How like him, thought Ursula. She added another brick of peat to the fire and stirred the embers.
Lady Iona seemed in no hurry to leave. There was something wistful in her manner, and perhaps rather sad. Even in a house so filled with people, one might be lonely, Ursula knew.
For some moments they sat in companionable silence, until Iona spoke again.
“The Yuletide cèilidh used to be such a gay affair, but it’s harder to persuade guests to make the journey these days, even with the train coming across the moor.” She gave a deep sigh. “Of course, we cancelled altogether last year, and Lady Dunrannoch was adamant that, since it’s only been just over a year since Lachlan’s passing, we should invite only a handful of the local notables and their families. Now, at least, with the whole household invited, we’re sure to see some jollity. Lord Balmore is insistent that everyone should enter into the Christmas spirit.”
“And I’m sure they shall.” Ursula nodded her encouragement.
“Arabella—the first Lady Balmore I should say—is terribly put out,” Iona went on. “But I think it’s a wonderful idea. It’s been far too long since we organised something of this sort—for all the household to enjoy. The Countess was a little taken aback but she’s come round quickly—with the proviso that staff will need to return to their duties at ten o’clock.”
Ursula suppressed a smile.
“Arabella’s a good sort really but she’s never understood Highland life. She’s from an old Stirling family and wants to make us just as grand here. She doesn’t seem to appreciate that the Dalreagh clan are moorland people. We’ve a brave history of raising arms and doing battle but, these days, we’re little more than farmers. The way Arabella carries on, you’d think we should be having royalty to dine every other week! Truly, I think she’d be happiest setting up home again in the city. I’ve made the suggestion more than once, but she seems remarkably attached to the idea of remaining here. I suppose we can’t always understand people’s motives.”
“It sounds as if the new Lord Balmore has the right idea, anyway.” Ursula’s heart warmed, hearing all that Iona had to say of him.
“Yes, and he and Cameron have been getting along splendidly. Lord Balmore has proven himself to be very much ‘hands on’, wanting to learn everything—and seeking out Cameron’s advice.”
“That’s good to hear. And—” Ursula hesitated, uncertain if Iona would think her speaking out of turn, “Cameron doesn’t feel resentful of Lord Balmore having swooped in, as it were, and claimed what might have been his?”
Lady Iona shook her head. “Quite the reverse. You see, it’s always been Cameron’s wish to practise veterinary medicine. He began at the university a few years ago but felt obliged to return to Dunrannoch once Brodie and Lachlan were gone. Grandfather wasn’t well enough to manage alone and we needed a male member of the family to take charge. The arrival of Lord Balmore has him ‘off the hook’ as it were—although I know he’ll be pleased to continue giving whatever support he can. He’s only twenty-two but he’s grown up here and there’s very little he doesn’t know.”
“And, I hope you won’t think me forward in asking, but how does the other Lady Balmore feel about things? She’s still grieving I know, but does she wish to continue making her home here?”
“Oh, Mary?” Lady Iona looked thoughtful. “Her own family are from Aberdeen—something big in fishing. I don’t think she’s terribly happy here, but nor does she seem keen on going back to the coast. I suppose she might remarry, in time, but really, it’s her girls she cares about most.” Iona frowned. “If we’re to find husbands for them all, it would make sense for her to take them to town. Lachlan didn’t leave her a great deal of personal wealth, but she has a set of rooms in a townhouse in Edinburgh. If grandfather might settle something on her, I believe she’d be delighted.”
Lady Iona gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry. I babble on sometimes. Please forgive me. Our family trials are our own affair—and nothing for you to worry over, Miss Abernathy. I’m sure you have your own future to look to, and will be glad to leave behind this rather desolate place.”
“I’m happy to lend a listening ear.” Ursula touched the other woman’s arm. “And I’ll never forget Dunrannoch, nor the moor. I won’t regret the time I’ve spent here.”
Lady Iona rose at last. “I must get ready, and leave you to do the same.” She gave Ursula a warm smile. “Come and find me amidst the crowd, Miss Abernathy.”
As the hour chimed seven, Ursula put the finishing touches to her appearance and clicked shut her door behind her.
No matter what transpires, I must remember that I’m my own woman. Just six more days and I won’t need to rely on anyone for shelter or support. I may easily live quietly.
The thought should have been gratifying but, strangely, it was not. She’d never cared for Society, but Lady Iona’s visit had reminded her of the comfort of friendly companionship. As for love, with the man she’d come to feel so much for, Ursula hardly dared hope.
Lord Balmore’s heart was unknown to her, but he’d spoken so much of duty. How could she fit into his plans? Even were she to reveal her true family connections, and the wealth that was soon to come to her, she was not a Dalreagh. The Earl and Countess Dunrannoch had made things clear; they wanted Rye’s bride to come from within their own circle.
She believed she could make Rye happy—perhaps even find contentment in helping him run Dunrannoch—but she couldn’t expect him to break with his family for her sake.
