Had she not seen Ariel’s reflection, as he lay on her bed, and Harviel’s impressive presence, standing by his side, she would have believed she was not in the room at all!
Warily, she slowly turned to Harviel, who warmly touched her wrist, his thumb rubbing in an anticlockwise motion, which was surprisingly comforting and was relieving her of some of the stress and panic she was experiencing.
“And we have our duchess back,” he crooned.
Mairi hesitantly glanced back at the mirror, only to view her own recognisable self reflected there. Suddenly, the door flew open, and a very agitated Baglis ran into the room. Mairi noted she was surprisingly agile and extremely fast on her feet for such a rotund woman. Mairi heard her tut-tutting from the minute she blew into the room, right up until she brushed past Mairi and touched the Angel, to begin tending to him.
Mairi melted inside when Baglis tenderly stroked Ariel’s forehead. “I need to turn you onto your stomach so I can see the damage he’s caused.” She glanced up at Harviel, who immediately turned Ariel over so that she could get access to the wounds.
“This is not good,” she said dramatically. “I have another to tend to. She also has been poisoned, but I do not believe the same venom has been used in this instance.” She nervously searched Mairi’s face for any understanding of her words, but Mairi was at a loss about whom she may be talking about.
“Do you know what to do, Baglis?” Mairi screwed her face up in thought. “Where did you come from?” she asked seriously.
“I come from everywhere, lass, but now’s not the time to have a philosophical discussion about life.”
“Er… no… um, I meant where have you been, and how did you get here.” Mairi paused. “And here’s another thing, how come you two Angels are here guarding me. Who are you?”
“Let’s sort out this fine Angel first, dearie,” Baglis said kindly. “Then, we can sit down, have a cup of something, and we’ll get right down to everything. How does that sound?”
Mairi lowered an eyebrow. She knew a fob-off when she heard one, and this little magic woman was very good at avoiding the subject. Looking at Harviel, who had become engrossed in Baglis’s caring of Ariel, she knew he was also one determined to avoid, and probably evade, anything she had to ask.
“Well, we’ll just see about that,” she whispered to herself.
Chapter Eight
Mairi entered the room, her hand resting lightly on Appoloin’s arm, and scanned for anyone she might find of interest. A group of women stood closely together, examining Mairi, raking her from head to toe with their eyes.
Were they friendly, or would this be her first encounter with the harpies of the nineteenth century she had often read about?
“Do I look all right, Appoloin?” she asked him nervously.
Not answering, Appoloin led Mairi directly on to the dance floor. Holding her firmly, one of his hands spread across the total width of her back, while the other clasped one of Mairi’s in the classic position.
“Erm… “ Mairi whispered, her eyes wide with agitation. “I can’t…”
The music started and Mairi found herself being spun around the dance floor in the arms of the Angel she loved.
All too soon, the dance was over and they were walking toward the women she dreaded to meet.
“To answer your question, Mairi, you are beautiful. If you encounter anything unpleasant, come and fetch me. I won’t be far, but I must leave you with some of the women here and search. Hopefully I will discover who is aware of your presence here. It is imperative I ascertain whether or not Lucias has located your position. Come.” He pulled her gently towards the women standing in the centre of the room. “Let me introduce you to the ladies of the party.”
“Tell me, Appoloin,” she said, a sweet smile spreading across her face, “I know this is the nineteenth century and that you are millions of years old, but do you ever, I mean ever, talk like a normal person? Who the hell says ‘ascertain’? Good grief, my lovely Duke Angel, try to talk to me like a human. Could you, d’ya think?” She shook her head in disbelief, and some of her hair came loose from the hairpins and fell into her eyes.
Appoloin halted. He was amazed, and could not stop his mouth falling open, nor stop his eyes roam over her lovingly. He lifted the stray lock that fell onto her forehead, and tucked it behind her ear, relishing the laughter bubbling inside him. It begged to escape, but he knew if it did, it would embarrass them both and bring unwanted attention to them. Mairi winked at him, and that was his undoing; he could not stop it, no matter how hard he tried. He chuckled. It was a contagious sound that floated in the air and when it touched, tickled everyone, causing all to grin happily.
