Questions for a Highlander

by Angeline Fortin

  Kitty was not unhappy to be wed. She had longed for the day when she might come into her own. Nor did she feel a serious aversion to her father’s choice of a husband. She had known Freddie Hayes many years since their families both summered here in Newport. He was handsome enough, to be sure, and could be very charming. But he was only a year or two older than she and still had a childish tendency to be a bit temperamental and to anger easily when he felt she didn’t pay him enough attention. Marriage to him was certainly going to be a test in patience. Love, her mother assured her, would come in time.

  In the meantime, she generally considered him a sometimes charismatic, occasionally knowledgeable young man. He could be somewhat dashing when he made the effort. He had shown himself to be a charming and reasonably intelligent conversationalist in company. It would be easy to develop a bit of an infatuation with him if she allowed herself, and she supposed she would. She cared not at all that he was rich, there were few families as rich as hers. But he had always been rich where the Prestons had not. It was a vital difference in their way of thinking. Money born from money had expectations that those who had once done without did not.

  Despite those reservations, she tried to enjoy the evening. She was the center of attention – well, after a fashion of course, as the mansion was attracting quite a bit of speculation as well. Her gown was absolutely lovely and had been commented upon many times. It was a wedding gown designed by the renowned Charles Worth of Paris.

  It was no small matter to be introduced to Monsieur Bonhomme himself, as Worth was known. When Evelyn and Katherine made their visit to Europe, they were taken first to Paris to be presented to Charles Worth before going to London to be presented to the Queen. Each event was as important to their social standing as the other. In ceremonial fashion, she would accompany her mother and Eve to Worth’s studio at 7 Rue de la Paix in Paris twice a year to acquire her wardrobe for the next season. Although such extravagance seemed outrageous to many, even with the prices inflated for Americans in Paris, the gowns they acquired there were more stylish and with a better fit at nearly half the cost of what could be found in New York, and the Prestons always appreciated a bargain.

  The gown she wore that evening was an original designed by the great man himself for Kitty. Worth had seemed very impressed by her and Eve in their initial meeting two years before. He had admired their tall forms, slim but full in all the right places, and had exclaimed that they were perfect models for the very best of his work. Tonight, a gown of ivory velvet gathered at her shoulders, leaving her arms bare, and cinched tightly at her small waist. The skirt front draped to her knees and was swept up in the back over the tournure, trailing into a long train. The underskirt panel was of ivory eighteenth century point d’Angleterre lace trimmed with white ostrich feathers. Her white gloves reached to her upper arm and were encircled at the wrist by a magnificent diamond bracelet, a gift from her husband.

  As Jack waltzed her about the room, her train lifted off the floor. He grinned at her as she wavered a bit.

  “Too much champagne, cousin? Tsk, tsk.”

  Kitty laughed at his efforts to appear stern, as he was barely taller than she was. “Never! One can never have too much champagne!” Her attempt at haughty grandeur was greatly stunted by a stumble as she fell against him.

  Laughing as well, he set her back on her feet and continued to spin her about. “You should have agreed to marry me, dear Kitty. I would have bathed you in champagne.”

  “Why, Jack, how shocking!” She giggled a bit as she tapped her fan on his shoulder. “Oh, you know I could never have wed you, Jack.”

  “And why is that, may I ask?” He appeared slightly offended.

  “Well, you could hardly expect me to marry you after you stole my favorite doll and flushed it down the–”

  Jack put a hand over her mouth to cut her off. “Kitty, I was but ten years old at the time and merely trying to get your attention! Surely you haven’t held that against me all these years?”

  “Of course not,” she said, deciding that one small lie might be forgiven. “And you’re right. I should have married you long ago. We would have been the most marvelous couple in all of New York.” Kitty had never felt more than sisterly affection for her childhood friend, though he might occasionally think differently. Although he was very handsome, he was in her eyes still the little boy who stole her doll, and probably always would be.

  “Why on earth did you wed yourself to a man who lives so far away?” he asked with some seriousness. “I shall be close to you for a while whilst I finish at Harvard, but after that!”

