Nothing but Trouble

by Allegra Gray

  “Uncle Graeme!”

  The elder Lady Maxwell looked confused for a moment. Then her eyes cleared and she lowered her head. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

  Graeme opened his mouth to reassure her, hating that his arrival had caused her embarrassment, but Nathan jumped in first. “’Tis no matter, Nana. Aunt Charity found a portrait of Uncle Graeme as a child, and even I think we look the same. But now that he’s back, I can’t sit in his chair anymore and pretend.”

  Graeme raised a brow. “Pretending to be master, eh?”

  Nate shrugged sheepishly, and Graeme reached forward to tickle him. The boy dodged. Graeme gave a half-hearted chase, making all of them break into laughter. A footman quietly removed Mac, so the puppy could have his own dinner at the back of the kitchen. The awkward moment forgotten, they took their seats.

  Miss Boyd flicked a nervous glance at him from her place far down the table. What had he done to set the members of his household on edge whenever he was near? True, he knew Miss Boyd’s real occupation might not merit a place at the dinner table, but he’d essentially authorized it when he’d notified the staff that she was training to be a companion.

  He wasn’t certain how, but somewhere along the way, the people most fundamental to his life had stopped treating him as an approachable man and started acting as though he were a distant lord. A certain amount of deference came with his title. He knew that. The rest was too much. He couldn’t just order them to relax, though. He obviously needed to show them he would welcome it if they did.

  Through the open window, the beat of a snare drum broke the evening stillness. A burst of piping followed.

  “What is that?” Charity asked.

  “Ach. That’ll be Red an’ his band practicing for Pipers’ Fest,” he answered, letting his brogue shine through in deference to the Scottish festival.

  “Pipers’ Fest?”

  “Aye.” Being new, Charity wouldn’t know about the annual musical festival. “Every June, Grantown hosts a competition for pipe and drum groups. Over the years, it’s become quite an event. Our own Mr. Red is one o’ the top competitors. He’s still sore about coming in second last year to the Bog Country Beaters. I imagine they’re bound and determined to take first this year. Like as not we’ll be hearing quite a lot of them in the next fortnight.”

  “What else is at the festival?” Nathan asked.

  “Goodness, you haven’t been either?” the dowager countess asked.

  “I don’t think so,” her grandson said, frowning as he tried to remember.

  “Well, there are all the performances, of course,” Graeme answered, “and a craft fair, a children’s parade, usually some dancing, and of course all the local establishments turn out to sell food and drink.”

  Nathan keyed in on one phrase. “A children’s parade?”

  How thoughtless of him to have forgotten. Maybe he really had become a distant, standoffish lord. “Aye. How would you and Mac like to march in the parade?”

  The boy nodded eagerly.

  “Shall we all go?” Charity asked.

  “That sounds lovely,” his mother agreed. Even Miss Boyd was smiling.

  His head groom’s timing for this evening’s practice could not have been better, Graeme realized. “I’ll ask Red what time The Lost Pipers are set to perform. I’m sure it would give them great pleasure to have the whole of Leventhal House turn out in support.”

  “The whole house?”

  “Why not? The staff would welcome a surprise holiday, don’t ye think? It will be fun.”

  The wariness melted away and, around the table, faces smiled at him.

  “Uncle Graeme, if we all go cheer for Mr. Red, he’ll be certain to win, won’t he?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t get to be the judge, Nathan, but I daresay we’ll make it hard for him to lose.”

  Graeme left the dinner table that night with a spring in his step. He hadn’t managed to get Charity alone since making love to her, but all things considered, he’d made more progress today than he could have dared hope. If he continued in this way, it would, just as he’d told his nephew about Red’s pipe and drum band, be hard for him to lose.

  Red and The Lost Pipers were not the only ones practicing for Pipers’ Fest. Jasper Morton was practicing, too, at least as hard as the pipers. After all, he had a lot more at stake.

