He laughed as he turned her attention back to the two perfume bottles. “You seemed to prefer the lion’s head.”
“I don’t like the blue,” she said. “Not for a wolf.”
The merchant inhaled sharply at her words, but Lord Loughton kept her attention on the pieces. “I think the color pretty.”
“Well, it is. Quite pretty, but this is a wolf with a long snout and great teeth. It should be brown or black.” She ran her finger along the tiny sharp points fashioned in glass. Then she saw something else, a flask set toward the back of a pile. “Now this is a good use for that blue.” She picked it up and turned it toward the light. It was a short, small rectangle, suitable for several drams of whisky. On one side etched in copper was a tree branching to the sky. And on the other side was a wolf, also done in copper, but with outlines that were uneven, as if drawn by an unsteady hand. Obviously not the master’s works. Probably one of his apprentices, but she appreciated it nonetheless.
He lifted it from her hands and frowned at it. “The copper work is bad. The wolf is blotchy.”
“Not true!” she said, outraged that he could be that critical of a piece that was probably the best some young apprentice could do. “It’s not perfect, but I value the endeavor.” She lifted it from his hands. “My mother wouldn’t buy anything that had a blemish on it. Everything had to be perfect to suit her tastes.” She lifted her chin. “But in so doing, she missed the beauty in evolving things. She misunderstood that life is never perfect.” Then she held up the flask to where a man was walking with one of the wolfhounds. “See?” she said. “The real animal is never tidy. His fur lifts in places and drops in another. Why should the drawn wolf be any different?”
Lord Loughton stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar. It was the first time she’d ever managed to silence him. Flushed from finally besting him in something, she turned to the merchant. “I should like to buy this,” she said. “How much?”
“No—” began Lord Loughton, but she cut him off with a hard look.
“I shall buy it and once I find out who made it, I shall make a point of complimenting him.” She pictured a young boy laboring over the glass as he learned his trade.
“Will you now?”
His accent was coming back. She was getting to him, so she pushed her win with an arch look. “I may even give him a kiss for his troubles.” She almost left it at that, but propriety insisted she make herself clear. “On the cheek, of course, to show that effort is of value no matter what the result.”
Then she handed over a shilling without dickering over the price. The merchant grinned at her and said nothing, but he was all ears as Lord Loughton’s expression turned wicked.
“Oh, I think it will be somewhere other than his cheek, Lady Clara. On that you can be sure.”
“What?”
He didn’t respond to her question, but instead cupped her arm. “Should you like to see how glass is blown now? It must be done before the games begin.” He shot her a glance. “Maybe the creator of your flask is in there now.”
“Well, yes. I really would like to see this is done.”
He was in an odd mood today. He seemed both excited and tense as he steered her through the growing crowd. There was a roughness to him that was new. Usually he was relaxed as he asked her grand questions. How did she feel about educating children? Could they get enough at home or should there be proper schools like there were for the aristocrats? What did she think about modernization in a kitchen? Would she spend money on buying a modern convenience or rather employ more people to do the work as it had been done for years? They had spent many hours on the trip here exploring the choices facing the leaders in a community.
But suddenly he had a fierceness to him. She was honest enough to admit that if he’d first appeared to her this way, she would have refused him the acquaintance. Fierce gentlemen were uncomfortable at best, in her experience, and not prone to cerebral discussions. But Lord Loughton had already shown his ability to match her intellectually. Now he seemed intent to prove something else to her.
But what? She was surprised to realize how very intrigued she was. Just what could the always entertaining Lord Loughton have in store for her today?
They crossed the bailey while everyone greeted him. They showed him great respect as was due the son of a laird, and Clara had to admit an inner thrill at being on his arm. He was a great man to these people, and she was given deference merely because she was beside him. Even the Aberbeag gave her grand smiles and courtly bows. Especially the very tall, very handsome Connall of Aberbeag and his father, the duke.
They were helping to set up the field of play, but they came close to greet her with courtly bows and a wicked grin for Liam.
“Tis a fine morning, my lady,” Connall said after the introductions were made. “Why would you want to spend it on this coarse fellow’s arm?”
Good lord, it seemed all the Scots here were broad shouldered and half-naked. She’d never seen so much tanned skin in all her life. But of all of them, Connall’s golden hair and bushy whiskers shone the brightest as he retained hold of her hand after kissing it.
She tugged it free. “Because he has promised to show me how the Scots make such beautiful glass.” She held up her bottle for all to see.
Connall grinned as he released her hand, his gaze fixing on Liam’s. “I see he has made his claim, but…” He leaned down suggestively. “If you wish to handle something less…delicate, then I offer myself for entertainment.”
“I assure you,” Liam returned with good cheer, “MacCleal glass is as strong and smooth as any Aberbeag.”
“That remains to be seen,” said the duke. Then he bowed politely over her hand, as courtly as any gentleman could be given that he was obviously frail. She feared the man would not survive long, and she was relieved to see that someone was setting up a chair for him to use while watching the games.
They conversed some more as Lilah and Aaron joined them. She found she liked the duke and his son quite well, but her interest remained with Liam and the glassworks factory. She had never seen one before and was intrigued by the idea. Also, she did not like the way everyone—Aberbeag and MacCleal—seemed to be staring at her and judging her in ways she couldn’t imagine. For the first time ever, she wished she’d worn something for show rather than convenience. She should have realized how everyone would want to look at her.
Going to the glass factory would be the fastest way out of the public eye, but she didn’t know how to end the conversation to get there.
“My apologies,” Liam interrupted, “but I have made a promise to Lady Clara, and I mean to keep it. My lord, Miss Rees, would you care to join me?”
