Deception and Desire (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 1)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “How did I do on my first attempt?” asked Brigid, strolling into the room, ruby curls escaping her two braids. “Edible?” She spied the dogs under the table. “Weel, it canna be that bad if the dogs will eat it.”

  “It’s a fine attempt, lassie,” cajoled Calum. “Yer grandmother was just about to try one herself. Were ye no’, my love?” His face creased with humor as he pushed the platter toward her.

  If he were a betting man, Lachlan would wager his grandfather would regret his joke later. Always supportive, Peigi picked up a tart, broke it in half, and nibbled at the sweet cherry center. “Delicious! I declare this is the best crop of cherries we’ve had in years.”

  Brigid beamed and plopped down next to Lachlan. She picked up a pastry and tore off a chunk. She chewed with gusto, choked, spit, and drank down her brother’s ale. “Saints and sinners! It’s terrible!”

  She ripped the remainder in half and tossed a bite to each hound. “Weel, at least I ken ye all love me.” Brigid gave them a cheery smile. “I’m making roast mutton, potatoes, and sowan for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Are ye at least enjoying yer time in the kitchen?” asked Calum, pushing away the tarts and reaching for more bread and salted herring.

  She shrugged. “I’m enjoying the thought of riding that sweet, black-as-a-raven mare Brodie has promised me.” With an impish grin, she reached for a scone. “And watching my dear family choke down my attempts with smiles on their faces.”

  “Och, Sister, it wasna that bad. My stomach is fine.” Lachlan put his arm around Brigid.

  “Ye didna eat my beef collops this past Sunday,” she confided, twinkling green eyes showing no regret. “I swear to ye, Grandda turned a shade of green. And Black Angus sniffed it and walked away.”

  Calum nodded solemnly. “Ye almost became chief sooner than later.”

  “It wasna all my fault. Enid put out the bottle of vinegar, and I thought she’d fetched the red wine for my recipe.” She put her hand over one side of her mouth and whispered loudly, “My tarts are blessed by the faeries in comparison.”

  “Ha! The faeries rarely bless anything. They were probably in on the scheme.” Lachlan looked around the room. “Where did our mother and brother go? And has Lissie been privy to this cooking calamity?” He smirked at his own cleverness, though Brigid rolled her eyes.

  His grandmother stood and swiped a crumb from her dress, rearranging the tartan shawl around her shoulders. “Brodie is visiting some crofters, Lissie went to spend some time with her family in Dunderave, and Glynnis is most likely enjoying the peace and quiet of her chambers.”

  Brigid gave her brother a kiss and followed Peigi from the room. “Do ye think I could manage a bread pudding?”

  “Ye’ve already ruined two favorite dishes for months to come, lass. I’d leave that one alone if ye cherish yer grandfather at all.” Their voices faded as they descended the stairs.

  Lachlan swiveled around to find Calum watching him intently. “Grandda, did Ian mention anything to ye before he left?”

  “Many things.”

  Stomping down his irritation, he continued, “About the responsibilities at the mill, I mean.”

  Calum rose and ambled to the large hearth, where a pipe and small tobacco pouch rested on the stone mantel. “He mentioned expanding into cotton, buying more power looms—modern machines from Manchester.” He held a tinder close to the burning embers, waited for it to burn, then lit his pipe.

  They both watched the small puffs of smoke rise slowly in the air. Had Ian brought the subject up or had he forgotten? Or had their grandfather seemed so against it, he’d waited? He wouldn’t know until he asked.

  “Anything else?”

  “Ye’ve hired a new accountant.” Another leisurely puff. “A female who has a remarkable skill in calculation.”

  So, Ian had mentioned Fenella. Hopefully nothing had been said about the affection growing between them. He didn’t want his grandfather thinking she was the reason he wished to return to Glasgow.

  “Keep an eye on her. She’s no’ a Scot, let alone family.” Calum’s voice was soft but firm. “No matter how bonnie she may be.”

  “What are ye saying exactly?”

  Calum shook his head, his brows raised in question. “Nothing. Just dinna let a pretty face cloud yer judgement. Yer place is here.”

