Bride

by Stella Cameron

  “She is older than he is.” Calum sounded deeply troubled.

  “A mature wife is exactly what he needs.”

  “There is the matter of offspring.”

  “Certainly,” Arran said. “That must be considered and we shall consider it. But, after all, he is the younger son. Further issue is not essential.”

  “True,” Calum said.

  “That is all,” Struan announced suddenly, his voice bearing an edge like fine steel. “All I will listen to from any of you. All I will tolerate in the way of interference.”

  Justine straightened and walked away. She mounted the stairs, and slowly ascended.

  “I will decide what is to be done here,” Struan shouted, his temper clearly deserting him. “And when I decide, I will inform you.”

  She was not as much as consulted about her wishes.

  “It may be,” Struan continued, “that all will be accomplished before you know it. Regardless, you may keep your opinions to yourselves.”

  What if Struan did decide he should marry her? What would it mean to her?

  Would it mean what Grandmama had suggested—a life of caring for someone who might respect her, but could never truly care for her?

  Or would it mean a marriage in the real sense?

  Could it mean… It?

  Chapter Eleven

  Ella wore a dark-green riding habit, complete with a demure little velvet bonnet perched upon smoothly coiled black braids.

  Max, a spanking new beaver clamped to the breast of his immaculate blue jacket, planted polished boots in a perfect imitation of his papa.

  “What’s this?” Justine asked. She’d ignored their persistent knocking on her apartment door until Ella had called out, begging to come in. “You look … you look most unlike yourselves, children.”

  Even with the aid of enough pomade to turn his carrot hair dark red, Max’s locks managed to pop up. He attempted to scrape the tufts down. “She doesna like it, Ella,” he said. “I told ye we wouldna do.”

  “What will not do is the extraordinary manner of speech you’ve adopted,” Justine said sharply. “We must work on it promptly. As for your appearance. Both of you. You look first rate and you make me very proud. I simply fail to understand what brought about the change.”

  “We’re off to the castle,” Ella said. She twitched cream lace at her wrists. “Max will not speak whilst we’re there. Except for what we’ve practiced. He’s promised.”

  Justine frowned. For the sake of these two she must put aside her own concerns—her own disappointments and embarrassment—but the morning’s events had sapped her spirits.

  Max scuffed his boots on the Spanish carpet that covered the floor in Justine’s sitting room. “We heard it. The whole thing.”

  “Max,” Ella hissed. “I told you—”

  “You heard what?” Justine interrupted.

  “Hersel’,” Max said, raising his pointed chin defiantly. “In the hall wi’ Papa and Uncle Arran and the duke. We heard everythin’ the old witch from Cornwall said.”

  This time Ella moaned, “Max!”

  “I wanted t’carry her away t’the hill clans,” Max said as if his sister were invisible. “They’ve a rare way o’ changin’ the minds o’ thorny old witches, I can tell ye. Turn ‘em into bags fer their pipes. Cut off their hair and—

  “Max, you promised you wouldn’t go on. You promised.”

  He stretched his thin neck. “Aye, well, mayhap there’s not enough o’ her for a bag anyway. But we did hear everythin’ she said. Worse than Grumpy. She wants t’take ye away and we’ll not hear o’ it. Ye’ve come and ye’ve said ye’ll stay wi’ us. We don’t want ye t’go.” He wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. “We love ye. There. I’ve said it.”

  Perched on the window seat, Justine looked quickly outside and blinked back the tears she didn’t want them to see. “I love you, too,” she told them. “I don’t want to go.”

  “And neither does Papa want you to go,” Ella said. “You can marry him and stay here forever. It will be perfect. He needs you and you need him and we need you, and … We are going to greet the dowager duchess.”

  Justine looked at them aghast.

  Ella raised both hands and her fine brows. “No, no, don’t worry. Max will say nothing but… Go on, Max, say it.”

  His freckled face pinched with concentration. “Good day to you, Your Grace.”

  Ella, mouthing each word with her brother, had risen to her toes. “And?” she said, leaning earnestly forward.

  Max frowned even more deeply. “Welcome to Kirkcaldy. We are delighted to see you again.”

  “Yes.” Ella let out a huge breath. “That is all he will say. I shall ask after the duchess’s health and tell her how glad we are that you’ve come to assist in our education at such a critical time in our lives. I shall remind her that we are motherless and that—in addition to practical considerations—we are in need of spiritual guidance. I shall not mention … I shall not mention M.”

  Justine screwed up her eyes. “M?”

  “You know. Marriage. But once we get rid of the old bat, we can get on with the wedding at once.”

  Justine almost laughed. “Ella!”

  Ella’s expression became angelic. “Trust us, Lady Justine. We shall do nothing to shame you. We shall merely further the cause.”

  “I think this is a bad idea. Particularly after hearing Max’s notions about the disposal of my grandmother.”

  “He will have his little jokes,” Ella said, pulling on green leather gloves. “Don’t give another thought to what he said. Come, Max. Let us visit Lady Justine’s grandmama.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Good day to you, Lady Justine,” Max said, strutting behind his sister. “I expect the old bat will want us to take tea wi’ here. If there’s a jelly roll about, we’ll probably gi’ her the pleasure o’ our company. I’ll not drop crumbs on the carpet.”

