Not true, dear sister. Leana quickly changed the subject. “I am off to find Ian, then, and receive a good soaking.” They parted company when they reached the stair—Rose to the kitchen to plan their meals for the Sabbath, Leana to the nursery, eager to hold her son again.
“Father should be home by noon,” Rose reminded her. “Won’t he be surprised?”
“Crabbit is the more likely word. His temper alone will dry his wet clothes when he arrives and finds me here.” Leana looked down at her from the landing. “Kindly see that I’m informed the minute Father rides up the drive. ’Tis best if he hears the news from my own lips.”
“Oo aye!” Rose rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you the brave one to face him?”
“Not brave, my sister. Desperate. I have nowhere else to call home but Auchengray.” Leana turned and hurried up the steep stair.
Annabel was in the second-floor hall, standing guard over Ian, who was doing his best to pull a chair down on his round head. Leana smiled at the red-headed maid, a twelvemonth younger than Rose and Eliza. “My sister says I may bathe you, Ian, and to arm myself accordingly.”
Annabel patted the cloth folded over her arm. “I’ve a clean apron for ye, mem.”
While Leana held Ian in her outstretched arms, the maidservant slipped the linen apron over her mistress’s head and tied it round her waist. “Not too tight,” Leana cautioned her. At least it tied in the back and not the front. Perhaps an apron would be a wise addition to her wardrobe—not just when needed but worn throughout the day, as Neda did. Unless guests came to call, there was no shame in wearing one at home.
Ian wiggled and flapped, wanting to be held, wanting to be put down, wanting something different than being airborne. Leana laughed, pulling him close, then planted kisses all over his face, much to his delight.
A grin appeared on Annabel’s freckled face. “Yer son does remember ye.”
Leana cradled him close and aimed for the nursery. “Now we’ll see if I remember how to bathe him.”
A shallow wooden tub waited in the center of the nursery floor. “ ’Twas steamin’ a bit ago,” Annabel said, “sae the water should be richt by noo. Thar’s naught mair slitterie than a soapy bairn.”
Leana pulled off his clothing, which Ian was happy to be rid of, then eased him into the water, kneeling beside the tub as she did. He welcomed her with a great splash, nearly soaking the front of her apron through. “Well!” Leana said with a laugh, realizing just how much Ian had grown. He was stronger, more vocal, and far more energetic. Even with Annabel’s help, both their aprons were dripping wet when they finished, and the floor was covered with water as well.
“There’s hardly a drop left in the tub,” Leana teased him, lifting him onto the dry towel on her lap and rubbing his pink skin. She was still attending to his sleek cap of hair when Rose appeared at the door, breathless, her eyes like black saucers.
“ ’Tis Father, home from Dalbeaty!”
Leana hastily kissed Ian’s brow. “I must go, dear boy.” She handed him to Annabel with instructions to finish drying and dressing him, then untied her apron strings with trembling fingers. “If only I had time to change. Look at me.”
Rose tossed aside Leana’s wet apron and assessed her green gown and unkempt hair. “I see bath time was worse than usual.” She tickled Ian’s pink foot, making him giggle. “You were in a heartsome mood, weren’t you, lad? Doused your mother thoroughly and pulled her braids loose.”
Your mother. Leana almost hugged her for saying it.
“Never mind your wet gown, for we’ve not a minute to spare,” Rose insisted, pulling her down the stair. “He’s chatting with Duncan in the steading but will head for the house next. Neda laid out refreshments in the spence, and Hugh has fresh attire waiting for him. Greet Father, let him change, then join him for fresh gingerbread and a saucer of tea.”
“Rose McKie!” Leana stopped at the foot of the stair, staring at her in amazement. “While I’ve been gone, you’ve turned into the mistress of Auchengray.”
Her sister ducked her head. “ ’Tis a role you are more than welcome to reclaim, Leana.”
“Not for a minute. I am perfectly content to serve as head gardener and nurserymaid.” She glanced at the door, hearing footsteps approaching. “If Father will let me stay, that is.”
“You’re his daughter, Leana. How can he refuse you?”
