The Scottish Duke Read online

  They were a discreet group, the staff of Blackhall Castle. Most of them had come from Inverness with a few from nearby villages. The pay was good, the working conditions better than the factory jobs that sometimes lured a girl back to Inverness. Not only did they have hot water in their rooms, but they were fed delicious meals. Nor did Mrs. McDermott expect anyone to work twenty hours a day. Granted, the housekeeper was strict, and she did have certain standards that she expected the staff to follow, but work was normally complete before dinner, and afterward the time was theirs.

  But there was little at Blackhall in the way of entertainment.

  Perhaps she should institute a staff party once a month or a visit to Inverness. The logistics of doing either seemed enormous, but she was determined to try. Even if they were without the entire staff for a half day, surely they could manage. If she had to, she’d take Thomas his tea tray herself. That is, if he was at Blackhall. He was spending more and more time in London lately.

  She opened one of the rear doors of the castle. Another advantage to having been a maid. She knew where all the exits and entrances to the castle were, along with hiding places, secret passages, and servants’ cubbies.

  Robbie began to fuss. Maybe he didn’t like the little wool hat that Nan had knitted for him. Or the matching mittens of blue that prevented him from gnawing on his knuckles, a favorite pastime of his.

  She hummed a little tune, which seemed to soothe Robbie. He enjoyed her singing to him, probably because he didn’t know what the difference was between being able to sing on key or not. Nor could she play the pianoforte. Her father had never considered learning a musical instrument to be as important as memorizing the genus and family of hundreds of herbs and plants.

  Louise didn’t play, either. “I did once, my dear,” she said one evening at dinner. “I simply gave it up because I didn’t enjoy it. I’ve decided to only occupy myself with things I truly enjoy.”

  “You hate needlework,” Lorna countered.

  “Ah, yes, I do, but that isn’t an occupation. That is penance. I force myself to consider those sins I’ve committed that day and vow to try to be better. You’ll notice that I do needlework every day.”

  Lorna had nodded.

  “That’s because I’ve sinned every day. Either I’m thinking uncharitable thoughts or I’m too impatient or I’ve said something I shouldn’t have.”

  “I think you’re perfect,” Lorna said.

  The Dowager Duchess’s eyes had filled with tears and she leaned over to hug Lorna. Not the first time the sweet woman had done so.

  Her mother-in-law was one of the best things about living at the castle. Being able to look at Alex anytime she wanted—as long as he was at Blackhall—was another. Bedding him was certainly at the top of her list.

  Occasionally, he surprised her with an indication that he was thinking about her. The day he returned, for example. Or his anger on her behalf about Matthews. Last night he seemed to truly care that someone had wished her harm.

  He wasn’t an easy man to get to know.

  She took the path that wound around the west wing and down to the outcropping over the loch. Veering to her left, she kept on the barely trod path, knowing the way well from her half days off. With no relatives to visit, she’d often come exploring this way.

  Today no one had come rushing out of Blackhall to advise her, admonish her, or otherwise lecture her. For a little while she would be alone. Those moments had been rare ever since giving birth.

  The roads around the castle were paved with macadam, something she’d seen on only the wealthiest estates. The Russell wealth was evident in other ways: the staff of gardeners required to maintain the lawns, the greenhouse, and the various gardens. Two carpenters and three masons were employed on a continual basis. Their renovations seemed to be ongoing, from the original tower to the docks on Loch Gerry. Add in the servants in the kitchen and those required to clean the castle, and the staff numbered over seventy, all of whom had to be fed, housed, garbed, and paid.

  She knew exactly how much it cost because of her weekly meetings with the steward. Until becoming a duchess she had no idea how much work one did.

  The landscape was gray with occasional touches of green. Here and there, as if to tease her, she saw a touch of yellow or a surprising slash of red. Spring had come to the Highlands, but so reluctantly that it was tiptoeing across the landscape and cloaking its arrival beneath a curtain of fog.

  The movement of her walking lulled Robbie to sleep. She glanced down at him and smiled, enchanted with the perfection of his baby face.

  If something couldn’t be done about Mary, perhaps she should be like Alex and run away from Blackhall.

  Would he even notice that she’d deserted him?

  Chapter 29

  “You think I would do such a thing?” Thomas asked.

  His uncle was sprawled in a chair in the library, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a book in the other. The book surprised Alex, the whiskey didn’t.

  “Someone destroyed her apothecary,” Alex said. “Your fingerprints were on the bottles.”

  “What you’re not saying, nephew, is even more insulting. Someone also tried to poison Lorna. Do you think I would do something like that?”

  His uncle was angry, but he hid most emotions behind a placid facade. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the stiffness of his smile or the edge to his voice.

  A curious thought struck Alex. Was he like Thomas in that way? Were they both so damned civilized that they buried their emotions down deep where they wouldn’t cause any problems?

  His were clawing their way to the surface of late.

  “It doesn’t mean that the person who destroyed her apothecary also stole the herbs,” he said. “Two people could have been involved.”

