The Texan Duke Page 29
A poem from Robbie Burns came to her then:
But to see her was to love her
Love but her, and love for ever.
If she’d never met Connor, she wouldn’t be sitting here now, trying not to weep for the ache in her heart.
“Thank you, Mr. Kirby,” she said, composing herself with some difficulty. “It’s best if I leave.” Before Connor did. She couldn’t stand there with the rest of the staff and wave goodbye to him. That would be too much of a burden to bear.
No, she had to be gone and soon. Soon, before her heart broke.
Connor couldn’t stop smiling. Wasn’t there some expression about a fool in love? Well, he was a fool in love. A fool. He was in love.
He’d never been in love before, and he didn’t know what was normal or wasn’t. Was the world supposed to look kind and filled with possibilities? Was he supposed to hear the birds sing even though they were probably frozen on the branches? He longed for flowers. If he had flowers, he would have taken a few bunches to Elsbeth as a floral devotional or a prelude to his stumbling words.
He had it all planned. He’d asked Addy to prepare a lunch that he could take with them to Castle McCraight. Elsbeth liked it there, despite what had happened the first time. Besides, the old castle was the place he’d first realized that what he felt for Elsbeth was something deeper then he’d expected. Something new, different, and amazing.
He consulted his pocket watch, studied himself in the mirror once more, and decided that he would do.
Should he be so nervous? He was acting unlike himself, but he supposed that was to be expected. He was about to change his life. And hers, if Elsbeth agreed.
He took the grand stairs faster than normal, grinning at the footman at the bottom. He’d had a long talk with Sam about staffing needs, and over time Sam would probably make some changes, but none of the young men who acted as footmen would be dismissed. They might be routed into other jobs or trained for something else, but he’d felt an obligation to the staff to keep everyone on, and Sam had agreed.
He nearly raced to the kitchen. He was going to follow Elsbeth on her rounds, surprise her and talk her into lunch at the castle. Then, he was going to recite the speech he’d prepared.
Elsbeth, I adore you. I love everything about you. Come home with me to Texas. Be my wife. Spend the rest of your life with me. If you will, I’ll promise that you’ll be the most beloved woman in Texas. Or Scotland. Or the world.
Addy was bent over the stove, retrieving some scones. He startled her by diving in and grabbing one straight from the pan.
She didn’t laugh. Nor did she scold him. When she placed the pan on top of the stove and turned to him, he knew immediately that something was wrong.
“Do you have our lunch, Addy?” he asked, pushing back his instant wariness.
She nodded, but then she said, “You’ll not be needing it, Your Grace.”
He knew. He knew before she said another word. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and he sure as hell didn’t believe in the Sight, but he must have it after all because he knew.
His stomach developed a cave, a curious open space into which all his emotions flew. The happiness disappeared along with the anticipation about this day. He wasn’t angry. Nor was he upset. He didn’t feel anything. He was instantly the duke everyone in Scotland had wanted him to be: haughty, almost cold.
He could barely speak; his brain couldn’t furnish the words.
He stared at Addy long enough that the woman closed the door of the oven, brushed off her hands, and led him to the table. He sat on the chair she pulled out, then looked up at her.
“She’s gone? Elsbeth’s gone?”
She nodded again. “To Inverness, Your Grace. She’s moved there, she has.”
His brain abruptly began working again. One single word found its way to his lips, but he didn’t voice it.
No.
She couldn’t have left him. She hadn’t said anything.
No.
She couldn’t have. She couldn’t have left him. Why had she left him?
Did she think he acted like an idiot around every woman? Did she think that he seduced every woman in a nearly public place like the library? Or that he was besotted enough to let everyone else know how he felt?
Everyone other than her, evidently.
Surely she’d figured it out. The McCraight clan certainly had. There had been a great deal of nodding and sighing at the ball a week ago every time he and Elsbeth danced.
Granted, he hadn’t come out and told her how he felt. Not yet, but he hadn’t wanted to say anything until everything was done and finalized.
No.
No, she couldn’t have left.
But she had.
He left the kitchen after mumbling something to Addy, made it halfway up the stairs before he turned and walked back down, getting his coat and hat from the footman at the door.
She couldn’t have left him. Those words were in a loop in his brain all the way to the stable. She couldn’t have left him.
These past weeks, Elsbeth had been able to affect his emotions with a smile or a frown. Now she was ruining his life without a word.
No.
She couldn’t have left him.
He’d never needed anyone before. Not the way he needed her. Not the way he wanted her. He’d imagined her in Texas, in his home, being friends with his mother, his sisters.
He’d thought about her carrying his child, being the mother of his children, standing with him during good times and bad.
She couldn’t have left him.
This past week they’d talked about myriad subjects. He’d asked her opinion, had begun to tell her things he’d never divulged to anyone else.
When he wasn’t with her, he was with Glassey or Sam, signing endless reams of papers, delegating tasks, arranging for extra wagons and carriages, making arrangements to leave Scotland.
Perhaps he should have explained everything to her. Perhaps he should have laid it out for her, bare and unadorned, but he had wanted everything finished before he did.
