I must go to supervise the packing; I find that if I am not there the servants neglect to pack the best pillowcases, or the boots that Glencairn feels he absolutely must wear while we travel are buried at the bottom of his trunk. Please know I think of you fondly, and will write again when we are safe at home.
Your loving sister,
Harriet
Chapter 8
A well-sprung traveling carriage bearing the Glencairn arms trundled through the Scottish countryside, its shining black lacquer gleaming against the rolling green hills. The earl and his countess were comfortably ensconced inside, while Lord Kincraig and Lady Sophia rode beside, enjoying the warmth of the June sun. Several miles back, a coach loaded with an imperial as well as innumerable trunks and valises lumbered along. Inside a most superior lady’s maid and her counterpart, the earl’s valet, swayed back and forth with the lurching of the vehicle.
“Well Mr. Fletcher, it will be a relief to be out of this coach and drinking a cup of tea in the Hall at Glencairn this afternoon,” the maid remarked.
“Indeed, Miss Wilson. It’s certainly better to be journeying here in the summer rather than the chill of winter, but it’s still a long, weary road. I feel I am moving even after I alight in the evening.”
“It could be worse. I feel sorry for Lady Selmine’s dresser; they are spending the summer in London, as her mother is too ill to move. The heat and smell will be unbearable.” Miss Wilson shuddered.
“There aren’t so many nights waiting up late after routs and balls, either,” the valet continued. “I find country hours very agreeable.”
“I suppose there will be more entertaining than usual this summer,” Wilson said, with a significant gleam in her eye. “I hear that Colonel Stirling will be visiting Lord and Lady Exencour, and you know how the countess dotes on him. He’s a great favorite of Kincraig’s as well. It’s nice that he will be here to amuse them; her ladyship must be that worried about Lady Sophia, saying she wants to paint instead of marrying. Perhaps she’s hoping to find a man for her here in Scotland.”
“But Lady Sophia has been acquainted with every eligible gentleman in this neighborhood since she was a babe. Why would she take an interest in one of them now?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a great number of house parties, and visitors from the surrounding counties. Her ladyship might be humoring Lady Sophia, but I doubt she’ll give up on the idea of her marrying.” The abigail sniffed. “If you ask me, the girl’s spoiled. Racketing about the countryside, painting flowers and rivers and mooning about on the heath all day, sketching. If she were my daughter, I’d put a stop to that sort of nonsense.”
Mr. Fletcher laughed. “I have no doubt you would. She’s a nice girl, though; always pleasant to the staff, and never demanding. Spoiled she may be, but she has a sweet temperament.”
“Self-indulgent, I call her,” continued Miss Wilson. “Never thinking of the duty she owes her family. At her age she should have a child or two already, and a home of her own, not be here at Glencairn worrying her poor stepmother. As though Lady Glencairn doesn’t have enough to think of, with that Kincraig promising to be wild, and a wee child of her own.”
The valet shook his head. “It’s not for us to question the ways of the gentry, Miss Wilson. I suppose they will do as they please.”
The maid sniffed again and crossed her arms over her chest. Her further thoughts were not stated, however, as at that moment, the coach lurched over a deep rut in the road, and the occupants were forced to busy themselves making sure that the baggage piled high in the carriage didn’t fall to the floor, damaging its delicate contents.
Little knowing that she was the focus of below stairs conversation, Lady Sophia gazed down the road, and, realizing that she was even closer to home than she had thought, turned her head toward her brother.
“Let’s race to the bridge!” she called out, and Kincraig, who was some yards behind her, clapped his heels to his roan hunter without responding, quickly gaining on her. Laughing, Sophy tapped her mare’s shoulder with her crop. The horse obligingly broke into a gallop, and soon the black gauze ribbon that ornamented her elegant top hat streamed out behind her, as she and the grey mare raced down the road, oat fields alternating with oak trees as they hastened along. Lady Glencairn looked out of the traveling chaise as her stepchildren galloped past them, and sighed.