  “I wasn’t,” Thomas said, sitting up and reaching for the tumbler of whiskey he’d put down. “On either count.” He took a sip, placed the glass back on the table, and glanced up at Alex. “Of course I can’t prove that to you.”

  “You were there, though,” he said.

  Thomas nodded. “I admit that freely. I went to see her, to try to figure out why you were determined to ruin your life by having her live at Blackhall. I was fascinated with all her herbs, but she slapped my hand when I would have opened a few bottles.”

  “Perhaps it’s time you moved to the house in Inverness,” he said.

  Thomas smiled. “Before you allow your anger to blind you, I’ll admit I figured out her attraction soon enough. She has something, your Lorna. She’s her own person. She’s not one of those women who change her opinion as often as her dress. She looks you in the eye. You grow to respect her as I have.” Thomas took another sip of his whiskey. “And I like her. I can’t say that about many women I know. I wouldn’t do anything to harm her.”

  Alex turned to leave, only to be stopped by Thomas’s comment: “Do you have any idea how damned lucky you are?”

  He glanced back at his uncle.

  “Most people don’t in your situation. They’re concerned with the annoyances of life, not the blessings. Take my advice, Alex, don’t ignore your wife. Or your son. A great many men would envy you.”

  “You included?”

  His uncle inclined his head, the smile slipping from his face. “Maybe once,” he said. “Not at the moment. Maybe you’ve spurred me to pursue my own Lorna.”

  “Are you contemplating matrimony, Uncle?”

  “Why not? I can’t be a greater fool than you’ve been. You’ve shown me what not to do.”

  Alex studied his uncle for a moment. “Do you resent Robbie?”

  “Why on earth should I?” Thomas smiled again. “Ah, I understand. Am I supposed to be jealous that the infant has usurped me? I never wanted to be your heir, Alex. I’m too bloody indolent to be duke, while you’re a better one than I could ever be. Take a bit of advice from a bachelor, however. Devote a little of that energy toward your wife. Lorna deserves at least that.”

 
In lieu of a response, Alex turned and left the room.

  The scene with his valet was as fraught with drama as Alex had dreaded. Matthews admitted, finally, to his vandalism. However, he staunchly refused to take any responsibility for Nan’s poisoning.

  “I would never do such a thing, Your Grace. I understand if you’d like me to apologize to your wife. The duchess.”

  “I don’t give a flying farthing for your apology, Matthews. I just want you gone from Blackhall.”

  Matthews’s face drained of color. His hands shook as he held the pair of Alex’s silver brushes.

  “Sir? I’m dismissed? Haven’t I given you years of service, Your Grace? Should I be dismissed for a solitary error of judgment?”

  “That error of judgment was perpetrated against my wife, Matthews.”

  “I didn’t harm Her Grace, sir. I would never have done that.”

  “No, you only destroyed what she considered valuable. That’s enough of a crime to warrant your leaving my employ. Make sure you’re gone by sunset.”

  He turned and left the dressing room, entering the sitting room to find it empty. Nor was Lorna in the bedroom. Robbie was gone as well. They weren’t in Nan’s room, but he was gratified to see that Nan and Hortense were talking about something. Their conversation evidently involved clothing because a selection of garments were draped over the end of the bed.

  He left as soon as he could, the only clue to Lorna’s whereabouts a comment from Nan.

  “She said she needed a little fresh air, Your Grace.”

  His mother often said the same thing, so he did what he considered logical, followed the path around the conservatory, past the formal garden, the west wing, the French garden, and then back to the main building. Lorna wasn’t outside.

  Nor was she in the east wing, the conservatory, any of the parlors on the first floor, the library, the kitchen, or the dining room. Out of an abundance of caution he checked the dungeon, but she wasn’t there, either.

  By this time he’d asked for the assistance of two footmen and the majordomo. His efforts ended at the stables, but she wasn’t there, either. Recruiting two stable boys, he entered the woods and began to follow a path he hadn’t been on since he was a boy.

  He pushed down his fear with some effort. Panic never helped any situation, especially this one. But the thoughts kept assaulting him: what if she’d been harmed? What if someone had taken them from Blackhall? What if they were in danger?

  A half hour later he found her, sitting on a log in Devil’s Marsh, contentedly nursing Robbie. She couldn’t have found a more dangerous place.

  The name for a marsh was fideach in Gaelic. But the locals had labeled this particular bit of land the Devil’s Marsh for all the deaths that had occurred here in the last hundred years.

  Grasses covered most of the area, with little lakes in between. Some areas appeared solid enough to take a man’s weight, but others were deceptive. One wrong move and a body could disappear from sight, never to surface again.

  Pockets of mist rose in the air, nearly obscuring the remains of tree trunks and branches sticking out of the water. One false step and she would have been sucked to the bottom.

  Yet there Lorna was, calmly nursing their son in the one place he’d never thought to find her.

  “It’s a damn treacherous place to be,” he said, his voice echoing oddly.

  He picked his way to her, wanting to shake her for the fear she caused him. That, too, was the price of love.

  Evidently oblivious to his mood, she turned and glanced at him.

