“You’re not an art critic,” Louise said, her heart feeling the pull of the blue and green vase, and whatever else might be behind those double doors. “You have nothing to do with why I went to law school.”
“I had everything to do with it, Louise. I was among those Saxe hauled to your showing, to sneer at and ridicule student works, some of which were brilliant. The phrase ‘major in Teacher’s Pet’ originated with me, as did other disparaging remarks. Even as I uttered them, I was baffled at how a student, an undergraduate struggling to emulate her more experienced teacher, could so thoroughly surpass his results.”
Liam had both hands wrapped around Louise’s fingers. “Then the next morning, I saw my own words in print,” he went on, “casual, snide, half-drunken comments meant only for a small, snide, half-drunken group. That day was a turning point for me, the lowest point in a long, stupid fall from decency and self-respect. I am sorry, Louise. The harm was unintentional, but entirely my fault. Do you accept my apology?”
Two thoughts crowded into Louise’s mind, the first was that Liam needed to shut up. Whatever he was blathering about, they could discuss later.
The second thought, more of a compulsion, was that her best work, her very best work, properly displayed before a segment of New York’s most discerning appreciators of art, lay beyond the doors.
She didn’t give a damn about the people, but her art—
“I want to see,” she said, dragging Liam across the room. “I have to see them.”
Liam went peacefully, a few people calling greetings. When they reached the double doors, Louise was abruptly, unashamedly terrified. She buried her face against Liam’s throat, his lacy jabot tickling her cheek.
“I thought they’d been d-destroyed,” she whispered. “I asked for them back, from the galleries that had agreed to take them on commission, though it took me weeks to find the nerve. They all said the pieces were ‘no longer in inventory.’ I got a check, when what I wanted was my art back. I’ve always wanted my art back. I thought they’d all gone in d-dumpsters—”
“Look, Louise,” Liam said softly, arms around her. “Every piece is whole and safe, and they’re all here, except for one vase that I sent to a friend drowning in grief.”
Louise couldn’t hold on to Liam tightly enough, could not contain the singing, soaring joy, or the terror, of what he’d done.
“Show me, Liam.”
An attendant opened the double doors, and Liam escorted her into a carpeted expanse of light and quiet. Her best work—vases, bowls, a whimsical teapot, a fan made of clay and northern lights, a dish wide enough to serve as a grinding stone, a matched set of tea cups…. Every piece accounted for, every piece perfectly lit to show off form and finish.
Louise knew which one Liam had sent to his friend: A vase about six inches tall that she’d named Consolation. In this room, Liam had assembled all of the rest. Her past, her future, her heart, all on display.
“They’re beautiful,” Louise said, wiping a tear away with the back of her wrist. “I was never sure. I thought maybe I’d not seen clearly, maybe memory played tricks, maybe merely pretty is all I’m capable of.”
“You’re capable of gorgeous, insightful, brilliant work, all of it,” Liam said. “Not a runt in the litter, Louise Cameron, not a second best, not a single item that falls below the standard of the rest. You’re not only a genius with color and shape, you’re consistent. Larry O’Connor agreed when he was given a private showing this morning.”
Louise leaned into Liam and wept, and she laughed, and she dreamed up all manner of new shapes and approaches to try. She was still giddy with sheer joy two hours later as the attendants began to discreetly murmur about the bar closing soon, and there being time for one last trip to the buffet.
“I don’t want to leave this room, Liam,” Louise said as she accepted a piece of tablet from him. “I made this, I made all of this, and it’s good.” She kissed him as sweetness suffused her. “You know what else, Cromarty? I can make more. I know that now. Purple is calling to me, like the heather. Purple and green have a lot to say to each other.”
And Louise had more she’d say to Liam, when all these smiling, well-dressed people left them some privacy.
“Let’s find a glass of champagne,” Liam suggested, “because this was a successful show if ever I saw one.”
“Larry O’Connor winked at me,” Louise said, slipping out of her shoes as the textile artist waved good-bye. Louise was tipsy, though she’d not had even a glass of wine. “I want you to understand something, though, Liam Cromarty.”
