She’d said the same when he’d ignored one of her cousins, a girl with a braying laugh who’d come to spend a few weeks at Gleneagle. He’d found almost any excuse to avoid her. Caroline had had fond hopes, of course, and he’d already warned her about trying to pair him with one of her many female relatives.
The woman he was watching, however, wasn’t one of Caroline’s cousins. Nor did Veronica have a braying laugh. She was, however, stubborn. No doubt a Scots trait. What about her disconcerting ability to disturb him? He suspected that was something only Veronica possessed.
Her eyes were warm, too compassionate and caring. He didn’t believe she could feel his emotions. Yet she always seemed to know when to touch him, when to lend her support.
She surprised him with both her curiosity and her passion. He suspected there’d be no sensual limits between them, and that was an arousing thought, one that momentarily took his mind from the tasks at hand.
He turned, walked back into the distillery, and tried to occupy his mind with something other than his wife. Veronica, however, refused to disappear that easily. She was as determined a ghost as Caroline, for all that Veronica was alive.
He’d have to apologize.
What did he say? That he was as uncertain of himself as he’d ever been? That he felt out of place? He hadn’t yet formulated a goal, a reason for waking every morning.
The only thing in his life that was familiar and comforting was his airship.
Resolutely, he began an inventory of the items being uncrated, pushing thoughts of Veronica away. Thanks to the fortune accompanying the title, he’d had enough money to order items he couldn’t afford since before the war: two envelopes of silk, one in an inverted teardrop, the other in an oval shape, a burner, made in Germany and boasting a paraffin oil reservoir, and three woven basket-like gondolas, two square, and one in a larger rectangular shape.
He’d utilized enough of his own fortune before the war to know how expensive it was to operate an airship. Nor had he flown in one since the War Department disbanded the Balloon Corps.
Six years ago, he’d amused his family with his love of all things aerial. He’d corresponded with the giants in the field and created an area not far from Gleneagle where he experimented with and launched his own design. The day he took Alisdair and James up in a tethered balloon and seen the expressions on their faces was when he knew they’d never ridicule him again.
Nor had they.
Two years later, he was flying high above Confederate forces, using his airship to spy on the enemy. An enemy comprised of his family and friends, people who no longer existed.
If a man lives on through the memories of others, then the whole of his family would perish when he, too, died. There would be no one to remember all his aunts and uncles, his parents, or his brothers. No one who’d known Magnus. No one would remember their names or even that they’d lived in a place called Gleneagle in Fairfax County, Virginia.
He turned to look toward Doncaster Hall again. The house had remained standing for hundreds of years, proof the Lords Fairfax existed, walked the earth. Some of the lords had performed deeds that would be forever remembered. Most simply lived ordinary lives in the house now standing as a monument to their family’s continuation.
Montgomery was one of them now, whether he wished it or not. Even if he returned home, he’d forever be known as the 11thLord Fairfax.
The future was like a silk envelope before an influx of hot air. Nothing was destined, nothing determined. He might become anyone he wanted. He might be a despot or beloved for his kindness. He might remain aimless or possess a fire for achieving a goal yet unknown.
And happiness? How, then, did he become happy?
No one greeted her as Veronica opened the front door. She regarded the oval staircase in front of her. Such beauty, such magnificence, was wasted on a house built for only one family. Such architectural genius should have been saved for a public building, perhaps. Something that could be viewed by more than just a few people.
Two of the maids nodded to her as she passed. In England, they no doubt would have curtsied to her, at which point she would’ve felt embarrassed and unworthy of such obeisance. In Scotland, however, the lowest member of the clan was equal toits chief. Her father had taught her never to look at another human being as if he were subservient.
We are all here to strive and to learn, Veronica,he often said.Some of us are in different stages of our education.
What would he have said of Montgomery? Would he have been angry on her behalf? Or would he, more likely, have counseled patience on her part?
She didn’t feel exceptionally patient at that point. Yet what other option did she have?
“Your Ladyship, you’re back,” Elspeth said, peering around the landing. “Mary said she saw you in the ballroom earlier. I was wondering if you were doing a tour of the house.”
“Only my own,” she said, forcing a smile to her face.
“So Mrs. Brody didn’t take you, then?”
She shook her head.
“You’ll not have seen the secret passages, and the dungeon as well,” Elspeth said, joining her on the stairs.
“Dungeon? You didn’t say anything about a dungeon.”
“I didn’t mention the ghosts, either,” Elspeth said with a twinkle. “A drummer boy plays when anything bad is about to happen to one of the Lords Fairfax. It happened when the 10thLord died. Granted, he was an old man, but one of the maids heard the drummer, all the same.”