  Kitty’s eyes turned soft. “Not that I had a great deal of choice in the matter! Oh, Jack! I truly do not want to live in Boston!”

  Jack considered her for a moment. “It is not so bad. I can show you about if you like. But when I graduate next spring, I plan on leaving the country altogether to travel abroad and see the world.”

  Kitty laughed as he spun her around once more, her long train rising again off the floor. “I would adore it if you would introduce me to Boston, Jack. And after that, don’t forget Evelyn is in England now and I have other friends you might visit there as well. After all, I did go to boarding school in England for quite some time.”

  “Hmm,” he considered thoughtfully, “are they married?”

  “Oh, Jack! You are impossible! Do you never give up?” She rapped his shoulder again with her fan. “For your information, my friends Abby and Moira are both unwed.”

  “Moira? Doesn’t sound terribly English.”

  “She’s a Scot.”

  “Scot? Gads, my father would have convulsions over that!”

  “I would say so, since I believe I heard rumor he has Miss Ava Willing selected for your bride,” Kitty teased him.

  “So he does,” Jack sighed in defeat, “but first I shall travel abroad and see the entire world for myself before I settle down.”

  “I’m sure that will be terribly thrilling for you, Jack. While I don’t have the yearning for such excitement as you or Evie do, I am confident at least that my marriage will bring me what I’ve always longed for,” she confided.

  Jack laughed because he knew what she wanted. “That’s why Mother always thought you’d make a perfect bride, Kitty. You want nothing more than to be the premiere hostess in Society and you are well equipped to do it. I hope this Hayes can lay all that you desire at your perfect feet.”

  “One can only hope,” Kitty quipped, hoping for the same. Her sister might have longed for adventure after adventure, but all Kitty had ever wanted was to have a home and family of her own. She could finally run her own household, do things her way and make her own rules. “Come, Jack, find me more champagne!”

  “Steady on, Kit, or you’ll fall asleep before your husband can make you his wife,” Jack joked, taking her arm.

  “Would that be so bad?” she asked innocently, but Jack only laughed at her.

  Chapter 1

  The only way to not think about money

  is to have a great deal of it.”

  “You might as well say that the only way not

  to think about air

  is to have enough to breathe.

  - Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

  Glen Sannox House

  Haddington, Scotland

  February 1892

  Looking about the great hall of his ancestral family home, the newly conferred Earl of Haddington’s heart was saddened. Glen Sannox House was merely a dim reminder of the grandeur that had once been present in the stately residence. The black walnut paneled walls were but dismal remnants of their former rich glow. Years of harsh sunlight had faded the exposed wood to a pale brown that contrasted sharply to the dark outlined reminders of the once glorious decor of the room. Hundreds of arms and weapons had once lined the paneling. English-made brown Bess muskets with their bayonets had marched sharply about the perimeter, interrupted only by contrasting displays of crossed sabers and horse pistols, whic
h circled shining medallions emblazoned with the coat of arms of the powerful Merrill clan. More muskets, encircling a gilded medallion, had radiated from the center of the towering ceilings. The colors of Scotland and the Merrill clan had draped across the splendid archway that led visitors into the connecting receiving room.

  All of it was gone.

  Now only the Merrill plaid remained, draped mournfully over the intricately carved remains of an imposing marble fireplace on one wall of the octagonal hall.

  The old lassie has surely lost her shine, the new owner of the manor thought, taking in the devastated walls with a heavy heart as he followed the ghostly trail of silhouetted weaponry through the lower passage into the ballroom. Here and there along the way other scars marked the paneling where exquisite works of art had once graced the periphery. The vast ballroom itself was even more daunting. The nineteen-foot high ceilings were bare of the four glorious hand-blown glass lusteres that had illuminated many exalted affairs for over a hundred years. On the walls, tooled and gilded leather wall-coverings were cracked and peeling, and, like the periphery of the passage, bare of their artwork. Even the two life-size portraits of King James VI and his Queen Anne that had flanked the doors for hundreds of years were dishearteningly absent.

