by Mary Nichols
The man who stood by the hearth was an older version of Duncan. He had the same firm features and his hair curled in much the same way about his ears, although it was greying about the temples. Though very thin, he was tall and upright, impeccably dressed for country living in a check cloth jacket, breeches and topboots. He greeted her warmly and invited her to be seated. She perched herself on the edge of the sofa, her back straight and her hands in her lap. He sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘You are recovered from your ordeal?’
‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’
‘Good. I am only sorry it happened. You should not have been obliged to make your own way here. I can only say I was not in plump currant or I would not have been so foolish as to rely on a letter reaching my son. I hope you will forgive me.’
‘It is of no consequence,’ she said. ‘After all, it is many years since you and my father last saw each other and you could not be expected to be overjoyed at finding yourself guardian to an impoverished nobody.’
‘My dear child, you must not think of yourself like that. You are most welcome. This is your home now and you must look on us as your family. Think of Andrew and Duncan as your brothers. They already regard you as the dear sister they never had.’
So, the Captain had not told his father of his proposal and that proved he had never seriously meant it. She had been right to refuse him.
‘I shall make you a decent allowance, so that you can buy any little frippery that takes your fancy,’ the Earl went on, before she could find anything to say on the subject of brothers. ‘When the roads are free of snow, you will be able to go to Glasgow or Edinburgh, the shops there are as good as those in London, you will see.’
‘But, my lord, I have an allowance sufficient for my needs…’
‘That! Your lawyer has written to me of that. It will hardly purchase one new bonnet a year.’ He smiled and patted the small hand which lay in his own. ‘I cannot have my friends saying I treat my ward worse than my own children, can I? It is selfish of me to want my neighbours to think well of me, but there it is.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, not in the least deceived but loving him for his thoughtfulness, a thoughtfulness Duncan had inherited. He had demonstrated it on the journey from London when he did not even know who she was. But that was all it was, solicitude for her helplessness, even his unconsidered proposal was only an extension of that. At the time he had not known that Lady Macgowan was free.
‘Now, you must make the acquaintance of the rest of the family. Duncan has gone out, I am afraid, but the others are gathered in the morning room to meet you.’
The Viscount, when they were introduced, was equally attentive towards her and Margaret was already like a sister to her, making her feel at home, chattering about fashions and what Helen could wear when she came out of black gloves, telling her how she ran the household. The house was not a house at all, but a real castle, with thick stone walls, turrets and winding stairs.
The two children, Robert, who was eight and Caroline, a very pretty six-year-old, were curious about her, but had obviously been told not to pester her, for they were as polite as two boisterous children could possibly be. In no time Helen had become part of the family and was happier than she had been for years, except for the lingering desire for Duncan which she could not suppress however hard she tried. It was made worse when she saw Arabella Macgowan for the first time.
Christmas had come and gone, and it was the last day of 1820. There was to be a joyous celebration to herald in the new year; Hogmanay, the Scots called it. Everyone from miles around arrived by sled drawn by sturdy little Highland ponies, to dine and play parlour games. Helen, halfway down the stairs, saw Lady Macgowan arrive and knew at once who she was and any hope that Duncan’s love for her might have cooled over the years, vanished.
She was beautiful. She was much taller than Helen, with a curvaceous figure which was almost voluptuous. She had even features, blue eyes and a rich red mouth, which spread into a smile as she she caught sight of Duncan, resplendent in his blue uniform, standing to receive the guests. Neither was she in mourning as Helen was. Her cloak was taken from her and she was revealed in a gown of azure gauze over a deep blue satin slip. It had puffed sleeves and a very low neckline which revealed the curve of her breasts, between which nestled a diamond and silver pendant. She held out both lace-gloved hands to Duncan, who moved forward to greet her, taking her hands in both his own and appraising her from her crown of golden hair, dressed á la Grecque and threaded with deep blue ribbon, down to her dainty feet in matching satin slippers. They murmured a few words to each other which Helen was too far away to hear, but whatever was said, they smiled at each other before Arabella turned towards a servant who was carrying a small boy. Duncan took the child and, laughing, threw him into the air, making him giggle and grab his hair with pudgy fists.
‘Ouch!’ Duncan removed the hand and set the boy down. ‘Run and find Robert, Jimmy. He is in the small parlour playing with his toy soldiers.’
The child ran off, obviously very familiar with the layout of the castle, and Duncan offered his arm to escort the lady into the large salon to join the other guests.
The intimate scene made Helen want to fly back to her room, to stay there until everyone had gone home, but her pride came to her rescue and she continued down the stairs to be met at the bottom by the Earl, his handsome figure enhanced by the Blair kilt, complete with the sash fastened over his shoulder with a huge silver brooch. The full sleeves of his white shirt ended in a fall of lace over his hands. He offered her his arm. ‘Come, Helen, do not look so nervous. We are going to enjoy ourselves.’
He led her into the large reception room where a piper was playing, and introduced her to a great many people, including Lady Macgowan, who smiled and asked her how she did, while appraising her from head to foot and making her feel even smaller than she really was. The Earl moved on, taking Helen with him. She smiled and chatted inconsequentially to everyone she met, trying not to let her hurt show.
