Claimed by the Laird

by Nicola Cornick

  She opened a drawer and shoved the account books inside, noticing as she did so the set of references for Lucas Ross that the Duchess of Strathspey had provided, the references that had made Christina feel slightly uncomfortable.

  “Mr. Ross comes from a good family and I have known him for many years,” the duchess had written. “You will find him entirely reliable, diligent and trustworthy and able to turn his hand to any task you require.”

  It was in all ways completely satisfactory, and Christina was at a loss as to why she felt so uneasy about it, but uneasy she was. There was no hint of impropriety in the duchess’s relationship with Lucas, no suggestion of anything other than a long and respected association, and Christina felt guilty for even imagining it. She wondered whether Lucas had in fact been a protégé of the Strathspeys. Perhaps they had been the ones to find him on the streets of Edinburgh and give him a chance of a better life. They might even have paid for him to go to school. Certainly Lucas’s speech and other aspects of his behavior suggested that he had been educated far above his current station. But in that case, Lucas would have risen equally far above the role of either footman or gardener. He would have become a clerk and would have hired servants himself.

  It was a puzzle, but she could not write back to ask the duchess for more detail without betraying a most unladylike interest in her new gardener. She had already betrayed that interest to Lucas far too much. He let slip so little information about himself. She imagined his solitary nature had been forged all those years ago when he had had to fend for himself as a child, but it hurt her that now, as a man, he still fiercely rejected any sense of belonging. Her family, her clan, was everything to her.

  She shoved the reference back into the drawer and closed it with a snap, standing up, frowning as she noticed the ink that had stained her fingers and left a blot on her gown. She would have to ask Alice Parmenter if she had any remedies to remove the stain. The previous housekeeper had been a positive mine of useful information but Alice was less helpful; there was something surly in her manner these days. If the duke had not insisted that she be given the job at Kilmory, Christina would have had no hesitation in sacking her.

  Promptly at five the carriage drew up on the gravel sweep outside Kilmory Castle’s main door. Christina gathered the family all together: her father, still scribbling distractedly on a piece of paper as she coaxed him into his jacket; Lachlan, who had not bothered to shave and looked like a brigand; Gertrude, proud in olive silk and a matching turban; and Allegra, whose eyes were bright with the excitement of different company.

  “I am hoping to see MacPherson’s collection of first editions of Drayton’s poetry tonight,” the duke said, pushing his papers haphazardly into his pockets with ink-stained fingers. The minister was a friend and academic colleague of his. They had been at Oxford together. “I hope he has brought them back with him from Edinburgh.”

  “You may have to make do with conversation tonight, Papa,” Christina warned. “The MacPhersons have visitors from Edinburgh and the minister may be too preoccupied to spare time for poetry.”

  “MacPherson always introduces the most stimulating topics at the dinner table.” The duke’s face was alight with childlike pleasure. “Last time I believe we spoke on Tillotson’s principles of benevolence.”

  “This is precisely the sort of society we should mixing with,” Gertrude agreed as she allowed Galloway to help her on with her cloak. “It is far preferable to your indigent spinsters and charity cases, Christina. They cannot possibly do us any good. Although Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson are without title, they are well connected and are worth cultivating. When Angus and I are in charge of the Forres estates, there will be no hobnobbing with the local peasantry.”

  Allegra rolled her eyes. Christina tried not to smile to see it. Gertrude was still talking as she herded Allegra ahead of her down the steps.

  “It simply isn’t good enough having only the one carriage,” she was saying. “Angus and Lachlan are obliged to ride because there is not enough room for us all. The Duke of Forres arriving with only one carriage! I could sink with the embarrassment of it.”

  “Try to bear it, Gertrude,” Christina said drily. “When you are Duchess of Forres, you may of course keep as many carriages as you please, but for now it is not financially worthwhile for us to run more than one.”

  Gertrude made a huffing sound. “As though you need to penny pinch! Why, everyone knows that the duke is the richest man in Scotland and that you yourself will have an independent fortune within a couple of years!” Malice tinged her voice. “It will be some small recompense, I suppose, for being an old spinster, long on the shelf.”

