by Diane Gaston
Lucas gave a wry grin. ‘That is quite a story.’ He ran his fingers over a small side table.
She went on. ‘Perhaps some people would value the pieces for the very reason my mother detests them. No matter what, they are of no use covered with dustsheets up here.’
They went through boxes and chests and found a few other items. Lucas moved their furniture close to the doorway for Robert or Erwin to carry down later. They took the other items to the nursery, as well as some boxes and chests in which to pack the items to sell. Room by room, they covered the entire second floor, except for Davina’s and Niven’s rooms.
‘I’ll speak to them later,’ Miss Wallace said. ‘But I do not expect them to give up very much.’
Of course she did not.
As they walked through the hallway again, she pointed to the many landscape paintings hung there. ‘My grandfather collected paintings of Scottish landscapes,’ she replied. ‘We come from a long line of Scottish patriots, you know.’
‘I know.’ He smiled. ‘Your father is fond of mentioning his relation to William Wallace.’
She grimaced. ‘It is rather a distant connection, but, yes, he is intensely proud of it.’
Any man descended from greatness had no wish to become the family’s prime failure.
‘I have heard of Wallace.’ Lucas recalled a mention in a history book.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘William Wallace was the hero of the Battle of Stirling Bridge and one of our greatest Scotsmen.’
Lucas seemed to remember that the man had been hanged, drawn and quartered as a traitor. According to English history, that was.
He turned back to the painting. ‘Who are the artists of these landscapes?’
‘This one is by Nasmyth.’ She gestured to the others down the hall. ‘We have others by Stewart and More.’ Her lips turned down into a frown. ‘I think they should be sold,’ she said softly.
He felt the ache inside her. Her grandfather was not the only family member who loved these paintings. Even though romantically idealised, they did show Scotland’s wild beauty.
But he vowed he would help them raise the funds. ‘If you find them valuable, others might as well, but it is for you to decide.’
She glanced away, a pained look on her face, but she steeled herself before his eyes. ‘We should sell them.’
He admired her strength of resolve.
‘But perhaps not all of them,’ he added. ‘Save the ones that mean the most to your family.’ To her, he meant.
She nodded.
They worked their way down to the next two floors, choosing more paintings and decorative items. They found her parents in the library.
Her father rose as they entered the room. ‘Well? How are you faring?’
Miss Wallace clamped her lips shut and stepped behind Lucas.
He spoke for them. ‘We’ve found many things to sell, my lord. We’ve collected most of them in the nursery, but I strongly suggest neither of you look at them. It will be easier for you that way.’
‘I cannot see why we must sell our things!’ Lady Dunburn cried.
Her husband’s face creased in anguish. ‘I have explained to you, my dear.’
Miss Wallace spoke up. ‘Mama, if we do not we will lose everything!’
Her mother glared at her. ‘You are always saying so, Mairi!’
Possibly because she was right.
Dunburn sat on a sofa next to his wife. A rosewood box inlaid with ivory sat on the table, along with several smaller velvet boxes. ‘We have brought your mother’s jewels,’ Dunburn said quietly.
Lady Dunburn swivelled away, holding a handkerchief to her nose. Lucas waited for Miss Wallace to take the chair near them. He stood behind her.
Dunburn opened the rosewood box. ‘You must tell us which to sell, Lucas,’ he said.
Lucas knew nothing about jewellery.
Dunburn lifted out several brooches, pendants and rings, with glittering emeralds, diamonds, topaz, amethysts and rubies in settings of gold and silver. Next he opened the velvet boxes, which contained matching sets of necklaces, earrings and bracelets. The number of jewels was staggering, even in Lucas’s experience. His mother, a countess, did not have nearly as many. Lucas would wager that these valuables were worth what Dunburn owed.
Her mother let out a sob.
Dunburn spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Tell us what to do, Lucas.’
Lucas did not know what to say.
