A Highland Conquest

by Sandra Heath

  The drawing room windows stood open to the sultry July evening, and the leaves in the central garden of Grosvenor Square were very still as Rory’s town carriage drew up at the curb outside Alex and Hester’s handsome red brick town house on the east side of the square. Lauren, Alex, and Hester were waiting on the second floor, overlooking the square.

  Lauren wore a new shell-pink gown and there were diamonds in her ears and around her throat. She had taken particular care with her appearance tonight, wanting to look her very best in front of Lord Glenvane.

  Alex rose as the butler announced Rory, who entered the room and bowed to them. From the moment she saw him again, Lauren was uncomfortably conscious of the effect he had upon her, and she employed her ivory fan as she studied him. He was dressed in the same formal black as Alex, but somehow achieved even more excellence. His black corded silk coat was superbly cut to show off his athletic but elegant figure, and his close-fitting white trousers outlined the shape and length of his legs. Lace spilled from his cuffs, there was subtle embroidery on his satin waistcoat, and an emerald pin in his starched neckcloth. But beneath his cool outer composure she could again sense the restless contradiction of his character, the brigand concealed within the cultured man of fashion. It was a stirring and heady blend that drew her like a pin to a magnet.

  She was both startled and shocked by the unforeseen force of the feeling. All this time after losing Jonathan, she was suddenly at sixes and sevens again, and the cause of her disarray was a Scottish nobleman! If the attraction had not been so very real and intense, the situation might almost have been amusing. She, Lauren Maitland, the fiercely patriotic citizen of Boston, Massachusetts, was vulnerable to the merest smile from a dashing highland aristocrat! And this on the Fourth of July, of all days! The thought brought a blush to her cheeks, and she employed her fan a little more busily.

  Alex drew Rory to join them. “A glass of something?” he asked. “Sherry, maybe?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Rory smiled and inclined his head to the two ladies. His glance lingered a little longer on Lauren, a fact of which she could not help but be aware, for it caused her heart to beat a little more swiftly.

  Alex ushered him to a chair and went to pour four glasses from the decanter on the nearby table. He pressed one into Rory’s hand, and then opened the conversation, but the seemingly innocent topic he chose proved to be far more thorny and contentious than he could ever have anticipated.

  “Have you been anywhere interesting since last we met?”

  “America. Briefly.”

  “Why, by happy coincidence—” Alex began, turning to Lauren. But Rory shook his head and interrupted.

  “It wasn’t at all happy, and I have no intention of ever setting foot there again.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Alex gave a weak smile. “Really?” he murmured.

  “I find nothing to recommend either the land or its citizens,” Rory went on, not detecting the awkwardness that had entered the proceedings.

  Alex and Hester glanced at each other, and Lauren’s fan became suddenly still.

  Rory studied his untouched glass. “I am more than glad to toast the Fourth of July, since it is a date which celebrates a very fortuitous parting of the ways,” he murmured, raising the glass to the room in general and then draining it.

  Lauren flushed a little, indignant at the cavalier manner with which her entire nation had just been condemned out of hand. It would have been offensive to her even if she’d found him personally repellent, but the fact that she found him so infuriatingly attractive somehow gave the insult twice as much sting.

  “Are you much given to such sweeping generalizations, Lord Glenvane?” she asked coolly.

  It was the first time he’d heard her say more than one or two words, and his gray eyes swung swiftly toward her as suddenly he realized from her Boston accent that she hailed from the opposite side of the Atlantic. “I—er—appear to have spoken somewhat out of turn, Miss Maitland,” he murmured.

  “Yes, sir, you do.”

  “Forgive me, but when you were introduced as Miss Maitland of Boston, I thought only of Boston, Lincolnshire.”

  “And that excuses you?”

  He gave her a faint smile. “No, of course not, but I assure you that if I’d known—”

  “You wouldn’t have spoken as you did? Maybe not, but you would still have held your derogatory views about my homeland.”

  Alex gazed fixedly at something he suddenly found immensely interesting on the ceiling, and Hester fiddled uneasily with her peacock fan, wishing the clock would be turned back and the whole conversation begun again.

