Her mother smiled down at Sophy silently, and she shook her head, frustrated. “I know you loved Papa—at least I am always told you did—and that you loved me as well. I wish I could remember you more clearly. I think perhaps I recall the sound of your voice, and the scent you always wore, but maybe those are just tricks of my memory. I love Harriet, truly I do, but sometimes I wish you were here to talk to. What would you think of my ambition? Would you encourage me?”
Sophy continued to gaze at her mother’s image, but although she felt a sense of peace, there were no answers to her questions. She stood a few more minutes, willing the painting to give up an answer, but it did not. Finally, she broke into a reluctant smile at her own ridiculousness and turned away, wandering over to one of the tall windows that overlooked the front of the castle. She noted that the clouds were breaking up, and that a bit of pale sunlight was peeping through them, casting a watery light on the graveled road leading to the door. As she watched, a barouche came into view, driven by a smartly dressed coachman. A very elegant lady sat in the back, the ostrich plumes on her bonnet nodding in the breeze.
“Isobel!” she exclaimed, and ran from the gallery, thoughts of her mother forgotten.
Dearest Philippa,
You will forgive me, I hope, for being so remiss in writing to you! We have been in Scotland some weeks now, and I am so pleased to be settled here again. Euan is happiest here, in his home, with his people around him, and, while you know I enjoy our time in London, each day here at Glencairn is something to be treasured. The children thrive as well; Douglas is delighted to be able to fish, and often takes his little brother with him, and Sophy does nothing but paint each day, which seems to bring her great delight, though I know I should find it tedious. I have always enjoyed my watercolors, as you well know, but she appears able to devote herself to painting day in and day out. I should die of boredom, but she seems very happy.
The Exencours arrived some days ago, and have brought with them Colonel Stirling, who you know is a great favorite of mine. He and Exencour come to Glencairn most days, which is delightful. Douglas, Euan, and I spend a great deal of time with them, and I think it a great pity that Sophy should miss their company. But she is always somewhere with her paints, or helping Isobel at her excavations, and even when she is at dinner she must be thinking of her work, for she is very quiet. I own I once hoped that Colonel Stirling might take an interest in her, for I would be very glad to count him one of the family, but they are exceedingly cool toward each other. She no longer complains about his manners, but she seems very reserved when he is about. Such a pity, for a finer gentleman I have never known, excepting my own dear Euan and Lord Exencour, of course!
You have no notion how lovely it is here on summer evenings! At times it seems that the sun never sets at all! Isobel and I have put our heads together and are planning a party here at Glencairn. We shall invite the neighbors for dancing in the drawing room. There are any number of young people who would enjoy such a thing, and it cannot hurt Sophy to meet the sons of the local gentry again. After all, you never know when one of them may have improved over the past months, and she might take an interest. I know it is silly of me to think of such things, but I can hope. It is also time that Douglas began to develop a bit of polish in social situations. After all, he must marry one day as well, and, while he is a bit young I have no desire to see him do what his father did, and remain unwed until he is forty! He needs to know how to conduct himself in company, and what better place to learn than in his own home, with such gentlemen as Lord Exencour and Colonel Stirling to model himself after?
And now, my dear, I must go speak to the housekeeper about the party. I am so delighted at the thought; it has been far too long since we have had an entertainment here at Glencairn.
Your loving sister,
Harriet
Chapter 11
Sophy awoke when the sun rose high enough in the eastern sky to stream through her windows, accompanied by the sound of birdsong and the whisper of leaves as the early morning breeze moved them. Although it was high summer, and the clear sky was promising a warm, sunny day, a chilly morning would clearly precede it, and she snuggled into the warmth of her coverlet and the mound of cloud-soft pillows that surrounded her. Slowly, the warmth and coziness of her nest relaxed her into a light slumber and she dreamed of the wind on the moors bending the heather into bands of different colors, as the hawks soared above and the high noonday sun lit the landscape.
