The Scottish Duke Page 12

  “I had no idea you were so talented, Lorna.”

  “It’s mostly my father’s work.”

  “Your drawings, though.”

  She nodded.

  “You are truly a gifted artist.”

  Warmth raced up from the pit of her stomach. Not one person, even her father, had ever said such a thing to her, and she’d fed on the crumbs of his praise.

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary, my dear. I should thank you. What a pleasure it would be to read this. You say you’ve tried to get it published?”

  For the next several minutes she explained that she’d written friends of her father’s but that none of them had seemed interested.

  “I haven’t given up, though,” she said. “I think my father would have wanted me to keep trying.”

  “It would be a beautiful book,” the duchess said. “Not to mention an important one.”

  The duchess continued to look through the book while Lorna sat silent.

  “I don’t know quite how to ask this question,” Lorna finally said. “But I’ve discovered that if I don’t give voice to my curiosity, it doesn’t go away.”

  “Ask me anything you like, my dear. I will try to do my best to answer you.”

  “Why don’t you hate me?”

  The duchess reared back and stared at her, surprise widening her blue eyes.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m a source of scandal, Your Grace. One that involves your son. I’ve been shamed out of Wittan Village. If people aren’t gossiping about him now, they certainly will be.”

  “Oh, good heavens, we’ve always been a source of scandal. We’re the Russells of Blackhall Castle. Any titled family in Scotland is the source of talk, my dear. Any family with wealth or power or prestige is. It’s the price you pay. Besides, this scandal will just take the place of the previous one. These things go in cycles.”

  Lorna couldn’t bite back her curiosity.

  “What previous scandal?” she asked.

  “You haven’t heard about Ruth?”

  “She died.”

  “She did.”

  The duchess had the same direct look as her son. Or maybe he’d inherited the ability to pin someone with his gaze from her.

  “She died in childbirth, my dear, but I will not have you worried or afraid for your health. Alex has hired a renowned doctor and a skilled midwife is already in attendance.”

  “He has? She is?” It would have been nice if the duke had informed her of those arrangements.

  The duchess nodded.

  “Ruth was, shall we say, bored with being with only one man. She had numerous lovers, a fact evidently well known in Edinburgh.”

  “His wife was unfaithful?”

  The duchess sighed again. “Ruth acquired lovers like you might collect herbs. She wasn’t the least discreet about the practice.”

  “Was the woman insane?”

  The duchess stopped talking and stared at her.

  “How could any woman choose another man over the duke?” Lorna asked. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “Oh, I do like you, my dear,” the duchess said, reaching over and patting her hand. “If the poor thing hadn’t died in childbirth, I’m very much afraid Alex would’ve caused even a greater scandal and divorced her. That is, if she continued to behave as she had. But he was willing to give it a go and was prepared to be a good husband and father. Unfortunately, Fate stepped in and he didn’t get a chance.”

  They sat silent, the moment spent in contemplation of the tragedy that had befallen the Duke of Kinross.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to come and live here,” the duchess went on. “We’ll have many more talks. Right now, however, I shall not tire you out. You should take another nap.” She stood and pulled on her gloves, all the while smiling down at Lorna. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

  Lorna hesitated long enough that the duchess tilted her head, studying her.

  “What is it, my dear?”

  “An imposition,” she said.

  “Nonsense. What is it you need?”

  “A table,” she said. “And a stool. Somewhere to arrange my herbs. Some of them are poisonous and I’d prefer not to do any work in the kitchen.”

  “Then you shall have a table and a stool. May I come again?”

  “I would like that very much,” Lorna said.

  Instead of moving toward the door, the duchess startled her by bending down and kissing her on the cheek.

  “I grew up an orphan in my aunt’s home, my dear. From an early age I understood life to be exceedingly short. Too short to allow other people to dictate what you do or say, wear or believe. I am grateful for that lesson because it allowed me to appreciate every single moment of joy I was given. I hope you do the same.”

  Lorna stared after the duchess long after the door closed.

  Chapter 14

  The last of winter sat on the shoulders of the mountains, broke its boredom by blowing the remainder of its frigid breath over the glens and into the woods. This morning crystal shards had been draped from the trees, ice changing the grass to a glittering green. This part of the Highlands was inhospitable to strangers in the frozen months. Even the hardiest Scots hunkered close to the fire and blessed their good fortune in having a well-built home.

  Spring was like a wave to visitors: come, it’s safe now. You’re welcome here.

  The last weeks in Wittan Village had been cold and miserable. Here in her cozy borrowed cottage, Lorna was perfectly comfortable and waiting the onset of spring. Those two months in Mrs. MacDonald’s dark and dank room were in the past, the memory of them almost like a bad dream.

  She discovered that the absence of worry was a monumental gift she’d been given. With her immediate needs satisfied, she didn’t spend any time being afraid. Her days were more than pleasant; they were perfect in their simplicity and peace.

  When she wasn’t dozing, she occupied herself with reading, experimenting with various recipes from her father’s book, and daydreaming.

  “You used to clean my rooms,” a voice said.

  Lorna emerged from talking to Peter in the kitchen to find Mary Taylor standing in the parlor.

