The wind surprised him. Soughing through the trees, it was almost a welcome, a greeting in some native Gaelic. He’d learned some of it from his grandfather, but not well enough to speak it without prompting. The sounds of the birds, however, fit into his memory of Virginia, as well as the sight of the eagles soaring overhead. This, too, was another facet of his home he suddenly understood. His grandfather had named the house in Virginia for an eagles’ aerie in Scotland.
His entrance into Doncaster Hall was accompanied by the same odd feeling that he was in two places at once. Stretching up for three floors was an oval staircase, wide and dramatic, and carpeted in emerald wool. At the top of the staircase was an oval ring of Corinthian columns, each column a floor high. The view from the ground floor as well as the top was an ornately designed ellipse.
“The oval staircase, Your Lordship,” Edmund said. “Designed by Adam himself in the last century. It leads to the public rooms. Would you like to have a tour now?”
He shook his head. “I think my wife and I would like to be directed to the family quarters,” he said, turning toward the left wing. “They’re through here, are they not?”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Edmund said, looking confused.
“The second floor,” he said, testing himself. “The first door leads to the state bedroom, then a series of smaller bedrooms and dressing rooms and, finally, the owner’s bedroom.”
“The state bedroom was converted to His Lordship’s bedroom,” Edmund said. “A dozen years or more, sir.” The man hesitated. “Have you been here before, Your Lordship?”
“No,” he said.
“Yet you know the layout of the house.”
He only nodded. His grandfather couldn’t have known about the changes, but everything else about Doncaster Hall had been replicated at Gleneagle.
“I’ve heard about it,” he said, an answer that evidently placated Edmund.
He glanced at Veronica, who was looking at him with a studied gaze. He hadn’t fooled her. He needed time to understand what he was seeing before he discussed it with anyone.
Magnus had been a Scot, through and through, but he’d left the Highlands with bitterness under his tongue.
“The land couldn’t support us, Montgomery. Not with all those sheep. It’s why I’ll not have the devils on my land.” Magnus had ruffled his hair, then. “I’m raising a fine family of Scots here in America, boy. Men who are Highlanders in their hearts.”
His grandfather had died before the war, before seeing his family torn in two. He’d died and been buried in the churchyard down the road before knowing what had happened to Gleneagle.
Now, Magnus Fairfax was here, his ghost as companionable as those of Alisdair and James and Caroline. Gleneagle was here, sprung forth from the land to welcome him in Scotland.
Who was being fey now?
“The staff would like to greet you,” Edmund said. “They’re arranged in the Round Parlor, Your Lordship.”
The last thing he wanted to do was play Lord Fairfax, but he waved Edmund toward the other wing of the house. He glanced at Veronica. She’d not released his arm, and, as they turned, she squeezed it, a wordless gesture to indicate her support.
“Shall we go introduce ourselves?” he asked.
She nodded, and he couldn’t help wonder if she felt as dazed as he, albeit for different reasons. He decided to push histhoughts away until he could deal with them. Nothingness was easier.
They followed Edmund through double doors and into the River Wing, the side of the house facing the River Tairn. Although its dimensions were the same, the Round Drawing Room was different from its twin at Gleneagle, a fact Montgomery found to be a relief.
The room overlooked the sloping banks of the river and featured views of the rolling glens. Was this room used like the one at Gleneagle: a place for visitors to be greeted and impressed by the view, or impressed by Gleneagle itself? The power and the influence of the Fairfax family were evident once a visitor had been welcomed to their Virginia home.
Above him, the ceiling was festooned with ornate carvings, complete with plaster ribbons trailing from a center bouquet to each corner, where a dimpled cherub held one end. He was grateful to note that the mania for fringe and crimson dominating the living spaces of London hadn’t reached Scotland. Instead, the walls were covered in a pale green fabric, the gilt furniture arranged in such a way that guests could walk close to the windows, or perhaps utilize the door to the left to wander to the terrace outside. A trio of sofas, accompanied by the requisite number of tables and lamps, were arranged in front of the massive white stone fireplace.
Arranged in a line from the windows to the door were the men and women who comprised the staff of Doncaster Hall. An impressive number of people—short, tall, portly, slender—each attired in what were probably Fairfax colors, pale blue and white. Each woman and man bore a singular expression, one of sincere welcome that would have been flattering had he not felt as if the last quarter hour was out of time and place.
He forced a smile to his face and greeted each person, nodding as Edmund introduced them. Ralston was themajordomo, an older man with stiff, broad shoulders and boasting a thatch of white hair tamed in a leonine fashion. Mrs. Brody, the housekeeper, in turn introduced the rest of the staff, from Cook to the gardeners. He heard Veronica murmur greetings beside him, grateful she, at least, had been suitably trained in such details.
What the hell was a Virginian, schooled in the law, forced into war, and interested in an odd avocation, doing playing at being a lord of Scotland?
Veronica had never felt such blistering pain from anyone. The sight of this place, this house, had opened a door in Montgomery, emotions she’d only fleetingly felt earlier. Grief, mixed with despair and longing, rolled in waves from him. Even without her Gift, she would have seen the anguish in his eyes.
She gripped his arm tighter, just to let him know he wasn’t alone. She was here, and she’d help in whatever way she could to banish that look in his eyes and the set, frozen expression on his face.
His responses were proper, if distant. His greetings were polite and a little cold. The warm welcome on the faces of the staff faded to caution. Here was a master who would not be as benevolent, their eyes said. Here was someone who would not care for their welfare as much as the 10thLord Fairfax of Doncaster.
