A tall, somber-looking man in a black frock coat approached her and bowed. “Miss Balfour, welcome to Floors Castle. I’m MacDougal, the butler. May I assist you with yer pelisse and bonnet?”
“Yes, thank you.” She pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her pocket before she unbuttoned her pelisse and handed it with her bonnet to the butler.
“Thank you, miss.” He carefully handed her possessions to a waiting footman while she turned to a nearby mirror and attempted to pat her mashed curls into a more attractive fashion.
After a moment, she grimaced and turned from the mirror. “That’s the best I can do for now.”
“Of course, miss. I trust yer ride here wasn’t too uncomfortable?”
“It was very pleasant.”
He smiled broadly as if he, and he alone, were responsible for her coach ride. “Och, I’m glad to hear that, miss. The weather is lovely fer a coach ride, is it no’?”
“I don’t think I’ve enjoyed one more,” she lied. Though the sumptuous coach had been comfortable, her mind had been much too uneasy to enjoy it properly.
“Excellent, miss. If ye’ll come this way, her grace is anxious to greet ye. She’s in the sitting room with Lady Charlotte.”
“Oh. I thought I might wash up first.” And wrestle her unruly hair into something resembling a style.
The butler’s smile disappeared. “They are expecting ye.” He didn’t say the words in a dire fashion, but she sensed his urgency, nonetheless.
She forced a smile. “Then I can’t keep them waiting, can I?”
He beamed. “No, miss.”
The butler led her across the entryway and to a pair of massive doors. He turned the knob and instantly a cacophony of barking arose.
The butler sent a regretful look at his polished shoes before saying in a long-suffering tone, “Her ladyship’s pugs, miss.” He opened the door, and out tumbled a herd of yapping pugs.
Chuckling, Rose bent to pet them.
“Miss, I’d be careful if I were you,” the butler said in a warning tone. “They can scratch, though they dinna mean to.”
“What are their names?”
“Let’s see . . . ” He pointed at each one in turn. “This is Meenie. Tha’ is Weenie. Teenie’s the brown one with the silver-tipped tail. Feenie’s the one with part of an ear missing—a horrible brawl with a local barn cat. Her grace won’t allow the dogs out of the house without an escort now. And the very fat silver pug is Beenie. He looks a bit like a large silver bean with legs, dinna he, miss?”
“Yes, he does.” Rose scratched ears, rubbed furry little chins, and chuckled as the smallest one sniffed her hem so hard that he sneezed. She noticed that one dog stood to the side, an older one with milky eyes. “And who is this one?”
“Och, tha’ is Randolph, miss.”
“Poor thing! You can’t see well, can you?” Rose murmured. She very slowly held out her hand. The fat pug waddled closer and cautiously sniffed her fingers. “Good boy,” she crooned.
His short, stubby tail waggled and he joined the group at her knee.
“Such good puppies.” She gave them each an extra pat, and then stood and straightened her gown.
The butler held the doors open and stood to one side. The pugs, obviously thinking he held the door for them, trotted back into the room as Rose followed.
The sitting room was even grander than the entryway. The windows were large enough to be barn doors, the ceiling towered so far overhead that the chandeliers were more for show than light, and both fireplaces (there was one on each end of the room) were big enough that two large cows could have easily stood inside them.
The room was decorated in the height of fashion, too. Gold embroidery glittered on the rich striped and tasseled velvets and brocades that covered every chair and settee. Every bit of wood was either gilded or embossed, while the walls were agleam, covered with deep gold satin.
The butler cleared his throat, jerking Rose out of her reverie. She stepped forward as he called out in his soft brogue, “Miss Rose Balfour.”
At the very far end of the sitting room, Rose saw two women seated near one of the large fireplaces. The butler bowed and she walked forward.
The pugs scampered along with her, snorting and grunting like the pigs in the barnyard at Caith Manor.
As Rose reached the sitting area, she instantly knew which woman was the duchess. She was small and slender, her nose impossibly hooked, her eyes a vivid blue, while on her head an improbably huge red wig tilted precariously to one side.
