Lochmaben, I assure you. Lucy, how are you? And Lizzie, too — how are you both going on? It is so long since I have seen you both! Such a dreadful set of tragic events as you have had lately.”
Before they could answer, the countess called out, “Winthrop, inform his lordship that we have callers.”
His lordship! He was at home then, and Izzy would see him. But she knew better than to display any interest in him. She must tread so carefully now.
So she laughed merrily. “His lordship! How is he taking his unexpected elevation? He had no ambition for it when I last saw him… that was four years ago now, before he buried himself in Leicestershire.”
“We still had James and Peter then,” Lizzie said. “Who would ever have thought that they would be taken from us withintwo months of each other? They should have come home after William died, but they enjoyed the army so much, and they said there was nothing much happening so where was the risk?”
“There is always risk in the army,” Lucy said. “James said he would come home when he was thirty and settle down — marry, produce an heir, that sort of thing. But he died just a week before his thirtieth birthday.”
The sisters drew out handkerchiefs and dabbed at their eyes.
Izzy made the usual sympathetic noises, but this was old news. It was more than three years since the last of the older brothers had died, leaving Robert as the sole heir. It was curious that he had not yet taken steps to‘settle down, marry, produce an heir’.She wanted to hear about his reasons for that, rather than going over the multitude of tragedies that had preceded his inheritance.
And then, almost before she had prepared herself for the moment, the door opened and he walked in. Robert Osborn, the most charming of her suitors.
He was smaller than she remembered. Ian, of course, had always been the most imposing of the four, but Sydney and Godfrey were above average height, and to Izzy, so often described as ethereal or fairy-like, they had towered above her. But had Robert always been so short and undistinguished? The hair was a nondescript brown, worn unfashionably long, and his face, which had once haunted her dreams so powerfully, now seemed devoid of character, his forehead creased into a frown.
He greeted the duchess first, naturally, and made some laboured conversation with the Plowman girls, but his eyes flicked often to Izzy. She, for her part, maintained a bright tone to her conversation with his sisters, drawing them away from the depressing subject of their brothers’ deaths and onto the safer topic of the house. But that, too, sent them into gloom, for therewas so much to be done before it could become a suitable home for the Earl of Kiltarlity.
Izzy began to watch the clock, feeling that if she could not exchange even two words with Robert, she might as well leave and try again another day. But eventually, he came ambling over.
“Lady Farramont,” he said as he made his bow.
“Lord Kiltarlity,” she responded, since he was clearly determined to be formal. But she offered her gloved hand to him, and he could not avoid taking it, although he merely held it momentarily, with no attempt to raise it to his lips. Not very promising!
“How are you?” he said, the frown still lingering. “Is Farramont with you?”
“I am well, and no, he is not. How are you—?”
“Not with you? I should have liked to have seen him. Is he at Stonywell?”
That was not very polite, to show more interest in Ian than herself. Whatever had happened to Robert’s social graces? But she smiled, and replied composedly, “I cannot say where he is. I have not seen him for several weeks.” The frown deepened, but before he could ask any further questions about Ian, she rushed on. “May I congratulate you on your elevation, although in the most distressing of circumstances. I know how little you wished for it.”
The frown lifted somewhat, as he sat beside her. “True enough! It is the last thing I wanted. I am not in the least qualified to take on such heavy burdens as have fallen upon me these last few months… longer than that, in fact, for my father spent his final years on earth trying to prepare me for my new responsibilities. It was a thankless task, I fear. Lucy, Lizzie, would you not agree that I am not in the least a fitperson to inherit? So many properties, investments, leases and agreements and deeds and heaven knows what else.”
“You will muddle though, Robert, as you always do,” Lizzie said, although she sounded doubtful. Leaning forward, she whispered to Izzy, “He has no more idea than a baby what needs to be done. It is Mama who has pushed him along.”
“Well, of course!” Izzy said, rather shocked at such defeatism. “All his more experienced relations must want to offer advice, until he knows what he is about. And there are stewards, bailiffs, agents, attorneys…”
“But they want me to make decisions,” Robert said helplessly. “They are very free with advice, butImust decide and how can I possibly know what is best to be done?”
“By trying things, and seeing what the result is,” Izzy said, in astonished tones. “Good heavens, Robert, your ancestors have been managing estates for generations. It must be in your blood. How difficult can it be?”
He blinked at her. “How can you possibly understand, Izzy? You have no decision more challenging to make each morning that what gown to wear, whereas I—”