When a tall, dark haired figure on a well-made bay rode into the scene, she smiled with pleasure and waved, but then reality intruded through her dreamscape and she jumped, jolted awake by the appearance of Ranulf Stirling, a man she found tolerable at best, in her dream. What could have made her think of him? He had been at Dargenwater Cottage for two weeks now, but Sophy had assiduously avoided him, making sure to encounter him only when necessary, and to limit her conversation with him to the merest commonplaces.
The question didn’t bear examining, so she reached out from under the coverlet and rang the bell violently. When her maid appeared with the tea tray, Sophy had plumped up her pillows and sat waiting.
“Thank you, Wallis,” she said absently. “I think I would like to paint on the moor today. This breeze will blow the heather about, making the colors swirl together, and I would like to capture it.”
“That’s a long walk, Lady Sophia,” the maid replied, a bit doubtfully.
“Yes, and I have to be back by the afternoon, as we mean to visit Lady Exencour. Have one of the men come along with a handcart for my things. That will make the walk easier for you.”
Wallis brightened up immediately. “Certainly, Lady Sophia.”
The maid went to the dressing room and pulled out a simple gown, one of several in an out-of-date style that Lady Sophia saved to paint in. “Will this do, my lady?”
Sophy glanced at the dull brown dress with a bit of a frown. “What about the blue gown instead? It is so much prettier.”
“Of course, Lady Sophia,” Wallis returned to the wardrobe, and pulled out the requested dress. It was indeed much prettier than the faded linen in which Sophy so often painted, being of blue muslin sprigged with a floral pattern and trimmed with lace at the edges of the sleeves and hem. When Sophy was dressed, Wallis felt pleased to see that her mistress did her credit. But she took the precaution of pulling an apron out as well, stuffing it into a bag along with a cloak in case the weather on the heath was chillier than in the protected valley where Glencairn Castle lay.
A few minutes later, Sophy clattered down the stairs, her curls flying behind her. She burst into the dining room, drawing a gasp of surprise from Harriet, who was enjoying a cup of tea.
“Sophy, dear, you mustn’t charge into rooms that way,” she said mildly. “It’s not ladylike.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Sophy dropped a kiss on her cheek and snatched a roll from the table, biting into it without sitting down. “I overslept, and if I wish to capture this light I must hurry.”
“Surely the light will be here again tomorrow,” protested Harriet. “We’ve been in Scotland for nearly a month, and I’ve barely seen you. Indeed, I think I see more of the Exencours and Colonel Stirling than I do of you! Sit down and enjoy a proper breakfast with me.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps, if it rains,” said Sophy. “The light changes from day to day, you know. It is never the same, and seems particularly beautiful this morning.”
Harriet peered out the window. “It does look lovely,” she murmured. “Do be sure to be home in time for our visit to Dargenwater Cottage. Your father was not at all pleased yesterday when you were late to dinner.”
“I will,” Sophy promised, finishing off the roll and taking a hasty gulp from the teacup Harriet had filled and pushed toward her.
“Mind you take your maid with you,” continued Harriet, but she stopped as she realized she was speaking to an empty room. She shook her head mildly as she listened to Sophy’s receding footsteps.
An hour later Sophy and Wallis trudged up the dusty track that led to the moors. Sophy was just beginning to regret the impulse that had brought her here, when they topped a rise, and the view before them took her breath away. The moors rolled out in all directions, the heather rippling in the stiff breeze, the gray and brown of the rock outcroppings dark against the bright blue sky dotted with white clouds. Sophy gave a little cry of happiness.
“The walk was so tiring that I thought I might have made a mistake, but only see how beautiful it is, Wallis,” she exclaimed.
Her maid looked around stolidly. “It’s just a moor, Lady Sophia,” she said. “It looks this way each time we come here.”
“But the heather is so beautiful, and the sky—” Sophy glanced at Wallis, and then smiled. “Help me set up my easel and paints.”