The duchess’s crystal blue gaze traveled over Rose in such a thorough fashion that Rose wished she’d taken the time to fix her hair.
Her face heated, Rose dipped a hurried curtsy. “Your grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The duchess cocked her head to one side, a puzzled look in her eyes. “You are Miss Balfour?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Miss Rose Balfour.”
Rose looked from one lady to the other before she said in a firm voice, “Yes, your grace.” There was a flicker in the blue eyes and Rose felt as if she’d disappointed the duchess in some way. Rose smoothed her skirts, the dogs prancing about her feet as if they could sense her unease. “My gown is sadly crushed from my journey, but I was determined to thank you immediately for your gracious invitation.”
The duchess managed a smile, though she by no means looked welcoming. “I’m glad you joined us so quickly.” She gestured to the lady on the opposite settee, who sat watching Rose as if at a play. “This is Lady Charlotte, my companion.”
Rose turned to the other woman and was instantly reassured by the woman’s warm smile and twinkling gaze.
“How do you do?” Lady Charlotte’s soft voice made Rose think of warm cookies.
Rose curtsied. “I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re the same.”
“Oh yes.” Lady Charlotte set aside her knitting and patted the settee beside her. “Come and sit for a few moments before you retire to your bedchamber.”
“Yes, do sit,” the duchess agreed. “When we’re done here, MacDougal will take you to your room and have a bath brought. I find a nice hot bath so refreshing after travel.”
“That would be lovely.” Rose sat beside Lady Charlotte and instantly Weenie and Beenie jumped into her lap. She had to hold them in place, since there was barely room for just one, and she laughed at the armful of squirming puppies.
“Oh, you bad dogs,” the duchess said. “How rude of them! Weenie! Beenie! Stop bothering our guest.”
“Oh, they’re fine.” Rose chuckled and said to the dogs, “I can see that I’m going to have to pick one of you to claim my lap, and it’s too difficult to choose, so you’ll both have to get down.” She gently placed first one and then the other onto the floor.
The duchess smiled a little, which softened her face considerably. “They’ve taken to you. They don’t normally do that with strangers, do they, MacDougal?”
“No, yer grace. Never, tha’ I can remember.”
The duchess watched Rose as she petted Beenie’s head. The dog grunted blissfully. “Miss Balfour, I’m delighted you decided to visit us.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rose lied, trying to keep her smile locked upon her lips.
Margaret heard the lie and was surprised. She’s more excited about the dogs than at being at Floors Castle. Interesting. I suppose that means she’s not a social climber. Margaret eyed her guest a bit longer. I never expected her to be so plain, either.
Miss Balfour was as far removed from the women Sin usually pursued as one could imagine. The gel’s unruly black hair was held in place by a number of pins, half of which were sticking out, while the other half struggled to remain in place and failed miserably. She was brown, too, rather than the milky pale preferred by society, and far too thin for the day’s fashion of draped gowns, which were more suited to women with bosoms and hips. Why, she’s no more than a thin, wiry scamp of a gel. She’s far fr
om Sin’s usual bits of fluff, which makes this even more interesting.
Charlotte broke the growing silence. “So, Miss Balfour, tell us more about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” Margaret stated baldly.
Miss Balfour blinked, but Lady Charlotte added with a kind smile, “What do you like to do, dear? When you’re at home, that is?”
“I ride a lot, and read. My mother is no longer with us, so it’s just me, my two sisters, and my father.”
“The horticulturalist.”
“Why, yes. Father is a bit of a recluse and spends most of his time in the greenhouses, so I fear we don’t have many guests.” Miss Balfour hesitated. “I do hope you find nothing in my behavior to give you pause. We don’t socialize formally at Caith Manor and—”
“You’ll be fine, dear.” Charlotte smiled reassuringly and picked up her knitting needles and began to knit once again. “If you’ve any questions, you’ve but to ask one of us and we’ll set you to rights. Won’t we, Margaret?”