  After scouting out the local inn and taverns, he’d determined exactly what he’d suspected. None kept enough gold on hand to furnish the voyage he had planned. Unless he stole from all of them, which didn’t seem a very bright plan, his options were limited. Leventhal House never seemed to empty out. He’d almost made up his mind to travel to the port city of Inverness and try his luck there, when he overheard two of Lord Maxwell’s servants singing his praises for offering them an extra afternoon off if they came out to support the Pipers’ Fest next Sunday.

  Even Jasper could appreciate the irony of the opportunity that presented.

  As soon as his shift at the docks ended, he eased through the woods at the edge of the burn. This was his third visit. The first had been weeks ago. Then, he’d gotten discouraged, since Leventhal House’s bustling, ever-present staff guaranteed someone was always about. But since Lord Maxwell himself had provided the solution to that problem by offering them all a holiday, he’d returned. He counted the servants and studied the entrances and exits of the manor, always lurking out of sight. He needed to know how many there were, so that he could count on the day of the festival. He would know when it was safe to go in, and if anyone had stayed behind.

  “Mac!”

  The boy’s spotted mutt raced toward him, followed at a distance by the young master.

  Bugger. Jasper turned and ran—directly into a tree. Reeling, he kept going until he reached the burn. He jumped in and crossed, hissing in shock as the icy water soaked through his boots and trousers up to his knees. On the far side, he ducked behind a large outcropping of rock.

  The pup stopped at the bank, sniffing all along the waters’ edge, then giving a plaintive whine.

  “Mac!” the boy called again, his form barely visible through the trees.

  The dog looked exactly at the spot where Jasper stood, then turned around and trotted back to his boy.

  Jasper rubbed his chest, where his heart had near jumped out a minute back. Blimey. He was getting too old for such stunts. He gazed sorrowfully at the sodden state of his only pair of boots. Living outside the law used to make him feel smart, like he’d gotten away with something. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

  He’d had enough for today. No need to lurk further—he knew all he needed to know.

  Graeme’s two-week “head start” before the Duke and Duchess of Beaufort arrived was nearly up. Fortunately, he believed they would find Charity happy and content.

  This morning, she’d been combing her hair when he walked into the bedroom carrying a rope ladder, which he proceeded to stash in a decorative box beneath the windowsill.

  At her wide-eyed stare, he shrugged. “Sometimes the line between genius and lunatic is a blurry one. You told me you did this back in London, and I realized the idea has merit.”

  “You did?” she asked dubiously.

  “Aye. Not just in the event of an attack—though I am not discounting the possibility—but what if there were a fire? We are both safer with a second means of escape. I put one in the nursery, too.” It was true. At first he’d done it merely to put her at ease, but the more he’d thought about it, the more the generations of warrior-protector blood flowing through his veins told him there was solid logic in being prepared.

  She dropped her hair comb and flung herself into his arms. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she kissed him fiercely.

  He kissed back. “I’ll put one in every room of the house if it makes you this happy.”

  “I love you,” she responded.

  He kissed the tear tracks at the corners of her beautiful eyes. “I love you, too.”
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br />   Scooping her up and carrying her to the bed, he proceeded to show her how much.

  Only afterward did he remember the other purpose he’d had in coming up to their room. Lying back in bed, his wife’s head tucked against his shoulder and her hair spilling across his chest, it came back to him. “Remember how you said you missed your sister, and would like to invite her for a visit?” Graeme asked.

  “Yes!” Charity lifted her head. “Have you heard from her?”

  “In a way. If my guess is right, she will be arriving tomorrow.”

  “Truly? How do you know?” Charity hopped up, half-sitting now, her blond locks tumbling over her breasts like some erotic mermaid. He struggled to focus.

  “She was with her husband in Edinborough. They were planning to pay you a surprise visit after the races ended.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Given the rather unconventional nature of our marriage, at least by London’s standards, I think they wanted to see for themselves whether you were happy.