Miss Wallace straightened in her chair. ‘We save the old family pieces, first of all.’ She quickly put several pieces in one pile off to the side, then turned to her mother. ‘Mama, do you have some favourites?’
‘They are all my favourites!’ her mother wailed.
‘You must choose some, Mama,’ her daughter said, her voice low but firm.
Lucas could see how difficult this was for Miss Wallace, forcing her mother’s unhappiness.
They managed to sort through every piece of jewellery, saving more than Lucas thought prudent, but far fewer than Lady Dunburn begged to keep. Most of the pieces had been gifts from Dunburn, a habit the man must learn to break if he wanted to keep his estate.
When the final selections were made, all at Miss Wallace’s direction, her father turned to Lucas. ‘What say you, Lucas? Should we sell so many?’
He looked the older gentleman in the eye. ‘I would say your daughter was far kinder than I would have been. I would have selected only the family pieces to save.’
‘No!’ cried Lady Dunburn. ‘That is too cruel.’
Lucas spoke to her in a low, kind voice. ‘Your daughter has not been cruel. Her choices are sensible and considered.’
Lady Dunburn turned her face away, refusing even to look at her daughter.
Lucas turned to Dunburn. ‘We will see to the packing of the items. Your daughter has agreed to record an inventory of every item.’
Such mundane matters did not interest Dunburn, though. He stood and clapped Lucas on the back. ‘Well. Well. The hardest part of the task is done. How can I thank you, Lucas? You must dine with us. That is what you must do. Dine with us.’
Lucas glanced at Miss Wallace, but his finely tuned sensing of her feelings failed him. He could only guess she would not approve.
He hedged. ‘Sir, is it appropriate for me to dine with you?’
‘Why not?’ Dunburn said. ‘It is not like you are really our butler.’
He glanced at Lady Dunburn. ‘My lady, you may not wish me to dine with you.’
Lady Dunburn’s frown cleared when she looked up at Lucas. ‘Of course you must dine with us, Lucas.’
Jewellery boxes in hand, Lucas and Mairi left the library. He asked her, ‘Do you object to my dining with your family?’
She avoided looking at him. ‘If it pleases my parents, how can I object?’
They climbed the stairs and brought the jewellery to the nursery, where Miss Wallace made a detailed inventory.
When they were finished, Lucas stepped back and frowned. ‘I do not think we should leave the jewellery here. It should be locked up. It is too important.’
She shrugged. ‘If you wish.’
He found a portmanteau they’d brought down from the attic and he packed all the jewellery in there. It was an item that could easily be kept about one’s person and just as easily locked up.
He lifted the bag. ‘Your mother’s jewellery alone should bring enough to pay off your father’s loan.’
They wrapped the paintings in cloths and packed the other items in boxes.
Miss Wallace lifted one of the figurines from her bedchamber. She hesitated before wrapping it in a cloth.
Lucas touched her arm, stopping her. ‘These figurines will not fetch much of a price. I suggest we do not sell them.’
‘Every bit counts.’ She res
olutely placed the figurine in a box.
He took it back out again and unwrapped it. ‘Not enough to risk them breaking while we transport them. Put them back on your mantel.’ He handed it to her.
She glanced at him as his fingers touched hers. Her hands were soft and warm and he was reluctant to move away.
She placed both figurines away from the other items. ‘I will put them back later.’
Lucas smiled inwardly. He was glad he’d made her keep her treasures and it was rare for him to feel glad about something he’d done.
* * *
After they finished the packing and the inventory, Mairi carried her figurines back to her room and placed them back on her mantel, brushing them with her fingertips after they were in place. They’d been a gift from her father, back when she’d been a little girl and innocent. Now they seemed like a gift from Lucas. Whenever she looked at them, she would think of him.