Mairi’s wide smile lit her face as she delighted in his reaction, then, turning from him, she faced the elegant room and had a good look around. She took her time to study the room as they slowly approached the ladies. The decor was everything she expected of the era and more, her assumptions coming from many of the novels she had read based around the time she now found herself living in. Jane Austen had described everything about the century so accurately.
Three massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling; each held at least fifty lit candles. The walls, which were divided top to bottom by a mahogany chair rail, were painted in a soft brown colour, and were brightened by the lights dancing from the lit candles in the wall sconces. Huge paintings of rural landscapes decorated three of the walls. While the fourth wall was six sets of French windows leading to the garden, all of them were opened allowing air to flow freely around the stuffy, crowded room.
The only part Jane Austen had elected to omit from her writing was the smell. Body odour masked by talcum powder, resulting in the occasional waft of a stale-cheesy-with-off-yoghurt smell. Mairi wrinkled her nose as she passed two men. The stench from their lack of hygiene was almost overpowering, and she was sure she could see their over-powdered white wigs moving. Ewww! She pressed the perfumed handkerchief against her nose in the desperate hope of masking the God-awful smells, now understanding the reason Baglis had insisted she take it with her. At the time, it had seemed a strange request. She was not unwell and was hopeful the evening would not end with her in tears, Baglis was a canny woman, well aware of the stenches that she would encounter. The hanky was not to wipe tears away, or to avoid an unsightly runny nose; it was to be used, however, to get some relief from the ghastly and pungent aromas in the room.
Nearing the women, she peeped up at Appoloin once again, suddenly feeling very nervous. She was quite a confident woman, but this was not her own century, and she was sure she would appear as alien as she felt, and somehow these women would recognise her to be an imposter.
Appoloin squeezed her arm in reassurance and encouraged her warmly, as only he could, his beguiling eyes dissipating any anxieties she was experiencing.
“You are the most beautiful woman in this room,” he breathed huskily into her ear, making her body go through a myriad of exotic responses, none of which she could act upon while standing in the middle of a nineteenth-century ballroom, surrounded by the elite of London! She, normally, had no concerns about her looks. She was aware of the attention she drew wherever she went, and it caused her not a jot of worry. The only constant, was that people continued to pay any attention; she had no idea what it was they found attractive, and, at times, found it amusing.This evening, her concern was more from the fear of acting incorrectly, or sharing information she should keep to herself. She returned a warm smile to Appoloin and was about to voice her true concerns, when he took the hand of one of the waiting women and gently kissed the back of it seductively.
“My Ladies,” he said firmly yet kindly, “please let me introduce you to my wife and duchess, Her Grace The Duchess of Kilchoan.”
The ladies curtseyed beautifully, and spoke together: “Your Grace”.
Mairi was slightly in awe of their ability to curtsey and gave inward thanks, again, to her lecturer in drama school for insisting upon the
importance of the art of demeanour and etiquette. There was always the possibility, she had stated, that one of the students would get a part in a costume drama, and curtseying was a must. Although it had never been a favourite lesson, she was now grateful to her teacher that she was able to bob and curtsey as well as any lady from this century.
“Mairi, let me introduce you to the Right Honourable, The Countess of Gotch. Lady Joanne.” Mairi smiled nervously at the tall, pretty woman whose strawberry blonde hair was pulled back loosely, and tied on top of her head in a tight bun with ribbons the colours of bright flames streaming down her back. Blue eyes peered back at Mairi from behind the gold-rimmed glasses, which sat on her pert little nose. The Lady Joanne’s lips were coloured a lovely shade of red, the same red that matched the magnificent dress she wore. Mairi was immediately drawn to the woman, whose smile was warm and friendly.
“Pleased to meet you, my lady.”
“We’ll have none of that ‘my lady’ stuff.” She snorted. “I believe we’re going to be great friends—I know this!” She laughed. “I can tell straightaway.”
“Hmph,” said the woman standing beside her. She was just as tall as the Lady Joanne, with quite an austere-looking but very handsome face. Mairi would hold back her opinion on this woman for the present time, she was kindly but more reserved than the Lady Joanne.