  “She has nothing to do with my lack of desire to be chief.” Lachlan’s fists clenched. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath. “My feelings havena changed on that subject.”

  “And I’ve no’ changed my mind. Ian kens the business better, and I need ye here.”

  Anger burned in Lachlan’s chest, searing his throat as he forced back words he would regret. “We discussed this before I left. I’m no’ a young boy to be ordered about.”

  “No, ye’re a mon with responsibilities to his family and clan. Ye’d be wise to remember it.” Another leisurely puff. “However, Ian seemed to appreciate the time with Lissie. And it’s true, he canna produce a grandchild for Peigi if he’s miles away.”

  Lachlan waited.

  “I see no reason why ye shouldna take his place on occasion.”

  It was a compromise, at least in Calum’s eyes. Patience was not Lachlan’s strongest suit, but the stakes were high. In the meantime, Fenella would not be mentioned again. Their courtship would be his little secret for now.

  “I willna let this rest, Grandda.” Lachlan strode to the door, then pivoted on one heel. Two sets of steely blue eyes locked. “I love my family and this clan, but my life is my own. I am who I am. Ye canna shape me otherwise, no matter how ye try.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Sundry Facades of Affection

  Mid-July 1819

  Glasgow, Scotland

  Fenella decided the honeysuckle tale was not just Scottish lore. She swung her foot back and forth, her slippered toe making a constant swish, swash sound against the thick wool. Her mind focused on the tear in her stocking as she tried not to think of the Scot that kissed her each night in vivid dreams. Kissed her, stroked her, sometimes more, waking to find her body bathed in sweat and panting as if she’d just ran the length of Glasgow Green.

  “If ye wear a hole in it, ye’ll have to buy me another,” her grandmother chided from her rocker. “Time willna go any faster sitting on yer bum waiting for him.”

  “Oh, Grandmama. I’ve stayed busy, you know I’ve tried.” With an effort, she stilled her fidgeting foot. “We’ve been to several dinners with your friends and even a dance. Two Sundays with Colin, and still it’s only been a few weeks.”

  “The Glasgow Fair begins at the end of the week.” Aileen set down her embroidery. “That should keep ye entertained. It’s a magnificent affair with vendors from all over and entertainment on the Green. If that doesna cheer ye up, nothing will.”

  “Oh, yes!” Fenella clapped her hands together. She’d always loved the traveling circuses and theaters that stopped outside London in the summers. It would be perfect to take her mind off… things. “I work on Friday. Shall we go Saturday or wait until Sunday?”

  “I would be verra surprised if ye didna finish early on Fair Friday. It’s almost like a religious holiday to those living in the city.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll ask Fergus if he’ll accompany us.”

  Fenella pondered when she’d first heard her grandmother use MacGregor’s given name. She knew they had grown close since her grandfather had died. Not in a physical, romantic way, but as dear friends. The older man was fiercely protective over his employer. She often saw them walk in the garden, her fingers around his forearm, heads close in some energetic discussion. He would pat her hand in a kindly way. A platonic love, then? Perhaps like she and Rose, but with subtle nuances due to their gender.

  Aileen’s gaze had grown distant. “We used to set up a booth on Fair Friday and sell books the first few days. Then we’d join the exodus and head to the coast for a week. The business would all be closed here, ye ken.”

  “How
long does the fair last?” Fenella had never heard her mother mention it. Then again, her mother spoke little of her childhood, preferring to surround herself with English traditions.

  “Up to two weeks. Ye willna recognize the Green. It will be full of makeshift stalls for vendors and stages for shows. But many Glaswegians leave the city by Monday as we did, and those in surrounding towns flock here. We often rented out our home to pay for our stay in another.”

  “Did my mother enjoy it?” She found it difficult to picture Lady Franklin as a carefree girl playing on the beach.

  “Oh, yes. Agnes was an excellent swimmer, though as she grew older, she preferred the dances to the beach,” recalled her grandmother. “She even had the same beau two summers in a row. Oh, how she was enamored with him.”

  “What happened?”

