The Highlander's Yuletide Love

by Quigley, Alicia

  “Ranulf Stirling?” Isobel looked startled. “Why would you invite him here?”

  “He is staying with his cousin.”

  Isobel wrinkled her nose. “Hugh Stirling?”

  “You see?” said Francis. “I felt the need to rescue him.”

  “Hugh is very dull,” Isobel allowed. “But why would he wish to stay with us? He keeps to himself these days, I’m told, and we have visitors coming and going all day long. It is a pity he is so reclusive, I remember dancing with him long ago, and very charming he was.”

  Francis nodded. “Yes, he has eschewed Society for the past several years. I’ve never told you much about him, as I seldom see him now. But when we were in the Peninsula, we were good friends. He was an excellent officer—bold and dashing, but also thoughtful of his men and as kind as he could be to the civilians. The Duke trusted him implicitly, as did I.”

  Isobel glanced up at this profile. “You seem to think very highly of him.”

  “I do.” Francis shook his head slightly. “It is hard to explain how difficult it could be—the mud, the cold, the sleepless nights, the death all around. Ranulf could always be counted on for anything—whether military advice, a glass of whisky, a cheerful tune or a friendly ear.”

  Isobel nodded. “I didn’t realize how much he meant to you. What has happened that he seldom leaves his home?”

  Francis gave her a thoughtful look. “He would not wish me to tell you, so you must not betray my confidence.”

  Isobel drew herself up with mock indignation. “If you think so little of me, sir, you need not tell me.”

  He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I think the world of you, which is why I am telling you this. But Ranulf is very quiet about it. He would not want your pity.”

  “Then I shall not pity him,” said Isobel simply. “He has no need for me to take care of him, clearly.”

  Francis sat and drew her down next to him. She nestled in the crook of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “I knew you would understand,” he said. “Ranulf was a very gifted pianoforte player. If he were not a nobleman, I suppose he may have made his living at it.”

  “Was?” said Isobel.

  “He took a bullet in his wrist at Waterloo. He refused to leave his men; he had it tended to in camp and continued on. It didn’t appear to be a severe wound--it seemed there would be nasty scar, but it was clean, and the bullet came out easily. He was in pain for a few weeks, but he hid it well, and it healed up soon enough.”

  A thoughtful look came over Isobel’s face. “His fingers?” she asked hesitantly.

  Francis nodded. “For the most part he proceeds as always, but he can no longer play the pianoforte. I didn’t know for some time, as he spoke very little of it. But I do have fond memories of a few nights, with Ranulf playing tunes and all of the officers standing around, singing songs that reminded us of England.”

  “How sad. But surely, after all this time he must not feel it so acutely?”

  “How would you feel if you could no longer read your books and write about your excavations? How would Sophy feel if she could no longer paint?” asked Francis.

  “I would be miserable,” she said, after pondering his words a moment, “and Sophy would be distraught.”

  “You see? It does not seem to be much to others, but it was a source of great joy for him. I think that is part of the reason that he went to India to campaign against the Marathas. That hardened him, and while he made a fortune there, and is now the heir to Spaethness as well, he’s a changed man; harder, less open and cheerful. I have no doubt that the wars had much to do with that. Certainly, when I returned, I no longer felt like the man I was before. I was not so interested in the pastimes of my youth. Who knows what I might have done had I not met you and devoted a year of my life to convincing you to marry me. It certainly kept me from dwelling on my other difficulties, as you were a constant source of aggravation. I think having to give up the Army following his brother’s death, as well as losing his music, is troubling him.”

  “So Colonel Stirling has found nothing to occupy his time?” asked Isobel.

  “I think he is trying to overcome his misery with dubious amusements,” said Francis. “Riding to the hounds and boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s dulls the pain a bit, I imagine, and then there is the Daffy Club and gaming. But he still goes home at night and must face it.”

  “Hence the women, I suppose.” Isobel broke into a laugh at the sight of Francis’s surprised countenance. “Did you think I had not heard? I am no innocent miss, you know. There’s been a great deal of talk lately about him and the Lady of Ardfern.”

  “Is that who it is?” asked Francis.