Appoloin made a point of bypassing the introduction to the serene blonde and moved on to the woman standing to Joanne’s left.
“This is the lovely, The Right Honourable, The Countess of Cutler, The Lady Carol,” he continued.
Lady Joanne interrupted, “We just call her Christmas, because she’s always so full of glad tidings.” The Lady Carol gasped at Joanne’s cheek and quickly flipped open her fan, desperately trying to rid herself of the embarrassing heat from the blush that had crept over her face. She peeked over at Lady Joanne, and Mairi saw the naughty glint in her eyes and was delighted when they both began to giggle, like two teenage girls.
“I am the Right Honourable, the Countess of Godivala, the Lady Rachel,” the slender blonde cut in to say, not bothering to wait for Appoloin’s introduction and speaking loudly enough to drown out the ladies’ laughter. “I am born of one of the oldest families in this country, who were originally from Normandy, 1066 and all that, as you know.” She continued to speak imperiously, looking down her nose at the two friends beside her, and voiced her opinion of them. “Whereas those two”—she pointed to Joanne and the Lady Carol—“are new breeds, and the type we had hoped would never be introduced into our society.”
“Get off your horse,” Joanne hissed. “We may be the new breeds, but you,” she pointedly remarked, “are one of the oldest families, who have no money and look to us, new breeds to keep you in the coffers that continue to allow you to live in the extravagant lifestyle you think you are entitled to. Just remember that the next time you want to buy a new horse. It’s my money that’s allowing you to buy it!”
Mairi bit her lower lip, and hid the smile that threatened. How wonderful, she thought, someone with fire.
Appoloin held her arm even more securely, then nodded to the Lady Rachel. “It is a pleasure, my lady, to meet you again.” He grinned at the Ladies Joanne and Carol. “Can I trust you ladies to take care of my duchess until my return?”
The Lady Rachel snorted. “If you leave your poor duchess in their hands, she will be the talk of the town. Leave her with me, and I will introduce her to a host of new friends.”
“Actually,” Appoloin insisted, “I would consider it a personal favour, in all honesty, if the three of you would take care of my wife. This is truly very new to her, as she comes from a different time.” He chuckled when he heard Mairi’s gasp. “It’s so very different in the Highlands of Scotland than it is here, so all this”—he spanned his arm around the room—“is completely alien to her, and I trust you will ensure she is not overwhelmed by too many introductions.” He turned steady and determined eyes on the Lady Rachel, who nodded meekly. “I am understood, am I not?” His inference was clear. The Lady Rachel could be in no doubt of his meaning, and his cold eyes regarded Rachel for a minute longer than necessary.
She was trapped, and slightly embarrassed, briefly looking down, she quickly curtseyed, nodding her head in complete understanding. When she stood up, her spine was as straight as a rod. Mairi admired her resolve and observed her small shudder, as though ridding herself of any unpleasantness, it was then, she decided, her assessment of the Lady had been misplaced. This was a determined woman, and one who was probably just as kind as Joanne and the Lady Carol. Who knew what life had been dealt to the Lady Rachel? Certainly not Mairi, so who was she to judge anyone? Perhaps life had been unfair and had left her a tad bruised. Whatever the cause, Mairi would enjoy getting to know her, if she was staying in this century.
Who knows what changes us, or breaks our spirit? Maybe she had a villainous husband, which has left her with a waspish nature to cover up the pain she’s had to go through, she thought. Perhaps she is this way to protect herself, because it’s clear she has a good heart. Mairi carried on with her musings, oblivious to the fact that Appoloin had been asking her a question.
“What say you, Mairi?” Appoloin asked again.
“I’m sorry?” she answered, surprised with herself. “I was woolgathering and did not hear your question.” She gazed up at him, love shining from her eyes. When the three women sighed audibly, uttering, “Awww….”, it made Mairi blush to the roots of her hair and caused Appoloin to laugh outright.
“I believe I can leave you in these ladies’ safe hands. Remember to fetch me, if you are discomfited, my love.” Raising his hand, he tenderly caressed her cheek, then, facing the women, he bowed before them, before walking away to exit the room.
