“If you don’t mind,” said Sophy brightly.
He moved over to the rock and regarded it with some dislike. “You wish me to sit here?”
“Or lean against it, it makes no difference to me.” Sophy dipped her brush in her paint and gazed at him. “Could you brood for me a bit?”
“Brood?” His lips quivered briefly, but he maintained his composure.
“Yes, like one of Byron’s heroes. I think the moors call for severity, not levity. If you could appear to be thoughtful, and perhaps a bit unhappy, that would be very helpful.”
“Very well.” Ranulf folded his arms across his chest and affected a severe countenance. “Will this do?”
Sophy picked up her brush. “That is splendid,” she giggled. “I had no idea you could brood so well.”
“You inspire me,” he said solemnly.
An hour passed as Sophy worked quickly, her eyes bright with enjoyment. Colonel Stirling watched her from under his heavy lids, taking in her every movement. She was utterly focused on her work, her pink lips parted slightly as she concentrated. He stirred uneasily.
“Are you uncomfortable?” asked Sophy, concerned.
“Not at all,” he responded, with a glimmer of a smile. “I was wondering how long you would need my services.”
“As long as you can spare,” said Sophy. “Though I have sketched you into the painting. Would you like to see it?”
“Very much,” he replied. He unfolded his arms and walked to stand beside her. As he regarded the canvas silently, she turned slightly and looked up into this face, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment.
“What do you think?” she asked eagerly.
“Very nice,” he said. “But, as I have told you before, I am no expert.”
“You seem to be quite knowledgeable to me,” said Sophy. “Do you know a great many painters?”
“A few,” he answered noncommittally.
“I think the addition of a human figure is very helpful. It draws the eye into the scene,” continued Sophy.
“I believe you are right,” said the Colonel. He pulled an elegant gold-chased watch from his pocket. “I regret that I must leave you, Lady Sophia. I am expected by Lady Exencour at one o’clock.”
Sophy eyes widened. “One o’clock! Gracious, what time is it?”
“It is very nearly noon,” said the Colonel, snapping the watch shut.
“Oh no! I have lost track of the time. I shall be late!” She looked around, but her maid was nowhere in sight. “Wallis!” she called.
“Allow me to assist you,” said the colonel, as Sophy began to hastily put away her paints. She moved so quickly that she tripped over a rock hidden in the heather, and appeared to be in danger of overbalancing. He put out a hand and caught her about her waist as she fell, steadying her and then lifting her almost effortlessly and placing her on her feet.
“Slowly, my dear,” he said. “If you will allow me, I believe we can contrive to pack up your belongings without upsetting everything.”
Sophy stilled at the touch of his hand and looked up at him, her eyes wide. She could feel the strength of his thighs through her thin muslin gown, and she found the sensation unsettling. “I—I thank you. I am sorry to be so silly. It is just that my parents will be upset if I am not home on time. We are to go to Dargenwater Cottage—I daresay that is why you are heading back as well.”
Ranulf smiled down into her face, his arm still about her. “I don’t suppose we can tell them all to go to the devil and stay here while you finish your masterpiece.”
Sophy gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh no, dear Harriet would be so angry! Not that she would ever be unkind! I don’t think she would know how. But I do hate to disappoint her.”
“A pity.” The colonel gazed into her deep blue eyes a second or two longer, and just as Sophy began to feel a bit discomfited, he sighed slightly and lowered his head to hers.
“I know I should not,” he whispered in her ear, “But I really think I must steal one little kiss from you in return for my assistance.”
Startled, Sophy opened her mouth slightly, but no words came to her, as Ranulf turned his head, allowing his lips to trail across her cheek to settle gently on her plush mouth. It lasted only a moment or two before he set her gently away from him, saying, “Now, if you will permit me, I will help you with your belongings.” Sophy’s hand flew to her lips, in which a pulse was suddenly pounding, and her eyes widened, but she remained silent, turning away from him to hide a violent blush, as she began to pack up her materials rather haphazardly.