  “His father was a Scottish earl and we were… well, his family didna approve of our social status. Merchants, ye ken. She received a letter from the boy that August after we returned to Glasgow. He wrote of his betrothal to the daughter of an English viscount.” Aileen pursed her lips. “It was about that time Agnes made up her mind to settle for no less than a titled Englishman. I think she had it in her head to marry well and rub his nose in it.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Fifteen when she met him, so sixteen the following summer. I’ll tell ye, she broke more than a few hearts.” Her grandmother sighed. “She was a fetching lass and could have had her pick from the lads around here.”

  This explained Lady Franklin’s adamant desire to “become” English. To soothe her broken heart—and pride. Fenella experienced an unfamiliar empathy for her mother.

  “I didn’t think the social circles held the same prejudices here as in London. Everyone has been so welcoming, and I don’t belong to a noble family.”

  “Ah, my dear, that’s because I dinna move in those circles. We have our high society here too. It wouldna be much different from London if ye went to their functions.”

  Didn’t she feel like a ninny. The people she’d met, had enjoyed such lively conversations with, had no reason to look down on her. They were all from the same merchant class. “Then why did my mother marry my father when he was also in trade?”

  “That’s an amusing tale. I’m no’ surprised neither of yer parents have shared it.”

  A giggle bubbled up Fenella’s throat. “Oh, you must tell.”

  “Horace was arsy-yarsey over Agnes the moment he laid eyes on her. She toyed with him at first because she kent he was full in the pocket. But when she found out she would be called Lady Franklin if they wed, her attitude changed.” Her grandmother shook her head. “Poor mon didna stand a chance once she put her mind to it.”

  “So, Mother thought she’d married into nobility?”

  Aileen nodded. “After the marriage, when the London ladies gave her the cut direct as she called it, she realized her mistake. Yer father loved her, though, and wanted her happy. So, he expanded his business.”

  Fenella gasped. “That’s why he began trading in hard-to-find items for the beau monde!”

  “Aye, his price for finding their every desire would include an invitation. Agnes was able to appear with the ton, but still she’s never been accepted as one of them.”

  “So, she’s determined to marry her daughters into those circles because she was jilted by an earl’s son at sixteen.” Fenella was flabbergasted. The fleeting pity vanished. Her mother was willing to sacrifice her own daughters for a childish revenge on some boy.

  “Lass, I’ve no’ always liked my daughter, but I love her. And I ken she loves you and Evelina.” She reached over and squeezed Fenella’s hand. “There may be other reasons she wants to improve her social standing. Dinna be one to judge without learning the facts. Have ye ever asked her?”

  “I don’t believe she pushed me into another season for some selfless motive.” Fenella shook her head. “My poor father, trapped in a loveless marriage.”

  “Och, I dinna see yer father as a victim. He’s been happy married to Agnes. A daughter doesna ken what goes on behind her parents’ closed doors.”

  She blushed and looked away from her grandmother. Would she know someday soon?

  “Have ye spoken of yer family to Lachlan?”

  “He knows of the sizeable dowry and Mother’s hope for one of us to marry a title.” Fenella’s toe dug into the dense carpet. “I told him what a dismal come-out I had, and if Evie marries well, I won’t have to return to London.”

  “Ye’re no’ certain of that.” Aileen blew out a frustrated breath. “Does he ken how yer mother feels about her own kin?”

  She shook her head.

  “Lass, ye need to be honest with him. It doesna matter who Evie marries. Yer mother will be furious when ye’re courting a mon in trade—especially a Scottish merchant.”

  Anxiety twisted Fenella’s stomach. Grandmama was right. If Lady Franklin hid the fact she came from Scotland, why would she welcome Lachlan into the family? She’d been fooling herself. While her father might allow her to stay here in Glasgow, her mother would put up a fight. Fenella knew how often Papa gave in to his wife. Her heart sank.

  “If he’s yer destiny, he’ll fight for ye to remain with him. But the mon needs to ken what obstacles he’s facing.”

  “I’ll tell him when he returns. I promise.”

  *

  Mid-July 1819

  MacNaughton Castle

  “We need to make some changes so this doesna happen again,” grumbled Calum. “Any suggestions?”