  Rory was silent for a moment and then gave Lauren the coolest of smiles. “Would it be accurate to guess that there was a Maitland involved in the Boston Tea Party?” he enquired a little dryly.

  “It would.” It was the truth.

  “I thought so.” He searched her face for a second or so. “I seem to have made an exceedingly bad impression on you, Miss Maitland.”

  “You have, sir,” she answered, this time not so truthfully.

  “I apologize, for it was unforgivable of me to allow my personal bitterness to get the better of my manners. Miss Maitland, can you find it in your heart to accept my remorse?” He gave her a repentant smile.

  She couldn’t reply, for the smile devastated her defenses. He was all she should shun, but she found him almost unbearably desirable. Plague take her foolish emotions! And plague take him as well!

  He smiled again. “Pax, Miss Maitland?”

  To her further chagrin the second smile stabbed her to the heart as well, but somehow she managed a rueful smile of her own. “Pax, Lord Glenvane. Besides, I hold equally entrenched and possibly erroneous views about Scotland and the Scots,” she murmured, unable to resist getting her own back just a little.

  “I detect the whiff of gunpowder, Miss Maitland, but nevertheless I will venture to ask what these undoubtedly erroneous views might be.”

  “That Scotland is a miserable, wet place, and that Scotsmen are all skinflints who like to dance in skirts to the accompaniment of a shrieking sack of wind called a bagpipe.”

  Alex strove not to laugh and Hester had to look away to prevent a loud giggle. A glimmer of humor passed through Rory’s eyes. “Madam, regrettably I have to concede that on most of those points you are only too accurate.”

  The conversation ended there, for the butler came to announce dinner, and they adjourned to the pleasant green silk dining room at the rear of the house.

  The French windows opened on to a balcony above the garden, and the warm evening air was heady with the scent of roses. It was dusk now, and there were lighted candlesticks upon the gleaming mahogany table, where a particularly elegant crystal epergne had pride of place. Tumbling with fruit, flowers, nuts, leaves, and cool moss, it was a veritable work of art.

  They ate a leisurely and very agreeable meal of asparagus soup, poached Scottish salmon, and roast sirloin of beef, and then a footman brought the ingredients for the peach dessert which was Alex’s speciality and which he always insisted upon preparing personally at the sideboard. It consisted of a thick glass bowl rinsed with brandy and filled with freshly sliced peaches, chilled champagne, and crushed sugar. The moment it was made, it would be brought to the table and spooned into smaller dishes with whipped cream.

  When the footman had withdrawn, Alex went to the sideboard to commence slicing the peaches.

  Rory smiled at him. “Do you recall the day Isabel ate all those peaches and was so sick afterward?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “I don’t believe she’s liked peaches ever since.”

  Alex glanced over his shoulder. “Do you see much of her now that she’s married to old Lord Maxby?”

  “The late Lord Maxby—he went to his Maker about eighteen months ago,” Rory stated. “And yes, I do see her quite often, for she has returned to Granton Park.”

  Alex was surprised. “I had no
idea she was now a widow.”

  “A very rich and eligible one,” Hester murmured.

  “Indeed so,” Rory replied, smiling a little.

  Lauren glanced at them all. “Who is Isabel?” she asked.

  Alex answered. “She was Miss Isabel Granton, and her family own an estate adjoining Glenvane. When we were children she was always following Rory around like an adoring puppy. Fitz and I teased him mercilessly whenever we were there on vacation from Harrow.” He glanced at Rory. “Actually, I have always suspected that her adoration has continued, and probably always will.”

  Hester was appalled at such an indiscreet observation. “Alex!”

  “Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Rory?”

  “Modesty forbids me,” Rory murmured.

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “Since when? Come on now, admit that Isabel was always besotted with you.”

  “A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things,” Rory replied with a grin.

  Hester had been studying him. “May I be permitted a rather impertinent question, Rory?” she asked suddenly.

  “You may.”

  “Is Isabel a part of your life now?”

  Lauren lowered her eyes, not wanting to hear an affirmative reply.

  Rory paused. “At this precise moment, yes, she is,” he said.