  “Oh, men never know anything,” scoffed Isobel.

  “I knew enough to keep pursuing you,” countered Francis.

  “’Tis true.” Isobel laid her hand on his. “If you think Colonel Stirling will be happier here, I am glad to have him as a guest. I would never turn away someone you care about so deeply. “

  “You are the best of wives,” said Francis.

  An impish smile crossed Isobel’s face. “I think we are quite alone. Would you like to give me my reward?”

  Chapter 6

  Sophy floated up the steps to Strancaster House in a cloud of dusty rose muslin, her dark curls tucked under a very fetching bonnet trimmed with cerise ribbons that tied under one ear. She rapped on the door and then turned to Harriet, who stood at her side.

  “It is a lovely day for a drive out to Richmond,” said Harriet. “How sweet of Isobel to invite us.”

  “It is,” agreed Sophy. She straightened her wine red spencer with quick fingers and turned to her stepmother. “How do I look?”

  “Lovely, of course,” said Harriet vaguely. “You always do, my dear. I am forever telling my friends what a very pretty girl you are.”

  “Yes, but—” Sophy broke off as the door opened and the butler bowed, recognizing the visitors immediately.

  “Lady Glencairn, Lady Sophia, welcome,” he said with a bow, ushering them into the cavernous hall. “Lady Exencour expects you. If you will follow me.”

  He led them up the elegantly carved staircase that dominated the entry hall and to the door of a sitting room, which he flung open. Harriet and Sophy entered as Isobel, who was seated at a little desk writing a note, sprang up to greet them.

  “My dears!” she said. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting. We have a visitor, and I had some small housekeeping matters to attend to. I shall not be a moment longer!”

  “Do not be concerned about us,” said Harriet, perching on the settee. “A visitor! How delightful. Who might it be?”

  “Don’t you remember, Mama?” asked Sophy. “I told you that Isobel had written me a note saying Colonel Stirling was to come to stay with them.”

  “Oh, did you? It’s very likely, I have so many others things to think about that Isobel’s guest doubtless slipped my mind.” Harriet gestured vaguely. “Colonel Stirling. That name sounds familiar. Do I know him from somewhere?”

  “You may have met him years ago, before he went to the Peninsula,” said Isobel. “Or perhaps Sophy mentioned that we met him in the Park two days ago.”

  “Oh yes, indeed she did,” agreed Harriet. “At dinner she asked her papa if he knew him.”

  Isobel looked amused. “Did she?”

  “I do not—” began Sophy, but Harriet blithely continued.

  “Glencairn has met his father, of course, but knew little of the son. Douglas, on the other hand, appears to have made quite a study of his life. I gathered from his worshipful babblings that the colonel is quite a ‘top of the trees Corinthian’.”

  Isobel chuckled. “I suppose he is. Not that he’d thank you for saying that.”

  “If the opportunity arises, perhaps you’d be so kind as to introduce poor Douglas to Colonel Stirling. The lad seems to have be somewhat overwhelmed by stories of his doings, and meeting him might serve to bring him back to earth a bit.” />
  Sophy frowned. “Colonel Stirling struck me as a proud, disagreeable fellow,” she said coldly. “I can’t imagine how you could wish Douglas to model himself after him.”

  “Proud and disagreeable?” Harriet looked at Isobel. “Why would you invite such a man to stay with you?”

  Isobel’s amused gaze swept over Sophy, who looked away resolutely. “In this matter I fear Sophy and I disagree. I find Colonel Stirling delightful. He is less merry than when I danced with him at Almack’s many years ago, but I still find him charming, well-spoken, and not proud at all. He is a very good friend of Francis’, you know, and he is an excellent judge of character.”

  Harriet looked from one woman to the other. “The pair of you so seldom disagree about anything. I wonder what it is about Colonel Stirling that makes you perceive him so differently?”

  Sophy made a moue of distaste. “Apparently Colonel Stirling dislikes young women. It seems he prefers ladies to be, er, sophisticated.”

  Harriet gaped at her. “Sophy!”

