Gaining control, she absorbed her surroundings. Though she hadn’t noticed when she arrived in the cold rainy night before, the Earl of Glenrothes’ monstrous townhouse capped the eastern end of Carlton Terrace, an affluent section of Edinburgh’s Old Town that rose on a cliff overlooking Holyrood Palace to the southeast and New Town to the west. It was a massive five story Georgian residence, fronted with palatial windows, gorgeous ironwork and carved stone buttresses at the roofline. All the other townhouses on the U-shaped street curved away from it, making it the crown jewel of the neighborhood. If she had been in a more appreciative mood the previous evening, she might have realized that the series of gaslight lampposts pacing the private lane likely highlighted the home beautifully in the darkness.
As they rode down the park behind the row of housing, her sister told her that their longtime friend Abby and her husband were also in residence in Edinburgh and had a lovely townhouse in Moray Place, a circular neighborhood in the west end of New Town, not far down Prince’s Street. Perhaps in a day or so, they might ride there for a visit, adding that their friend Moira MacKenzie was staying there as well. Eve would be sponsoring their yet unmarried friend for a Season in London in the spring and Moira would be living with them as well, though in the meantime she was currently at Abby’s while Eve had her ‘honeymoon’ period with her new husband.
Kitty’s heart leapt with gladness. The four of them had attended boarding school for four years together and were the best of friends. Not only would she have her sister with her through this, but her dearest friends as well!
Feeling a welcome boost of spirits, Kitty surveyed the park with pleasure. On this misty morning, the sun filtered gracefully though the branches of the ancient gnarled trees, creating a delicate shadowed lacework that reflected against the mist and fog. Despite the chill, the park was green with spring, its colors more fresh and bright than any park she had ever known, creating a fairy tale world lost among the bustle of the busy streets that surrounded the commons. It was a haven of hushed calm, soothing her nerves and sweeping away her remaining fatigue as they trotted westward the length of the magical woodland.
She sat erect on Angel, absorbing the sights, sounds and smells of the morning. The view in every direction was a joy, since the terrace was one of the highest points in Old Town. Beside her, Evie, too, seemed to savor the early morning air. Though many might consider this an ungodly time to be about, Kitty could easily understand why her sister rode here every morning. It was not the highlands, but the park had its own merit with its wide paths. It brought a calmness and perfection to life. It brought peace to the soul. She wondered what it might be like to ride wild and free across the highlands. There would be nothing like it, she supposed. She imagined it was free and releasing.
Eve’s horse did not seem to feel the calmness of the morning, though. Ferhð pranced about with an itch to run. The stallion was a runner, Kitty could tell by his long lines. Eve controlled him easily, almost absently. She seemed to be as inwardly reflective this morning as Kitty. Her sister made quite a picture, she thought. Kitty envied her poise particularly, since it seemed the complete opposite of their lives as children. Eve looked exceptionally cool and lovely this morning as well. She was wearing a silvery velvet riding habit with darker gray braid circling the cuffs and high collar of the matching jacket, and lace flowed from the neck and wrists. Her lustrous honey-gold hair was twisted up under the short gray top hat she wore and was covered by a length of sheer silver veiling that wound about her, creating a fuzzy, unearthly cloud. Her gloves and boots were of matching dyed leather. The few fashionable gentlemen riding out at this unfashionable hour must have agreed with Kitty regarding the countess’ beauty, for many turned about in their saddles and stared as they rode past. Kitty acknowledged without modesty that the complimentary looks were probably for both of them, for who could tell them apart? They looked enough alike to be identical twins – a fact that had always confounded their parents given that Eve was almost a year older than Kitty.
Weaving about a low hanging branch, Kitty watched her sister inhale deeply and wondered what she was thinking. The occasional sighs Eve emitted indicated that something was amiss.
While they were trotting sedately through the park, Eve studied her sister. She had always been a charming woman, lovely at heart. Despite their constant correspondence, Eve had rarely seen her sister since Hannah was born and the last time was in New York over a year ago. She had missed her so much! What could have happened these past years to bring her to Scotland in the state she arrived in last night?
