by Karen Ranney
“They say she lived in the tower room because she could see the chapel from there,” Maisie said from beside her.
Charlotte glanced at Maisie and then away. The maid had been quiet and reserved ever since Matthew had left, as if the spark of life in her was dimmed by his absence.
“She loved him even after he died,” Maisie said. “Thirty years it was.”
Charlotte didn’t respond. What could she say? That the sadness and the loss seemed insurmountable to her, that Nan’s life should have been spent in joy and not in grief.
She had to make decisions, and yet she felt incapable of doing so. Balfurin belonged to Dixon now, and she had to leave. Either that or possibly lease the castle from him since it had effectively been converted to a school. Would he accept those arrangements?
My name is Dixon Robert MacKinnon. I’m George’s cousin. Some say I’m ruthless; few would say I’m kind.
She cursed her memory.
Why hadn’t she known?
He’d told her he was George, and she’d believed it. What kind of stupid, foolish woman did that make her?
Poor Charlotte MacKinnon—unable to tell her own husband from a stranger. She might well be the brunt of a child’s taunt. Charlotte MacKinnon, husband gone missin’. Her skill at rhyme exhausted, she shook her head as if to clear it.
There, that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Her shame. Her embarrassment. How could she face people? They would all be asking themselves the very same question she now asked. Didn’t she know?
No, she hadn’t.
Instead, she’d been fascinated from the very first by the man who’d claimed to be her husband. A man who had left Balfurin on the very same day George had been found.
She’d told him to leave, and he had. She’d refused to allow him to speak, and he’d remained silent. She wanted to be alone, and everyone had carefully respected her wishes.
Didn’t anyone understand that she didn’t know what she wanted?
“I’ve a letter, your ladyship,” Maisie said.
Charlotte faced her maid. For a moment, brief and fleeting, and filled with unbearable hope, she thought it might be from him and stretched out her hand. But the handwriting was female and familiar.
“What is it, your ladyship?” Maisie asked. “Are you unwell?”
“No,” she said numbly, opening the envelope and staring down at the words.
“Is it bad news?”
She glanced over at Maisie. “Strange, I almost expected it. No, it’s not bad news.” She stared down at the letter. “It’s from my mother, Maisie,” she said. “My parents have invited me to England for a visit.” She held up the letter, read, “‘It’s time our rift was mended. We so desperately wish to see you, Charlotte.’” She looked at Maisie again. “They’re willing to send their best carriage for me.” Had they learned of George’s death? Somehow, was she now deemed acceptable? Or had enough time simply elapsed that her parents were willing to overlook the fact that she’d defied them?
How very odd that it didn’t seem to matter right at the moment.
“Isn’t that what you wanted, your ladyship?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said, honestly. “I’ve waited for them to write me for years. I don’t need them now.”
Maisie smiled, but it seemed an effort for her to do so. “We don’t need many people in our lives, your ladyship. But it’s another thing to want them, isn’t it?”
“You’re talking about Matthew, aren’t you?”
“I am. I expect it will not be always easy, him being Chinese and me being Scot.”
“But you want him in your life?”
Maisie’s smile broadened. “No, your ladyship, him I need. And you, your ladyship? Do you not need someone?”
Charlotte ignored the question, but Maisie wasn’t deterred.
“Sometimes men need a bit of coaxing. Or they don’t understand the signs we send out. Like the ones you gave his lordship.”
“I wasn’t aware I was sending out any signs.”
Maisie sent her a remonstrative look. Charlotte decided that perhaps silence was the best recourse. But her maid would not allow her to remain mute, it seemed.
“You cannot mean to say those longing looks were accidental?”
“I never once sent him a longing look,” Charlotte protested.
“Indeed, your ladyship, you did, and often. And sometimes, you would simply sigh, and stare into his eyes like a lovesick girl. It’s a good thing that the new term hasn’t yet started. You’d not be a good example to all those tenderhearted girls.”
“I’ve never heard anything more unfair in my life, Maisie.”
“Perhaps you didn’t know you were doing it, your ladyship. It’s quite possible. I, myself, knew that I was gazing on Matthew like a silly child. But I think women are supposed to be admiring of men. It makes them feel manly and handsome. But then, they’re supposed to act the same around women. How are we to know that they think we’re beautiful otherwise?”
She glanced at Maisie.
“Dixon never looked at me in such a way.”
“Perhaps not when you were looking, your ladyship. But he did.”
“Really?”
Maisie nodded.
“How did you become so wise in the ways of men and women?”
“Well, it wasn’t from listening at the door to The Edification Society,” Maisie said. She glanced at Charlotte, whose face was warming with embarrassment. “What a bunch of silliness that was. My Mam used to say that love was the best teacher of all, that you find out what to do with all the arms and legs and things when you love the one you lie with.”
“Your mother seems like a very wise woman.”
“She should be. She had twelve of us, and enough grandchildren to occupy a village. I wonder how she’d feel about a little Oriental one?”
“Are you with child, Maisie?” Charlotte asked.