  This was Jack Merrill’s first return to the manor after six years away. The splendor of rooms he had remembered – if not fondly at least proudly – was gone. A weight of despair settled on his shoulders. This once rich property had been depleted by his thoughtless father and what had miraculously survived his lifetime had, in turn, been squandered by Jack’s wastrel older brother, Cullen.

  Heavy footsteps on the wood floors interrupted his morose thoughts. Turning, he was buoyed by the sight of his long-time friend Francis MacKintosh. “I’d have thought you would be celebrating your good fortune, my friend. You are now an earl,” the other man spoke first. “What has you brooding so?”

  “Celebrating?” Jack’s skepticism echoed in the thick silence of the room. “What would you have me celebrate? The destruction of my home? The corruption of my childhood memories? Look about you, old chap, and tell me.”

  MacKintosh did not have to look. The sight of rooms stripped bare of the glory he remembered from years past was indeed saddening. From childhood he had roamed these vast halls with Jack, had time and again been reprimanded by first Jack’s mother and eventually his stepmother for playing with the ancient armament that had once been abundant here. The death of Jack’s stepmother, Judith Boughton, a proper English lady, had called forth a new era at Glen Sannox House. Jack’s father, Angus, had become free to spend where he please, on his own undisciplined habits and on those of a third, and much younger wife, Oona Seton. This newest wife had been many years younger than even Jack himself and had wasted no time in helping herself to the remaining riches of the manor.

  It was, in fact, the introduction of that latest wife into the household that had finally prompted Jack’s more permanent departure from his home, since Jack hadn’t been able to abide the woman. The deaths of both his father and brother in the past year may have necessitated Jack’s return to Scotland, but Francis knew his friend was none too pleased over the continued presence of his young stepmother.

  After several minutes of silence, during which Francis refrained from commenting, Jack took up the conversation again. “’Tis a hard thing to celebrate the acquisition of a title one never expected to gain. Behold the Earl of Haddington and what a grand title it is! And wi’ it, the responsibility to clean up after Father and Cullen as if they were errant children. That is the legacy I’m blessed wi’, Francis,” his words dripped with sarcasm. “I know it was not as such when you gained your own title.”

  Since Francis could hardly remember a time when he had not been Earl of Glenrothes, he did not comment on this. He searched for some words of encouragement but, finding none, remained silent.

  “Look about. I know you remember it as it was just years ago. Look what it has become! Everything is ruined or gone. Rare works of art sold off piece by piece to cover the outrageous habits of that spendthrift pair.” Jack paused, his angry words echoing through the empty hall. After a moment he shook his head in what Francis would have thought defeat if he had not known his friend better. “I’m earl now for just a sennight,” Jack spoke softly now, “and already their creditors are pounding at my door to make themselves known. They come to me. An earl I never thought to be. Now I am responsible for all the misdeeds of my kin. If this is what it means to be an earl, then I want it not.”

  Francis felt the compulsion to squeeze his friend’s shoulder in sympathy but refrained from the impulse, knowing it would not be appreciated just yet. Damn Angus Merrill for a wastrel! And damn Cullen also, for following in that old man’s footsteps! It had benefitted Jack immensely when he had finally left their company those years ago. Not that he would have gone the same route, Francis was sure. Despite his outward appearance of scoundrel and wastrel, Jack was a careful man who lived within his means. He honored his debts and contracts and made a tidy living for himself through investments of his own small income. Jack had always disliked the pursuits of his father and older brother and was glad to have an excuse to be well rid of them.

  That excuse had been his father’s new young bride, Oona Seton. Jack had been twenty-two when Angus had wed the eighteen year old Scots lass a mere four months after the death of his esteemed stepmother. Despite her joy at the diminishing wealth she had married into, Oona had become increasingly bored with Angus, a man more than thirty years her senior. She had turned her sights first to Jack, who had rebuffed her soundly, and then Cullen. Never had she forgiven Jack for denying her and she had tried to make his life miserable for it. He might have left the manor long before he did had he not felt the need to protect his half-sisters from her wrath.