Mairi placed her hand on the cheek Appoloin had lovingly touched and watched him leave the room.
“How charming,” a deep voice said from behind Mairi. “Who would have guessed it? The Duke of Kilchoan actually has feelings for his new lady friend.
“I would not have believed it had I not seen it with me own eyes. The once upon a time, available, and desperately attractive duke has succumbed to the pressure of matrimonial shacklement?” he asked disdainfully. “Where does this new filly of his come from, I ask you? And you are now to be addressed as Her Grace—he married you, what? I’ll lay a wager we have never heard of the place from which you hail, and that you have flown here on fairy wings.”
Mairi spun around as quickly as the voluminous dress allowed, Appoloin’s tender caress swept away from her thoughts, to find herself looking upon the newcomer in the group, whose warm brown eyes twinkled with mischief.
He was handsome, in a scruffy, hippy professor kind of way, and like many scruffy, hippy professors, he was very slender. His dark waistcoat and black jacket only added to the illusion of being rakishly thin.
He chose not to wear a powdered wig, which was the current fashion, allowing his dark, thick hair to fall loosely around his collar. His gaunt face made him resemble a starving bohemian artist, but it was clear this was not the case. His nose would have been straight, but for the bump where it had obviously been broken, and his large lips were spread wide, in an outrageously cheeky grin, to display a set of amazingly white teeth.
The Lady Rachel put her arm on Lady Joanne’s arm, indicating she remain silent.
“Let me do the honour, my dear,” she whispered, including both Joanne and Carol.
“Your Grace,” she said, while carrying out a slight curtsey, “let me introduce you to Her Grace, The Duchess of Kilchoan.” She glanced at Mairi. “Your Grace, let me introduce you to The Duke of Arundell.”
“A lot of Your Graces going around here, isn’t there?” he said, bored. “Call me Ephraim,” he insisted.
Taking Mairi’s hand, he bent at the waist and raised it to his lips, kissing it softly as he followed into a deep, theatrical bow. All the while, he kept his eyes firmly on Mairi’s face, noting her every expr
ession. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said, upon returning her hand.
The Lady Joanne hit him with her fan. “Ephraim, why do you always have to be such a dolt? Can you not see the poor girl is terrified of you?”
“Of me?” he asked, his hand flying to his mouth in mock shock. “Why on earth would she be afraid of me? Pray tell, beautiful duchess, what wrong have I caused you, to make you tremble in my presence?”
“Please,” Mairi begged, “call me Mairi. It is, after all, my name, and the name all my friends use.”
Mairi began to relax. She could feel the pressure of the shock of his words slowly dissipate, as the three ladies began to laugh and chide Ephraim, who was clearly a good friend.
“Your Grace,” Ephraim said, and bowed his head, “would you care to dance, or do you not have your dancing slippers on?”
Mairi glanced down at her feet. The purple slippers she was wearing were hidden under the mass of her ball gown. She stroked the beautiful silk fabric lovingly—it was such a beautiful dress. Iridescent purple that flared elegantly to the floor. She had initially believed the low, off-the-shoulder neckline scandalous, and thought she would be constantly tugging at it, but it fit her like a glove, and she felt like a princess, the way it swayed and swished with her every movement.
“Sorry, what was that? I missed your comment, Your Grace,” she asked.
“Come, come, none of that ‘Your Grace’ business. We are going to be friends. I am Ephraim or Arundell if it makes you more comfortable.” He smiled kindly at her. “I asked if you wished to dance.”
“I-I-I-” she stammered, “I would love to dance with you, but I have not got the foggiest how to do it.”
“Ha!” he bellowed. “It is as simple as getting out of bed in the morning,” he insisted. “I am certain, I was witness to Kilchoan throw you around the floor and from what I could see, you managed to keep up, quite well.” He grinned, naughtily, before adding, “All you do is follow the person in front of you. Never had the time or the gumption to take up lessons, so I just do what everyone else does. Come with me, Mairi, and let us show the world how they should be dancing. I believe we will start a new trend, perhaps even a new dance that everyone will want to emulate. They will call it the ‘Dance of the Graces’. What say you?”
The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution Page 11