“They are racing again, Euan,” she exclaimed.
“Who can blame them?” her husband responded. “If I were riding, I’d give them a run for it. It’s a long trip from London, and we all wish it over.”
A mile down the road, Sophy and Douglas pulled up at the stone bridge, their horses breathing hard.
“I won!” Douglas declared.
“Not at all,” Sophy disagreed. “If you were slightly ahead of me, it’s only because I had no notion you were about to start. It was unfair.”
“Weak stuff, Sophy,” he said. “You must learn to acknowledge when you have been beaten.” He grinned at the annoyed look on her face. “Oh, I wish we didn’t have to stop,” he continued. “I’m so tired of traveling. I just want to be at Glencairn.”
“As do we all. But we can’t gallop through the village.”
“Well, we could,” her brother disagreed. “But I don’t care to think what our father would have to say if we did.”
They walked their mounts sedately down the cobbled street of the village, and then trotted away again when they reached the outskirts, not slowing until they reached the road that led down a steep hill to Glencairn’s sheltered location on the Dargenwater. The castle, clearly originating in the Middle Ages, but much added onto in the centuries that had passed since its building, lay before them, occupying a high spot above the river, and overlooking a wide and fertile valley. The Earl’s colors fluttered from the tower, indicating that they were expected. As the road flattened out, the pair picked up a trot again, and very soon pulled up in front of the wide steps leading to the vast door. The butler stepped out to greet them, as Kincraig dismounted and a groom ran to help Lady Sophia down.
The butler beamed at them as they walked through the massive doors and into the hall. “Lord Kincraig, Lady Sophia, it’s a pleasure to see the two of you. Glencairn is always happiest when the earl is in residence.”
“Mama and Papa are just a few minutes behind, MacDonald,” Sophy said, her eyes bright with exhilaration. “Kincraig and I couldn’t resist galloping the last mile or so to the bridge.” She tossed her hat on the demi-lune table, and glanced into the large looking glass as she carelessly pushed her curls into some semblance of order. “I’m sure that we would all love a cup of tea when they arrive, MacDonald,” she said. “Could you bring a tray to the drawing room?”
“Certainly, Lady Sophia,” he replied, as he led the way to the drawing room and opened the door for the pair. With a bow he departed for the kitchen, and Sophy flung herself into a silk-covered chair.
“Oh, it is delightful to sit on something that isn’t moving!”
“We sat on stationary chairs in every inn that we stopped at,” her brother disagreed.
“It’s not the same,” she replied, inarguably.
He dropped into a chair across from her. “I think you’re right, this is much better. It’s because we’re home. I tell you, Sophy, as much fun as London is, I am always happy to return here.”
Sophy nodded pensively. “Home is where the heart is,” she observed. “I know it is trite, but all the things I love are here, after all. Mama and Papa, of course, and you and I were both born here. Our mother died here as well, and all of our ancestors back to the founding of the house. In the end, it’s hard to leave, and easy to return to.”
Douglas laughed and tossed an embroidered cushion at her. “You are so solemn,” he teased. “Someday you’ll leave here and go to your own home.”
“I can’t imagine loving another place as much as I love Glencairn,” she replied.
“Well, you’ll have to,�
� said Douglas frankly.
“No, I won’t. You know I don’t plan to marry.”
He shrugged. “You’ll change your mind. Women always do.”
“I will not!”
“You will!”
The pair glared at each other for a moment, and then Douglas grinned. “If you don’t marry, you’ll have to put up with me as earl one day. I shall wed someday, of course, and have a passel of children. You can help care for them, I suppose.”
Sophy shuddered. “You as earl,” she scoffed. “I’ve never been happier that Papa is so hale. I shall live at the dower house, and paint, and entertain intelligent, worldly people.”