  The daughters of Judith Boughton, Angus Merrill’s second wife, were all three fine beauties. Catherine and Patrice were petite girls with their mother’s gold hair and blue eyes. They were also frivolous twits who thought their lovely new stepmother would lead them and guide them to find good husbands. Abygail, the eldest sister, like Jack, could not even stomach Oona’s company.

  Though only twelve when Angus remarried, Abygail refused to accept the woman as her mother and made no attempt to temper her cold fury in the woman’s presence. It infuriated Oona that she could not break the child’s icy stoicism, though she tried countless times. As Abygail grew, her dislike of her stepmother blossomed as well. Oona used what power she had in the household over her stepdaughter and took joy in humiliating the girl at every possible turn. But what Oona could not tolerate was the fact that Abygail was fast becoming more beautiful than herself. Abby’s fair angelic beauty outshone her own darker looks by far.

  Francis knew the woman had taken great pleasure in sending Abygail away to an English boarding school, since Oona thought that she was punishing the lass. She would never know how dearly Abygail had rejoiced at her exile. And with Abby gone away, Jack no longer felt a need to stay nearby and protect the one sibling he was so fond of, so he had left as well, much to Oona’s chagrin. Less than eight months later, the newest Lady Haddington had given birth to a son with strange topaz colored eyes, whom she named Alexander. In the history of the Merrill clan, only Jack and his mother had eyes of that color. And so Cullen had placed the blame on Jack, enraging their father, and Jack was never to be welcomed back to Glen Sannox again. Their father never knew that the boy was Cullen’s after all.

  Of course, only Jack and his closest friends knew he would not have come back even if he were invited. He roamed about Scotland and England staying with friends such as Glenrothes. He visited Abygail at her school and at her English grandparents’ estate from time to time, after an accident forced her to leave the boarding school. Even when Angus finally called Abygail home, he would not follow. So, it had been a number of years before he saw her after that. In fact, Jack only saw her again before her wedding… to Francis’ own broth
er Richard. How they had laughed at Richard when he had bemoaned the fact he was in love! They teased him quite unmercifully, in fact. Richard had withstood their jests, and with reason. Abby was certainly worth taking a little teasing for and was, in fact, the only female besides the MacKintosh’s young sister, Fiona, and Abby’s friend, Moira, whom Jack truly liked.

  Reminded now that Richard and Abygail were waiting in the front parlor to see Jack even as they dallied, Francis returned to the situation at hand. “Is there any chance you might be able to repair the fortunes and return the estate to its glory?” he asked after a moment of thought of how to best help his friend.

  Jack shook his head again in that peculiar way that made Francis think he had indeed given up the fight. “I have thought and thought, but I cannae think of a solution. There is nothing left to sell, of course. Most of my own monies have already gone to pay off the worst of the earldom’s debts and what little is left is caught up in investments. Even those modest returns will not be enough or be quick enough…”

  “Perhaps I could–”

  Jack held up his hand to stop the idea before it was even spoken. “Thank you, old chap, but nay. In good conscience I could never take what was needed. Don’t you see? It is just too much!”

  He whirled about the room in a sudden bout of fury. “Damn my father! Had he been a man such as yer own sire I would never be having this problem. He was a grand man, was Alec MacKintosh! He did his duty by you and yer kin, to be sure. You gained yer fortune in simple fashion, Francis. You inherited it! Not only you but nine brothers behind you all left wealthy men because of him, and wi’ enough left over to dower wee Fiona as an heiress. ’Tis an enviable thing, old man.”

  “Aye, Father was a good man, to be sure,” Francis had to agree, with a nod of his head.

  “And then!” Jack continued with a wide wave of his arm. “To boot, you and yers have the most amazing tendency to wed wi’ wealth. Richard bettered his fortunes by wedding Abby, her English grandparents making her an heiress in her own right. And now, Sean and Colin marrying Teynham’s lasses! Even you, old chap. You doubled your fortune in wedding Westmoreland’s lass!”