Liam collected her shoes. “Say my name like that in bed. You’ll like the results.”
He led her from the display room to the bar. Louise waited for their drinks while Liam found a place to stash her shoes.
“I feel like we should waltz on the roof or something,” Louise said, passing Liam his champagne. She touched her glass to his. “To Scotland, the brave.”
Liam kissed her, then took a sip, and set the drink aside. “I asked you earlier if you accepted my apology, Louise. May I take it you’ve responded in the affirmative?”
Louise had become like one of her vases, a pillar of grace and beauty, illuminated from within, imbued with motion even when she stood still.
“Let’s find some ferns to hide behind,” she said, taking Liam by the hand. “Understand this: You are being daft, and I love you for it, but enough is enough.”
“I am daft,” Liam said as they wound past the buffet and into a conversational grouping away from the brightest lights. Across the mezzanine, people were putting on wraps, security guards were looking relieved, and a wonderfully successful show was coming to an end.
The press had attended, and Liam would have a few more clients for this evening’s work, about which, he cared not at all.
“I was mean to Robert,” Louise said, stretching luxuriously.
“You were quite civil to him,” Liam countered, lowering himself to the carpet beside her chair. “You asked about his latest publication then dodged off to say hello to the reigning queen of textile art.”
Larry O’Connor had been trapped in a discussion of the symbolism of fur in colonial portraiture for another fifteen minutes while Liam had stayed at his lady’s side.
“Naughty me,” Louise said, admiring her own bare toes.
She could light up the Orkneys on New Year’s Eve with that smile.
“Might I interrupt your naughtiness to trouble you for your opinion on another artist’s work?” Liam asked.
Louise stroked his hair, the gentlest caress. “I’d give you pretty much anything you asked for, Liam Cromarty. I hadn’t realized how I’d been grieving, not knowing what had happened to my art. Without the actual pieces, I had no evidence I’d ever created anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. The managing partner for the law firm that hosted this shindig asked if I accepted private commissions.”
“You’ll soon be wealthy if you said yes.” And how pleased Liam would be, to see Louise’s career restored to her in such abundance.
Louise dropped a kiss on his crown. “I am wealthy. I have good health, a ton of ideas, and good people in my life. The rest doesn’t matter.”
She didn’t reiterate that she loved him. She’d lobbed that salvo at him when he’d been too drunk on the sight of her to respond, and then she’d nattered on about taking his clothes off.
Liam scooted around, so he was on his knees at her side. “You have something else, too, Louise.”
“A sweet tooth. Or a tablet tooth.”
“You have my heart,” Liam said, extracting a ring box from a pocket. “You have my love. You have my loyalty, my fidelity, and most of my tablet stash for the rest of my natural days. My cat and my uncle have already switched their allegiance to you, and my dog is sure to follow.”
Louise had gone still, her hand resting on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Liam. I love you, too. Very much.”
“We tho
ught we were done,” he said. “You went off to law school, thinking you’d closed a chapter in your life forever. I settled into teaching and hoped I could be content. I don’t want contentment, Louise, unless I can share it with you.” He passed her the ring box. “What do you think of the setting?”
Louise opened the box and peered at the ring as if it might jump up and bite her nose. Liam kissed that nose instead.
“Will it do, Louise? Will I do?”
“Oh, Liam. Of course you’ll do, but may I have the words, please?”
He assumed a proper kneeling posture. “Louise Cameron, will you marry me? Will you become my lawfully wedded wife, my best friend, my partner, lover, and companion in all things? I come with a lot of family and a stubborn streak.”
She looped her arms around his shoulders. “Stubborn is good, Liam. Stubborn means we don’t give up, we keep trying, we find a way to make our marriage work. I’ll marry you, and you’ll have a stubborn wife, too.”
A yes, then. A beautiful, heartfelt, unhesitating yes. Louise had said yes to him, to his love, to a shared future. Liam stuffed the ring box in his pocket and slid the gold band around Louise’s finger.
