by Ann Stephens
Her heart plummeted. The company of a woman who despised her would ruin any pleasure in examining her new home.
Iona dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I very much regret that my duties preclude jauntering all over the house. If you will excuse me, I must consult with the housekeeper and chef.”
Diantha inhaled sharply. Iona had just confirmed that she had no intention of giving up her hold on Duncarie. By doing so in front of Kieran, her adversary had made it impossible for her to protest without looking like a petty child. However, the woman had left an opening, which she seized on.
“Then would you be so good as to inform the housekeeper to come to me at her convenience? I should at least like to know how to find my way around.” Iona opened her mouth and shut it. Diantha gave her a smug smile; she had turned the tables on the older woman.
Kieran smiled and rose from the table. “An excellent notion. Send her to my mother’s rooms, Aunt. I wish Diantha to meet her and I’m sure we shall still be there when you’re finished.”
Iona left the room in obvious disapproval.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Diantha swung to face her husband, eyes wide. “I’m not prepared—that is, I wasn’t expecting to meet your mother so soon.” She winced as his eyes chilled. “Forgive me, I do wish to meet her. I just didn’t know it would be this morning. I gather she is feeling better?”
“She said she was when I sent a message this morning.” He unexpectedly looked older than his twenty-nine years. “We shall see.”
Barclay placed his napkin on the table beside his plate. “Kier, I know you’re anxious to see her, but do be careful not to tire Aunt Alicia.” He bowed slightly to Diantha. “If you wish, I could show you a little of the house while my cousin changes.”
Disarmed by his diffident manner, she accepted. While not particularly knowledgeable about architecture, Barclay proved informative about the history of Duncarie House.
“This house was built after the son of the Rossburn killed at Culloden in 1746 got himself into King George II’s good graces and got our land back. The old castle was razed as part of the English retributions, you know.”
He slanted a glance at her. “A good many of the Highland families at the time called us traitors, but he was entitled to his position. And he proved a good landlord to his people, I suppose. He was popular at any rate.”
They stood in the library, a room of warm oak paneling filled with light from floor to ceiling windows. Diantha all but salivated at the rows of books lining the walls, their spines adding a note of muted color to the atmosphere. In the distance, the glen of Duncarie stretched away beyond the glass panes.
Barclay beckoned her to the window. “Cariford is north. That’s the one seaside village on our lands.” He pointed over her shoulder. “This house was built with the earnings from kelp ash. During the wars with France, it sold for as much as twenty-two pounds a ton.”
Diantha nodded as she looked over the expanse of ridges leading away from the house. She knew about the fishing ships her father was supplying in exchange for her marriage.
“The gallery is out here, you two.”
They turned, Barclay dropping his arm to his side. Kieran stood holding the door open. He had combed his hair neatly into place, but a few damp strands still curled along the line of his collar. In a tailored black suit and his cravat knotted into an ascot, he looked every inch the handsome aristocrat.
Then his eyes met hers, brilliant aqua darkening as a wicked smile curved his lips. More like a wolf in lord’s clothing, she thought, with an answering smile.
Remembering the kisses she had received the night before from that sensual mouth, she thought she just might have gotten the best of the bargain her father had struck.
“I shall wait for you in the office, then.” They both started when Barclay spoke.
Her husband nodded, approaching Diantha as Barclay closed the door behind him. “What were you looking at?”
She spread her hands with a rueful smile. “I don’t know. I see the estate, of course, but I haven’t really seen it.”
Staring out at the glen, he linked his fingers with hers. “Do you like it?”
Nonplussed, she cocked her head. “That’s an awkward question. The estate comes with the marriage, just like—” She broke off before she went too far.
“Like me.” Kieran finished the sentence in a flat voice. The truth behind their marriage hung between them.
Diantha’s heart pounded, but she nodded. “I’m sorry. Doubtless you wanted a different answer.”
A glint entered Kieran’s eyes. “Perhaps I expected you to respond to me as enthusiastically as you did last night.”
For the second time that morning, embarrassment scorched her face and neck. She stared at the hem of her gown until he lifted her chin with his fingers. His expression revealed nothing.
If she told him how her attachment to him grew with every passing day, he would ridicule her. She summoned up her most composed manner. “I fail to see why our duty to produce an heir cannot be pleasant for both of us.”
He drew himself up and sucked in a breath. “Duty? Is that what made you cry my name out last night?”
Something snapped within her. He asked her to expose her emotions while he guarded his.
“My feelings have no place in this marriage and we both know it.” She remained dry-eyed, but her voice shook with pent-up anger.
His fingertips brushed her jawline. “And yet you still respond to me—ardently.” His voice vibrated along her nerves and her heart pounded.
“Yes.” As mesmerized as a bird by a serpent, she raised herself on her tiptoes and touched the tiny cleft in his lower lip with her tongue.
Instantly Kieran gathered her close, a growl leaving his throat as he opened her mouth with his and kissed her deeply.
She shuddered at the contact. She should protest, but could not stop kissing him long enough to speak. When at last they paused, she could only close her eyes and mutter, “Why must you taste so good?”