She’d left him.
He was just going to have to find her.
All Douglas knew was that she’d taken one of Bealadair’s carriages and gone to Inverness. Where, the man didn’t know. Nor did Addy. Glassey turned out to be the only person with that information and the man was stubbornly refusing to share it.
“I don’t believe that Miss Carew would be pleased if I gave you her whereabouts,” the solicitor said.
Connor was close to pummeling the man when Glassey looked at him with pity in his eyes.
“Do I have your word that you’ll not upset her in any way? Leaving Bealadair was difficult for her.”
“She didn’t need to leave,” Connor said, each word feeling as if it had the weight of a millstone.
“She gave word for her trunks to be sent to this address,” Glassey said, scrawling something on a piece of paper. “It’s a solicitor friend who’s handled a few matters for us in the past.”
Armed with the address, Connor returned to the stables. After speaking with Douglas and getting directions to Inverness, he made the decision to take Samson instead of a carriage.
The stallion acted as if it was a treat to be out and about on the frigid day. What was it about a Highland winter that made it colder than anything he’d ever experienced? He wasn’t going to stay here long enough to figure it out.
They reached Inverness in less than an hour, the journey made faster because of the cleared macadam road.
Connor had never been to the city and didn’t know his way around, but he discovered that Scots were nearly as friendly as Texans. He got good directions from one man, with a second directing him to a livery in case he wanted to stable Samson for a while.
He declined, seeing one of the Bealadair carriages in front of the solicitor’s office. He told the driver that he was going to tie Samson’s reins to the back of the vehicle. The man nodded and offered to help, but Con
nor waved him back to his seat. The rider who couldn’t handle his own mount shouldn’t be on a horse.
As he started up the steps, Elsbeth opened the door of the office. She saw him and hesitated, the two of them staring at each other.
She was wearing gray, a dress and coat he’d never seen before, an outfit that emphasized the color of her eyes and made her even more beautiful.
Now that he was here, now that he was standing just a few feet away, he didn’t know what to say.
He shouldn’t have worried. Elsbeth didn’t give him a chance to talk.
“Did you buy my house?” she asked, slowly descending the steps. “Why did you buy my house?”
“What?” he asked, taken aback by her attack.
She stopped two steps above him and pointed one gloved finger in his direction.
“Why would you do such a thing? The solicitor said that the house I was going to buy was already purchased by the Duke of Lothian. You’re the Duke of Lothian. Why did you buy my house?”
“I bought a house,” he said. “But I didn’t know it was your house. Glassey arranged the purchase.”
“Why would you want to buy a house? We both know you’re leaving Scotland. You and your saddle.”
She certainly had a bee in her bonnet about his saddle.
“For Lara and Felix. I don’t trust my cousin’s acquisitive nature. I think it would be better for everyone if she and Felix lived somewhere other than Bealadair.”
“Oh.” She adjusted her scarf and wiggled her fingers in her gloves before focusing her attention on him again. “You should have told me,” she said.
She was right; he should have told her. He should have done this whole thing differently. He was angry about his own ineptness, but more than a little annoyed at her.
“Why were you all set on buying a house in the first place? Why did you leave Bealadair? Why did you leave without telling me?”
He was getting angry, and that was evidently not a sight the inhabitants of Inverness saw often. More than one person stopped to watch them. He wanted to wave them away, but another thing he knew about the Scots: they were stubborn. If they wanted to remain where they were, nothing would budge them.
“Does it matter who leaves first? You’ll not be staying in Scotland. You’ve made that point abundantly clear.”
He’d spent the past week telling her about Texas, gradually getting her used to the idea. Evidently, he’d been too damn subtle. He should have just come out and asked her to marry him days ago.
He’d fought in a war and faced the daunting daily task of managing a two million acre ranch, but he’d never felt as lacking as he did right now, facing Elsbeth.
He took off his hat, stood there with it in his hands, and said, “You won’t be needing a house in Scotland, Elsbeth.”
“I have no desire to live at Bealadair any longer.”
He didn’t want her to live at Bealadair, either, but she seemed so determined on the point that he had to ask. “Has the fur been flying between you and the duchess again?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I even recognize Rhona anymore. She isn’t herself. Or maybe I’ve always misjudged her.” She looked at him with her beautiful gray eyes, almost making him lose track of what she was saying. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as happy as she is now. She goes around smiling at everyone. I caught her complimenting Addy this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in the kitchen before.”
He had more important topics to discuss than Rhona and Sam’s romance.
“You’re right—I’m leaving, but I have a problem, Elsbeth. I don’t want to leave Scotland without you.”
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she just looked at him with no expression at all. Her eyes seemed deeper, somehow. Almost as if tears pooled in them.
“I decided, then, that I’ll just have to take you back with me,” he said. “That way I get the best of both worlds. I get you and I get Texas.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“Besides,” he said, “I’ve begun to think of you as a Texan.”
She remained silent, her expression one he couldn’t read. Didn’t she realize what a great compliment he’d just given her?