“I love it,” she said, wiggling her fingers so the light caught the emerald.
“I love you.” Liam had waited weeks to say that, the longest weeks of his life. “I love you, I love you. I love you, and I want an early wedding present.”
“I gave you some early wedding presents this afternoon, Liam Cromarty.”
Had she ever. Liam drew Louise to her feet. “And what lovely gestures those were. Now I want another kind of lovely gesture.”
The recessed lighting around the mezzanine had dimmed, and staff were clearing off the buffet.
“Will I need my shoes?” Louise asked as Liam led her back to the display area.
“Not for this. I want a guided tour, Louise. I want to hear the story of each piece, to know what decisions you had to make, where the ideas came from, and what comes next.”
“I know what comes next,” she said, stopping before a loving cup with braided handles. The lights had been turned down in here too, and yet, the greens and golds of the glaze seemed to glow with warmth. “What comes next, Liam Cromarty, is we live happily ever after.”
EPILOGUE
* * *
Every artist needed a spouse, a Liam Cromarty, to handle all the pesky financial details associated with sales, to offer the occasional—though never unsolicited—comment on a work in progress, and to impersonate a romantic bunny several times throughout the day.
Liam had the knack of leaving Louise alone her in studio precisely long enough to accomplish a goal, but not long enough for her to grow hungry or unproductive. He was often at work elsewhere in the house, grading papers, preparing for class, or transacting art rental business with clients a dozen time zones away.
Or, when the mood struck, cooking.
“You made sambusas,” Louise said, snatching a clean towel from the stack near the work sink. “What do you want to bet Uncle Donald will be here in the next fifteen minutes?”
Liam set down a tray laden with a pile of golden, flakey sambusas, two bottles of Deuchars beer, and a roll of paper towels.
“Donald is off working on his golf game,” Liam said. “Seems another one of your lawyer friends from Maryland has decided to come to Scotland for a golfing holiday.”
Louise opened both bottles, taking a sniff of hop-py loveliness.
“The only lawyers in Maryland I’d call my friends are Dunstan and Jane.” Mostly Jane, though Dunstan had grown on her. “I certainly know a few more, and most of them are decent people.”
None of whom she missed.
Liam took a sip of his beer, and what did it say about a woman who’d been married for nearly two months, that she still found the sight of her husband drinking beer sexy?
Liam passed her two sambusas on a paper towel. “Shame on you. You know better than to look at me like that, Mrs. Cromarty.”
Mrs. Cromarty. She was Louise Cameron Cromarty now, soon to be a master’s degree candidate at the Glasgow School of Art. She and Liam had decided to first take a year to enjoy being married, and for Louise to settle into her Scottish home.
A fine plan, but like all plans…
“That’s a lovely piece,” Liam said, gesturing with his bottle at a pot Louise had taken from the kiln earlier in the day. “You meant what you said, about purple and green having a lot to say to each other, and the peach goes surprisingly well.”
Louise took a bite of food still warm from the oven. “This is your best recipe yet. If you give it to Donald, he might leave us alone for more than three days at a time.”
Though Louise knew why Donald was stopping by so often. Auld Donald was a canny fellow.
“A fine notion,” Liam said, chewing contemplatively.
Marriage had changed him, added peacefulness to his quiet, and smiles to his conversation. Louise was about to upset that quiet, but also, she hoped, to inspire more smiles.
“Who’s the next guest in the cottage?” she asked. “The bar association was full of golfers, though I had the sense they played mostly to get out of the office.”
Niall Cromarty was the family golfer and Jeannie’s brother. He had Liam’s broad shoulders, also a thriving little golf operation in the wilds of Perthshire, and form most pros could only envy.
Niall did not, however, lay claim to any charm.
“The next guest,” Liam said, “is a lady by the name of Julie Leonard. She’s quite focused on her golf apparently.”
For a prosecutor, Julie had been pleasant to work with. “Niall’s supposed to brave the midgies to take her golfing?”