Had Lucas noticed that she hadn’t asked Niven and Davina to donate any of their possessions? The truth was, Mairi could not bring herself to ask them to give up anything. Their lives were already altered because of the financial mess her father and mother had made of things. Niven had lost his tutor and would never have a Grand Tour, nothing to help him grow from a boy into a man. Davina had no governess to instruct her in music or drawing, no money for a dancing master to teach her the latest steps, no finishing school to refine her social graces. Perhaps if their father and mother economised as instructed, there might be some sort of dowry for Davina when she came of age to marry.
Davina entered her room without knocking. ‘Niven said you and Lucas are making us sell half of our belongings. I said it could not be true. It is not true, is it, Mairi?’
Mairi sighed. She’d tried to protect Niven and Davina from her worst fears about the state of their finances, but she could not protect Davina from everything. ‘Help me dress and I’ll explain.’
‘It is not true, is it?’ Davina repeated.
Mairi glanced at her mirror, the mirror that had once belonged to her grandmother. Another gift from Lucas now.
Davina stood directly in front of her, elbows akimbo. ‘So? Is it true?’
Mairi turned her back so Davina could untie her laces. ‘Well, it is not true that Lucas and I are making anyone do anything. And we did not choose half your belongings. We did not ask you to give up anything.’ She slipped off her dress and laid it over a chair.
Davina pressed on. ‘I peeked in the nursery. What were you doing with all those boxes, then?’
‘We chose things our family does not need. They will be sold to pay off Papa’s debts.’ She walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out a dress.
‘Not that old thing.’ Davina took the dress from her hands and selected another one, a blue silk that complemented her eyes. ‘Are Papa’s debts so great that we have to sell our things?’
‘Yes,’ Mairi told her. ‘Papa’s debts are that great.’ She stepped into the dress.
Davina buttoned up the back. ‘But I thought we were rich.’
‘We are not poor.’ Yet. ‘But Papa owes money to several creditors. And our unfortunate servants have not been paid in over a year. That is why your governess left. And Niven’s tutor. And the butler and the other servants.’
Davina’s expression turned sober. ‘But I thought Niven no longer needed a tutor. Or I a governess.’
‘You are both old enough to forgo a governess and tutor, that is true,’ Mairi admitted. ‘But Niven’s tutor should have taken him on a Grand Tour, like William Crawfurd’s will do. Papa cannot afford that. And you might have had a dance master or some other instruction in refinement.’
Davina’s brows knitted and she pursed her lips.
‘Sit down,’ Davina finally said. ‘I’ll fix your hair. It looks terrible.’
Mairi’s hand went to her hair. Had she looked a mess? She sat at her dressing table and Davina pulled the pins from her hair before she could tell if it had gone askew.
‘Well...’ Davina spoke more like her typically cheerful self ‘...did Mr Hargreave propose marriage to you? Lady Crawfurd was certain he would.’
‘He did not.’ Thank goodness. ‘And I doubt he ever will.’
‘Really?’ Her sister brushed the knots from her hair. ‘He certainly acted charming around you.’
‘He was merely trifling with me, Davina,’ she said. ‘Some men do that.’
‘Lady Crawfurd did not think he was trifling with you.’ Davina pulled Mairi’s hair high on her head, securing it with a blue ribbon and letting it fall into loose curls instead of putting it in a chignon.
Mairi shot back, ‘Lady Crawfurd ought to have known that I do not possess a dowry sufficient to tempt a younger son.’ Given her father’s debts, she suspected there was no dowry at all.
Davina used pins to keep Mairi’s hair in place. She surveyed her work. ‘Hargreave should have seen you with your hair loose like this. He’d have been even more smitten with you.’
Oh, the romantic heart of a fourteen-year-old girl! Mairi hoped her younger sister would never learn that men were not always what they seemed. She glanced at her image in the mirror. Davina had made it look as if she fussed over her appearance for dinner. Would Lucas think so?
Mairi did not know if she hoped he would notice or wished he would not.
She stood. ‘Come. It is almost time for dinner.’