“It sounds damn dull.” Douglas stretched his legs out in front of him. “You can busy yourself with your intellectuals and I shall go fishing with Francis and Ranulf.”
“I’m sure you shall,” said Sophy with disdain.
The door opened and the beaming butler carried in the tea tray, placing it on the table in front of them. Sophy reached eagerly for a cup.
“I’m parched,” she declared.
Sophy was just pouring a second cup of tea for herself and her brother when a stir in the hall indicated that the Earl and Countess had arrived as well. In a few moments, Harriet and Glencairn joined them, looking every bit as pleased to be home as the children were.
“How clever of you to have tea ready,” Harriet said contentedly. “What a dear girl you are, Sophy.” She sank down on the settee and took a sip from the cup Sophy offered her. “It is good to be home. All we need now is to hear that the Exencours have arrived and we shall have nothing more to wish for!”
“Be patient, my dear,” the earl advised. “They were not planning to depart London for a few more days, but you can be sure you will hear from Lady Exencour immediately upon their arrival.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing Francis again,” said Douglas. “We shall go fishing, while Sophy looks down her nose at us.”
Harriet looked from him to his sister, mystified. “Whatever are you talking about?” she asked.
“Douglas is being silly,” said Sophy. “I’m sure it matters to me not at all what the lot of you do. I shall paint, of course, and help Isobel at her excavations.”
“I think we should have a dinner party, perhaps with dancing afterwards, to celebrate our return,” mused Harriet. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? The days are so long now, and we could throw open the doors to the terrace. We shall invite several neighboring families and their children, and of course the Exencours and Colonel Stirling. I’m sure he must be an excellent dancer.”
“No doubt,” said Sophy tartly. “He excels in all things, as I recall.”
Chapter 9
Several days later, Sophy rose to the sound of raindrops beating on her windows, and the tapping of branches against the roof and walls as the wind blew wildly. Knowing she would not be able to go outside to paint, she made no effort to rise early or hurry downstairs. When Sophy finally made her way to the breakfast room, she found her brother and stepmother, almost done with their repast, sitting over their cups of coffee and talking.
“Aren’t you the lazy one,” Douglas said derisively as she entered.
Sophy eyed him severely. “If you are so industrious, why aren’t you out on the Dargenwater already? You can fish in the rain, but I cannot paint.”
“Angling is exactly what I plan to do today. But surely I’m allowed to eat breakfast first?”
“Well, if you aren’t even finished with breakfast, I fail to see why you should accuse me of indolence. It’s not as though there is a trout you caught this morning sitting on the table poached in cream.”
“At least we can eat the fruits of my labors!”
“That will be quite enough,” the countess broke in. “Let us have some civil conversation if you please.”
Sophy and Douglas subsided, and there was silence for a few minutes as Sophy filled her plate with bread and fruit.
Harriet, having worked through her little pile of letters and invitations, looked up. “I wonder when we will see dear Isobel? She wrote me last week to say that she and Lord Exencour were expecting to leave London very soon. I have been looking for a message saying they arrived for the last two days!”
“I will have some company for my fishing, then,” said Douglas, delighted. “Do you suppose Ranulf is an angler?”
“I’m sure he is,” Sophy replied sardonically. “He is doubtless the finest fisherman in all of Scotland. He has no need of a rod, as the fish leap into his arms at the mere sight of him.”
“You’re a sight too pert for your own good,” said Douglas. “I like Ranulf.”
“As do we all,” said Harriet brightly. “Sophy is merely funning. I’m sure that Isobel will be very happy if you keep Francis and Colonel Stirling occupied so that she may pay full attention to her excavations. And, Sophy dear, she will surely be so pleased if you spend some time sketching the ruins again, to document the progress of her digging.”
“Of course I will. In addition to helping her, I enjoy the opportunity to sketch the men at their work. It is a chance to practice my figure drawing,” Sophia responded.