“Of course,” Margaret agreed, liking Miss Balfour’s unusual plainspoken ways more and more. “I’m sure we can set you upon the right path of any—”
Weenie jumped into Miss Balfour’s now empty lap and she chuckled and patted the dog, seemingly unconcerned about the creases the animal might cause her gown.
“You like dogs, I see,” Margaret said, still trying to decide what to make of this decidedly odd girl.
“Indeed I do. MacDougal told me all of their names in the hallway.” She looked at the other pugs now lined up at her feet. “Why do all of their names rhyme except Randolph’s?” She indicated the older dog that sat some distance away, panting as if he’d just run up a flight of steps. His tail wagged as she said his name.
“I’ve had him for twelve years, while the others are far more recent acquisitions. I suppose I wasn’t in a rhyming mood then.”
Miss Balfour nodded, and another loop of her hair fell from a pin.
Margaret and Charlotte exchanged a look. Miss Balfour, unaware she was being measured, hugged the dog in her lap and said absently, “I love animals. Better, in fact, than I like people.”
As soon as she said the words, she sent Margaret an embarrassed glance. “Not that I dislike people, for I don’t. People are very nice and I think they’re—” She gestured, obviously desperately searching for words.
“I daresay we all feel that way at times,” Margaret said. “But don’t worry about our house party. We are a small group this year. Smaller than ever before.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Her grace decided to have a very private sort of affair this year. Quite intimate, even—”
“I wouldn’t call it intimate,” Margaret said firmly, sending Charlotte a warning glance, which she didn’t seem to notice. Margaret turned back to their guest. “When I first wed Roxburghe, we used to invite forty couples or more for the weeks prior to the ball, but over time we’ve reduced that number, and this year, I invited even fewer as Roxburghe won’t be here until the night before the ball.”
“The duke’s not in residence?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s quite entangled in politics, you know, and with the question of the Regency growing in urgency, he doesn’t dare return home any sooner.” Margaret smiled at her young guest. “Lady Charlotte and I would love to visit with you longer, but I’m sure you would like to rest before dinner.”
“I am a bit tired,” Rose agreed. “Have the other guests arrived?”
“They’re all here except my great-nephew, who should arrive later this afternoon.”
Lady Charlotte smiled benignly, her needles clacking along. “You will enjoy your time here. There’s so much to do at Floors Castle. There’s whist, croquet, billiards, rides by the river—I’m sure you’ll be very busy.”
“Very,” Margaret agreed and turned to MacDougal, who still stood inside the doorway. “Please escort Miss Balfour to the Blue Bedchamber.”
MacDougal bowed.
Margaret turned back to her guest. “I look forward to speaking with you more over dinner. Meanwhile, I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. We have an excellent stable, and Roxburghe is a great reader and has stuffed the library with mounds of books. You are free to borrow as many as you’d like.”
Miss Balfour’s face lit up and for a moment, she appeared quite pretty. “Oh, thank you!”
Margaret instantly thought, So, my dear Sin, is this what you saw that intrigued you so? Or is there more to her even than this? She smiled. “You’re welcome, my child. MacDougal, pray show Miss Balfour the library on your way to her room. She may wish a book to pass the time before dinner.”
Miss Balfour set Weenie back on the floor, stood, made her curtsies, and followed the butler to the door.
Margaret watched the girl leave, absently patting Randolph’s gray head as he pressed against her hand.
As soon as the door closed, Charlotte said, “Well. That was interesting.”
“Very.” Margaret leaned back in her chair, pulling Randolph into her lap. “She’s very thin and brown.”
“From riding, I daresay. Her eyes are well enough, but her hair—” Charlotte shook her head. “She looked a bit like a milkmaid. I quite thought Sin’s flirt would be beautiful.”
“Well, she’s not beautiful,” Margaret said. “She’s passingly pretty, if that. I’ve never known Sin to pay attention to the horsing set, either.”
“She’s not very fashionable, either. That gown—” Charlotte scrunched her nose. “She strides rather than walks, too.”