  Isobel laughed. “No such thing. I told Sophy that Colonel Stirling is likely unused to the company of young ladies after spending so much time on the Peninsula and in India. But I think you may have the opportunity to judge for yourself.”

  She nodded at the open door and Sophy and Harriet heard footsteps approaching. Francis and Ranulf appeared in the doorway, dressed immaculately in dark, well-cut riding coats, fawn colored breeches, and perfectly polished boots. They stepped into the room, Francis to the fore.

  “I thought I would find only Isobel here. How pleasant to you see you as well, Harriet.” He raised her hand to his lips with an elegant gesture. “And Sophy as well. Isobel tells me how much you enjoyed the exhibit at the Royal Academy two days ago.”

  Sophy glanced at Ranulf. He stood behind Francis, his face politely bland, but she thought she saw a touch of curiosity in his eyes at the mention of the Royal Academy. She resolutely looked away and focused her attention on Francis.

  “It was beautiful. I found Mr. Constable’s work, The Hay Wain, to be of particular technical and artistic merit. I wish I could paint so well.”

  “Perhaps one day you will, child,” chirped Harriet. “After all, did your papa and I not promise that you may try?”

  Francis nodded. “Isobel mentioned that you would be returning to Scotland soon, and Sophy would pursue her craft. I am very happy for you. But I am being remiss. Lady Glencairn, do allow me to present Colonel Stirling.”

  Ranulf bowed over Harriet’s hand and then straightened, smiling down at her warmly. “I am delighted to meet you. I’ve heard much about you from the Exencours. They are both very fond of you and, I’m told you are responsible for them making a match of it.”

  Harriet’s eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Gracious, how kind of you,” she said. “But I had very little to do with it. Indeed, Lady Morgan—that is, Lady Eynsford now—had far more of a hand in the matter than I! I am very pleased to see them so happy together, though. There were days I despaired of ever talking sense into Isobel!”

  “Young lovers can be so difficult,” agreed Ranulf. “I am happy that wiser heads prevailed.”

  Under Sophy’s startled gaze, Harriet giggled delightedly. “How kind of you to say so, Colonel Stirling, though I fear it cannot be said that I am known for my wisdom! Still, young people do not always know what they want.”

  “They are fortunate to have a friend such as you,” said Ranulf.

  “So we are,” said Isobel. “I don’t know what we would have done without Harriet. Colonel Stirling, I believe you must remember Lady Sophia Learmouth?”

  Ranulf turned to Sophy with a smile that seemed cooler to her than the one with which he had greeted Harriet. “I am delighted to meet you again, Lady Sophia.” He bowed elegantly.

  Sophy inclined her head. “Colonel Stirling.”

  “Do I understand that you are a painter?” he asked politely.

  “I do paint, but indifferently,” said Sophy shortly.

  “Never say so, my dear!” Harriet looked up at Ranulf earnestly. “She is truly talented, and really very devoted to her work. Why, when she was still a girl I had taught her everything I knew, and when I told her she need not paint anymore, she burst into tears! It’s seldom a day goes by that she does not have a brush in her hand.”

  Ranulf turned his attention to Harriet. “Then she has you to thank for her skill, Lady Glencairn,” he said smoothly.

  “Oh, not at all! Why I never had a fraction of her brilliance,” protested Harriet. “I merely shared what poor abilities I had with her, and she has far surpassed me.”

  Ranulf turned to Sophy. “I would like to see your work sometime.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sophy repressively.

  “Of course you must!” chimed in Harriet. “What an excellent notion. I’m sure a gentleman with your vast experience of the world must know a great deal about art. We shall have a family dinner party—just the small group of us—and Sophy can show you her paintings. I’m certain your advice would be appreciated!”

  Sophy’s eyes widened in horror. “Mama, I don’t think—” she began, just as Isobel made a hasty gesture.

  “Colonel Stirling does not—” she said, but Ranulf smiled down at Harriet, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

  “That sounds very pleasant, Lady Glencairn. I would be delighted to dine with you en famille,” he said.

  Isobel raised her eyebrows in surprise and glanced at Francis, who returned her look. Sophy flushed beet red.