“He is the laird of Auchengray,” Leana reminded her, “and may do as he pleases.” She clasped her hands and faced the door.
Nineteen
If Heaven had looked upon riches to be a valuable thing,
it would not have given them to such a scoundrel.
JONATHAN SWIFT
Lachlan McBride was thoroughly drenched, bonnet to boots. His mood was fouler than the weather. “Neda!” he bellowed down the hall, slamming the front door.
But it was not the housekeeper who stepped forward to greet him. It was the braisant daughter he’d hoped was gone for good.
“Welcome home, Father.” Leana curtsied, keeping her skirts in hand as if prepared to run. “Please forgive me for arriving unexpectedly.”
Heat rose inside him like a Lammas bonfire. “I’ve yet to forgive you for leaving.”
She lowered her gaze. “I shall explain everything—”
“You shall indeed.” He bit off the words, chewing on each one. “See me in the spence in half an hour.” Only then did he notice Rose glaring at him from behind Leana’s shoulder. When had these daughters of his become so unmanageable? “Do not keep me waiting, Leana.” He marched down the hall, water sluicing off his boots onto the uneven stone floor, then abruptly stopped and turned round. “And do something about your appearance. Unless your lady’s maid is also unhappy that you’re home.”
Rose stepped in front of Leana and met his gaze with a hard look of her own. “Eliza will gladly attend to her.”
A heidie lass, that one. Like his sister, Rowena. “Verra well. Half an hour.”
Aiming for his private corner of the house, Lachlan turned neither to the right hand nor to the left in pursuit of dry clothing and a dram of whisky, both of which would improve this miserable day considerably. The last thing he’d expected—or wanted—was Leana to return to Auchengray. Could she not have waited until after the wedding at least? Or after Lammas, when the McKies were gone, and good riddance to them both?
Och! Grown children were harder to control than bairns and far more expensive.
When Lachlan reached the spence, Hugh was prepared with clean towels, hot water, a bit of soap, and a sharpened razor. Thirty minutes later—Lachlan checked his watch to be certain—he heard a soft tapping on the door. “Let her in,” he growled at Hugh, settling into his favorite upholstered chair, “then be gone with you.” His valet did as he was told without comment, ushering Leana into the room before he shut the door soundlessly behind him.
Leana looked somewhat better than she had when she greeted him. Her hair was neatly combed and braided on top of her head. But she wore the same dull green gown badly stained with water. Perhaps she’d arrived from Twyneholm with the morning rain.
“Father.” She curtsied again—did the woman mean to garner sympathy with all this floor scraping?—then rose and stood before him, hands folded. “I am sorry my homecoming has upset you. I should not have left—”
“Nae, you should not have.” He gestured toward the empty chair opposite his, a good deal smaller and less comfortable. “The household has been obliged to do their own work and yours as well. Eliza in particular.”
Leana perched on the chair, not quite sitting. “I will do my best to make amends.” She glanced about the small room, then turned her earnest gaze on him. “You see, I departed Auchengray because—”
“Any fool kens the reason you left. Your sister married your lover and claimed your son, all with the kirk’s blissin. Few women could abide that situation.”
She shook her head so slightly it might have been nerves. “I left for
Jamie’s sake. And for Rose. And Ian.”
“A noble sacrifice, was it?” He snorted. “Could it be you were sparing yourself the shame of returning to Newabbey after your compearance on the cutty stool? Forcing the household to make excuses for you?”
Her pale features showed a bit of color. “It grieves me to think I might be—”
“So human? So fallible?”
“Nae, Father. So selfish.”
“Ochhh,” he muttered, drawing out the sound to his satisfaction. “The whole world and everyone in it is selfish, Leana. A sad truth you’d be wise to learn.”
She sighed a little. “Be ye therefore wise as serpents—”
“You see?” He thumped the arm of his chair with approval. “Even the Buik says so.”
“And harmless as doves,” she finished quietly.
“Doves.” He waved his hand in the direction of the steading. “I’ve a doocot full of them. Good for baking in pies and naught else.”