The footman unloaded the equipment from the cart, and Sophy and Wallis set to arranging it. As they finished, Wallis leaned over to adjust the brim of the straw hat her mistress wore. Sophy gestured impatiently with her brush.
“Leave be, Wallis,” she murmured. “I’m fine.”
“The sun has moved, miss, and Lady Glencairn will have my head if I let you become sunburned,” answered the maid practically.
“I don’t care about my complexion,” retorted Sophy. “We are no longer in London, and I have no plans to return next year. I can be brown as a berry and no one will notice.”
“His lordship will,” said Wallis firmly, seizing the hat without hesitation and tilting it so that her charge’s face was well shaded. “Your father has humored you by allowing you to pursue your painting, but that doesn’t mean he wishes you to neglect your appearance.”
Sophy looked dismayed. “Is that what they’re doing—humoring me?”
Wallis relented with a sympathetic glance. “Surely you realize that they wish you to marry. But I know Lady Glencairn thinks you have a great deal of promise as a painter. I heard her telling your brother that he was not to tease you about it, because you were not doing this on a whim.”
“I’m glad she understands a little,” sighed Sophy. “I do not mean to be disobliging, you know. I wonder that everyone is so kind to me. It must bore you to watch me paint.”
“Not at all, miss,” replied Wallis.
Sophy laughed. “You are altogether too patient. Why don’t you and Matthew take a walk together?” It had not escaped Sophy’s notice that the manservant Wallis had chosen to accompany them was both young and handsome and, she very much suspected, was courting her maid.
“Oh no, I couldn’t leave you alone,” protested Wallis.
“Nonsense. What will happen to me here? We are not far from Glencairn land, and no one comes here. You will hear me if I call you, and you will not be bored to tears.” She glanced at the man, who was unloading a basket from the handcart. “He is very handsome,” she whispered.
Wallis colored to the roots of her hair, but dropped a curtsey and moved to help Matthew with alacrity. When all was complete and her mistress’s paints were mixed and her canvas prepared, she looked at her inquiringly.
“Run along,” insisted Sophy. “I will be fine, and will call if I have need of you.”
Wallis glanced at Matthew, and bobbing a curtsey, turned away. The pair wandered off slowly, the maid pausing from time to time to turn her head and glance at Sophy, but when her mistress did not look up, she eventually relaxed and ceased her watching.
Chapter 12
Once Wallis left, Sophy became completely absorbed in her work. She was delighted at the aspect presented to her, though also slightly daunted by attempting to capture the riot of color and the broad expanse of the sky. She gazed out over the moor for a moment, wondering if she could capture the exact color of the heather. As she looked, a shadow appeared on the horizon, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. It took form, and gradually Sophy could see it was a horse and rider. Her breath came more quickly as she slowly realized the horse was a bay, and the rider’s figure was familiar to her. As in her dream, she began to raise a hand to wave, but quickly stopped herself. It would not do to appear forward.
The path the horse was taking would lead it some hundred yards in front of her, and, to her annoyance, she felt a pang of regret. But then the rider’s head turned in her direction, and the horse slowed slightly. She bent her head to her painting but watched from the corner of her eye as, after a moment’s hesitation, the horseman turned his mount and began to move in her direction. Despite herself, a tiny smile curved Sophy’s lips.
After some moments, she could hear the horse moving through the heather and she looked up, feigning surprise.
“Good morning, Colonel Stirling,” she said as calmly as though they were in a drawing room.
“Lady Sophia.” The colonel touched the brim of his hat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
Sophy gazed at him, noting the assurance with which he sat the horse, his hands holding the reins lightly. Ranulf was dressed casually in buckskin breeches, with a kerchief knotted negligently about his neck, but his top boots shone in the sunlight and his dark blue riding coat fit his broad shoulders tightly.
“Are you? This morning the moors called me. They are lovely, are they not?”
“Lovely indeed,” answered the colonel, though his eyes were on her and not on the landscape. “You’re a long way from Glencairn.”