As a debutante, Kitty had been an original with her intelligent wit and genuine love of the world. Today – though she rode along that morning serenely absorbing the sights, sounds and smells of the park at dawn with some pleasure – there was an underlying edginess about her that Eve could not define.
Eve sighed worriedly again, while easily controlling Ferhð as he tossed his head and pranced with his eagerness to run across the rolling lawns of the parkland. She always savored the silence of the early morning air in the park. Looking about her at the beauty of the morning, the dew still glistening on the grass and leaves, she wondered how far she might push her sister. She wanted to understand what was amiss, but how to know without pressing her for more information?
She would just have to be patient, she decided. Kitty would tell her when she was ready. In the meantime, she should focus on making her sister feel at home. That might not be so simple, Eve thought. Already Kitty was shivering against the cold Scottish morning. The chill of Scotland took some getting used to, to be sure.
Then in the distance, she heard a hawker crying his wares at the morning market on Carlton Hill. Disbelieving her ears, she kicked her mount into action, waving their young groom back when he moved to follow, telling him she would return. She galloped through the trees, leaving Kitty alone.
Cutting through the park, Eve arrived at the market square within just a few moments. Targeting the proper booth, she halted the stallion and slid to the ground, beckoning a young lad over to hold the reins for a coin. Just as she had heard! One of the vendors was hawking coffee! Surely, that bit of America would help.
Kitty’s reverie was broken when her sister picked up her pace on Ferhð suddenly and disappeared into a cluster of trees. Well, where was she going?
“Her ladyship will return directly, yer…er, ma’am,” the waiting groom told her, shifting from side to side in the saddle.
“Where did she go?” Kitty asked the question of him that she had just asked herself.
“Don’t really know, m’lady. She waved me back when I meant to follow. Tells me to wait right here and so I do.” He finished straightening his coat importantly.
“Lady MacKintosh!”
The groom and Kitty both swung about at the deep voice of command to watch the approach of the large, dark haired man who rode up behind them. For a moment Kitty was stunned into silence at the picture the man made. Never had she been caught so unawares by the appearance of a gentleman, but then she had never met one who presented such an overwhelming first impression before.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said, tipping his hat with a smile, but somehow Kitty was struck by the notion that the gesture held a bit of mockery. “How are you this fine day?”
When Kitty only stared at him blankly, unable to find her tongue, he chuckled with a wink, “Come now, you cannot possibly still be mad at me. You won MacKintosh in the end and I bowed out gracefully.”
Kitty’s brow wrinkled as she frowned in puzzlement at him, taken aback by his familiarity. Of course, he assumed she was her sister at first glance – so many did – but surely Evie had few acquaintances who would address her so unceremoniously. “Who are you?”
He squinted back at her and, after a moment, his eyes widened. “You are not Lady MacKintosh!” The lord, for he was obviously that, took in the groom’s livery in a glance, then scanned her habit and horse with the air of a man who knew what
he saw and couldn’t quite comprehend. “You’re from Glenrothes’ household, aren’t you?” he asked the groom.
“Yes…uh, yes, m’lord,” the boy stuttered out at the fiercely voiced question.
“That is the countess’ horse. I’d recognize it anywhere.” Dark gold eyes looked her up and down slowly, before he drawled, “The resemblance is uncanny. So who are you then?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asked pertly, wondering who this magnificent man was.
“I was wondering who this angel is in front of me,” he drawled cockily, looking her up and down, taking inventory of her finer points – and there were many. In truth, the woman looked exactly like Evelyn except, where the countess had always looked at him with cool disdain, this woman’s eyes were lit with fire and…was that interest? It had been his only clue that she was not Evelyn MacKintosh, the woman he had once pursued vehemently as a potential bride and savior of his estates.