  Christina felt her stomach drop in sickening fashion. She was used to Gertrude’s spiteful digs, but they were still painful to bear. She knew her sister-in-law deliberately tried to provoke her. She was doing it again now because Christina had refused to rise to her previous comment.

  “What was the name of that fellow you were betrothed to?” Gertrude was musing. “McMahon? McGregor?”

  “McGill,” Christina said expressionlessly.

  “McGill!” Gertrude said with glee. “He went off to London and married a grocer’s daughter! One chance to secure a husband, Christina, and you fail because Lord McGill preferred the daughter of a cit!”

  Christina gritted her teeth. Sometimes it seemed, looking back, that her life had been a house of cards, and the tiniest breath of wind had sent them tumbling. She had thought her life was built on rock, but there had been nothing but shifting sand.

  She became aware of a tall figure standing by the carriage steps waiting to help them ascend. It was Lucas. The Forres livery of black and scarlet suited his tall, broad-shouldered physique. Christina realized she was staring and shut her mouth with a snap just as Gertrude let out a crow of delight.

  “Ah! There you are, Ross! Galloway did find a uniform to fit you, then. That’s excellent. It was quite unacceptable for that other footman to escort us tonight. He was far too unprepossessing.” She gave Lucas a comprehensive glance. “A pity you do not have a twin. You would have looked very pretty together on the back of the carriage.”

  “Gertrude!” Christina was simultaneously appalled at her sister-in-law’s high-handed dismissal of Thomas Wallace and the way she spoke to and about Lucas as though he were no more than an ornament. “You cannot simply tell Thomas that he is not to accompany us. It is part of his job! Imagine how that must make him feel. I suppose—” she allowed her disgust to color her tone “—you told him he was too ugly to be seen on the back of a carriage?”

  Gertrude looked blank. “Of course I did not offer an explanation. What an odd idea. I merely told him that his services were not required tonight.”

  Christina was so furious she stormed up the carriage steps, ignoring the hand Lucas held out to help her and equally ignoring the fact that Gertrude, always so keen on asserting her precedence, wanted to take the best seat. The journey to the manse passed in an uncomfortable simmering silence.

  Gertrude’s taunting words seemed to ring in Christina’s ears. An old spinster, long on the shelf...

  It was true. That was precisely what she was and perhaps that was why it hurt so much. What made it worse, though, was that Lucas had heard. That was humiliating. Of course, Lucas knew her situation. Yet she did not want Lucas to pity her. She did not need sympathy. She had chosen this life.

  Having got into the carriage first, Christina was the last down the steps when they finally arrived. This time Gertrude made sure to sweep out with a great fuss and swish of skirts, her back still rigid with outrage.

  Lucas was again waiting to help, but Christina felt reluctant to take his hand even though she needed it this time, as there was quite a drop to the ground. Gritting her teeth and telling herself not to be so stupid, she put her hand in his. Immediately Lucas’s fingers closed about hers, long and strong. It was such a small thing, only a touch, and it should have been impersonal but it was not. Christ
ina felt the sensation shimmer through her down to her toes, and she stopped dead on the top step.

  Immediately Lucas stepped forward and Christina knew he was about to scoop her up in his arms. “There is no need to carry me, Mr. Ross,” she said quickly. “I am not an infant.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Lucas’s voice was low and amused, his lips so close to her ear that she felt her hair stir with his breath. “I thought that after your experience in the library you might have developed a fear of heights.”

  “As usual, you exceed your duties,” Christina said.

  Lucas gave her a smile. “Ma’am.”

  “That was not a compliment,” Christina said.

  Lucas’s smile disappeared. “Ma’am.”

  “I believe we also owe you an apology, Mr. Ross,” Christina said stiffly. “It was inappropriate for Lady Semple to ask you to do Thomas’s job this evening, and even more so for her to comment on your appearance.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lucas said. “Thank you.”