  After they’d left, Justine remained where she could see through the leaded casement panes. Below the windows spread the swaying branches of a wych elm loaded with clusters of purple blossoms that heralded bright leaves to come.

  The bursting forth of new things. New beginnings.

  She had chosen a new beginning, also. Not the kind most single women dreamed of, but enough, certainly, for one who might have lived her life without any fulfillment. She spared a thought for the suitors Grandmama had evidently turned away but could summon nothing more than vague interest. Not one of them had been Struan. Grandmama had been wrong, but she had done Justine a favor. How empty life would be without at least knowing Struan shared some portion of it.

  Then there were those two marvelous children and there was her book. The children would do very well. And her book would be a success—of that she was certain. The book was an event long overdue.

  Dear Struan. He was a kind man who—once all the silliness about reputations had faded—would accept her presence in the capacity she’d suggested and give her pleasure simply by his occasional presence.

  It was not enough.

  She tipped back her head and closed her eyes. Why could she not tame this, this passionate part of her nature that had no right to exist?

  “May I come in?”

  Justine swiveled on the window seat. “Struan! I didn’t hear you.”

  Standing with his hands behind his back, he regarded her intently. Today he wore a black coat and stock, stark against exceedingly white linen. Buff breeches fitted powerful thighs with never a wrinkle.

  The same wind she’d watched in the trees had made a fine tousle of his black hair, and … She was staring. Struan stared back. A faint smile played about his mouth.

  “You surprised me,” she said awkwardly.

  “So it seems. I am in the habit of coming upon you unawares.”

  Justine wished to tell him she loved seeing him whenever he chose to appear. Instead, she nodded.

  He strolled closer. “I saw Ella and Max. They lo
ok splendid, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely splendid. You must be proud of them.”

  He chuckled. “I am proud of them. They told me of their mission.”

  Justine felt her color mount. “I suggested they reconsider, but—”

  “But they are determined. I told them their motives are the best and wished them luck at the castle. Arran is fond of Max, y’know. The lad is quite musical and Arran has undertaken to give him some instruction.”

  “Oh.” Justine smiled with genuine pleasure. “That is excellent news.”

  “Mairi has gone with the children.”

  “She has?” Puzzled, Justine frowned.

  Struan came to stand beside her. “I suggested she should spend the afternoon there. One of her younger sisters works in the kitchens now. They’ll enjoy the visit.’

  “How kind you are.” Justine fiddled with the small buttons on the bodice of her rose-colored gown.

  Struan cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, it would seem appropriate for you and me to … to discuss certain things.”

  She could think of no response.

  From behind his back, Struan produced a bouquet. “I brought you these,” he said, grimacing. “Not exactly hothouse beauties, but lovely in their own way.”

  Justine’s next breath lodged in her throat. The flowers were small, shades of blue and mauve and purple. “Thank you.” The hand she extended shook. “What are they, please?”

  “Mmm. Early orchid and dove’s-foot. And bilberry. One of the benefits of countryside allowed its head. Wildflowers. They remind me of you.”

  She took the flowers and held them in her lap.

  “They are delicately made but strong,” Struan said. “Persistent. Perhaps a little deceitful in the faces they show to the world.”

  Justine looked questioningly at him.

  “Oh, I mean what I say as a compliment, my dear. The beautiful wildflowers flourish despite odds. Like you, hmm?”

  “I… I am not accustomed to responding to such words, Struan. I have brought you trouble, haven’t I?”

  He glanced away before saying, “The very best sort of trouble.”

  “How can trouble ever be good?”

  His sudden move to rest a hand on her hair made Justine flinch. “Hush,” he said, stroking. “Certainly I had not planned on these developments, but I cannot tell you I regret them. They merely require careful attention if we are to navigate certain … The potential for certain difficulties exists. I pray that we may make our way through those difficulties.”

  Justine brought the flowers, with their odd, untamed scents, to her face and inhaled deeply. Struan muddled her. “I would not make difficulties for you,” she told him. “And I fear I have already done so. Perhaps I should do as my grandmother asks and return to Cornwall.”

  With his hand still on her hair, he took so long to respond that her heart seemed to stop. If he told her to go, then go she must. Why had she said such a foolish thing?

  When he did finally speak, his voice held dark intensity. “God help me, I don’t want you to go.”

  She closed her eyes. That was why she had said it—to hear him ask her to stay.

  “You said there were things we should discuss. I expect you were referring to the children’s welfare. I have already begun to give that a great amount of thought.”

  “Actually,” Struan said. “What I thought we might do was continue with some work on your book—while we have some quiet hours ahead. Buttercup is not with us today and the lodge is blessedly empty.”

  “My book?” A faint but quite distinct buzzing sounded in her ears. “Now?”

  “I thought so.” He offered her his hand and waited until she took it. “You will probably want to continue your discussion on unmarried females dealing with balls. Did you find the ballroom here yet?”

  Holding the flowers in her right hand, Justine gripped his fingers tightly and stood. “Yes,” she said. “At least, I assumed that’s what it was supposed to be.”