“Pooh,” said Douglas. “Digging up old buildings and sketching workmen. I’m going to visit the stables.” He pushed himself away from the table and headed out of the room. Harriet, having also finished her meal, rose, murmuring something about speaking to cook about dinner. She paused as she passed Sophy and looked out the window at the dreary day.
“Not a day for painting, I fear,” she said.
“No, not at all. But I will amuse myself reading, and perhaps I will write to Lady Eynsford and see if she intends to visit Isobel at Dargenwater Cottage again this summer.”
“Practice the pianoforte a bit as well, my love,” her stepmother replied. “You play beautifully, and a rainy day is well suited to such endeavors.”
“Am I so lazy that I require reminding?” Sophy asked.
“Oh, I suppose not, but I know that you have so many other activities to pursue,” Harriet said.
Sophy finished her chocolate, and stood up. “Very well,” she said with a dramatic air. “I will go up to the Long Gallery and practice my music immediately.” A little smile accompanied her long-suffering expression, and it was so comical that Harriet had to laugh.
“You will be glad when you are pressed to play for the neighbors some evening. Besides, I know very well how much you enjoy the Long Gallery. How many rainy mornings have I found you there, examining a portrait to see how the painter captured the glint in someone’s eyes, or the lace on a gown? Now run along.”
Sophy drifted out of the breakfast room, and through the Great Hall, pausing to enjoy the sight of the hammerbeam ceiling that arched far over her head and the vast chimney that rose above the cavernous fireplace, with its carving of the hart’s head erased, chained and collared, the main symbol of her family’s coat of arms. Her eye slid over the ancient weapons of her forefathers adorning the walls as a tapestry woven in brilliant colors caught her attention, and then she paused to contemplate of a painting of a stag at bay, before she shook her head and dashed up the stairs to the Long Gallery.
Chapter 10
Harriet had been correct in saying that Sophia loved the Long Gallery. It contained not only a collection of paintings of Learmouth ancestors stretching back centuries, but also the acquisitions her forefathers had made while on the Grand Tour in more recent decades. The pianoforte was located near the middle of the room, and she walked slowly towards it, stopping to gaze at a Canaletto that a long gone Learmouth had brought from Venice, as well as a portrait of her grandfather painted by Reynolds. Eventually she seated herself at the pianoforte, and flipped desultorily through the music open on it, without feeling inspired by either Bach’s etudes or Handel’s sonatas.
She eventually decided on the Bach, but could not settle to her practice. After jangling the keys as well as her nerves for a quarter of an hour, Sophy gave up, jumping up from the be
nch and striding away down the long room, seeking she knew not what. Eventually she found herself coming to a halt in front of Sir William Beechey’s portrait of her mother.
A winsome blonde beauty looked down from the wall at her, captured in what appeared to be a moment of introspective happiness. She was seated, wearing a pale blue gown in the Grecian style that had been so popular at the turn of the century, with a gorgeous silk shawl draped over her arms. Pearls glowed around her neck and at her ears, and a diadem of golden leaves interspersed with pearls kept her classically dressed curls in order. A large, very furry, white Persian cat nestled in her lap, and her long slim fingers rested at its neck, as though she had only that moment finished petting its head. She looked out at the world with a gentle little smile, and an expression of contentment and good humor.
Sophy stared at the painting, seeking to find something of herself in her mother’s face. Her own hair was dark, like her father’s, not angelically fair, but she knew her eyes were the same as her mother’s, a bright cornflower blue. She did not have the same retroussé nose as the late countess, but she could see that she had inherited her hands, with their elegant white fingers and oval nails. She took a step closer, willing herself to see more in the painting, and felt a wave of warmth and peace flow through her, almost as though the happiness that shone out of the painting was transmitting itself to her.
“I wonder what you would think of me?” she whispered. “Did you have a passion that no one knows about? Or would you also think me foolish not to marry now, while I have the chance, and not waste my youth pursuing a nonsensical wish?”
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