“I’m reasonably sturdy,” she said with a hint of humor. “My maid and I walked here with little effort.”
Ranulf glanced around. “I hesitate to inquire, but is she invisible?”
“No, she is with Matthew,” replied Sophy. “They will hear me if I call.”
“You comfort me,” said the colonel. “I will not ask who Matthew is.”
Sophy gave a reluctant laugh. “He is the footman who brought the cart up here.”
“Ah. It all falls into place now.” Ranulf nodded. “I regret disturbing you, Lady Sophia.” His hands tightened on the reins as he began to turn the horse.
“Don’t leave,” she said, and immediately flushed, regretting the impulse.
The colonel turned back toward her. “Why would you have me stay, Lady Sophia? Past experience does not indicate that you revel in my company.”
Sophy bit her lip. “I am sorry if you think that. Your company—well, perhaps I do not precisely revel in it, but it is not unwelcome.”
“High praise indeed.” Ranulf swung down from his horse in one lithe movement. Still holding the reins, he approached Sophy, who glanced at him quickly, taking in his slender figure, and then looked quickly back at her canvas.
“I was once rather rude to you, I fear,” she said.
“Once?”
She chuckled. “More than once, perhaps. But I meant the time I refused to let you see my paintings.”
“Oh, that.” Ranulf shrugged. “It may surprise you to know, Lady Sophia, that I have some experience with the artist’s temperament. I know that one’s passion is something to be shared, not something others should demand to access. I was not offended at all.”
“Is that why you changed the topic?”
“It was indeed. You seemed reluctant, and I didn’t want to importune you.”
She hesitated. “Thank you. I was uncomfortable, because I was sure Mama would say far too many complimentary things about my work, and you would be obliged to agree with her.”
“Your mother is very proud of you, and I would be loath to contradict so kind a lady,” said Ranulf gravely.
“Perhaps you would like to tell me what you think of my current work,” she said frowning at her canvas. “I fear I will not be able to capture the wildness of the scene. I do not doubt my ability to render it truly, but the sight of the breeze rippling through the heather, the feel of the sun on my face, the freshness of the morning air—how do I show that?”
Ranulf came and stood at her side and slightly behind her, gazing at her painting intently. Sophy realized that her head just topped his shoulder, and resisted a regrettab
le urge to lean back into him. She held her breath as she waited for him to speak.
“”You have done rather well,” he observed after a few moments. “I doubt even Mr. Constable, whose Hay Wain you so admired, could capture this day perfectly. You should be pleased.”
“It’s such an extravagant sort of day, don’t you think?” Sophy gestured, trying to take in the vastness of the scene surrounding them. “The sky is such a beautiful shade of blue, the clouds are as white as they can be, and the sun seems to be particularly golden.”
“You describe it quite well,” said Ranulf after a moment. “It’s very fresh, and touching in a way. Rather like one of Mr. Beethoven’s sonatas. And you have rendered it even more fully than you have described it.”
Sophy eyed her handiwork doubtfully. “I would like to do better.”
“I’m sure you shall,” the colonel said gently. “I think with a bit more practice you will be capable of great things.”
The two paused for a moment in companionable silence, and then the colonel turned away. “I will allow you to continue your work. I have interrupted you long enough.”
“It was not a bother,” Sophy surprised herself by saying. “I appreciate your thoughts. I feel I can trust you to be honest with me.”
“I’ll do my very best,” he murmured.
Sophy looked at him calculatingly. “I feel the scale of this painting is too vast. It could use a human figure. Would you mind very much standing by that rock outcropping over there?”
Ranulf hesitated. “My horse—” he began, but Sophy interrupted.
“There is a gorse bush yonder,” she said. “Can you tether him there?”
“I suppose I could,” said the colonel. He gazed at her a moment, bemused, but it seemed that the appeal in her blue eyes could not be resisted. He secured his horse to the gorse bush. “Over there?” he asked, indicating a large boulder some distance away.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 7