At her words, he backed her against the side of a bookcase bordering the window. She gripped the tendrils at the back of his neck as his arms tightened around her. The edge of his teeth pulled gently at the skin at her jaw and her head tipped back to give him better access. Kieran wanted her too, and she reveled in the knowledge.
Their mouths gentled after a few moments and they broke the kiss. Diantha’s pulse raced as herested his forehead against hers. Beneath her hand, his chest rose and fell as he panted.
His breath warmed her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to pick a quarrel with you.”
“Compared to my parents, this was barely a spat.” Try as she might, she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. She gave him a wry smile. “And it did end rather well.”
He chuckled, but sobered the next instant. “I know we did not marry under auspicious circumstances.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But you should not think your happiness is immaterial. This will be your home now, and I hope you like it.”
Diantha could not seem to stay angry at the blasted man. “What I’ve seen of Duncarie is beautiful. I’ve never seen such wide stretches of land without buildings and roads. It’s almost frightening to see that much emptiness.” Her voice softened. “And yet it calls to me.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her in front of him as they both stared out the window. “Aye, it does that.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair as she leaned into the warmth of his body. “We’ll ride the estate together, you and I, and you’ll find it’s anything but empty.”
She chuckled. “You’ll find that tedious, I fear. I can just about stay on a horse.”
He stepped away and looked down at her. “You don’t ride?” He gave a small laugh of surprise.
She shook her head. “One doesn’t, really, in New York or Newport. Or in France.”
He hugged her closer. “I’ll have our head groom give you lessons. He
taught me when I was a wee laddie. We can find a suitable horse for you in the stables. You’re not afraid of them, are you?”
Her brow puckered. “No, but riding them is uncharted territory for me.”
He had the impudence to wink at her. “Well, we found out last night how much you like doing new things.”
A cough echoed in the high-ceilinged room. They broke apart to find a gray-haired man in a frock coat trying hard to repress a laugh as he watched them. Diantha wondered if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in a state of acute embarrassment. At least this time a deep blush covered her husband’s face as well.
“Your mother was wondering where you were, my lad. I said I’d hunt you down.” His shoulders shook with a gust of laughter before he regained control of himself. “I shall go and tell her you were delayed.”
Crimson-cheeked, Kieran thanked the man. “We shall be along directly.” He turned to her. “My dear, this is Doctor Andrews, who treats my mother. Doctor, Lady Rossburn.”
She cleared her throat. “How do you do, Doctor. I am so terribly sorry you had to witness, er, us.”
The medical man bowed, lips quivering. “An excellent prognosis for a happy marriage, your ladyship.” He nodded to her husband. “I shall inform your mother that you shall be with her in a few minutes.” His chuckle hung in the air after he left them.
Having straightened their hair and adjusted their clothing, she and Kieran followed a hallway from the gallery to one outthrust wing of the house. She learned from him that the dowager baroness lived in a suite of rooms and almost never left them. “She suffers a great deal of pain from inflammation of the joints, as you’ll see.”
She touched his arm in sympathy, wishing she could do more to ease the sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry.”
They entered a sitting room swathed with shadows. Heavy draperies permitted only a few chinks of light in, and thick rugs muffled the sound of their footsteps. Several paintings hung on the walls, most depicting the sky-filled landscapes of Dutch painters.
A white-haired woman lay propped up on a chaise longue, her legs covered by a blanket. Pain had etched lines around her mouth, but she welcomed them with her son’s smile. Next to the chaise, two empty chairs stood, angled so their occupants would face her.
She held out a misshapen hand to them. “Kier, my love! Can you forgive me for not coming downstairs yesterday?”
He stepped away from Diantha to cradle the gnarled fingers in his palms. “Of course I can, Mama. Aunt Iona told me you were having quite a difficult day.” He seated himself on one of the chairs. “And I hope you aren’t going to cause yourself more pain by seeing us today.”
The Dowager Lady Rossburn smiled at his half-teasing, half-serious tone. “And since when am I dictated to by my own son, pray tell?” She turned to Diantha. “Now, introduce me to my new daughter.”
Diantha suppressed a wince at the sight of the inflamed knuckles and nearly immobilized fingers. Having seen how her grandmother suffered from rheumatism in winter’s cold and damp, Diantha could not imagine the pain this woman endured on a daily basis.
Nevertheless, his mother gave her a warm smile and bade her take the second chair. Summoning her maid, she ordered the curtains opened slightly to admit more light. “Much better. Now I can see both of you.”
As they conversed, Diantha discovered that her mother-in-law showed no trace of Iona’s hauteur. Relieved, she readily answered the questions put to her about her family, New York, and their wedding trip.
At one point, Lady Rossburn lay back against the pillows and sighed. “The thing I hate most about my wretched condition, after the pain, is being confined to these rooms.” Seeing her son’s stricken expression, she smiled. “I could not ask for better treatment, my love. But even the most comfortable cage is still a cage.”
Eventually she showed signs of tiredness. They rose to their feet and Kieran bent forward to kiss her cheek.