Andrew went out just before midnight carrying a lump of coal in order to return and knock at the great iron-studded front door as the clock struck the hour. They sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and everyone kissed everyone else. Duncan, she noticed, stood looking at Lady Macgowan just a little too long before he kissed her and whispered something which made her laugh, before moving away to join the rest of the company in a Highland reel, his feet and arms working rhythmically to the sound of the bagpipes played by a ghillie in Highland dress.
Helen, not knowing the intricate steps, sat and watched, marvelling at the energy of the dancers. At the end of it, to encouragement from everyone, Andrew and Duncan took two swords down from their place on the wall and laid them crossed on the floor and as the bagpipes began another tune, they danced over them, placing their feet so exactly that they were only inches from the blades but never touched them. ‘Better than drawing them in anger don’t you agree?’ said a voice at Helen’s elbow.
She turned to find Lady Macgowan at her side. ‘Yes, indeed.’
‘They grew up together, Andrew, Duncan and my husband. James and Duncan fell out over me, you know. There was a sword fight. That’s how Duncan got that scar on the back of his hand. I’ll wager you thought he had earned it in the war.’
‘I didn’t think about it at all.’
‘No?’ She laughed lightly. ‘How strange. Perhaps you found other things to talk about on your journey to Scotland.’
There was more to the lady’s conversation than appeared on the surface and it set Helen’s hackles rising. ‘The discourse was very general among all the passengers,’ she said coolly. ‘And there were other incidents…’
‘Yes, quite. I have been told of those, but I would not wish you to be under any misapprehension. Duncan was sent away because he loved me. His father was too top-lofty to consider an heiress outside his own narrow circle. After he went, I was forced into marriage with James. Now James is dead, the boot is o
n the other foot. I have the title and a great deal of money. The Earl will no longer stand in our way.’
‘Then may I wish you happy.’ Helen forced a stiff smile.
‘Thank you. I am so glad we had this little talk.’
Helen wanted to escape, to run away, anywhere where she could give vent to her misery alone, but the dance had ended and Duncan was bearing down on them, a broad smile on his handsome features. He stopped before them.
‘Helen. I wish the new year will bring you everything you could hope for, your heart’s desire.’
‘Thank you, Captain Blair.’
‘And will you not wish me the same?’ The voice was soft, the voice she had heard in her frozen delirium, the voice of the siren.
‘Yes, of course.’ Oh, let her be strong, let her be resolute. ‘I wish you happy, always.’
‘Oh, Margaret is playing a waltz,’ Arabella broke in before he could say any more. ‘Come along, Duncan, you used to dance this very well. Show me you have not forgotten.’ And with that she took his hand and dragged him into the centre of the room, where he put his arm about her waist and they began to move gracefully round the room, her blue skirt swishing about his pantaloon-clad thighs, her eyes lifted to his.
‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded.
‘Do what, Duncan, dear?’
‘Drag me away from Miss Sanghurst. Anyone would think you are jealous.’
‘Jealous! Of that little black mouse! You were always the jealous one, as I recall.’
‘That was a long time ago. We have both grown up since then.’
‘But you have not forgotten me, have you? We can start again and this time your papa will not be so stubborn.’
‘I am glad he was.’
‘Why yes, as you say, we have both grown up, we are not so easily swayed by what other people expect of us. James is dead.’
‘I know and I am very sorry.’
‘Do not be, because I am not.’
‘You can’t mean that?’
‘Yes, I do. I wish you had killed him when you took that sword to him. We would not have wasted all these years.’
‘They were not wasted. And the only thing I regret is that I fell out with James.’
Although he continued to dance, a faraway look had come into his eyes, as if he had been transported in time and was young again, a lonely ten-year-old boy, wandering over the hills and moors of his new home. It was hardly surprising that he and James, who lived on the neighbouring estate and was the same age, should meet and become friends. They had grown up together, fished and hunted together, went off to school together, and later, when the opportunity arose, attended social gatherings together in Glasgow and Edinburgh, meeting young ladies of their own class, flirting a little and afterwards comparing notes.
But when, at eighteen, Duncan had fallen in love with Arabella, James had been neglected in his pursuit of her, a pursuit which caused some amusement to the older generation who waited for it all to blow over. When it did not, the Earl had purchased Duncan a commission in the Prince of Wales’s regiment and sent him away to get over it. Duncan had accepted that he was far too young to think of marriage and once he realised there was no help for it, he had not minded going. With James’s connivance, he and Arabella had managed a few minutes of privacy in which to say goodbye. Their parting had been tearful on her part and grim on his, but she had reassured him with kisses and promises. ‘They can lock me up in a tower for ever, I will marry no one but you,’ she had said.
‘Then I will scale that tower, inch by inch, to reach you,’ he had replied, with all the confidence of an eighteen-year-old unused to letting obstacles get in the way of his heart’s desire.
He might not have been so complacent if he had known that the war would drag on for years, years in which he had written to her at least once a week and hoarded up her replies to be read over and over again whenever the fighting died down and he had a few minutes to spare.
