Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Angus and Georgiana watched Alec go down the hillside. Angus wiped away a tear. “He’s home at last. I’d say we’re off to a good start, wouldn’t you?”
“You frightened Caroline witless when you pushed her,” Georgiana replied.
“ ’Twas all for the good. Did you see the look in Alec’s eyes when he caught her?” Angus chuckled. “I know what the lad was feeling—the same thing I felt the moment I saw you.”
“I remember,” Georgiana said. “How could I ever forget?”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
The countess had assigned Caroline to a room on the top floor of the tower. The room was large, with a bed, large wooden table, a shelf of books, and a window that offered a breathtaking view of the glen. It wasn’t a servant’s room, but it wasn’t near the family’s apartments either. In the safety of her quarters, Caroline splashed cool water over her flushed face, but the sun-kissed glow—and the glow of mortification at her own behavior—wouldn’t come off. She bound her hair extra tight, and put on the plainest gown she could find, a soft gray muslin with a high neck she had purchased in Edinburgh before arriving here. Now she looked like a governess.
Muira followed her up. “The lasses are back. They found their brother on the hillside, and they all but carried him home.” The old woman gave Caroline an almost toothless grin. “It’s good to have a laird back at Glenlorne again. He’ll set things right now.”
Laird? Caroline felt her cheeks flame anew. There could be no mistaking whom she met in the tower, then. Her stomach shrank into her spine. She’d acted like a ninny! She’d have to face him at dinner, since teatime had long since passed. Or line up for inspection with the rest of the servants, the way Charlotte made her staff do whenever she arrived at one or another of the Somerson estates. Impropriety, or even a stain on one’s uniform, might result in instant dismissal or a mild rebuke, depending on Charlotte’s mood.
“Sheinsists there be a formal dinner in the hall tonight to welcome His Lordship home.” Muira set her hands on her hips. “His Lordship! He’ll always be wee Alec to me, and I know he’d prefer a good hot supper with all the folk, and a dram or two of good whisky to toast his homecoming.” She looked around the room. “This was his bedchamber when he was a lad, but he’ll be in the laird’s quarters now. I was actually sent to say ye’ll have to sup with us in the kitchen tonight, miss. The meal is for family only.Shewould like you to help the girls dress, make sure they look like proper ladies.”
“Of course.” Caroline almost sighed with relief. She wouldn’t have to face the new Earl of Glenlorne just yet. She gave Muira a blinding smile. “I would like that very much—dining in the kitchen, I mean.”
“Aye?” Muira squinted at her. “Ye’re not even curious to get a look at him? He’s a braw man. He always was, o’ course, but he’s filled out now, all fit and fine.”
Caroline felt a blush creep over her cheeks. Yes, the man was braw indeed. And strong. She could still feel his hands on her waist, his eyes on her exposed ankles.
“Ye looked flushed, lass. Did ye get too much sun today?” Muira asked.
She turned away from Muira’s curious eyes. “I think I’d better go down and help the girls dress.”
She took the curved stairs, so like the ones in the old tower, yet broader here. How long could she manage to avoid the new laird? Hopefully, he’d have a great many things to do over the next days, weeks, or even months, and forget her entirely if she kept to the schoolroom. Somerson barely remembered she existed at all—unless there was a problem, such as the need to marry her off so he might forget her permanently. She doubted her half brother had ever bothered himself to even wonder about his daughters’ governess. She was a servant herself now, more invisible than she’d ever been before.
Alec looked around the table at the gracious young ladies surrounding him. His half sisters weren’t the carefree girls they’d been on the hillside. They sat at their mother’s table—his table—with their backs straight, their gloved hands clasped in their laps, and polite debutante smiles pasted on their faces. He could almost believe he was back in London, at the kind of dinner party the Countess of Westlake might give on her husband’s behalf for influential people.
The conversation tonight was in English, and the girls were dressed in English finery. Only the excited glow in their eyes gave him hope that they were still the girls he remembered.
Muira substituted for Westlake’s proper butler, and two clansmen assisted, lads he’d grown up with, now his servants. Jock MacNabb winked at him as he poured wine into Alec’s glass, and Leith Rennie beamed from his post at the sideboard.
“Where did these come from?” Sorcha asked, holding up a crystal wineglass.
“Heirlooms,” Muira replied as she served the soup, a rich chicken broth. She refrained from looking at the countess, but Alec knew her next remark was directed at Devorguilla like a poison-tipped arrow shot from a bow. “Many fine things were sold off when old Laird Angus died, but a few of the important ones were preserved.”
“Like the tales grandfather used to tell about family treasures hidden after Culloden?” Alanna asked.
Muira’s lips tightened. “Best not to speak of that day.”
Alec watched Devorguilla’s chin rise. “And I suppose these fine things will disappear again after the meal, along with the silver, and the wine?”
Muira smiled archly. “Och, they’ll just be put back into safekeeping, so the silver doesn’t need polishing all the time. They’ll get more use now the laird is home.”
“It was necessary to sell some things to feed and clothe ourselves,” Devorguilla said, not quite making eye contact with Alec.
“In luxury,” Muira murmured in Alec’s ear as she served his soup with a flourish.
“Did you expect the girls to wear rags, go about with no shoes on their feet?” Devorguilla demanded. Alec realized that Muira was speaking Gaelic, and Devorguilla was answering in English. “They are the daughters of an earl.”
“And the sisters of an earl too,” Muira shot back. “He’ll see them well cared for.” Every eye in the room looked to him for assurance of that. Alec sipped his wine and stared into his soup.
“Oh, no doubt he will—just as his father did.” Devorguilla said acidly. “The girls are my responsibility. They must be fit to wed earls and lords according to their station in life.”