Maisie didn’t look the least offended by the question. “I’m not, but I would be happy to be.” She looked down at the stones at her feet. “I don’t want to live the whole of my life like Nan, your ladyship, always wanting something that God can’t give you.”
She turned and left Charlotte alone with the dead.
Always wanting something that God can’t give you. Maisie’s words seemed almost prophetic. Was she to be like Nan for the rest of her life? Waiting for the end of it to be joined to the one man who made her heart smile?
How could she walk the halls of Balfurin, either quiet and sedate or raucous and noisy as they would soon become, without thinking of him? Was she to live the rest of her life in longing?
He’d taken advantage of her. She closed her eyes and forced away the thought that she had attempted to seduce him not once but twice. After that one night, he’d acted with honor, but she hadn’t.
What would Lady Eleanor say? She might advise her to take one of the footmen as her lover. She didn’t want a lover. She was quite done with men, with love, forever. She had lived quite well for five years without any thought of companionship or intimacy. She could live another five, ten, fifteen years without love.
No, she couldn’t.
Since Dixon had come to Balfurin, every morning had been a new adventure. She couldn’t wait to end her sleep, to dress, and leave her room. Her heart had stuttered on witnessing him on the stairs, and she’d begun to look for him at the window. The day was not complete until she’d seen him. Sometimes he’d wave, and she’d felt as if the world was a perfect place once again.
She’d never before considered that love might have so many nuances—from laughter to friendship to admiration to joy. Sometimes she experienced a warm hollow feeling in her stomach or an ache in her chest, as if her heart wept. Sometimes, she was ecstatic, and sometimes sad.
No one had told her that desire might be possible as well, that she might want to be touched by another human being, crave it so much that she would dream of him. No one had ever explained that her body would
be a traitorous entity, that she would feel as if she were not in control but that he commanded her heartbeat and the escalation of her breath. She could still feel his hands on her breasts, could close her eyes and feel his thumbs on her nipples, softly strumming as if to coax them to harden. Every pore seemed to open, as if yearning to savor every exquisite sensation.
She wanted to take him to her bed, again and again and again. She wanted to use him up, familiarize herself with the feeling of passion until she was replete. She wanted young women to come to her for advice and older women to look at her with a knowing eye.
She couldn’t help but remember what he looked like in the cave. He was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen, with the sun hitting his shoulders, with his muscled stomach and his broad chest and slim hips. He’d touched her with his hands, and covered her body with his, and made her think ineffable, impossible things, recall snippets of poetry about beauty and love.
He’d lied to her. He’d admitted to flaws and faults that distressed her. He was no god, but a man with blemishes on his soul.
I didn’t want to feel what I did for you…But I did, and the longer I knew you, the more I knew I wouldn’t be able to simply walk away from you.
But he had. He’d left her, and she was in love with him.
Dear God, how was she to bear it?
Not by waiting. Not by sitting beside a window and watching as life passed by in an endless panorama. Not by wishing. Not by weeping at night.
Charlotte said her final farewells, not only to Nan and George, but also to the woman she’d been as well.
Chapter 23
“B alfurin is warmer,” Matthew said, making a clucking sound with his tongue. “As large as the castle is, it has a feeling of coziness.”
“That’s because there’s a fire place in almost every room,” Dixon said.
“It’s a very strange country, your Scotland,” Matthew said. “It’s very cold, but its people are warm. They seem very accepting.”
“Unless you’re English,” Dixon said.
“That is one disadvantage that I do not have.” Matthew smiled.
“Are you glad you came to Scotland with me, then?”
“There are compensations for remaining here,” Matthew said. “I doubt I shall ever grow accustomed to the cold, but a smile can sometimes make up for the chill.”
“Would that smile belong to a certain young lady by the name of Maisie?”
“I find her very personable. A very direct and honest young woman.” He stared out the window as if he saw Maisie’s face in the reflection.
Dixon didn’t bother to hide his smile. He’d never before seen Matthew enamored of a woman. No, it was more than that. “Are you in love, Matthew?”
Matthew sighed, as if he’d both expected the question and dreaded it. “Who knows what love is?”
He did, but Dixon kept that thought to himself. Love tore him up inside like shards of glass, but had the capability of healing as quickly. One smile from Charlotte would do it. The sound of her laughter would keep him buoyed for hours.
“Are you going to simply leave it at that, Matthew?”
“I have nothing to give her, master. Even my life is not my own.”
“I give it to you.”
Matthew turned to look at him, surprised.
“I’ve done it before, you know, at least thirty times, and each time you’ve refused to accept it. I’m damn tired of feeling responsible for you. You owe me nothing, except for your happiness, and I’ll not stand in the way of that. One of us should be happy, don’t you think?”
“I’m of mixed blood, master. Your lordship.”
Dixon threw down his quill, uncaring that ink spotted the papers he’d been given. “Malay was settled by people of all races. If Maisie is so petty as to consider your bloodlines, then she isn’t worthy of you at all.”
“She does not care, your lordship.”
“Dixon.”
Matthew studied him for a long moment.