She watched as he unhurriedly but efficiently packed up her easel, then helped her restore her paints to their box. In a matter of minutes, everything was secure in the cart, the wet canvas perched overall.
“Now, where is your invisible maid?” he said teasingly.
“Wallis!” called Sophy. There was no answer.
“If she does not arrive, I can assist you,” the Colonel said reassuringly. “But I believe you are in luck. This must be Wallis and Matthew.”
The maid appeared, almost running, with Matthew trailing behind her. “I am so sorry, Lady Sophia,” she said. “Matthew and I were just walking, and we went farther than I thought! I heard you call, but it took a few minutes to find our way back!”
“Don’t worry, Wallis,” said Sophy. “Colonel Stirling assisted me. Indeed, he was so helpful that I am already prepared to leave.”
Wallis gave the colonel a look of consternation, but he merely smiled and nodded at her. “Thank you, Lady Sophia, for an interesting hour,” he said politely, taking Sophy’s hand and pressing it slightly. He swung himself up into the saddle, and with a nod, trotted away.
Wallis watched in surprise as Sophy gazed after him. “Lady Sophia, we must hurry. Lord and Lady Exencour are expecting you.”
Sophy turned toward her, an odd look on her face. “I had forgotten what a well-spoken and handsome gentleman the Colonel is,” she said.
“Whatever do you mean Miss Sophy? When we were in London, you never had a good word to spare him,” Wallis replied.
“Perhaps.” Sophy colored slightly. “He is certainly far more polite here than he was in town.”
Chapter 13
Two hours later, Sophy found herself in the drawing room of Dargenwater Cottage, smiling politely at Colonel Stirling over a cup of tea. She had dashed home from the moor, harrying Wallis and Matthew unmercifully, not noticing the amused glances the two servants shared. Once arrived at Glencairn, she had dashed to her room, Wallis trailing in her wake, and tried on no less than four dresses before settling on a creamy sarsenet dress with two rows of dagged flounces at the hem, and a dark blue spencer, its puffed sleeves ornamented with satin bursts. At her insistence, Wallis had dressed her hair in the latest style, parted in the center with curls over the temple and a high looped bun in the back, before carefully placing a Naples hat, split on the sides, over it.
Not giving her maid even a moment to admire her handiwork, she had raced to the hall, where she found her family awaiting her impatiently. After a short lecture from her father on the matter of courtesy and timeliness, during which Douglas made mocking faces at her from behind the earl’s back, the entire family had piled into a barouche and made their way to Dargenwater Cottage, where the butler escorted them into the drawing room with a flourish.
“You must forgive us for being late!” said Harriet. “Dear Sophy was distracted by her painting.”
Sophy flushed and looked up to see Ranulf’s gazing at her, his expression bland, but his eyes sparkling with a touch of humor. She glared at him for a moment and looked away.
“As though I would hold that against you!” Isobel turned to Sophy. “Did you accomplish a great deal?”
“I began a new painting,” said Sophy hesitantly.
“Did you? Of what?”
Sophy glanced at Ranulf again. “I walked up to the moor,” she said.
“It must be very beautiful this time of year,” said Ranul
f.
“Oh, it is indeed,” pronounced Harriet. “Such a jumble of colors, and the sky is so vast! I know that Sophy finds it a very romantic scene.”
“Does she?” Ranulf turned his gaze to Sophy.
“Oh yes, she will go on about the wind, and the scent of the flowers, and who knows what else,” confided Harriet. “I always thought it a great pity that she never met a gentleman on any of her painting trips there. She is so enamored of the view, that I half hope she will transfer those emotions to a person!” She laughed gently at her nonsensical notion.
Sophy flushed furiously. “Mama, Colonel Stirling does not care to hear such nonsense,” she said quickly. “Indeed, my painting is far too dull to discuss. Isobel, how did you find your excavations this morning? Did the rain and snow cause much damage over the winter?”