She’d just turned the first spiral on the old stone stairs and was deep in her musings when she was brought up sharply by voices just below, rising from the third-floor corridor. Only Rye and Cameron occupied rooms here, Ursula understood, and both should have been downstairs by now—but the abrupt whispers were those of a man and woman, clearly engaged in an argument of sorts.
“Can’t carry on like this…has been a mistake.” The man’s hushed tone was insistent.
“Is there someone else? After all I’ve been to you…”
“Of course not, but—”
There was a pause, in which Ursula would have sworn the two were kissing.
Could she continue downward? To eavesdrop made her uncomfortable, but she feared the couple might hear her footfall and realise she’d been listening.
The woman’s voice had turned sultry. “Come to my bed again tonight…it’s only you I think of.”
“Impossible. You don’t know what you’re saying.” The man’s voice again. “Arabella—this has gone on long enough.”
Ursula felt her legs tremble.
Arabella? Lady Balmore?
And the man’s voice. Was that Cameron?
Was such a thing possible?
The two weren’t related by blood, but relations between them would be unseemly. And how long had they been together? Lady Balmore’s husband had been dead nearly two years, but to begin an affair of this sort?
Ursula shook herself.
What was she thinking? She’d never styled herself a hypocrite, nor wished to judge others. If Cameron and his uncle’s widow were in love, it wasn’t for her to criticise.
And it was wrong of her to linger. She’d heard more than she should already.
Gathering her skirts, she placed one slippered foot before the other, taking the steps as quietly as she could. She would cup the flame of her candle as she passed the opening of the stairs onto the corridor and hope they were too engrossed to notice her passing.
Setting her eyes to watch only the treads before her, Ursula resumed her descent. It had grown quiet, as if the two lovers were again embracing. All the better, for they were unlikely to sense her passing.
She’d almost reached the second floor and begun to breathe more easily when a spider’s web loomed in front of her and Ursula stumbled. The candlestick flew from her grasp, clattering down several steps before rolling to a stop. With a gasp, she pressed her back to the wall.
“Did you hear that
?” Lady Balmore’s voice floated downward. “Someone’s there.”
Ursula remained frozen. They wouldn’t come down the stairs after her, would they?
“One of the maids. That’s all. Everyone else is downstairs—and I’m joining them.” Cameron sounded exasperated.
“This isn’t over. We aren’t over!” Lady Balmore’s voice hissed. “You’ll thank me in the end Cameron, when you realise my true devotion. No one will love you as I do.”
“I’m not listening to any more. Now Rye’s here, there’s no reason for me to remain. The sooner I get away, the better—for you as well, Arabella.”
“No!” Her voice rose but Cameron’s footsteps were already fading in the opposite direction.
Ursula let out a long exhalation.
Poor Lady Balmore. However unwise the liaison, she felt for her.
As Ursula continued downward, Lady Balmore went to the staircase and peered through the gloom. With silent footsteps she followed, but the figure ahead of her scurried too quickly for her to see properly who had been listening.
She caught only a glimpse of the woman’s hem.
No servant but someone in a golden-hued gown, the fabric fine.
Chapter Eighteen
A little later…
The party was well-underway.
Lady Iona had been right. The staff appeared delighted to have been invited to the early part of the evening. Wearing their Sunday best, maids and footmen were whirling to the strains of an Eightsome Reel, to the accompaniment of a small band of players placed in the minstrel’s gallery.
The countess and Earl Dunrannoch looked on, with the dowager sitting to her son’s right, and Lady Iona and Cameron alongside, joined by some of the older guests.
Lady Iona smiled and nodded, clearly pleased that Ursula was wearing the dress. She’d been right that it suited her. The fit was almost exact and the colours within the gown paired well with the warm tones of Ursula’s hair, which she’d pinned up with a golden ribbon threaded through the curls.
She’d find some moment to speak to Rye later, she expected, and it would be something to stand before him looking her best. Her vanity required that, at least.
Ursula stole a longer glance at Cameron.
He looked far from happy.
Little wonder, thought Ursula, knowing what she did.
Broken love affairs could hardly be pleasant things—and Lady Balmore hadn’t taken Cameron’s rejection well.
She looked out at the dancers. Among the throng, kicking up their heels, were the five young ladies from whom Rye was expected to choose his bride. As laughing people whirled by, Ursula caught a glimpse of Lord Balmore. Standing a head taller than anyone else, he couldn’t remain hidden long.
Perhaps there wasn’t much difference between her and Arabella. She’d given herself to Rye without expectation of anything further between them, yet she hoped that Rye would remember her as more than a fling.
She ought to join in the dancing at the next opportunity but, for now, she would watch. Mrs. Middymuckle had done a marvellous job with the refreshments, which were laid out along one end of the room. Fruit jellies and blancmanges and dainty tartlets wobbled alongside great plates of cold meats and cheeses. There was a huge punchbowl from which guests could serve themselves, and several bottles of champagne sat in a trough of ice.
