His Tarnished Ruby

by Kelsey McKnight

  Still, she wouldn’t say he was her type, for all his pleasing features. None could hold a candle to burly Jasper. Although, the pair did have one slight similarity. Andrew’s hair was a deep red, a sharp contrast in hue from Jasper’s flaming orange, but still in the same family. It was almost as if the colors mirrored their personalities; Jasper was bold and flashy while Andrew more reserved and steady. The shade of his brushed-back locks made her wonder if he had some Scot in his blood.

  “Mr. Philips,” she began, “where do your people hail from? British through and through?”

  “Y-yes. Kent, mostly, besides my parents, as far back as can be accounted for.”

  “Oh, and you said you were currently focused on your studies. What is your area of interest?”

  “Law, madam.”

  “Oh, so you mean to be a barrister? That’s—”

  “Good evenin’, lad,” Jasper’s deep voice called from behind. “Might I steal the lady away for a dance?”

  Flora felt heat prickle the back of her neck as she turned toward him. “Hello, Jasper. This is Andrew Philips. Mr. Philips, this is Jasper MacNee.”

  “Pleasure,” Andrew said to Jasper in a voice much deeper and sturdier than the one he used with Flora. Strange how men could do that, change their voices so. She thought the more masculine pitch suited him better and almost wished it was there to stay.

  “Now we’ve gotten that out o’ the way, I’d like to take the lady for a dance, aye?” Jasper took Flora’s free hand, pulling her to his side before Andrew could answer.

  “Lovely speaking with you, Mr. Philips. If I don’t see you again before you leave, have a pleasant journey back to London.” Flora allowed him to kiss her hand before watching Andrew bob a short bow and retreat into the crowd.

  “I saved ye, did I?” Jasper grinned widely, looking down at Flora.

  “Saved me?” She laughed, clutching to his arm. “Hardly. We were just having a pleasant chat. Don’t tell me you were jealous?”

  “Jealous o’ that dandy?” he asked, gesturing with his thumb. “Do no’ make me laugh! That’s akin to me sayin’ I’m jealous o’ a wee barn cat.”

  “Don’t poke fun.”

  “Have a soft spot for him, then?” His eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners.

  “Don’t be daft. Now, I believe you asked me for a dance.”

  “Well, aye, I did.” He nodded and leaned back on his heels. “But I also promised the lads another round.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Was she being brushed aside for a bunch of men? “Pardon me?”

  Seeming to catch his mistake, he smiled at her, showing the set of dimples he knew she loved. “Besides, if the MacLeod came to find me and his wee sister dancin’, there’s no tellin’ what he’d do.”

  “I-I suppose you’re right,” Flora admitted somewhat sourly, releasing her hold on his arm. It was true that her brother was not too keen on the thought of Jasper courting her. Nonetheless, she still felt slighted at her promised dance being taken away, no matter the reason for doing so.

  “There’s a good lass. Now, we’ll be sure to get in a dance o’ our own soon enough, when no one’s around to see us, aye?”

  “Yes, yes,” she whispered quietly as he turned away from her and strode back to his table.

  For the second time that night, Flora felt ignored by Jasper. She was sure he had feelings for her—surely he did. Since she reached the marrying age nearly two years ago, he had pursued her, albeit quietly, murmuring words of love into her ear and promising a quiet country life full of children and animals. She wondered whether he might have already proposed, without Conner’s constant interferences.

  Flora pondered this as she weaved through the crowd back to her own seat. But as she neared Jasper, she saw he had more company than just “the lads.” The maid was once again perched upon his knee and twirling a lock of his bright orange hair around her finger in a rather coy manner. Flora turned up her nose, flying past them in a hurry to reach the safety of the MacLeod family table.

  “He’s done it again?” Gwen asked her as Flora fell into her seat.

  “See for yourself,” she replied shortly. She looked for her cup before remembering that that Charlotte had taken it.

  She glanced into Gwen’s goblet and saw it was still filled to the rim. Quickly, she snatched it, holding it to her lips and beginning to drink. Gwen said nothing, merely raising her brow as she resumed her conversation with the woman on her left.