  Christina was unsure whether he was agreeing with her or simply acknowledging the point. Servants were not supposed to have opinions. Not that Lucas Ross had ever behaved as he was supposed to do.

  “It was equally inappropriate,” she said, “to rehearse our family’s tedious personal affairs in front of you. I apologize for that, too.”

  “I wouldn’t call them tedious,” Lucas said. “And forgive me, ma’am, but Lady Semple’s conclusions were quite mistaken.” His voice had changed, hardened. Christina could have sworn there was a thread of anger in it now. “I do not know who this McGill was, ma’am,” he said, “but he sounds like a complete fool.”

  Christina felt a pang of shock. “Thank you,” she said, “but—”

  “Any number of men would be happy to marry you, ma’am,” Lucas continued, “and they would be fortunate to do so.”

  “Because I am an heiress,” Christina said. She felt a flash of bitterness.

  “No, ma’am,” Lucas said. He dropped his voice so that no one could overhear. “Because you are generous and kind and you kiss like an angel.”

  “Mr. Ross!” Christina’s face flamed and her heart beat so hard she thought he would surely hear it. “I am not sure there has ever been so improper a servant as you are,” she said. “You take the most appalling liberties.”

  “You did ask, ma’am,” Lucas said, with a smile that was entirely disrespectful.

  “It strikes me, Mr. Ross,” Christina said, ignoring the flare of heat that look engendered, “that you are in completely the wrong job. You need to be employed in something where you can exercise your initiative and express your opinions freely since you do that anyway.” She shook her head. “Did I not tell you right at the start that flirting with a member of the family was improper?”

  “I thought it might be,” Lucas said. “Except I was not flirting. I was telling the truth.”

  “Enough,” Christina said. “Are you trying to incite me to sack you, Mr. Ross? Think about what I said. If you wish to study or apply for more challenging work, I would be happy to sponsor you.”

  Even though it was getting dark, she saw the sudden flare of astonishment in Lucas’s eyes. Perhaps he had not believed her sincere. Perhaps he was accustomed to people making empty offers. His background and upbringing as an orphan on the streets of Edinburgh could not have made him the most trusting of men.

  “That is extremely generous of you, ma’am,” he said after a moment, “but I do not require such charity.”

  Christina stiffened. She could not help herself—she felt offended at the rebuff. She should have realized. Lucas Ross needed no one. She had lost count of the number of times he had spurned her attempts to help him. He was utterly self-contained, utterly cold. She thought of the flowers she had left him, which the following day she had found wilting on the compost heap behind the potting sheds and had felt a strange sense of desolation sweep through her.

  “My lady—” Lucas said, and she realized that her feelings must have shown and now he did pity her. She shook her head and walked away up the path to the door. She could see Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson in the brightly lit hall, waiting to greet her, and Gertrude’s cross face peering back at her through the dark.

  “Christina!” Her sister-in-law’s tone cut like glass. “What on earth are you doing out there? You are taking hours!”

  “Nothing,” Christina said, with a sigh. “I’m doing nothing at all.”

  * * *

  LUCAS HELPED THE groom and coachman stable the horses, for which they were properly grateful, though they gave him some banter about dirtying his smart uniform. Acting as footman was a complication he had not seen coming. Annie, the second housemaid, had asked him to coach Thomas Wallace in his duties because poor Thomas was hopeless and Galloway was becoming increasingly exasperated with him. Lucas had been on the terrace giving Thomas some practical advice when Lady Semple had come across them and had promptly decreed that Lucas would accompany them that night in Thomas’s place.

  “We are condescending to visit a relatively modest household,” she had said. Her cold gaze had slid over Thomas, itemizing his flushed, freckled face, untidy hair and untucked shirt. “We need to show them how to do things properly. You will not do, Wallace. Not at all.”

  Thomas had slipped away, looking mightily relieved, and Lady Semple had sent Lucas off to be sized up for a footman’s livery, much to Galloway’s disgust.

