Above her hushed tones, Belle could hear the timbre of male voices nearby. She tried to remember exactly where she was in the castle and the layout of the floor below. Just beyond the next tapestry was the top of the open foyer staircase. Below was a visiting chamber for greeting guests.
As Coira fiddled with her dress, plucking wrinkles from the skirt and flattening stray hairs along the sides of her head, Belle felt her curiosity rise. Since her arrival, no one had been permitted inside the castle. No maid or caretaker had left for long periods, and no stranger was allowed through the gates. Henry had said that the laird's health was the cause, that it would be considered rude to accept guests during his vulnerable state. If the laird was not there to greet his visitors, it could be seen as an insult.
My father,Belle corrected herself.
She had been trying to remind herself that Laird Alasdair was her sire whenever he came to mind. And yet, still, the words “the laird” formed more naturally. Despite the lessons, the gowns, and the fine food and chambers, it was still hard for Belle to accept that she was somehow a member of this world.
That she wasn't simply the daughter of a herder and fisherman that had been brought into the castle as a fine joke. A monkey in a fine dress.
Not that Henry ever made her feel that way.
Well...not normally. Recently, she had been unsure.
"Alright, you are beautiful once more," Coira assured her with a generous light in her eye. "Come now. Sir Gregory insisted you be brought as soon as possible."
Frowning, Belle allowed Coira to take her arm and hurry her toward the top of the stairs.
"Who is Sir Gregory?" It was the first she had heard of the man, and yet the name rolled from Coira's tongue with the ease of familiarity.
"He is the Henderson counselor," Coira explained in a hushed voice as they descended. "He has been away handling affairs in the laird's stead since his illness."
"That is why Henr—er, Sir Munro—was brought to help me with lessons?"
"Partially, yes. Sir Gregory has been very busy of late." Coira was not shy in her smiles, but this one held a certain level of personal pride. The three of them had spent a lot of time together in the last week, so Belle could understand Coira's secret pleasure when she said, "But Henry Munro is also considered the best in such things, and his laird is a friend of the laird. Laird Henderson wanted no one less than the best to teach his daughter."
An emptiness hollowed out Belle's stomach.
She had always known that Henry was a visitor to the estate. But, for some reason, it had never dawned on her before that he had a home elsewhere. A laird to whom he was loyal, a profession that he clearly claimed with pride. Perhaps he had a family back home? Siblings and people he loved?
...a wife?
For a moment, that hollowness ate away at the lining of her belly, and Belle nearly tripped over her own feet. The ache in her chest became a burn, and the burn became an angry sense of possession. Too inexperienced to recognize the green, clutching fingers of jealousy, Belle simply read the emotion as righteous indignation.
If Henry was married, then he should have never drawn close to her in the dining hall that evening! He should have never touched her face. Or looked at her with such latent, heavy emotion.
Reminded of her recent worries, Belle's imagination quickly turned the horrifying suspicion into fact.
For the last few days, Henry had been distracted and distant. He would not look her in the eye, he would not be alone in a room with her. He was fastidious about Coira always being there, always watching them. He had even begun drawing another chair to the desk and insisting that she join them formally.
At first, Belle had been pleased by his kindness, his unwillingness to treat Coira as a disposable servant. Now, she wondered if he had only been using the woman as a tool for distance. A wall between him and the monkey in the fine dress.
It took only a single flight of stairs for Belle's feelings to have transformed from confusion to a blinding hurt. As her slippered feet graced the foyer floor, she felt rejected and lost.
When she recognized one of the male voices in the next chamber as Henry's, that hurt speared straight to her heart. Rage rose in her defense, softening the blow and thickening her skin.
As they reached the chamber, Belle watched Coira smile encouragingly and then melt away so that she hovered alone.
Framed by the arching doorway, it was not long before those within looked up from their conversation to witness her arrival.
Belle stared defiantly back.
There were four men inside, each as different from the last. At the mantel stood two gentlemen, one large and the other small. The first was gowned in velvets and a fancy hat with plumage; the other was of average height, painfully thin, and severe-looking. His hair was thick but grey, and his eyebrows hawkish over a sharply defined face. Both swept her with an assessing look that took in everything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Belle feared that both men were now privy to her most intimate measurements and weight. She tried not to fidget under their scrutiny.
The other two men were opposites again, one so lovingly familiar and the other a complete stranger. Both were very handsome, but where Henry was dark-haired with stubble now claiming his jawline, the other was clean-shaven and brightest blonde. His features were small and sharp, and very pretty. Having been seated in one of the high-backed chairs, her presence brought him instinctively to his feet.
"Lady Arabelle..." he greeted her softly. He crossed the room with a look of intention, and Belle quickly remembered her lessons. She offered her hand.
Bending over it, the blonde gentleman kissed the back of her hand with grandiose ritual.