  The wine was fragrant with late summer honey and coated her tongue with its sweetness. As she watched Jasper whisper in the maid’s ear, she felt her jealousy rage anew within her and the drink did little to calm it. Before she knew it, her goblet was again lacking in beverage. She filled and drained it twice over before just grabbing the decanter from the servant and replenishing her drink herself, the bottle well hidden beneath the tablecloth between each pour.

  By the time the container was dry, Flora didn’t mind. The alcohol was rapidly covering her with a warm blanket of haziness. The music was smoother, the dancers more animated, and her burning soul saved by the cool wine.

  But when she saw the maid plant a hefty kiss upon Jasper’s lips, Flora feared she would be ill. She swallowed the bile that crept up her throat and stood in her seat, brushing off Gwen’s inquisitive look. She tried to make a graceful exit from the room, but the hem of her gown was trapped beneath the leg of her chair and it took two heavy pulls before she got the lace trim free. Jasper was staring at her by the time she began her walk through the feasting hall and out toward privacy and fresh air.

  Once the hall’s doors were closed behind her, Flora took a long breath to steady her spinning head. The stone floor rose like the sea beneath her, threatening to pull her down. She palmed the wall and gripped the grooves between the rocks. It was a poor excuse for a handle, but she feared that if she didn’t hold on to something, the carpet under her feet would swallow her up.

  She stumbled to the next open door, gulping down deep breaths of cool air. She was in the family’s sitting room and someone had left the windows open, allowing for a fresh breeze to pour in. She sat on her knees upon the settee under the largest window and leaned on the stone windowsill, her cheek pressed against the velvet drapery. It was soft against her skin, and she found it strangely comforting.

  It was dark outside, with no moon to light the hills to the right, nor the cliffs on the left. She could only see the outlines of the mounds in the distance and pinpricks of the stars in the sky. She remembered when she was young, her mother used to say that each star was a dream and one would fall from the sky at night, floating into her room in order to give her sweet visions in her sleep. When she was very young, she would feign slumber, waiting for a ball of light to creep into her window, which she was sure to keep open every night. Her mother was so cross with her when she saw the glass panes wide open, letting the frigid winter air into her room. But she couldn’t be angry once she heard why her daughter was constantly tired and with a cold that never ended.

  Flora smiled at the memory. It seemed like a lifetime ago, her being so young and easy to fool. But wasn’t that happening with Jasper? Her being fooled? He whispered sweet words to her in the empty halls with no one around, but wouldn’t declare his pure affections to Conner, nor ask for her hand in marriage. She wondered if her younger sister was right and Jasper was merely toying with her emotions.

  She sighed and tore her gaze from the heavens. She had her fill of the clean air, so she lay back on the couch and closed her eyes, trying to ward off the wild spinning that was slowly ebbing to dull waves. There was no certainty that the ache of nausea would ever subside, as she had never been so wildly drunk before, and she debated leaving Penelope and Drummond’s wedding reception for good, retiring to her bed for an early night.

  “Flora, are ye in here?” a voice asked from the doorway into the darkened room.

  She lifted her head and squinted, merely making out a tall and wide figure. He
r heart picked up a lively tempo and fluttered against her breastbone. “Yes?”

  “Are ye well, lass?”

  “Jasper?” Flora wasn’t sure if it was truly him; maybe she only hoped it would be. She brought her torso up and draped her skirt over her legs, still allowing for a peek of bare ankle to show. “Is it you?”

  “No…it’s me, Big Angus. The MacLeod asked me to come and see if ye were ill.”

  She sighed heavily and dropped back to the decorative pillows. “I’m all right, thank you.”

  “Did ye…should I get Jasper for ye?” He sounded unsure. She guessed he had seen the way the pair flirted, but she didn’t wish to ask.

  “No, I only thought it might be him,” Flora whispered, feeling embarrassed that she had inadvertently showed her weakness to the man.