  “Of course, at the time the duke and I spoke, things were, well, awkward, due to my misunderstanding. So I asked him to give me time to sort out the knowledge he’d just imparted, and to make amends. He consented to two weeks.”

  As of today, his official reprieve was over. Given the hurried nature of his trip home, though, Graeme had tacked on an extra travel day to his estimate of the duke and duchess’s arrival.

  “I hope I did the right thing in asking them to wait. Will they find you happy, my sweet?”

  Charity paused. The tiny furrow between her brows told him she was giving the question serious consideration. “I am happy,” she finally said. “Not in the blissful, carefree way of Nathan playing with Mac, but happy nonetheless. I have a husband who cares for me and who cares enough to ask about my happiness. I have a lovely home, and am learning to know the land and the people.”

  Graeme smiled. It wasn’t exactly the answer he would have hoped for, but it was an honest one. She was still lonely for the familiar activity of London life, he surmised, and possibly still wary of doing anything that might scare him off again. Well, he’d promised to love and protect her, and he wasn’t going to break either of those promises a second time. As for London, a taste of it should be arriving soon.

  True to Graeme’s prediction, the duke’s coach pulled up shortly after noon the following day, spilling out Alex and Elizabeth Bainbridge.

  Charity greeted them happily, having spent the morning buzzing about the house, directing the servants in an effort to have everything fresh and clean.

  Elizabeth hugged her, then held her at arm’s length, giving her a critical eye. “You look…flushed,” she announced.

  Charity laughed and led her sister by the hand into her new home.

  “Your trunks arrived?”

  “Yes.” Charity twirled, showing off the daffodil gown of which she was so fond. “Can’t you tell?”

  They passed most of the afternoon in chatting in the way that sisters do—seemingly of inconsequential matters, but intimate in their knowledge of one another and how those little matters make up the fabric of life. They accompanied Graeme and the duke on a horseback tour of the grounds, but, after dinner, declined to join the men at the card table, preferring to simply relax in one another’s company.

  “I’ve missed you,” Charity admitted. “Even before coming here, I think.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head. “There has been a great deal of change, for all of us, in the last year.” She lowered her voice. “Are you happy here? I know when we last spoke in London, you were growing enamored of Lord Maxwell, and I thought you had begun to give his suit serious consideration…but then you eloped, just like that, and I wondered…”

  Charity knew what she was asking. “The elopement was not a matter of necessity. To be honest, I had no idea of the plan until the night we left, when Graeme sprung it on me.”

  “Wait. Are you telling me he abducted you?”

  “Not abducted. Just…surprised. I went willingly enough.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “You know me. When have I ever been able to say ‘no’ to an impractical but dashingly romantic idea?”

  Elizabeth’s lips quirked. “Never.”

  “Exactly. Besides, Graeme promised me that such elopements practically are the tradition in Scotland.”

  “But are you happy now?” her sister pressed. “If not, I’m sure there’s a way…”

  Charity gazed at the silhouette of their two husbands seated in the far corner of the room, at the warm luxury of her surroundings, and lifted her hands. There was too much to put into words. “Yes,” she finally managed through the thickness in her throat.

  “Sometimes the first few months of a marriage are the rockiest,” Elizabeth observed.

  She would know. Charity remembered, belatedly, that her sister’s blissful state hadn’t been the immediate result of her wedding day. She and the duke had experienced their own trials, and come through stronger as a result. It was a good reminder, one that lent strength to her own hopes.

  “Marrying Graeme was the right choice. He’s a good man, Elizabeth. It was me that…I didn’t tell him everything, and then…”

  “I know.”

  “It’s much better, now. I was so angry when he hired Miss Boyd, but then she turned out to be immensely helpful.”

  “Your companion?”

  “She’s actually a trained nurse,” Charity whispered. “He thought…”

  “Oh. Oh, no.”

  “He doesn’t think that anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “When he was…travelling, I felt so alone. I ended up confiding in Miss Boyd. I told her everything. Things I’d never told anyone—not even you, E. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. You weren’t ready then.”