“A servant would call me your lordship,” Dixon said. “But a friend would address me by name. Either Dixon or MacKinnon. I think, after all this time, that we’re friends, don’t you?”
He returned to signing the documents his solicitor had given him.
“Is there nothing I can do to assist you?”
“No,” Dixon said. “Most of these have to do with ascending to the title. I had no idea that there was so much I was responsible for. No wonder George found it necessary to wed an heiress.”
He looked down at the stack of papers still to be signed. He was the Earl of Marne, the Laird of Balfurin. Why wasn’t he more pleased? He had proof of his responsibilities in the papers before him, in the fact that people addressed him as your lordship. Not a pretend title as when he’d masqueraded as George, but rightfully his.
Why didn’t it mean more?
All his life, he’d wanted to be master of Balfurin. He’d wanted to be laird. He’d wanted to be the Earl of Marne. He’d been desperate to be the next in a proud line of men, the MacKinnon.
Now, he was more than ready to turn his back on everything, to escape Scotland.
He couldn’t evict Charlotte from Balfurin, and he couldn’t see himself living there in the shadow of her memory. What would he do with an empty school for girls? For that matter, what would he do with an empty life?
“Your fortune will be put to good use, then. Balfurin needs upkeep.”
Dixon nodded. He’d already settled a fair amount on Charlotte, in addition to making her his heir in case anything happened to him.
“Are you going to do something about Maisie?”
“I do not like leaving you alone,” Matthew said.
“I’ve been without your companionship most of my life, Matthew. As long as I was assured of your well being, I’d be happy enough with the arrangement.”
“You will be lonely.”
Dixon smiled.
“So I shall be, but perhaps it’s what I deserve.” He stared at the end of the quill for a moment. “I never loved her, you know. Annabelle. I don’t want you thinking that I’m grieving for her. She deserved a better husband. She deserved a better fate.”
“I never believed you were grieving for her,” Matthew said. “But for the death of your honor.”
Dixon studied the other man for a long moment. “You never cease to amaze me, Matthew.”
“It was not difficult to see that you were shamed by your actions. You are a man of principle and you did not act according to your own conscience.”
“Nor have I in Scotland.”
Matthew shook his head. “I think you did what you must in order to solve the mystery of your cousin’s disappearance.”
“At the risk of insulting you, Matthew, you’re too kind. Perhaps you could impart that opinion to a certain countess of my acquaintance. It might change her mind about me. She’s brushed my explanations aside as if I’m a raving lunatic. Although I don’t suppose I blame her.”
He glanced at Matthew again. “You’ll stay here, then? Even with the Scottish winters? They can be brutal.”
Matthew smiled. “As you say. But I think I will be warm enough.”
Charlotte had earlier directed that her coach be readied for a trip to Inverness. She’d learned from a groom that Dixon’s coachman, in his eagerness to arrive in Inverness, was vocal in his dislike of Balfurin. Beyond that, Charlotte didn’t have a clue as to Dixon’s plans. But if she had to visit every single inn in the entire city, she was more than willing.
She descended the broad steps of Balfurin, pulling on her gloves. At the bottom of the stairs she glanced back at the castle.
She had come to Balfurin seeking answers. For years the castle had sheltered her, protecting her from loneliness and even despair. Here, she’d found purpose and a feeling of worth. She’d changed her life single-handedly, and Balfurin had seemed to approve, almost as if it were a sentient being.
Now, however, a cloud loomed over the struc
ture as if Balfurin chided her for her anger, for her stiff-necked pride.
Maisie ran down the steps after her.
Charlotte stared at the younger woman. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to accompany you, your ladyship.”
“It is not necessary, truly. I’m a widow, the headmistress of a school. I need no chaperone.”
One of Maisie’s eyebrows rose. “May I ask where you’re going?”
“To Inverness.”
The second eyebrow joined the first. “Why?”
Was she to have no privacy? “Is it necessary that you know?”
“No,” Maisie said calmly. “But I know where his lordship and Matthew are staying.”
“How do you know that?”
“Matthew told me.”
She and Maisie studied each other. In the girl’s eyes was the same resolve that had stared back at Charlotte from the mirror this morning.
“He was going to come back for you,” Charlotte said.
“He was.” Maisie nodded, and it was a curiously proud nod, as if the girl had blossomed into a confident woman overnight.
“I suppose that would save time,” Charlotte admitted.
She still hadn’t entered the carriage, and Maisie looked steadily at her.
“If you don’t allow me to come with you,” Maisie finally said, “I’ll simply have to steal a horse from Balfurin and journey there alone. Unlike you, your ladyship, I am neither a widow nor a headmistress. But I am determined.”
“But you just said he’ll be back.”
“But I don’t know when. I miss him, your ladyship.”
The girl folded her hands and continued to regard Charlotte impassively.
Charlotte sighed. “Then who am I to refuse you? I wouldn’t dare.”
Half the way to Inverness, Charlotte decided that what she was doing was foolish. A dozen times she decided to return to Balfurin but every time she did so, she glanced over at Maisie, marveling how brave and composed the maid appeared.