Chapter Twelve
Lucas stood behind some chairs in the drawing room when the door opened and Niven walked in. On his heels were Davina and Mairi.
Niven broke into a smile. ‘Lucas! I thought you were done playing butler.’
‘He is not playing butler,’ their mother said without cheer. ‘He is our guest for dinner.’
‘No!’ Niven looked even more pleased. ‘Capital idea.’
Davina skipped to Lucas’s side. ‘I am so glad!’
Mairi said nothing.
‘Pour Lucas a drink,’ Dunburn told Niven.
Niven gladly poured some claret into a wine glass and brought it over to Lucas. ‘Maybe when the ladies leave us, you can tell us more about the battles you’ve fought.’
Lucas hoped not. Talking of the war meant remembering his brother’s death. His failure. And the foolishness of those seeking glory on the battlefield. Lucas was uncomfortable enough about dining with the family. How would he answer questions about himself? He did not wish to be the person he was.
Dunburn placed a hand on Niven’s shoulder. ‘We have more important matters to discuss, my son.’
Would Dunburn actually talk about his debts?
Lucas glanced over at Mairi and saw her features tighten. He wished she could feel good about what she’d accomplished. It had been a difficult job to select items of value to sell, some of which meant a great deal to her and her family. She’d pushed her mother, who now seemed very glum and was perhaps blaming her daughter for it. Lady Dunburn would not even look at her.
And Miss Wallace looked exceptionally lovely this evening. The blue of her dress perfectly matched her eyes and it was difficult not to stare at them. Her hair was looser than she usually wore it. He fancied that if he pulled the end of the ribbon, her dark brown waves would cascade to her shoulders.
‘Why did you help Mairi pick things to sell, Lucas?’ Davina asked him.
‘Your father asked me to,’ he replied, which was really no answer at all.
‘Some of the paintings are gone from the hallway,’ she went on. ‘Did you take those from the wall?’
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘To sell them?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
Davina’s expression turned petulant. ‘I think it is extremely dreadful that we must sell our things.’
‘It is better than a poorhouse,’ he countered.
Davina’s eyes grew wide. ‘A poorhouse? Sure
ly we won’t have to go to a poorhouse!’
‘Indeed not!’ piped up Dunburn.
Niven joined them. ‘See? I told you, Davina.’
‘Mairi would be delighted to see us all in the poorhouse,’ Lady Dunburn said.
Mairi flinched as if struck.
Lucas jumped in. ‘I can assure you, my lady, your daughter took no enjoyment from today’s task.’
Lady Dunburn lifted her chin and turned away.
At that moment Erwin appeared in the doorway. ‘Dinner is served.’
Lady Dunburn took her husband’s arm and Lucas was uncertain if he should escort Mairi. What was his place in this pretend life of his? In England his new status as his father’s heir made him higher in precedence than even the Baron of Dunburn. He was glad he did not have to assume that role here. As it was, Niven and Davina walked behind their parents. Lucas offered Miss Wallace his arm and their gazes caught for a moment before she accepted him.
In the dining room, he sat between Mairi and her mother, who took her place at the end of the table opposite her husband. Niven and Davina sat on the other side. Even in the cavalry, Lucas had been served his meals, but it felt awkward here. In just these few days, he’d become accustomed to being a servant, not the served.
The mood at the table was sombre, he thought. The day had been difficult, after all. Only the two youngest members had been relatively free of the burden and stress.
Davina spoke first. ‘Papa, why did you let Mairi and Lucas take so many of our paintings and things? Why are they being sold? Are you really in so much debt?’
How honest would Dunburn be? Lucas wondered. And why was it everyone put the blame for these difficult decisions on Mairi—Miss Wallace, he meant? How was he supposed to think of her? As a butler or as the son and heir of an earl?
‘Now, now, my little one, you must not fret about this,’ her father replied. ‘Nothing is as bad as it might seem. You ladies must not worry yourselves about this.’