  “I could never find anything after you cleaned,” Mary said. “Did you ever steal from me?”

  “Do you normally enter someone’s home unannounced?” she asked.

  “This cottage belongs to Alex.”

  “Did he give you permission to be rude?”

  “Did you ever steal from me?”

  “No. I’ve never stolen anything from anyone.”

  Mary cocked her head and regarded her, eyes narrowing.

  “I’m not certain I believe you. I think I should have addressed the matter at the time, however. Now might be too late, especially since you would’ve gotten rid of anything you stole.”

  “Is that why you came, to accuse me of stealing from you?”

  Lorna wanted to sit, but she didn’t move toward her favorite chair in the parlor. Sitting there was a little like being an overturned turtle. She needed help getting up. The last thing she wanted to be was vulnerable around Mary Taylor.

  Instead, she slowly walked to the settee and sat on the end. The horsehair stuffing was hard and uncomfortable, but at least she didn’t have a problem standing once she sat.

  She folded her hands and pretended a calm she didn’t feel. Her emotions hadn’t been especially volatile until the last week. Now she wanted to shout at the woman to leave her alone, to leave her house, go away. Anything but be here, with accusations that had no basis in truth, simply because she could make them.

  She saw Peter out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. She didn’t need rescuing.

  “What a pity you’ve forgotten your place,” Mary said. “You think you’re special because you’re having Alex’s child. But you’re not, you know. You’re nothing but a servant. One who’s dropped down a peg or two. No one has any respect f
or a woman who births a bastard.”

  How she disliked that word. Even more so people who said it with such glee.

  She didn’t bother to respond. Mary evidently wanted to insult her. Once she had, perhaps she would simply leave.

  “I wouldn’t have given you this cottage if I were Alex,” Mary continued. “Instead, I’d offer you a lean-to, or a place in the barn with the other bitches until it was time for you to whelp. When you were done, I’d make sure you were gone.”

  “Luckily for me,” Lorna said, “you aren’t the duke.”

  “How proper you sound. Almost as if you had some breeding.”

  “You’re very critical of other people for a poor relation,” Lorna said.

  She shouldn’t have retaliated, but she was not going to be Mary’s victim.

  She was no longer a maid at Blackhall, her only recourse to bend her head and listen to complaints and comments. A few of the staff had gone to Mrs. McDermott, who, in turn, had taken the matter to the Dowager Duchess. Unfortunately, no one could control Mary’s vitriolic tongue. Those mornings when assignments were changed, you could hear the moan when someone was given her rooms to clean. Mrs. McDermott only narrowed her eyes, a quick reprimand without a word spoken. At times Lorna wondered if caring for Mary’s rooms was penance for bad behavior.

  Like it or not, she was going to bear the duke’s child. She was not going to be treated like one of the poor servants who had no other choice but to endure Mary’s abuse.

  “Why aren’t you living in your own establishment?” Lorna asked. “Why are you here at Blackhall? You’re living with your brother-in-law. How does that give you a pedestal on which to view others?”

  Mary’s face was immobile, but Lorna had the impression that her control was hard won. A muscle flexed in her cheek and her chin jutted out as she tilted her head back.

  “My father was an earl. My sister married a duke. My family has status. You have nothing.”

  “No, we both have nothing. At least I have the sense to recognize it.”

  Mary took a few steps toward her.

  “He might have made you his mistress, but he doesn’t care anything about you.”

  “Will you leave?” Lorna stood, clasping her fingers across her belly.

  Perhaps she’d been too quick to wave Peter off. She was very much afraid that Mary was going to strike her.

  “I’ll see you gone from here, you and your bastard. That is, if you survive the birth.” Mary stared at her stomach. “My sister died bringing his child into the world. What a pity if that should happen to you.”

  There was so much hate in Mary’s words that Lorna shivered. What must it be like to wish another person dead?

  She remained silent until the woman turned and strode to the door. Only then did Peter come out of the kitchen, staring after Mary.

  “You’ve made an enemy,” he said.

  Lorna nodded, certain of it. “She loves the duke,” she said, the words causing Peter to turn and gape at her. “She sees me as a threat. She always looks at him as if he’s steak and she’s a starving puppy.”

  The expression in Mary’s eyes promised that her words weren’t simply idle boasts. The woman would do anything to banish her from Blackhall.

  Louise, Dowager Duchess of Kinross, checked her appearance in the mirror prior to heading for the family dining room for lunch.

  Circumstances had developed perfectly. Now all she had to do was institute her plan.

  Alex had never made any secret that he had no desire to marry again. Despite his responsibility to the dukedom, he’d been stubbornly adamant about that fact. Thank heavens Lorna had attracted him enough that he’d lost his head. If he hadn’t, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. Thank heavens, too, that Lorna was the sweetest girl, one she could wholeheartedly see as her daughter-in-law.

  All she had to do was expand on that initial attraction while eliminating any obstacles.

  One of those was standing in the hallway waiting for her.

  Louise bit back her sigh, forced herself to smile, and greeted Mary.

  “You have to stop him,” Mary said. “You have some influence over Alex, Louise. You have to do something. Make him send her away.”