  “I know my way around a marsh, Alex,” she said. “And this one as well. I used to come here when I had a free moment. It’s relaxing.”

  “Relaxing? Are you daft? People have died here, Lorna. The ground appears solid until you put a foot on it.”

  “I’m safe as long as I don’t go any farther, Alex.”

  “Yet this is the place you choose to bring Robbie?”

  “Is that why you’re so upset? Because Robbie is with me?”

  “No, damn it.”

  She calmly closed up her dress and placed Robbie on her shoulder. His son looked up at him and smiled. Could an infant be amused?

  Perhaps Robbie was ridiculing him for his worry now when he’d remained away for so long. A thought so chastising that it had the effect of banishing his anger. He hadn’t acted all that protective, had he?

  “Why have you come here?” he asked, sitting on the log beside her.

  Robbie slapped at him with his fist, and he grabbed it, kissed the boy’s knuckles, then immediately felt foolish for doing so.

  Lorna’s eyes seemed to warm as she glanced at him.

  “I used to come here on my half day off,” she said. “I’d wager that you explored it as a boy.”

  “I was shown how to navigate it by our gillie,” he admitted.

  “I can’t imagine that your parents were happy with you for exploring Devil’s Marsh.”

  “They weren’t. My father said something in Latin, as I recall. Something to the effect that some fools outgrow their stupidity and he fervently hoped I was one of those. My father’s word was law and I respected him greatly. The worst thing was disappointing him. I didn’t learn, until much later, that he’d done the same thing as a boy.”

  “I hated disappointing my father, too,” she said. “He would get that look on his face, one that meant I’d done something wrong. I couldn’t bear that expression.”

  “What had you done?”

  She shrugged. “It almost always had something to do with a sketch. Or I wasn’t patient enough while he was studying something. Or I’d wandered off on my own. I did that a lot.” She gave him a smile. “You’ve explored every inch of Blackhall land, haven’t you? I’d be willing to wager that you’ve carved your initials into more than one tree in the forest.”

  He shook his head. “That would be wanton damage,” he said. “But as far as exploring, yes. What kind of Russell would I be otherwise?” He glanced around him. “My ancestors died for this land. They held onto it at great cost to themselves. It’s in trust now for Robbie.”

  “Did you have a dog as a boy?” she asked.

  He glanced over at her, smiling.

  “I’ve always had a dog or two,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “For some reason I see you with a dog,” she said. “One of the larger ones with long hair and intense intelligent eyes.”

  “I had a dog like that once. Her name was Persephone. My sister named her. She’d been studying Greek gods and goddesses at the time, I think.”

  “I never had a dog,” she said. “My father promised me that if we ever settled down into one place we would get one.”

  “Did you?”

  She shook her head. “No, by then he was too sick.”

  “I should get Robbie a dog.”

  “Wait a little while,” she said, smiling. “At least until he can walk.”

  She turned and looked out over the landscape. “I’m sorry if I worried you, but I had no other place to go where I could be guaranteed of privacy. No one comes here.”

  “Then I apologize for interrupting you. I do, however, have the whole of Blackhall searching for you, so it’s best if we return.”

  “You do?”

  “Everyone from the majordomo to the stable boys. Nan is the only one exempt from the search, although I daresay my mother is doing her best to find you as well.”

  “Oh dear. Why?”

  “Why?” he asked. “Why?” He shook his head then answered her. “Because Nan was poisoned and it’s only a miracle that you weren’t. Because I’ve got a damn basket of adders back at Blackhall and I’ve done a lousy job of being a husband. Because. Just because.”

  “All right,” she said, looking bemused.

  “All right?”

  She nodded.

  “Damn, that was easy.”

  “You made a lot of sense.”

  “I dismissed Matthews,” he said, reaching o
ut and patting Robbie on the back. His son swiped at him with his fist again, summoning his smile. “His were one of the sets of prints we found. When I pressed him, he admitted destroying your apothecary. I don’t know if he was the one who put the monkwood in the tea.”

  “I always thought it was Mary,” she said.

  “I found her prints as well.” He debated telling her about Thomas and then did.

  “Thomas didn’t do anything,” she said. “I can almost guarantee that.”

  “That’s right, you find him charming.” He tried to conceal his envy but it must have escaped.

  Her laughter startled him. So, too, Robbie’s sudden grin.

  “What’s so amusing?”

  “You,” she said. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were jealous. As if you have any reason to be.”

  She shook her head, still smiling.

  What did he say to that? What did she think of him? Did he really want to know?

  “What do you think of me?” he asked, daring himself.

  She tilted her head and regarded him in the same way he often studied a rendering of a set of fingerprints, looking for a pattern in the swirls, something to indicate in which category he should file the specimen.

  “I used to worship you from afar,” she finally said. “I’d sit in the conservatory and watch for you every night.”

  “You couldn’t have,” he said.

  “Why? Because you didn’t know I was alive? I studied you the way my father used to examine a flower. What is the shape of its stalk, its stamen, its petals? How does it react to nature? What is its environment?”

  “I never knew,” he said.