  “Exactly. I thought Miss Boyd would—I don’t know, judge me—but she didn’t. The more I talked, the farther the fears seemed to shrink into the past. When Graeme came back, he didn’t condemn me either. He was just relieved to know it wasn’t a hereditary madness. He tries too hard to protect me now, but that is his nature. The nightmares are coming less often. E., I think I’m actually, finally, returning to normal.”

  Elizabeth reached over and gave one of Charity’s curls a big-sisterly tug. “Who would have thought a second kidnapping would cure the ills of the first?” she quipped.

  The next day, the whole household buzzed with excitement at the prospect of the holiday afternoon. The maids wove ribbons into Elizabeth and Charity’s hair. Nathan, so proud to be marching in a parade later in the day, hardly dared go outside to play that morning for fear of mussing his clean shirt. Charity tweaked his ear and whispered “Go ahead. You’ve clean shirts to spare. I’ll call you in with plenty of time to change if you must.”

  “He looks up to you,” her sister observed.

  Charity just smiled.

  Before long, everyone was ready and turned out in their Sunday best, the picnic baskets were packed, and those with coins to spare had counted them carefully for what they might desire at the festival.

  Leventhal House lay just under three miles from the town center. Certainly the distance could be walked, but with everyone in their finery, only a few of the staff chose to travel by foot. The nobles and Miss Boyd divided into two carriages, while the rest of the household members piled onto carts or rode horses behind them.

  “We are like our very own parade,” Nathan observed.

  “Indeed we are. How lovely. I haven’t been in a parade in years,” his grandmother indulged him, as they and Miss Boyd climbed into the second carriage.

  “But we don’t get to march in this one.” Obviously, in Nathan’s opinion, marching was superior to riding.

  Charity rode in the lead coach with her husband, Elizabeth, and the duke. Elizabeth kept furtively glancing between she and Graeme. Charity knew she was trying to assess for herself whether they were happy.

  Charity pinned on a serene smile, but as they drew closer to the tow
n square and the noise of the festival penetrated the walls of the carriage, her stomach knotted.

  They had to stop several blocks away from the square due to the crowds. Alighting, Charity saw that her husband hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said people came from all over for Pipers Fest. The square was packed, the noise cacophonous as various bands warmed up or gave impromptu performances. Where had they all come from? The crowds roaming the streets must have sprung from the very hills of the Highlands.

  Elizabeth realized the problem only seconds after Charity. She leaned over. “Are you going to be all right here?” she murmured, so only Charity could hear.

  “I think so.” When Graeme asked the same question moments later, she repeated her answer, hoping it would prove true. The festival was far bigger and more chaotic than she’d imagined. She took a breath to steady herself. She could do this. At the top center of the square, the townspeople had set up a makeshift stage, from which the audience and other activities fanned out. The tantalizing smell of grilled meats and roasted nuts wafted through the air. Bright vendor displays showcased inexpensive but decorative fans and parasols that had many a lass stopping to part with a coin. Traditional woolens abounded, as well as toy pipes for children to learn to play.

  Charity melded into the center of her own cluster of family. The servants, free for the afternoon, drifted off to explore. The duke lead their group, with Elizabeth by his side. Charity focused on his shoulder blades, steady and reassuring, and on the feel of her arm tucked in the crook of Graeme’s at her side. They paused at the edge of the grassy space before the stage.

  Along the street to the north, Charity could see the children lining up. So could Nate. Composure forgotten, he leaped up and down. “May we join them? Is it time? We mustn’t be late! Mac and I have been waiting forever.”

  The duke quirked and amused brow, and Elizabeth held up a hand to cover her smile.

  Graeme opened his mouth with what Charity thought would be an admonition to the boy to be patient, but then he shrugged. Giving Charity’s hand a squeeze, he let her go. “I’ll be back shortly,” he murmured, before turning to his nephew. “Aye, Nate. ‘Tis always better to be early than late. Come along, then.”