As Francis MacKintosh had suggested, Jack Merrill, the Earl of Haddington, had indeed gone to London looking for an heiress, but returned to Edinburgh within a few weeks to turn his attention to the wealthy widow whom Abby and Richard had described to him, unable to resist such a lure. Richard had said that she was a good, kind lady. Well, Richard had said many things to Jack recently that did not seem to be true.
Despite Richard Mackintosh’s encouragement, a successful wooing of the countess had never happened. Their initial meeting had not gone well, to say the least. The warm and loving friend whom his sister, Abygail, had many times described to him, and the gracious countess of whom his friend had painted a portrait had been nowhere in evidence.
At least not in his company.
The Countess of Shaftesbury, he had swiftly concluded, was an aloof, unbendable woman. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. An even better word for her was not so polite, but truly, she had struck him as a true bitch. Cold-hearted and icy as the brisk winter winds that ravaged the Highlands in winter.
Oh, her beauty and appeal were undeniable. When he had first seen her walking in the garden at the park, he had stared in surprised pleasure for many long moments before she noticed him. She had been wearing a black velvet walking suit and he’d thought the lady wore black in a way he’d never imagined possible. She did not look like a crow, or old and prudish. The black silk had whitened her pale skin, making it soft as ivory satin. Her hair was the color honey might become when poured in the sunlight. Not gold or brown, but a sparkling, shimmering blend of the two. Then he’d gotten close enough to see her eyes. Green as spring grass, just as were this lass’s before him. They had turned to him with polite curiosity and then Jack had opened his mouth.
He hadn’t made the greatest impression on the countess. Though he could not entirely recall what he had said while in his surprised and, well, yes, inebriated state – he had taken several healthy swallows…er, glasses, of whiskey for courage before setting out – he must have said something quite uncomplimentary. Aye, he must have insulted her deeply. He only wished that he could remember exactly what he had said to her. The whiskey must have affected him more than he had thought and dulled his senses. Until the countess’s stiffer words had sharpened them.
Aye, like a smarting slap on the face. Indeed, he could readily recall each word of her rebuttal in turn, each well-intoned and precise insult, and each and every glare.
She had informed him briskly that he was presumptuous and rude, a Neanderthal unfit for decent society, a…what was it? A swine of the lowest order. She said she did not associate with swine. Nay, he had definitely not made a good impression. Not even an introduction had been made. Undaunted, the next day he had gone to his sister’s Edinburgh townhouse where the countess was staying, with only mild hesitation to try again.
Firmly resolved, he had knocked boldly on the door and waited. Regardless of what he might have said to her, Jack thought the countess’s bitter response was uncalled for in any situation. Cold, cold woman, he thought. Honestly! What could he have said to change her from a gracious lady to the arctic bitch who had torn into him?
The door opened. A butler, as stiff and pompous looking as the countess herself, stood before him. “Good day, sir?”
“Who are you?” Jack asked in confusion, stepping back for a moment to assure himself that he was at the right house. “What happened to Guthrie?” Guthrie was his sister’s butler.
“I am Hobbes, sir, Lady Shaftesbury’s man.”
“Good day then, Hobbes. Could you please tell Lady Shaftesbury that Lady MacKintosh’s brother, the Earl of Haddington, is here to pay his respects?”
“Oh, very well, my lord.” Hobbes turned reluctantly and led the way to a formal parlor to the right of the foyer. Opening the double doors to the room ceremoniously, he stood aside and motioned for the earl to precede him. “If you’ll be so kind as to wait here, I will inform the countess of your presence.”
Merrill nodded irately as the doors closed behind him. It would seem Lady Shaftesbury had a perfect match in her butler. Their demeanors were so very similar. He was contemplating the possibilities that the two might be related when he heard her voice, polite and well modulated.
“Lord Merrill, it is good to meet you at last. Abby has told me much about…you…” her lovely voice trailed off as Jack turned, and a frown wrinkled her brow. “You,” she accused.
“Lady Shaftesbury. I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well.” He approached her and made a slight bow. “Abby has told me much about you as well. However, I must say she did not do you justice. I must say…”
“You!” she repeated even more sharply.