“Which is why Jeannie sent Donald off to the links. One must always have a backup plan. I don’t suppose you play?”
Plans again. Please, Liam, be the kind of husband who can adjust to a change in plans.
“I don’t play golf worth a hoot,” Louise said. “Niall might not make a bad golf buddy for Julie.” Who was used to dealing with trial attorneys and criminals.
“He’ll be awful,” Liam said, finishing his first sambusa. “Niall’s in want of cheer, unless you happen to be a drooling, cooing wee bairnie by the name of Henry.”
Louise set her beer down after one sip. Deuchars had become her favorite, but she wouldn’t be drinking much for the foreseeable future.
“Everybody can use a devoted uncle,” Louise said, “or first cousin once removed.”
Liam paused, his bottle halfway to his mouth, while Louise’s heart turned over. She would recall this moment, just as she recalled the moment Liam had confused her for a little old lady at the airport. She had an entire mental portfolio of images of Liam, each one beloved. Arthur’s Seat, Culloden, walking the banks of the river with Helen, their wedding day.
And their wedding night.
“Niall’s first cousins once removed would be… our children,” Liam said, peering at Louise.
“Got it in one, Mr. Cromarty. Don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to names?”
Liam set his ale down carefully. “Louise?”
“That name’s taken, and wouldn’t work for a boy.”
“Louise Cameron Cromarty. I’ve wondered what the change is. Your pots have gone from beautiful to sublime, and I didn’t think holy matrimony the entire explanation.”
The explanation sat across from her, smiling the sweetest, dearest, hottest smile.
“Expectant mothers nap a lot,” Louise said. “I don’t want to nap alone.”
Liam grabbed the plate and both beers and nearly ran for the kitchen. Louise beat him to the bedroom, where they did, indeed, enjoy a nice long nap.
Eventually.
Author’s Note
* * *
On one of my trips to Scotland, I crossed paths with fellow traveler Heitzi Epstein, a ceramic, jewelry and textile artist and teacher. Heitzi is also one of few people who really, truly knows what my foster care lawyer gig
involves. In a past life she was the attorney in charge of the Child Welfare Project of the National Association of Child Advocates…. and she loves Scotland… and she loves music… and she lives in Maryland.
Yikes! No wonder the time spent with her inspired a story with a great big, pretty happily-ever-after ending. Heitzi was very helpful answering my questions about ceramics, though of course, any boo-boos are exclusively mine.
If you’d like to see some of Heitzi’s creations, take a gander at her website at heitzi.com. I’m telling you, you meet the nicest people in Scotland…
If you enjoyed this wee dram of Scottish contemporary romance from Grace Burrowes, you might also enjoy the prequel novella, Kiss and Tell, or her Scottish Victorian series featuring the MacGregor brothers:
The Bridegroom Wore Plaid
Once Upon a Tartan
The MacGregor’s Lady
What A Lady Needs for Christmas
Grace also has more contemporary romances out in 2015, including
Kiss and Tell
A Single Kiss (January 2015)
The First Kiss (February 2015)
Kiss Me Hello (March 2015)
And she returns to Regency England with
The Duke’s Disaster (April 2015)
Watch for the next novella in Grace’s Highland Holidays series, Love on the Links, or sign up for her newsletter to be kept informed of new releases, exclusive content, giveaways, or the upcoming Scotland With Grace group tour.
About the Author
* * *
Grace Burrowes loves to write, and has more than forty romance titles to her name. She’s happiest when she’s toddling around Scotland or Merry Olde, looking for story ideas and scarfing down whisky flavored tablet (sort of a sweetened condensed milk fudge/rocket fuel blend). Scottish traditional music, breathtaking rural scenery, and the odd friendly cat (waves at Tobermory) are among her dearest delights. When she’s not wandering around the Highlands in the name of research for her books, she’s a child welfare attorney practicing in Western Maryland. Grace loves to hear from her readers, and can be reached through her website at graceburrowes.com.
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