  “Mama, you must not tease Colonel Stirling. He cannot possibly be interested in our family, and certainly not in my work.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Sophia, I am very much looking forward to the experience.” Ranulf glanced at her, his gaze enigmatic.

  “There, you see!” said Harriet triumphantly. “Isobel and I shall arrange an evening that suits you. How fun it shall be!”

  “Indeed.” Ranulf bowed again. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  Francis stepped forward. “Perhaps we should be on our way now, Ranulf.” He turned to Isobel. “I came here to tell you that we are off to Tattersall’s. Stirling tells me that Berksville is selling several hacks and a very well set up pair.”

  “Tattersall’s!” exclaimed Harriet. “You must speak with my stepson, Lord Kincraig, about your horses some time, Colonel Stirling. He was quite voluble in regard to your skills as a horseman. I fear you have quite cast Exencour here into the shade.”

  To Isobel’s astonishment, Ranulf smiled again at Harriet. “I would be delighted to speak with Kincraig. I’m sure there will be time to answer his questions when I have the pleasure of dining with you.”

  Harriet beamed. “Thank you! How glad I am to have met you, Colonel Stirling.”

  “Your sentiments are reciprocated, Lady Glencairn.” Ranulf bowed to her again. He turned to Sophy. “Good afternoon, Lady Sophia.”

  “Colonel Stirling.” Sophy inclined her head frigidly.

  The gentlemen strolled from the room, and scarcely had the door closed behind them, than Harriet burst into speech.

  “What a delightful man! Sophy, I have no idea how you can think him disagreeable! Such excellent manners, such a presence, and surely you noticed how very handsome he is.”

  “My taste must be deficient, I suppose,” said Sophy.

  “I’ve never known it to be so, but in this case I must agree with Isobel!” Harriet shook her head. “You were so cold to the colonel, Sophy, that it bordered on ill-mannered. He will think you do not like him.”

  “The colonel appears to be receiving plenty of admiration from you and Isobel,” responded Sophy. “I doubt he has need of mine as well. He may flirt with you, Mama, as much as he pleases, but I have no intention of adding to his self-regard.”

  Isobel laughed. “I suppose we must allow Sophy to have her own opinion. In time she may come to like Colonel Stirling a bit better.”

  “She will have the opportunity when he com
es to dinner,” said Harriet. “How charming that will be. Douglas will be overjoyed.”

  “Mama, you cannot mean for him to see my paintings,” said Sophy.

  “Of course I do. What harm can it do, child? He is well-traveled, and might have some excellent advice for you.”

  “But I don’t wish him to see them!” To her chagrin, Sophy realized that she was speaking far more vehemently than she should.

  “Why ever not? You cannot tell me you wish to be a painter and then tell me that you do not wish others to see your work!”

  “I think that, perhaps, it is not others, but rather Colonel Stirling whom Sophy objects to,” said Isobel.

  “Nonsense,” said Harriet firmly. “It can do no harm.”

  Sophy, realizing that Isobel was looking at her in a quizzical way, subsided. “Very well.”

  “You see?” asked Harriet brightly. “Shall we be on our way?”

  Chapter 7

  Outside, Francis and Ranulf strolled down Audley Street on their way to Tattersall’s, stopping now and again to greet an acquaintance. They talked of mutual friends and horses for some minutes, until eventually Francis’s curiosity got the better of him.

  “You were very friendly to Lady Glencairn,” he said.

  Ranulf raised his eyebrows. “She seems to be a pleasant woman, and I know she is your wife’s cousin and dear friend. Would you have preferred me to insult her?”

  Francis laughed. “Not at all. But you have made it clear that you have no interest in attending parties, so I was startled when you accepted her invitation to dinner.”

  “One informal dinner with your friends will be no hardship. It would be impossible to refuse a woman as kind as Lady Glencairn appears to be.”

  “You will like Glencairn as well; he is my father’s age, but he’s a hale fellow and, while he can be intimidating, he is kindly at heart. His son, Kincraig, will be more than pleased to discuss horses and pugilism with you. I’ve known him since he was a boy, and he promises to be a fine man.”

  “And what of Lady Sophia?”