When the advance took them deeper and deeper into Spain and then over the mountains into France itself, the letters became less frequent, but that was hardly surprising, he had told himself, it would be a miracle if they managed to follow him at the pace of the advance and Wellington’s diplomatic bags had more important things to carry than love letters. Not for a moment did he doubt Arabella’s fidelity. If only he had questioned it, the final humiliation might have been easier to bear.
He had received a head wound in the last days of the fighting and found himself on a ship coming home, home to Arabella, waiting in her fantasy tower for her lover to return and claim her. But it was his fantasy, not hers.
She was already married to James, had been for three years, even while writing to him of her constancy, James his boyhood friend, James who knew exactly how he felt about her. Duncan had challenged him to a duel, but fortunately his father put a stop to it before any lasting damage could be done, but he had regretted it ever since. ‘You, my dear Arabella, were not worth the loss of James’s friendship and the last thing I want is to begin all over again.’ He smiled as he spoke and no one, glancing at them from a distance, would have guessed that they were quarrelling.
Helen could not bear to look at them and turned away. She found a seat in a corner, half hidden behind a potted palm, but she was not there long before Andrew found her and asked her to dance. Her protests that, being in mourning, she ought not to, were brushed aside and she was whirled into the middle of the floor. He danced well, but how she wished it was Duncan and not Andrew who was holding her. She kept a fixed smile on her face, but her heart was breaking.
Any hope she might have had that Duncan had forgotten his first love, and would propose again, had faded to nothing. Oh, if only she had the wherewithal to be independent, she could go away, make a life for herself, become the lady’s companion she had pretended to be. By the time the party broke up, just before dawn, she had made up her mind. She would not stay.
She watched the weather carefully in the ensuing days, waiting for a thaw, waiting for the roads to be opened, so that she could begin planning an escape. But they remained obstinately frozen and the longer she stayed, the more firmly she became entrenched in her life with the Strathrowans.
She loved the people, loved exploring the castle and finding delightful hidden nooks, watching the birds pecking in the snow for the scraps put out for them, turning her eyes to the mountains where, every now and again, she glimpsed a stag, standing on a crag, antlers outlined against the sky. She knew the men would go out stalking it, but refused to dwell on it. How could she walk away and leave all this? But she must. Sooner or later, Duncan would marry Arabella and she could not bear to be there when he brought his bride home.
It was the second week of February when she woke to the sound of water dripping off the eaves. She slipped from her bed and went to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains and looking out on the sight of a few blackened shrubs in the garden below her appearing above a layer of snow. The paths had already been cleared by the outdoor servants and she could see the nodding heads of snowdrops peeping through the ground near the terrace. For the first time she could see its shape, the steps from the lawn up to the higher level, the outlines of the borders. It was thawing fast and time to think about leaving.
But before she could make any plans at all, Margaret came to her room one morning before breakfast, to tell her a visitor had arrived in a hired chaise all the way from London to see her. ‘He says his name is Benstead,’ she said. ‘Do you wish to receive him?’
‘Benstead?’ Helen repeated, then as realisation dawned, ‘Goodness, he was Papa’s lawyer. What can he want with me?’
‘Come down and you will see. I’ll send Flora to you. Hurry up, do. I am consumed with curiosity.’
Margaret was no more curious than she was, Helen thought, as the maid came in with hot water and towels and began to lay out her clothes, half-mourning now, a lilac satin over a white slip decorated with white ruching and silk violets. Half an ho
ur later, she went downstairs to find the little lawyer in the anteroom, gazing out of the window at the dripping trees. He turned when he heard the rustle of silk behind him. ‘Miss Sanghurst, your obedient.’ He made a rheumaticky leg. ‘I hope I find you well?’
‘Very well, sir. But what has brought you here? The journey must have been quite dreadful.’
‘The winter has not been too severe in England, Miss Sanghurst. I did not realise it had been so hard in Scotland until I crossed the border. I came post-haste as soon as I could.’
‘Why? Is something wrong?’
‘Wrong, my dear Miss Sanghurst? Oh, dear, no, quite the reverse. Your papa’s cargo arrived safely in dock.’
‘His cargo?’ She was mystified.
‘Yes, you remember him saying all would be well when his ship came in. Well, it has. It did. A fine cargo of spices and rich silks from the Orient, all highly sought after. I have been able to dispose of everything very profitably. Lord Sanghurst’s debts are all paid and there is a surplus over expenditure which is yours. I came to appraise you of it and to await your instructions.’
He smiled slowly. She had come on a lot since he had last seen her; she had a new poise as if she had grown up from child to woman, which was a foolish thought because she had been a grown woman when she left. ‘It will provide a good dowry, not top of the trees, you understand, but enough…’
It was a moment or two before the news could sink in, before she realised that it could make a great deal of difference to her life. ‘It was very kind of you to come all this way to tell me of my good fortune,’ she said, so solemnly he wondered if she was pleased by the news at all. ‘Is the money entirely mine, to do with as I please?’
‘Yes, subject to your guardian’s agreement. According to your late father’s will, his lordship has the last word on any decision you may make until you marry, or if you do not, until your thirtieth birthday.’
‘Will the money buy an annuity?’