  “Do ye need help to your chambers, then?”

  “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary. I’m only taking the air.”

  Big Angus cleared his throat and shifted a bit before nodding. “I’ll be off. I wish ye a well evenin’.”

  Flora waved him off before clasping her hands to her chest, hoping to slow the dreaded thumps that pounded in her ears. She noticed that Big Angus didn’t shut the door behind him when he left, but Flora couldn’t bring herself to get up and close it. The clock to one side of the room let off a series of ringing dongs, signaling that the midnight hour had begun. She knew that meant the wedding party in the grand hall wouldn’t end for a few more hours yet, and she didn’t relish the thought.

  Groaning, she pushed herself up, breathing in one final, deep breath of frigid air before shambling across the sitting room, her hands grazing the chairs as she went. She could hear wafts of merrymaking drifting through the corridor, and was content to stay hidden in the crooks of the stone, just outside the feasting hall. Flora leaned against the wall, bracing herself for the long walk up to her chambers.

  A shrill giggle shot through the comforting din and Flora threw her hands over her ears in surprise. But that sensation turned sickening when she saw who let loose the hacking laugh that jarred her so. Jasper came from the feasting hall, the busty maid clinging to his arm. Flora crept back, deeper into the shadows.

  “Ach, lass,” he crooned in the same voice he used with Flora in the quiet moments they stole together. “Ye can no’ flirt with me so.”

  “And why not?” The maid pouted.

  “Because I’m workin’ on my standin’ with the MacLeod, ye ken?”

  The maid ran a finger down Jasper’s chest, stopping when she hit his belt. “Oh, he won’t mind a bit if ye have some fun, as long as ye do your work. And we both know how good o’ a worker ye are.”

  “No, no, lass. Leave it be, aye?”

  “But what if I do no’ want to?”

  “No, Una, no’ now.”

  Flora rolled her eyes, disgusted with the way the maid—apparently called Una—was draped over Jasper, when he was clearly rejecting her advances. She couldn’t help but feel a bit smug, watching him brush off Una’s clambering hands. Surely he did little more than flirt with the maid in the feasting hall in order to make Flora jealous. She made a mental note to never tell him his plan had worked.

  “Just come up to my chambers a moment, Jasper?” Una begged. “A short, wee moment is all I ask ye.”

  Jasper chuckled and patted the maid on the bum. “A wee nightcap, perhaps? Just a drink to see me through the dark hours.”

  Flora let out an audible gasp of “No!” Her drunken voice was several octaves louder than the whisper she aimed for.

  “Who’s that, then?” Una called out, her hands balled on her wide hips.

  Flora shrank farther into her corner, her palm over her mouth, and her blood running cold. If Jasper and his wench caught her in the corner, there’s no telling what they would have thought. They might suspect her of spying! Of course, that’s exactly what she had been doing, but she would die before admitting it.

  “We’d best be off, Una,” Jasper whispered.

  “Still fancy a nightcap?” the maid giggled.

  Flora heard a series of rustling, not unlike the sounds of her own dress when she held them up to climb the stairs.

  “No’ here, lass!” Jasper chucked. “There’s time enough, yet.”

  She listened as the pair made their exit, their steps growing dimmer and dimmer until she was left alone in silence.

  Chapter Two

  Letting out a deep breath, Flora slid down to the floor to sit within a nest of sky blue silk ruffles. She took several gasps of air, relieved at not being caught, yet still deeply wounded at Jasper running off with the maid. Although neither of them verbally admitted what they would do once they reached Una’s bedroom, Flora wasn’t such a prude that she didn’t know what would occur.

  Although it sickened her, her mind wandered to Jasper and his nocturnal ventures. She wondered if he would truly follow Una up to the servants’ quarters, relieve her of her plain brown dress, and bed the maid while Flora sat downstairs. She imagined what it would feel like to lure Jasper into her own bed, welcome him with open arms, and see his broad shoulders flex as he disrobed. Flora would run her hands down his muscular arms and kiss the single long scar that dashed across his cheek. Yes, she would finally kiss him, something she had been yearning for since he first came to the castle more than three years before.