  “You’re speaking of Miss Gordon, I presume,” Louise said, continuing toward the dining room. Perhaps if she kept walking it would dampen Mary’s enthusiasm for this particular conversation.

  “Everyone is talking. All the staff. She has to leave Blackhall.”

  “The only people I know who are talking are you and your maid,” Louise said.

  Mary stopped in the middle of the corridor. “What are you saying, Louise? That I’m spreading tales?”

  She really didn’t want to continue this conversation, but she’d already erred by making that comment. She turned to face Mary. If any of the maids were in the corridor, they would certainly have a tale to carry back to the servants’ quarters, wouldn’t they?

  “You’re always the first to tell me what’s going on, Mary. What someone has said or done. Who has had an affair, what maid has been disciplined, who has dissolved into tears about which slight. I’ve never known anyone so interested in other people’s lives as you are. It’s an indication, don’t you think, that you need to find more to interest you.”

  Mary’s face was becoming florid, her eyes narrowed. No doubt she was going to launch into a tirade at any moment, insulting Louise’s antecedents or her taste in clothing, furnishings, or food. The woman was a canker and a boil in her otherwise pleasant life.

  “I never knew you had such disdain for me, Louise. Or for what goes on in your own home.”

  Truly, must she endure this woman? Why couldn’t Mary have an appreciation for Edinburgh like her sister? Or even Inverness? For that matter, why couldn’t Mary be as licentious as Ruth? At least an affair would keep her occupied.

  “She’s brought scandal to Blackhall,” Mary said.

  “I’m afraid Ruth already did that, Mary,” she said, starting to walk again.

  When Ruth was alive, Mary had been eager to bring her tales of her sister’s infidelity. Had Mary forgotten that?

  She reached the family dining room finally. The presence of the others didn’t guarantee Mary’s silence, however. The younger woman had been known to talk a subject to death.

  She wondered what Mary would say if she learned that Lorna had the same concerns as she did. In Lorna’s case, however, she didn’t want to bring scandal to the family. Mary was desperate not to be coated with it.

  Was Mary’s concern about the opinions of other people so strong because of her own penchant for gossip? How odd that she should not want to be tarred by the same brush she wielded with such passion.

  “Let me be more direct,” she said, turning to the younger woman. “I quite like Miss Gordon. I don’t want to hear any words against her. Not from you, Barbara, or any of your confederates. Is that understood?”

  She smiled pleasantly, but there was a firmness to her expression.

  Life had delivered several lessons to her. She had to remain strong and fight for what she wanted, even as the Duchess of Kinross. She’d taken those lessons to heart and had no intention of being thwarted by the likes of Mary Taylor.

  The woman was not going to interfere with her plans.

  “What were you thinking, Alex?”

  He turned to find Mary standing in the door to his office. She wasn’t allowed in here. No one was unless he specifically invited them, which he’d never done.

  She’d broken his rule, which was irritating enough. The look on her face was another annoyance. Mary was angry and he didn’t have any doubt why.

  He’d managed to avoid her for the last week, but only by being a hermit and having his meals either here or in his sitting room. She was here now and they might as well have this conversation.

  Standing, he rounded his desk, glancing at Jason. The young man interpreted his wishes correctly and got up, brushed past Mary with a smile and left the ro
om.

  “Yes?” Alex said, stopping in front of her.

  He’d address her trespass at another time, when she wasn’t about to have a tantrum.

  “That woman has lost no time ingratiating herself with your mother. She’s a nobody, a maid, Alex. You shouldn’t have brought her here. If you wanted to make her your mistress, you should have installed her in Inverness. You go there often enough.”

  He hadn’t hesitated giving Mary a home when Ruth had asked it of him. That didn’t give her the right to criticize the choices he made. She didn’t seem to realize that, however, since she was still discussing Lorna.

  “Does she need her own private footman, Alex?”

  “She might need something. I felt it necessary.”

  Why the hell was he explaining anything to Mary?

  “What’s your objection to her being here?” he asked.

  At least his sister-in-law was capable of embarrassment, if her pink cheeks were any indication.

  “She’s going to take advantage of your generosity, Alex.”

  “I’ve seen no example of that.”

  In fact, Lorna hadn’t wanted anything from him, a comment he didn’t make to Mary. He disliked her questions and her interference. He didn’t need a second mother.

  “She’s my guest, Mary.”

  “She’s more than that and we both know it.”

  “Do we?” he said, returning to his desk.

  Jason had finished transcribing the last revision of his treatise, and he was going to deliver it to the Scottish Society in Inverness next week. He couldn’t review it for errors, though, as long as Mary was determined to harangue him.

  “She’s all sweetness and sugar, Alex, but the woman has designs on you, I can tell.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She as much as insulted me,” Mary said. “She asked me to leave the cottage.”

  “You visited her?”

  “I felt it was my place as a member of the family,” she said. “She’s so pregnant it’s embarrassing. It’s worse than embarrassing. It’s coarse.”

  How did she think babies came into the world? Had she said the same thing about Ruth?

  “She’s my guest, Mary,” he repeated. “That means anything she wants, she gets, including her privacy.”