  Lauren became cross with herself as disappointment washed through her. This was quite ridiculous! She hardly knew him, and yet the details of his private life were inexplicably important to her.

  Alex deemed it time to change the subject “You said you were soon returning to Glenvane. When exactly do you leave?”

  “I’m posting there the day after tomorrow.”

  “So soon? I was hoping we’d have a chance to see each other a little more,” Alex replied.

  Lauren was dismayed. The day after tomorrow? It was hardly any time away at all…

  Rory continued. “I mean to be back there well in time for Mary’s birthday at the end of next month. A young lady’s eighteenth birthday should be celebrated with as much junketing and diversion as a young gentleman’s coming of age, don’t you agree?”

  Alex continued to slice the peaches. “I do indeed. Actually, I seem to vaguely recall attending your own coming of age. I believe I spent a blissful week in an alcoholic haze. How long ago was it now? Eight years? Nine?”

  “Don’t remind me of the passing years, my friend. It was nine years ago, and I am now the ripe old age of thirty.” Rory toyed with the slender stem of his wineglass.

  Hester eyed her husband and then looked at Rory. “What’s all this about a week of alcoholic haze?” she demanded.

  Rory feigned alarm. “Please don’t ask me to tell you about it, Hester, for it’s more than my life is worth to sneak upon a fellow to his wife. Just take my word for it that we were models of good conduct and excellence.”

  “Do you really expect me to credit your coming of age celebrations with pious evenings of text reading and hymn singing?” Hester raised a wry, disbelieving eyebrow.

  He grinned. “Hester, to claim such holy goings-on wouldn’t convince you in the slightest, but actually we were reasonably decorous. Mary will have a grand ball, a fireworks display on the bowling lawn, a midnight boating party on the loch, several grouse shoots on the moor, a picnic by the waterfall on Ben Vane, and a stag hunt. Oh, and I have even managed to secure a promise from Madame Santini that she will give a recital.”

  “Madame Santini? The famous soprano?”

  He nodded. “Fresh from La Scala, Milan, and at her warbling, glass-shattering best, or so I’m told. She’s due to tour Scotland, and has agreed to come to Glenvane during her stay in Glasgow.”

  Hester smiled. “It all sounds most agreeable, Rory.”

  “Would you like to join in?”

  Hester stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “That I am inviting all of you to join my many other guests for Mary’s birthday celebrations at Glenvane Castle at the end of next month.”

  Lauren’s heart almost stopped.

  Hester’s eyes shone, and she turned excitedly to Alex. “Oh, Alex, can we?”

  “Yes, of course, although…” Alex looked uncertainly at Lauren. “Would such a visit be agreeable to you, Lauren?”

  “I…I’m sure Lord Glenvane would prefer—” she began, but Rory interrupted her.

  “I assure you that Lord Glenvane is determined to get you to Scotland, Miss Maitland. How else is your rustic colonial mind to be properly educated?”

  “I’m sure I am beyond teaching, sir,” she murmured, for his words cast her thoughts back to the first few minutes after he’d arrived, and his strangely antagonistic remarks about America. He’d mentioned personal bitterness as his reason, and she wondered greatly what that bitterness was.

  “Beyond teaching? I doubt that very much, indeed I’m certain you’ll be overcome with admiration when you see me in my kilt, doing the sword dance to the skirl of the pipes,” He smiled.

  The smile again laid waste her defenses. “I…I will not be able to contain my impatience, sir,” she replied, managing to sound light.

  “Nor I, for I have to introduce you to the many customs and delights of my homeland. Such as the noble haggis, for example.”

  “I think not, sir,” she said with a slight shudder, for she had heard numerous awful stories about the ingredients of haggis!

  “I regard your conversion as a matter of honor,” he replied, and then glanced at Alex. “Is it settled, then? You will all come to Glenvane next month?”

  “We’ll be delighted, Rory.”

  “Excellent. Actually, I’d like to invite Fitz and his wife as well, but I’ve no idea where to find them. I’ve tried his club, but it seems he hasn’t bothered to keep up his subscription.”