To her great relief the tide of the conversation turned, and when the butler entered with the tea tray, Sophy felt she had regained her composure. She accepted a cup gratefully and looked across the table to find Ranulf’s eyes on her. She smiled brightly. He nodded pleasantly back at her. She turned to Isobel, who sat at her side, and began an animated conversation about the latest fashion in bonnets. When she glanced across the table again a few minutes later, she saw that Ranulf was talking easily with her father, the two men deep in discussion about horses, while Douglas excitedly interjected the occasional comment.
“How do you like Colonel Stirling now that we are in Scotland?” asked Isobel.
Sophy jumped. “What?”
“He is quite the favorite of everybody in your family,” continued Isobel. “Even Glencairn allows him to be a very good fellow. Do you like him any better than you did before?”
Sophy shrugged. “He seems to be polite enough,” she answered. “I fear that I shall never feel as warmly toward him as others in my family do.”
“What a pity,” said Isobel. “But I suppose there is no help for it.”
“Why does everyone care about my opinion of Colonel Stirling?” asked Sophy, exasperated. “He is nearly old enough to be my father, you know. It is not as though I will ever be friends with him.”
“My dear, he is not even fifteen years older than you! Though, from what I’ve heard of Ranulf, I suppose it would not be impossible.” Isobel chuckled at Sophy’s shocked face. “You are old enough to hear such things, my dear, and I was merely funning. Ranulf has a way with the ladies, but I’ve never heard that he has any by-blows.”
“I should hope not,” said Sophy primly. “If you will forgive me, I am bored with the topic of Colonel Stirling.”
“What a pity. I was just about to ask you to take a turn with me in the garden. Lady Exencour’s roses are lovely, and I thought you might wish to admire them.”
Sophy looked up, horrified to find Ranulf next to her, a look of amusement on his face. “Oh!” she said. “Please forgive me, I did not mean—”
“I’m sure you did not,” he replied. “In that case, perhaps you would like to walk with me in the garden?”
“Oh! Oh, yes, certainly,” said Sophy, coming so hastily to her feet that she almost bumped into him. “Oh!” she repeated, flustered.
“Yes, do show Sophy the garden,” said Isobel. “I’ve often thought I would like her to paint a landscape of it one summer. Then, in the dreary depths of winter, holed up at Kitswold or Strancaster, I will have a reminder of sunlit days and roses.”
“We will discuss it as we walk,” promised the colonel. He proffered his arm to Sophy. “Lady Sophia?”
She took his arm gingerly, and allowed him to lead her through the French doors and out into the bright sunlight. They stood for a moment, surveying the scene spread out before them, the neatly graveled path leading through a riot of bushes heavy with roses, their heavy scent hanging in the air.
Ranulf led her forward, and they strolled silently for a time, as Sophy tried to gather her wits. She looked up at her companion’s profile, but he was gazing ahead with an unreadable expression.
“The flowers are very beautiful,” she finally ventured, unable to tolerate the quiet any longer.
“They are indeed. Lady Exencour is an excellent gardener,” he replied.
“Oh, Isobel would never claim credit for this!” said Sophy artlessly. “She would tell you she employs an excellent gardener. Her talents lie elsewhere, and she is well aware of that.”
“It is wise of her to know where she excels and where she does not. We should all be so insightful.”
“Perhaps I have learned something from her, then,” said Sophy. “For I am a great deal better at painting than I am at anything else.”
“I’m sure you excel in the ballroom as well, Lady Sophia.”
“Pooh. Anyone can be taught to dance respectably, and I dance no better and no worse than any other young woman in London. But to create something like this garden—that is something to be proud of indeed.”
“You feel Lady Exencour’s gardener is an artist?” asked Ranulf, a touch of surprise in his voice.
She gave a gurgle of laughter. “Begbie is at least as much of an artist as I am. Indeed, he is a great deal more accomplished than I, for he is a master and I am still a student.”
“Your sentiments do you credit,” said Ranulf.
“Now you sound like my governess,” said Sophy.
“I do? How dreadful. I only meant to say most women of the ton would see the gardener as a servant, and this garden as merely something they had paid for.”