She gestured to Diantha. “You as well, my dear. I am delighted that my laddie married such a charming young lady.”
Taken aback, she sought for an answer to that comment. “You’re very kind, I’m sure.”
“Now that my son is back, I want to see both of you as often as possible.” Lady Rossburn rubbed her elbow absently. Diantha guessed that joint pained her as well. “Together or apart.”
She smiled down at the invalid. “I should like to visit you as often as you wish, your ladyship.”
Her husband spoke at the same time. “I’m back now, and shall come and see you every day if you like.”
Looking from one to the other, she nodded. “I shall welcome your company.” Her breath caught as she finished speaking, and Kieran instantly summoned her maid.
Leaving her to the ministrations of her servant, they stepped back out into the hallway. He paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.
Diantha looked at him in concern. When he opened his eyes again, they glittered with unshed tears. Instinctively she moved to embrace him, but he stepped away. She dropped her arms, hurt rising in her own throat.
He swallowed. “She wasn’t always like that. When I was a boy she loved to ride and dance. She and my father would visit tenants together, and host house parties every fall.” He shrugged. “Then she started complaining of aches here and there. It only got worse.”
“She’s very brave.” Diantha did not know what else to say.
He nodded, a smile of infinite sadness flitting across his face. “I wish to God she didn’t have to be. You will go see her, as she asked?”
“Indeed I will!” Afraid he would reject her again, she curled her fingers into fists to resist touching him. “I liked her very much.”
Before he could say anything, the housekeeper sailed into the hall, albeit with thinned lips and snapping eyes. “I am Mrs. Menzies. Her ladyship will allow me to show Lady Rossburn the house.”
Ignoring her, Kieran lifted one of Diantha’s hands to his lips. “Thank you.”
* * *
The next weeks settled into a regular pattern as she adjusted to her new home. She woke up alone each morning, whether Kieran had visited her bed the night before or not.
Breakfasts usually involved veiled sparring with Aunt Iona, although she slowly gained ground within the household. The butler, Jarrard, most of the footmen, and the lower housemaids gave her little difficulty when she issued orders.
Mrs. Menzies, however, invariably replied with, “I would like to consult Lady William.” The upper maids, as resistant as she to any change, followed her lead.
MacAdam, exercising the tyranny accorded a skilled chef, simply informed Kieran’s aunt that he would consult with young Lady Rossburn about the menus. Even Iona did not dare risk losing him.
She fell into the habit of taking tea with her mother-in-law on the days when the older woman enjoyed sufficient health to see visitors. Even when pain prevented the old woman from rising from her bed, Diantha would stop and sit by her.
Her maid, Poole, welcomed these visits. “You do cheer her up, my lady. The dowager baroness calls you a ray of sunshine.” She set a tea service down so that Diantha could pour.
She turned to her mother-in-law, aghast. “You do not refer to me by such a namby-pamby term, ma’am!”
Quiet chuckles shook the fragile frame. “I could promise not to do so in the future!” Kieran’s impish smile broke out across her face at Diantha’s disgust, and the two women burst out laughing.
A quick knock came on the door, followed by her husband’s voice. “What mischief are you two up to now?” Poole opened the door at once.
His teasing glance took in his mother and the teacup that Diantha helped her to hold. “Allow me.”
As he assisted his mother to drink her tea, Diantha watched him. The same hands that could control a hunter eager to gallop out of the stable yard now delicately helped an old woman ease a porcelain cup to her lips. And she knew only too well the pleasure they could wring from her body.
&
nbsp; The three of them enjoyed nearly an hour of conversation before Lady Rossburn’s pain required her to rest.
They walked back to their rooms to change for dinner in silence. Only then did he take her hand to brush his lips along her knuckles. “Doctor Andrews tells me my mother is in better spirits these days. Thank you.”
With those words he disappeared into his room. Diantha stared after him until Florette hurried her inside to change.
One evening, Kieran announced that her riding lessons would start the following morning.
Torn between pleasure at his attentiveness and dismay, Diantha raised her one solid objection. “I don’t have a riding habit.”
“Really, Nephew! You cannot expect a female to drop everything on one of your whims. We shall have to alter one of mine.” Thanks trembled on Diantha’s lips until Iona sniffed. “Of course, if you’d married a female of your own class, none of this would be necessary.”
She subsided under Kieran’s scowl, but even Barclay looked concerned at this gap in her education. Guessing that Iona would have more barbs to deliver after they withdrew, Diantha signaled a footman. “I believe I shall have a second glass of wine this evening, thank you.”
Nevertheless, two days later she emerged from her room attired in an out-of-date riding habit hastily cut down by Florette. Trying to manage the trailing skirt without dropping her riding crop, she walked right into her waiting husband.
“Oof! For a little thing you have a great deal of force.” He stooped to pick up the crop from the floor where she’d dropped it. He was dressed for riding as well.
Diantha beamed at him. “You’re going to come with me? I am so relieved!”
Kieran cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I thought I would at least see you out to the stables.”
She took his arm. “Please promise me you won’t laugh.”
“I promise.”