  The more she thought on what she would do with Jasper, the more she thought of what he was doing with Una. Una would be the one he embraced and whispered to in the dark. Una would be the one running her worn servant’s fingers through his fiery mane. And Una would be the one to whisper “good morning” when the first light broke. Flora would still be alone.

  The emotions flooded over inside her chest, spilling out her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders and Flora cursed herself for drinking so much wine. The honeyed alcohol only made her more upset and she knew her face would be red and puffy when she arose from bed the next day. Still, she couldn’t stop the tears, which only frustrated her more. All she wanted to do was go up to her chambers and hide beneath the bedding to cry in peace, but she felt positively rooted to the ground, unable to pull herself upright.

  Damn the bloody wine.

  “Oh, help!” Flora cried lowly, blotting her face with the hem of her skirt. “Someone please assist me! I want to get off the bloody floor!”

  She paused, listening for the sound of hurried footsteps, but none came.

  “Hello? Do help! The stones are freezing and my arse is cold!” She let out a choked giggle at her own words. They cut through the ugly sobs.

  When no one answered her second call, Flora knew that all available servants would be in the feasting hall and no one would be wandering the corridors aimlessly. She also understood that she had to get up and make her way to her chambers before people began leaving the wedding feast. There was no way she would be caught dead completely inebriated and puffed, sitting in a ball in her crumpled silks.

  Flora looked about and caught sight of a tall candelabra to her right. It wasn’t lit, so she grasped onto the black iron and counted to three in her mind before attempting to hoist herself upward. She immediately fell back, the candleholder crashing to the stones below with a defining crack.

  Not able to handle the sheer ridiculousness, Flora began laughing so hard, her sides were torn in two and fresh waves of tears formed in her eyes.

  “Madam?” a voice questioned. “Are you well?”

  She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing the tall figure of Andrew Philips standing over her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Mr. Philips. Fancy meeting you in the hallway.”

  “Are you hurt?” he asked her seriously. “Shall I fetch someone?”

  Flora paused, confused. Was she speaking to the same Andrew Philips with the terrible speech impediment? This voice was clear and deep, a crisp sound in the quiet. “Mr. Philips? Andrew Philips? From London? The one studying law?”

  “The very same.” />
  Not entirely convinced, she asked, “Do you promise?”

  “Yes. Might I help you up?” He held out a hand, but Flora kept her own upon her lap. She was entirely too stunned to move.

  “Why, Mr. Philips, your stutter…you’re cured!”

  He raised his brows and the corners of his lips twitched. “Right, yes. Let’s get you up now, Madam.”

  Flora allowed him to take her hands and pull her up. The sudden movements made her head spin. She grasped Andrew’s arm, but he didn’t move, making him the perfect crutch. She patted him on the shoulder appreciatively. “Goodness, you’re a sturdy fellow.”

  “Thank you, Madam.” He looked around the empty corridor. “Shall I fetch someone to take you back to your quarters?”

  “No! No one must see me so…so…” She searched for words that could fully explain how terrible she looked. Swollen? Bloodshot? Disheveled? Messy?

  “Drunk?” Andrew offered helpfully.

  “Yes, Mr. Philips. I’m so terribly drunk and I don’t wish anyone to see me in such a state.”

  She watched as Andrew’s head swiveled about, seemingly looking for something. “Well, I suppose I could escort you to your chambers…”

  “Smashing!” Flora began pulling him toward the stairs, but faltered, the tip of her slipper tripping on air. Luckily, Andrew had a firm grasp on her hand and threw the other about her waist to steady her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “A little wobbly, truth be told.” She abruptly felt tired—so very, very tired. The events of the evening had drained her. “I think I must sleep now.” She began letting her legs grow limp, and she wanted nothing more that to rest right where she stood. “I’ll be fine here.”

  “No, no, Madam. We must go on,” Andrew told her firmly, struggling to keep her upright at she fought to be let down to sleep.