“Oh, Mama has always taught me we should all be respected for what we contribute,” said Sophy. “She was Isobel’s companion, you know, before she married Papa. Her family had no money, and she was dependent on her cousin’s generosity. She has always been grateful that Isobel treated her kindly. The lot of a poor relative can be a difficult one.”
“Lady Glencairn seems to be wise as well,” said Ranulf.
“Many people think her rather silly, but I consider myself fortunate to have been raised by her, and to have Isobel for a friend. Only think how dreadful it would be to have a mother who thinks only of dresses, and dancing, and flirting with gentlemen. It is not that Mama and Isobel do not enjoy such things—they are not scolds—but they know that one must feed one’s soul as well.”
Ranulf raised his eyebrows slightly and led to her to a bench nestled under an ornamental tree. The branches drooped over it slightly, creating a bit of shade in the bright sunlight. A large bush covered with pink roses was planted next to the bench and Sophy stopped for a moment to admire the blooms.
“You see how this is perfectly placed?” she asked. “As I have visited here for years, I know this bench is new, but Begbie has made it seem as though it has always been here. He has planted the roses close enough that you can enjoy their scent, but not so close as to hem you in. Now tell me he is not an artist!”
“I would not dare. In truth, I am ashamed I never thought of the art of a garden before,” said Ranulf.
Sophy seated herself and looked up at him. “Do not concern yourself,” she said kindly. “Gentlemen have other matters to think of. I’m sure that your time in the Peninsula left you little time to think of gardeners.”
Ranulf’s lips twitched. “I will one day be Laird of Spaethness. Then I will have to think of a great many things, including gardeners.”
He sat down next to her and Sophy was immediately aware of him, remembering with a rush the feeling of his lips on hers that morning. Had it only been a few hours ago that they had been alone together on the moor, amid the heather and the rushing wind? How very different this quiet, enclosed garden was.
“I—I’m sure you will make an excellent laird,” she murmured.
“I will try,” he said seriously. “I expected the Army to be my life, not to inherit the estate. I will count on you, Lady Sophia, to remind me of my duty to my staff.”
“Oh, I doubt I will know you then,” said Sophy awkwardly. “After all, Spaethness is far away, and you will doubtless have a wife to remind yo
u of such things.”
“Indeed.” Ranulf reached out and touched a rose with one long finger. “Tell me, Lady Sophia, why did you not tell your mother and Lady Exencour that we met on the moor this morning?”
Sophy looked away uncomfortably. “I—I don’t know. It is not as though they would have disapproved. Everyone is very fond of you, you know.”
“Except for you.”
“It is not that I am not fond of you—or rather, I do not mean to say I am fond of you, but rather that—well, that, while fond is perhaps a strong word, I do not dislike you, but fondness…” Sophy trailed off, rather horrified by where her words were taking her.
“I understand,” said Ranulf. “Or at least I think perhaps I do.”
“At any rate, I did not say anything because—well, because I thought they would wish to see the painting, and they would talk on and on about how kind you were to pose for me, and then they would tease me about it, and—and it would ruin everything.” She looked up at him helplessly. “That makes no sense, I know.”
“On the contrary, it makes a great deal of sense.” Ranulf smiled suddenly, and she blinked as his countenance lightened. She realized abruptly that he was often solemn, and wondered what had happened to cause it.
“How you can possibly mean that? I feel like I make no sense at all when I am talking to you.”
“You would be surprised, Lady Sophia, how well I understand everything you say to me.”
A little furrow appeared on Sophy’s forehead as she looked at him, perplexed. But she didn’t respond, as there was the sound of footsteps on gravel, and Isobel, Douglas, and Francis appeared around the bend in the path.
“There you are!” said Douglas. “We have been wondering where you got to, Ranulf!”
Ranulf stood. “Lady Sophia was sharing her wisdom about gardens with me,” he said.
Douglas gave a hoot of laughter. “Wisdom! Sophy? I wish I may hear her say something wise.”
Sophy bit back a sharp retort. Ranulf turned to her and took her hand in his.
“Will I see you tomorrow on the moors?” he asked softly, so the others could not hear.
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 8