“Yes, as if she didn’t give a flip for convention.” Margaret tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and then looked down at Randolph. “What do you think, love?”
Randolph’s little tail wagged hard.
“You liked her, didn’t you? And so did Meenie.” She looked at her foot, where Meenie lay. The dog perked up when she met Margaret’s gaze. “You don’t normally take to strangers, either.”
Meenie sniffed the air, which made her look as if she were nodding.
“Miss Balfour definitely has a way with animals,” Charlotte agreed thoughtfully. “Perhaps that’s the key.”
Margaret laughed. “Perhaps it is. If anyone were close to the animal state, it’s Sin. Perhaps this Rose knows how to soothe the savage beast. We won’t know until we see them together—and that, my dear, makes me look forward to the next three weeks.”
“If he doesn’t lead her astray first.”
Margaret’s glee faded. “Astray?”
“She doesn’t strike me as very worldly. And Sin . . . You know what he is.”
“I suspect she’s far smarter than that, but we will keep an eye on them. I refuse to allow that poor gel to be importuned under my own roof.”
“Really?” Charlotte said in mild surprise. “I rather thought you’d hoped Sin would do just that.”
“Only to a certain point. I won’t have her ruined. I am her godmother, you know. Still, we will make certain they spend a fair amount of time together. More, perhaps, than either plans on.” Margaret put Randolph onto the rug. “Come, Charlotte, let’s walk the dogs in the garden. We can discuss the situation there, where the servants won’t overhear.”
Three
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
When one is charged with assisting a beloved family member with their love life, it is important to know the wishes of that family member. This can be tricky, especially when one is working from a position of Stealth and Greater Knowledge.
I don’t yet know exactly what qualities Sin saw in Rose Balfour that sent propriety tumbling to the wayside all those years ago, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m about to find out . . .
So close, and yet so far. Rose grasped the ladder railing and leaned forward. She had to stand on her tiptoes, but she was rewarded when she managed to barely—just barely—reach the book she wanted on the shelf.
The small, slim tome
was bound in soft red leather and looked like a journal. It had caught her eye when she was on a lower rung looking up in awe at the shelves upon shelves of books. The vibrant color coupled with a lack of a title on the spine had made her itch to peek between the covers, so she’d rolled the ladder over, gathered her skirts, and climbed to the top.
She looped an arm through the ladder to steady herself and opened the small book. Ah, her favorite Shakespeare play, As You Like It! Smiling, Rose lifted the book and took a deep sniff of the wonderful scent of leather and old paper. Truly, there was nothing like it.
The book begged for immediate reading and she decided to settle into one of the plump blue velvet chairs in front of the fireplace and enjoy her find. MacDougal had said it would take a half hour before her bath was ready, and it would be wondrous to get lost in a book while she was waiting. She would just slip the small book into her pocket before climbing down so she’d have a free hand to help keep her skirts out of the w—
“There you are.”
The low, masculine voice froze Rose in place. She knew that voice. She swallowed hard, hoping her wildly beating heart wasn’t visible from across the room as she slowly turned her head to look at the one man she’d never thought to see again.
Lord Alton Sinclair was known to the ton as Lord Sin for a number of reasons, none of which should be discussed by a lady. He was still just as tall and broad shouldered, his hair still a dark golden-blond. His thick, dark brown lashes gave his eyes a sleepy, seductive look, but what truly drew the eye were the strong, square line of his jaw and the Roman-emperor cast to his aquiline nose.
He stood in the library doorway, glaring at her as if he wished her to perdition.
Rose’s face and neck warmed. His hair was longer now, and his face more marred by dissipation. Only his sherry-brown eyes looked exactly as they had when she’d last seen him: blazing with anger.
Rose forced her stiff lips into a smile. “Lord Sinclair, how pleasant to see you. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here. This is my great-aunt’s house. In fact”—his smile was that of a cat who had cornered a mouse—“she invited you at my behest.”
How to Capture a Countess (Duchess Diaries 1) Page 5