  “Don’t go getting ideas, lad,” he had said to Lucas as he’d unearthed an ancient and slightly moth-eaten uniform. “Currying favor with her ladyship is all very well, but your place is in the garden, not the drawing room.”

  “Of course, Mr. Galloway,” Lucas had said. He’d been tempted to remind the butler that at his interview, Galloway had told him he might need to turn his hand to anything at Kilmory. However, he did not think that would help. It was an irony, since he could not bear Lady Semple and had absolutely no desire at all to curry favor with her, as Galloway put it.

  Gertrude, as Lucas had already realized, was inclined to ride roughshod over anything and anyone in her way. She and her husband were precisely the sort of aristocrat that Lucas abhorred: arrogant, self-obsessed and full of that sense of entitlement that he deplored. They did nothing useful, but expected to be rewarded handsomely simply for existing. More heinous was the way in which they both treated Christina. Gertrude’s casual contempt for her sister-in-law made Lucas seethe, whilst her husband’s bullying ways made him want to punch the man. He knew it should not matter to him one way or the other, but it did. It mattered to him a great deal, and there was nothing he could do about that.

  The horses had picked up on his tension and were watching him with dark, intelligent eyes, ears pricked as though anticipating trouble. Lucas deliberately banked down his anger and frustration in order not to spook them. Working with horses was something he enjoyed. He had learned to ride as a child on his grandfather’s estates, and later, when his stepfather had thrown him out and he had gone to Scotland, he had eventually found work driving the dray horses that delivered goods around the streets of Edinburgh.

  He remembered Christina asking him if he had worked with horses. He had rebuffed her question as he generally did if anyone asked him something too personal or got too close. He had done the same thing tonight when she had offered to sponsor him in finding a new job or studying to better himself. Her open generosity completely devastated him; he did not know how to deal with it. So he pushed her away—and now he felt bad about it because he had upset her. Christina was too kind, he thought as he closed the stable door softly behind him. Several times now she had tried to help him, reaching out to him, only to be rejected. Christina cared, and as a result she laid herself open to hurt.

  He swore softly under his breath. He did not want to hurt Christina.

  A housemaid was at his shoulder. “You’re to take dinner in the servants’ hall,” she said, gesturing toward the steps that led down to the basemen
t. “Keep your head down—Cook has burned the pheasants and Mr. Dixon, the steward, is on the warpath. Proper bad mood he’s in tonight.”

  Lucas nodded, repressing a smile. “Thank you,” he said.

  The girl nodded and withdrew and Lucas strolled across the yard and down the basement steps to the servants’ hall. It was brightly lit, rich with the smells of roasting meat and busy with the bustle of a working household.

  A harassed steward strode past, saw Lucas’s livery and paused. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Lucas, sir.”

  The steward nodded. “Well, Lucas, I have a house full of guests and no footman working with me as he was foolish enough to sprain his wrist yesterday. You can help serve dinner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucas said. He hoped he could remember his etiquette. He was more than a little out of practice.

  * * *

  IT WAS THE worst dinner Christina had had to endure for a very long time. The food was delicious, the wine was very fine, conversation sparkled and she sat frozen like a pillar of salt to the chair. It was Lucas’s fault, of course. When she saw him come into the dining room and realized that he was to help serve dinner she felt a very peculiar nervousness, as though she was a debutante at her first formal meal, terrified of dropping her wineglass or using the wrong fork. Her appetite vanished. For a moment it felt as though her mouth was filled with sawdust and she could not swallow.

  She found her gaze riveted to Lucas’s hands as he served her. The sight of a footman handling vegetables had never previously caused her to blush, but she was so on edge now that she was practically dancing on her chair. She saw Mrs. MacPherson give her a curious glance and felt even more self-conscious.

  She knew she could not really blame Lucas for her discomfiture. It was not his fault that she could not behave naturally in his presence, and she admired his coolness in stepping up to the job when clearly he had been drafted in at the last minute to help Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson’s very harassed steward. His service was immaculate, deferential and smooth; although he did not look at her once, Christina felt as though she was on display. It was very uncomfortable.