  “We’ve taken some measures,” agreed Lachlan. “Ian and I are now involved with the bookkeeping. Colin oversees the day-to-day operations, but I think he should become the general manager. I dinna think the previous one was complicit, but I’d feel more confident having my cousin in charge.”

  “I’ll write to Gideon in England to be sure both families are in agreement. I dinna think he has the same reservations the late earl had about a Scottish manager. Nor does he worry about us having too much control.” His grandfather scratched his beard. “Would Colin be willing?”

  “Aye, he’ll be honored to take on the responsibility for the clan. None of us want any more outsiders making decisions or being in a position to swindle us.” It still riled him—not the money, so much as the audacity to steal from an employer so blatantly. “He can train another to do his job and still repair machinery if need be. We canna take that from him.”

  “This embezzlement is a dent in my pride, to be sure,” added Calum, his bushy black brows scrunched together. “So, we’re in agreement? Colin will take over the role ye and Ian have been filling, and we can get back to normal.”

  “But we’ll continue to share the responsibility of the mill in Glasgow?”

  “I suppose there’s no reason for ye not to.” Calum grunted. “Whatever happened to children accepting what their elders said without question?”

  Lachlan snorted. “When did ye ever ken a Scot to do that?”

  *

  Late July

  A gentle breeze sent a ripple through the heather. Charlie snuffled at the summer grass, pulling on the reins to nibble at the tender green shoots. Lachlan sighed and handed the flask to Brodie.

  “Weel, Grandda’s wavering, I think,” Brodie said cheerfully. “I ken he appreciates my cooperative nature and lack of complaining.”

  “It would be best for us and the clan.” Lachlan patted the chestnut’s neck, then took an oatcake from his saddlebag. Brownie lay on the ground next to him, her yellow eyes tracking the food in his hand. He tossed her a chunk, and she raised her head and caught it mid-air, crunching and wagging her tail at the same time. “I’d like to take my hound with me.”

  “I agree. The blethering dog whined for a week after ye left the last time. The weather’s better this time of year, and she’s a tough little beastie. She’ll be fine if ye travel a steady pace.” Brodie gave his brother a sidelong glance. “So, tell me about this Fenella.”

  �
��She’s a fine accountant.”

  “A Sassenach beauty, eh?” Brodie handed the flask back to his brother. “And a Long Meg from what Ian said.”

  “Aye.”

  Lachlan had not shared his feelings for Fenella with the rest of the family. There were too many unknown factors, too many decisions not yet made. Brodie would be the next chief, of that he was certain. Regardless of how his grandfather ranted, Lachlan would not give in. But Calum had final say on clan matters, including the family business. He could refuse to let Lachlan work at the mill. What would he do instead? If his grandfather insisted he work here and withdrew his consent to share responsibility with Ian, would Fenella live in the Highlands?

  He loved her. That was the only certainty the future held for now. This separation had convinced him of that. Her face haunted his dreams. Those eyes, sparkling silver with humor or turning stormy with desire, teased him when he fell asleep each night. Aye, she’d stolen his heart, and he couldn’t wait to return to Glasgow.

  “Lachlan!”

  He jerked up at Brodie’s irritated tone. “What?”

  “Did ye hear a word I said?”

  “Aye, she’s bonnie and verra tall. An intelligent woman.” The perfect combination, he thought.

  The younger Scot frowned, looking like a younger version of their grandfather.

  “Do ye expect me to ramble on like ye always did about yer monthly infatuations?” Lachlan chuckled at his brother’s affronted expression. “So, Kirstine finally claimed yer heart?”

  “Aye. I’m still no’ sure how we went from best friends to courting, but I’m no’ complaining. Kirsty kens me so well, it seems right when I pull her close.” He folded his arms, letting the reins fall on the bay gelding’s neck. “She’s the one.”

  Lachlan rolled his eyes. “We’ve heard this… How many times before?”

  “I canna help it if I’m a passionate man.”

  “Fickle is the word that comes to my mind.”

  “Weel”—Brodie wagged a finger at his older brother—“at least I fall in love and dinna use a woman for my own lustful purposes. And trust me, I’ve been given the fickle lecture.”