Merrill decided it might be best to play ignorant in this, for it was obvious the countess remembered him well and by no means had forgiven. “Aye, Jack Merrill, Abygail’s brother. She did tell you I would come and offer my services to you?”
“You’re Jack Merrill?” the countess asked with a chillingly raised brow.
“Aye.”
“Lord John Merrill? The Earl of Haddington?”
“Aye, again.”
“Why you rude, pretentious oaf! How dare you come here now and tell me you are my friend’s brother? After what you said to me last week!” Evelyn stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the man with open dislike in her eyes. “How dare you!”
“Lady Shaftesbury, if you’ll allow me to explain…” he began, with his hands raised before him, sure that his usual charm with the ladies would see him through.
“Explain what? Explain ‘Lady Shaftesbury, what a wonderful treat you are’? Or ‘I never expected to find you so appealing’? ‘I can’t wait to have you’?” The countess blushed hotly as she repeated his words in arctic tones. She did not shout and she did not have to. There was so much condescension in her voice any man would feel two inches tall before her. “You humiliated me completely!”
Merrill flushed in turn. Had he really said those things to her? That he couldn’t wait to have her? Well, it was true, though he did not think she would have appreciated him saying so. “My deepest apologies, my lady, I was not myself when we first met. My actions and words were unforgivable.”
“They most certainly were,” she bit out.
“Surely we can look beyond the incident and begin a more friendly relationship?” he tried again.
Evelyn blinked in disbelief. Did the oaf truly think that was possible after the humiliation she had suffered at his hands? Did he think a simple apology was going to clean the slate and allow for a new beginning? “I think not,” was her frosty reply.
The earl tried a different angle. “For the sake of my sister, please? For your friendship with Abby, won’t you give me another chance to prove my devotion in spirit and act to you?”
Open blackmail on his part, since he had known that while his sister might have warned her friend about him, the countess had promised Abby she would welcome Jack’s visits.
“Very well, Lord Merrill. Perhaps we did set off on the wrong foot,” she conceded g
racefully. “Shall we try again?”
Evelyn had told him months later she had thought herself considerably well-natured to allow a second chance when he had so openly embarrassed her before so many. She had done so because Abby had told Evelyn many wonderful things about her brother in years past. About his kindness and sincerity. About his regard to her feelings and gentle nature. The brother Abby had described was a paragon of quality traits. How wrong could she be about her own flesh?
They might joke about it now, but Jack had broken whatever hold she might have allowed on her graciousness when the next thing he had done was state that he would marry her. She had turned on him with a frigid glare and pointed stiffly to the open door. “Well, I never…You may leave, Lord Merrill.”
“Is it something I said?”
“Now, please, Lord Merrill.”
Jack had shrugged and marched out the door, gathering his coat from the waiting footman. “I will be back when you’re in a more receptive state of mind, my lady.”
“I don’t think I will be, Lord Merrill.”
“Until then, my lady.” The earl bowed and retreated through the door, leaving a confounded countess behind him.
Never one to be put off by a tough opponent, Jack had started a full-scale campaign to win the widow’s hand (the very rich widow’s hand, he reminded himself many times) and thought of the home he had grown up in as incentive to continue. He pursued her openly; meeting her in the park for her morning rides much like this morning. He would strike up a conversation. Or, try to. She’d been very unreceptive to his advances, a novelty to Jack, as he had spent his entire adult life never lacking female companionship. Her clipped, monosyllabic answers or failure to respond at all frustrated him deeply.
He had been fairly certain she knew it and was somehow enjoying his discomfort.
For almost two weeks he appeared every evening by design at her side, at dinner the family shared. He was almost disgustingly polite, went out of his way to be charming and witty. Trying to be a decent fellow. Nothing he did seemed to make her like him one whit. His lack of progress was annoying to the point where he was ready to give up on her and move on to more receptive ladies.
Questions for a Highlander Page 60