When Leana fell silent, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve, he eyed her more closely. She’d lost weight in Twyneholm. Could be Meg’s larder was poorly stocked. At least Leana had not stolen any silver from his money box before she left. He patted the key hanging round his neck, comforted by the cool feel of it against his skin. She’d also not written him begging for her inheritance like a prodigal child. It seemed his older daughter had more smeddum than he’d given her credit for.
Still, she’d departed without asking his permission and returned without doing so again. Such behavior could not go unpunished. “You disappoint me, lass; I’ll not deny it.”
Her eyes entreated him even more than her words. “How may I make it up to you? Tend the gardens, work in the stillroom, spin the wool?”
“You’ll do that and more.” He tented his fingers, considering the possibilities. “But first you must account for all the labor lost in your absence.”
She spread out her hands, as empty as her pockets. “I will do all I can, Father. My only wish is to remain at Auchengray and call it home.”
“Call it whatever you like.” At least she had not asked him to find her a husband or a cottage of her own. As to the suitable penalty for her desertion, he would think of one soon enough. She’d not be permitted to darken the Urr parish kirk door on his wedding day, but that was hardly punitive. For the present, hard labor would suffice.
Scowling, he shook his finger at her. “See that I do not find you idle when you should be working. This is not Maxwell Park with a bevy of servants to keep up appearances. We’ve not a soul here who does not earn the right to sit at my table.”
She stood, off balance for a moment, then bobbed her head. “I understand.”
He waved her off with a grunt, eager to get to his ledgers. Before the spence door closed, he’d already pulled up a chair to his desk and lit another candle. The rainy weather made the house as gloomy as November.
He opened to the page marked Edingham Farm, then unfolded the damp sheet of paper rescued from his waistcoat pocket and scrawled the various numbers in their proper columns. The Dalbeaty property was shaping up nicely; the three lads, even more so.
Lachlan smiled, picturing Morna Douglas. However unattractive, she was the ideal wife. Docile. Compliant. Willing to believe whatever he told her. He intended to give her only enough information to complete the necessary papers and put in motion the final steps of his scheme.
His bookkeeping finished, Lachlan closed the heavy ledger with a satisfying thud. Snuffing out the candles rather than waste the beeswax, he quit the spence and followed the aroma of dinner into the dining room. He took his seat at the head of the table, straightening his waistcoat and yanking on his sleeves as the housekeeper swept through the door.
“Thar ye are, sir.” Although she was but a few years younger than he, Neda still had a lively step. Her copper hair seldom stayed beneath her white cap, nor did her sly grin remain hidden for long. He put up with both annoyances since her cooking more than made up for her kintra ways.
“We’ve a special dinner planned for Leana’s homecoming,” she informed him. “ ’Twas Rose’s idea and a guid ane. Fresh cod wi’ an egg sauce and horseradish—cabbieclaw, ye ken—followed by sheep’s head brawn boiled wi’ bacon and weel roasted moorfowl seasoned wi’ a blade o’ mace.”
Lachlan frowned at the description. Never mind that they were some of his favorite dishes. “What about my homecoming? Can a laird not be greeted with the best from his stores for his own sake?”
“Oo, aye.” That peasant’s grin. “The best bits will go tae ye, Mr. McBride.”
She left as the clock chimed one. Lachlan seized his handbell and rang it with authority, calling the household to dinner. He would not let such a feast remain in the kitchen getting cold.
Rose entered first, fresh scrubbed as ever and a bit softer round the edges. Whatever flesh Leana had lost, Rose had found. It suited her. Wouldn’t his sister, Rowena, laugh to see her niece? A twin of her sonsie self at that age, though at sixteen Rowena had yet to meet her husband, and Rose was already married and breeding.
Jamie was not far behind Rose; he never was. The lad was besotted, just as he’d been when he first arrived at Auchengray. At least his blue coat was well brushed; Hugh had been busy this forenoon. Leana trailed after him, sitting alone on her side of the table. After months of having the chair empty, it was strange to find it occupied again.