  “My grandfather thought to entice my grandmother into accepting this place. He decided that if he gave her the promise of intimate balls, with the wives of the men he invited here to hunt in attendance, she would look more favorably upon his creation.”

  “And did she?”

  “I don’t believe so. She never attended a ball in this building.”

  “How sad.”

  “Come there with me now.”

  He led her along corridors, up and down stairs and through numerous rooms to reach his destination. The ballroom, a small but perfectly proportioned ballroom atop a wing with a circular tower at each corner, had yet to be cleaned.

  “Have I tired you?” Struan asked, studying her with concern in his eyes.

  Justine inclined her head and smiled—and found a little flirtation came quite easily. “I am like the flowers,” she reminded him. “Deceitful. All delicate disguise to hide a woman of iron.”

  He grinned, showing his fine, white teeth and making deep dimples beneath his cheekbones. “I shall remember that.” The grin faded as rapidly as it had appeared. “I may need to test the iron.”

  Before Justine could question his meaning, he turned away and went to throw open heavy, dust-laden red damask draperies. The dust swirled in colored shafts of sunlight through stained-glass windows.

  “Shall you be able to memorize what takes place here and write it down later?” he said, sweeping aside a cover from an elegant black piano and raising the lid. “I should have thought to have you bring your book.”

  “I never forget anything you … I shall remember.”

  Their eyes met, but Justine quickly looked away. She must not reveal what was truly in her heart. It might make him feel trapped—or bound by duty to marry her as Arran seemed so determined to arrange.

  Oh, what bliss to be married to Struan and to have him want to be married to her.

  Grandmama was correct. Justine was a simpleton.

  “What are you thinking?”

  His question startled her. “That I am foolish.” Why must she so often speak without thought? “I mean, that I know I must appear foolish to you. My grandmother—”

  “Forget what your grandmother said.” He approached with determined steps. “Do you understand me? Forget every word that woman spoke to you.”

  He sounded angry. Justine swallowed and surveyed the room. The draped shapes of furniture ranged around a dance floor. Gilded mirrors lined red and gold-papered walls above gilt wainscoting. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung from a delicately carved plaster ceiling in a charming shade of deep pink. Dust coated everything, yet she could imagine how lovely the room could be.

  “Did you hear what I said, Justine?”

  She faced him. “Grandmama is old. She has come to rely upon me. But I have made a decision.”

  “And that is?”

  Her palms were moist. “That I must live my life now or not at all. I can be useful to more than just one woman who already has all the pampering she can possibly need.”

  She heard his outward rush of breath. “I had intended to say something quite different,” he said, and the bleak, troubled set of his features made her tremble. “But I must speak what’s in my heart, Justine. You can be useful to me… to us. Everything seems… With you here everything seems different. Possible. Hopeful. There must be a way to navigate troubled waters without giving up the best that has ever come into our lives.”

  If she wasn’t careful, she’d begin to imagine hidden meanings in his words. “I shall do my best for all of you,” she told him quietly.

  Struan’s chest expanded. He seemed about to speak, then bowed his head before saying, “Yes, well… Let us continue our work.”

  “I had thought you considered the whole project silly,” she told him in a rush. “Please, do not feel you have to pursue this. I think I rather made it sound like a condition of my working with the children and looking after the household. It is not, Struan.”

  �
�It is for me,” he responded promptly. “A bargain is a bargain. You have a great deal of work to do with Ella and Max and I have a great deal of work to do with you… That is, with your project.”

  Justine set the wilting flowers carefully on a sheet-draped chaise. She pressed her hands together. Again they were alone. She glanced about. ‘Where do they think you are?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Arran and Calum and the others? Where do they think you are?”

  “About estate business,” he replied promptly. “But I did not tell them I should be. So there is no deceit, Justine. Not really.”

  “No.”

  “Arran and Calum have gone into the village. Arran has business there and Calum wished to go along. There are many memories here for Calum.”

  “Of course.” Sometimes she forgot that her brother had grown up at Kirkcaldy.

  “Your grandmother is resting. Ella and Max will remain at the castle until she awakes. They are determined on their little charade.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Yes. Of course. Why, Justine, I do believe you are afraid to be alone here with me.”

  “I’m not!” she told him fiercely. “Not at all. Why should I be?”

  His flamboyantly drawn face held no softness now. “I don’t believe I shall tell you that. No, not yet. Part of a much later section of your book, dear lady. Do you like to dance?”

  “Dance?” For an instant she was furious with him. “You know I cannot dance.”

  He stared at her, then went to the piano and began to play. To her amazement, the instrument was in good tune.

  “Arran ensures all instruments on the estate are well-tended,” Struan said over the strains of a waltz she did not recognize. “Do you play?”

  “Yes. But not like you. You are very good.”

  “You should hear Arran,” he said. “I’ll make sure you do.”

  “Tell me why your grandmother never came to this ballroom.”

  “Headstrong woman. All women are headstrong.”

  The music distracted her. It reminded her of balls held at Franchot Castle when men in military uniform whirled beautifully dressed women about the floor. Justine saw them now as if in shifting patterns, each pattern planned yet free.