“I’m not a Texan,” she finally said. “I’m a Scot.”
She was his Scot.
“Will you come? Back to Texas with me?”
“Do you need a housekeeper?” she asked.
“What?”
He stared up at her, wishing that his proposal wasn’t being done on the steps of the solicitor’s office.
“Or do you want someone to inspect your cattle?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why would you ask me to come back to Texas with you?”
She really didn’t have any idea, did she?
“I love you, you fool woman. I want you to come back to Texas with me as my wife.”
Now she was blinking at him as if she’d never seen him before. He glanced to either side of him to find that the crowd was growing.
“You can’t say that,” she said.
“Of course I can. I love you.”
“Well, you can’t call me a fool woman in the same breath.”
He wasn’t doing this at all well. Should he drop to one knee? Perhaps if he just told her the truth it would make a difference.
“You fascinated me from the very moment I met you,” he said. “I liked everything about you. And then I found out you knew something about cattle and dogs and that you’re the kindest person I know and perhaps the strongest. I know something about strong women.”
She took another step downward, approaching him as carefully as if he were a hungry bobcat.
“I like the way you smile and I want to hear you laugh a lot more. I don’t want you working as hard as you do, but I understand if it’s something you want to do. I like how you take charge and do things before other people refuse to do them. I like how you want to learn new things and the way your mind works. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but it’s not just your appearance I like. It’s your honor and your decency I admire as well.”
Her dawning smile was beginning to reassure him.
“Texas is a sight warmer, Elsbeth,” he said. “Right now, I’m freezing to death. Can we do more of this proposal in the carriage?”
She didn’t say a word, which made him wonder if he’d misjudged her smile. He was ruining this whole thing, and it didn’t help that it was being observed by dozens of well-bundled Inverness citizens.
He shook his head, reached out, and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him.
“I’ll still be a duke,” Connor said as he helped her into the carriage.
He gave directions to the driver to return to Bealadair, with an added caution to be aware of Samson at the rear of the vehicle.
“Does that matter to you?” he asked as he sat on the seat opposite her. “Our children will be dukes. I mean the firstborn boy will be a duke.”
She could only stare at him. The idea of having his child kept her silent.
He loved her?
Well, he could certainly have told her earlier. She would have told him that if he’d given her an opportunity to speak.
“Texas is different, Elsbeth. It’s bigger. It’s a lot warmer. I have a house but it’s not as large as Bealadair. I haven’t lived in it much. It feels too big for one man. But you might like it. If you don’t like it, I’ll build you another one. If you want a house as big as Bealadair, we could do that, too.
“We have something like the Highland Games twice a year. We hold a barbecue for all the men and their families and have tests of strength and a rodeo. We even have a caber toss that’ll remind you of Scotland.”
He was babbling and Connor never babbled. He was always decisive, always seemed to know his mind. He was the most collected person she’d ever known.
She leaned over the space between them and covered his hand with hers.
&
nbsp; “Connor.”
He cleared his throat. “Elsbeth.”
“Yes.”
“Yes? Yes, you’ll come with me?”
She nodded. “I love you, too.”
Suddenly, she was airborne, her skirt and petticoat and her unmentionables showing as he lifted her and plopped her down on his lap.
She would have protested somewhat strenuously, had he not looked her in the eyes and said, “Texas is going to love you, Elsbeth Carew, but not as much as me.”
He kissed her then, and nothing else mattered.
For the first time in the history of Bealadair—and Castle McCraight—the Duke of Lothian was leaving Scotland. Not for a visit but, one suspected, forever.
With him was his new bride, a woman of unexpected obstinacy, given that she’d refused a massive wedding as appropriate for a McCraight daughter, but opted for a smaller ceremony held on the grounds of Castle McCraight in the middle of a snowstorm. There, overlooking Dornoch Firth and with an audience of the entire staff of Bealadair as well as the inhabitants of Ainell Village—bundled up against the weather—Elsbeth Carew became the Duchess of Lothian.
The duke had announced that it was only the first of two ceremonies. Once they returned to Texas, his mother and five sisters would insist on another wedding, one well attended by friends and ranch hands and an opportunity to have a fiesta. The new duchess had only smiled, but then she did that often.
The duke did not leave Bealadair like he arrived. In addition to losing one passenger—Sam Kirby, the current owner of Bealadair and shortly to be married to Rhona McCraight—he had assembled what had taken on the appearance of a caravan.
Connor McCraight was departing Scotland with trunks filled with McCraight whiskey, a basket containing two Scottish collie puppies—not related in case he wished to breed them in Texas—and a few members of Bealadair’s senior staff.
Mrs. Ferguson, who had been promised that the Texas weather would be a great help for her arthritis, was accompanied by her sister, Belle, who was game for an adventure, and living in Texas certainly did qualify. In addition, much to the household’s dismay, Addy, the cook, as well as her helper, Betty, were leaving Scotland. Plus, Douglas McCraight, the stablemaster, was all for seeing quarter horses up close. More than one footman and maid had indicated their wish to visit America, so an additional two carriages were filled with staff.