  “My fellow Corinthian he may once have been, but is no more, not since the advent of Lady Fitz,” Alex replied. “If you wish to reach him, I believe they’ve taken a house up at Hampstead, somewhere near the Spaniard’s Inn.”

  “Good. I’ll endeavor to include them among my guests.” Rory glanced at him. “Am I right in suspecting there is an undercurrent whenever Fitz’s wife is mentioned?”

  Alex shifted a little uncomfortably. “Well, to be truthful, neither Hester nor I took to her particularly. We felt she was secretive to a fault, and we wouldn’t care to trust her about anything, no matter how small.”

  “How odd.”

  “Yes, and then there is her strange reluctance to leave Ireland and come here. Not only that—she wouldn’t take a house in London itself, but insisted upon remaining up in Hampstead. I could tell that Fitz was kicking against it a little, for you know how much he likes London life.”

  Hester sniffed. “If you ask me, Fitz has made a grave mistake,” she said, but then she gave a slight laugh. “Oh, we’re probably entirely wrong, and we certainly shouldn’t allow first impressions to cloud our judgment so completely. After all, we’ve only met her once, and then briefly.”

  Alex pursed his lips. “I have the strangest feeling that I’ve seen her somewhere before, several years ago, although for the life of me I cannot think where. She certainly seemed oddly familiar. It wasn’t an entirely agreeable feeling, rather like waking up in the morning and trying to recall a rather disturbing dream. One knows one was dreaming, and one is aware of the atmosphere created by said dream, but as to the content of the dream, that is another matter.”

  Rory smiled. “Well, even if you don’t remember, and Hester doesn’t change her mind, there will be sufficient other guests to make your dealings with Lady Fitzsimmons a matter of complete inconsequence. If I have my way, and Jamie and Mary have theirs as well, the house will be filled to overflowing. I only trust that with so many, it will not prove a boring occasion.”

  Hester smiled at him. “I cannot imagine that you would ever be guilty of anything boring.”

  “I’m flattered, and therefore your slave forever, madam,” he replied, reaching over to take her hand and drawing
it gallantly to his lips.

  “Do you really promise all the amusements you mentioned earlier?” she asked hopefully.

  ‘The very same.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to wait. The end of next month seems an age away.”

  “You must allow me time to make all the arrangements. Lavish hospitality takes a great deal of organizing.”

  “I know. Very well, I will try to contain yourself.”

  Alex at last completed the dessert, and with a flourish he bore it triumphantly to the table. Conversation drifted to other topics as the dinner proceeded relaxedly toward its conclusion, at which point they adjourned to the drawing room to talk for a little longer.

  It was midnight when Rory departed, and Lauren couldn’t help but be aware that Hester’s curiosity about his marriage had remained unsatisfied. Once or twice her cousin had attempted to steer the conversation in that direction, but each time he’d skillfully managed to deflect her. Hester was frustrated but knew when to call it a day. She would have to accept that the Earl of Glenvane had no intention at all of talking about his late countess.

  As he took his leave of them, Rory turned to speak just to Lauren. “I trust you do not mean to cut and run from my invitation to Scotland, Miss Maitland?”

  “Cut and run? Sir, Bostonians are simply not capable of such cowardly acts,” she retorted.

  “Good.” He smiled into her eyes and then drew her hand to his lips. “Until we meet again.”

  “Sir.”

  As his carriage drove away, Hester tapped Lauren’s arm with her fan. “La, Coz, I do believe you’ve made a conquest,” she murmured conspiratorially.

  Lauren wished it were so, but rather doubted it, for on Rory’s own admission, Isabel, Lady Maxby, had a place in his life.

  Chapter 3

  It required two carriages for the expedition to Scotland at the end of August, one to convey Lauren and her cousins, the other to carry their luggage and servants, including Lauren’s maid, Peggy Donovan, who’d accompanied her from Boston. The journey to Glenvane Castle would have been accomplished with only five unhurried halts at various towns along the route, and the stay at Glasgow should have been the fifth and final one, but the next morning they had taken a wrong turn in the town of Dumbarton, which had taken them far off course and resulted in a sixth overnight halt.