Something about the familiar way Leana folded her hands in her lap arrested his attention. Her features, her coloring, the tilt of her head, the clarity of her eyes. All at once he caught a glimpse of his wife. Agness. The only woman he’d ever loved. Lachlan looked away but not soon enough; regret, like a sharpened sword, thrust into his gut. The blade withdrew just as quickly, but the wound remained. It made him bleed; nae, it made him angry.
“Leana!” He barked the word as if it might chase away the painful image. “Could you not have worn something else for dinner? Or is that damp green gown the only one that fits you?”
Rose, ever the cantie one, arched her brows. “Oh, Father, how you do go on. There simply wasn’t time for her to change. Suppose Eliza presses her claret gown for this evening’s supper. Would that please you?”
Twenty
Then come the wild weather, come sleet or come snow,
We will stand by each other, however it blow.
SIMON DACH
Rose watched every drop of color drain from her sister’s face. Had she spoken amiss?
Leana moistened her lips, a nervous habit of hers. “Eliza has several gowns hanging in my room. I’m certain I can alter one by this evening.”
“But your claret gown,” Rose persisted, “is by far your prettiest frock. You wore it the day you left: for Twyneholm, aye? And brought it home, I’m sure.”
When Leana did not respond immediately, Rose fell silent. Something was very wrong.
“I did not bring it home,” Leana finally confessed, looking directly at their father. “The claret gown remains in Twyneholm. I sold it.”
Rose gasped. “Sold it? But that gown meant …”
“More than I can say.” Leana’s gaze did not drop, but her voice did. “As I had no silver and nothing else of value, ’twas my only means of hiring a chaise to carry me home.”
Lachlan McBride had yet to respond. His gray eyes, always cold, narrowed into slits. “Leana, are we speaking of the claret gown you wore for Rose’s wedding?”
“Aye—”
“The gown I had Armstrong, the tailor, make for you?”
“Father, I—”
“The gown for which I paid a fortune?” He hit the table with his fist, making the pewter plates jump. “That claret gown?”
Rose glanced at Jamie, not surprised to find a storm brewing in his eyes. He’d felt the heat of Lachlan’s temper before and knew how deadly the man’s tongue could be. Please, Jamie. Help my sister.
He took her cue. “Uncle, it appears your daughter was sparing you the burden of s
ending Willie in your chaise to collect her.” Jamie did not look at Leana when he spoke nor she at him. “ ’Twas a thoughtful gesture on her part. And a sacrificial one.”
“Och! It cost her nothing, for it was my silver that first purchased the gown.”
Rose heard a faint shuffling behind the door leading to the kitchen. No doubt the entire staff had their ears pressed to the cracks, wondering when it would be safe to serve the meal.
“Now, Father …” Rose made certain her words were as sweet as Naples biscuits. “That was my sister’s favorite gown. Naturally it was a hardship for her to part with it.”
“Who would pay good silver for oft-worn clothing?” Lachlan demanded. When Leana explained that the Reverend and Mistress Scott had purchased it for their granddaughter, his gaze flickered with interest. “Mistress Scott, you say? She comes from a wealthy family, I’m told.”
Leana’s eyes widened. “Are you … acquainted with them?”
“My knowledge of Galloway is hardly limited to my own parish. Tell me, what was the cost to hire your chaise?” When she told him, he pressed further. “Is that how much the Scotts paid for the gown?”
“Nae.” Leana reached beneath the table—to open the purse tied at her waist, Rose realized—and produced a generous handful of shillings. Even on a gray and rainy afternoon, the coins shone in the candlelight. “They paid me the full price, as if the gown were new. Two pounds sterling.”
Lachlan held out his hand, like a child wanting sweets. “Give me the coins, Leana. My money bought the gown; the balance should be mine.”
Watching her sister closely, Rose saw the glint of tears. Rarely did a woman have money of her own. For a stayed lass like Leana, a purse full of silver represented a sense of freedom, however fleeting.
Rose could not contain herself. “Father, do you not see your own daughter’s eyes? They shine far more than the coins you are demanding of her.” Inside her slippers, Rose’s toes were curled tight, but she refused to let her nervousness show. “Can Leana not keep what is hers?”
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