Only Mrs. Douglas, the housekeeper, seemed disapproving, standing beside the beverages and glaring at any of her staff who dared take more than a small cupful of the punch.
Ursula hadn’t attended an event like this since her season, which had only ended with her persuading her father not to bother with any more such extravagance. She’d declared that she’d find a husband in good time, rather than through an endless round of asinine parties, and he’d never pushed her to fulfil that vow. But wasn’t this what her own life was supposed to be like? Dances and parties and having fun? And dreaming of someone special to be in love with?
Her season hadn’t made her happy. And she’d certainly not found anyone she wanted to spend her life with. All she’d been able to think of was wanting to work alongside her father. It was him she’d wanted to be close to, and no other man was a worthy comparison.
He’d known, she hoped, how happy she was to stay with him—that no suitor had lived up to her idea of what a man should be.
It had never occurred to her that he’d die.
Nor that he’d fail to secure the passing of his half of the business to Ursula.
And, now, here she was, among people she’d never met, pretending to be someone else altogether.
It was almost fitting, for she barely knew who she was anymore, nor what she wanted. She kept telling herself that she could take care of herself and, of course, she knew that she could—but it didn’t mean that it was all she wanted.
A couple of male guests drifted over, surveying the cold buffet with interest.
“He’s nae bad looking, I suppose, for an American,” one was saying. “Not that it matters, o’course. Those girls would take him whether he was young and sprightly, or hunchbacked and with n’er a tooth in his head.”
The other laughed. “I’m sure they’re making themselves amenable. There’s few would turn down the chance to be countess—and it will nae be long afore Dunrannoch passes on the mantle.”
“True enough. And a man disnae need to be in love to marry. Hot and willing is all we ask when it comes to bedding.”
As they chuckled, Ursula fought down welling nausea.
Hot and willing.
She’d been that all right.
And Rye certainly hadn’t said no.
She’d made it easy for him; and had thought it was easy for her, as well. She’d never imagined how far her feelings would become involved. No matter how she tried to fool herself, she couldn’t get away from the truth of it.
Somehow, her heart had become tangled up.
Rye had won her admiration and her respect, and she’d given herself to him without any consideration for what he might truly feel for her.
Since their return from the bothy, she’d been waiting—believing he would seek her out, but he’d been too busy to make time for her.
Actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they, and whatever he did feel for her, it wasn’t enough to divert him from the path his family had laid out for him.
Would he be different if he knew she was an heiress? If he knew her grandfather had been a viscount?
She was glad he didn’t know. Clearly, she wasn’t good enough just as she was.
The musicians drew the reel to a close and there was much applause from the floor. Anticipating a small break, most of the dancers were moving towards the refreshments, crowding around Ursula.
It was too much.
She couldn’t breathe.
Ursula made her way to the edge, by the window, looking for the best route of escape. Bounded by unfamiliar faces, she was aware again that she didn’t belong there.
She’d made up her mind.
In the morning, she’d ask which of the guests might be travelling towards Fort William and join them in leaving the castle. She’d make her way to Daphne. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to see her old friend again.
With a sob, she pushed forward, blindly—not seeing anything anymore, or anyone.
“Whoa there!” A firm hand landed on her elbow, dragging her back. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, little bear.”
She knew, straightaway, it was Rye, but it was too humiliating to play this game, and she didn’t want him to see she was crying.
“Ursula, what’s wrong?” His voice softened, his face creasing in confusion. “You’re upset. Has some fella been hasslin’ you?” His eyes travelled over her. “You’re sure lookin’ beautiful tonight, but it’s no excuse for a man to foist unwanted attentions.”
She was too weary to explain what she was upset about. And what was the use, since it wouldn’t change anything.
“I wanted to spea
k with you,” she said at last, “but I know you’ve been busy. It doesn’t matter.” She turned away.
“Hold on a minute, Ursula. I’ve been busy, it’s true—mostly talkin’ with my grandfather. I’ve had a few things to set straight, and I couldn’t come find you until I’d made sure he understood.”
“Discussing your choice of bride.” There was a flatness in her voice—a misery she couldn’t put into words.
“Yes—but, how did you know?” Rye grinned. “It don’t matter. All that does is that I’ve made him see who it is I should be marryin’. He was a mite surprised but he says he won’t make the same mistake he did with my father. His disapproval only drove a wedge between them. Old Finlay doesn’t want to repeat that estrangement. As long as I’m happy, he says he is too.”
Ursula was too distressed to follow all he was saying, but if he’d chosen baby-faced Blair above her older siblings, Ursula didn’t want to know about it. Had he no sensitive feeling?
Clearly not, because he was taking both her hands in his, not caring who might see them.
“Ursula, it’s you I want, and I’m hoping you’ll say yes.” From his pocket, he extracted a ring. “This was my mother’s, and I know she’d be pleased to see you wearing it.” He lowered his voice a little, glancing about. “I got carried away, yesterday, when we were alone in the bothy. I made a mistake, but no matter what happens, we can put it right. It don’t matter to me where you’re from or what your family are and, if there’s a baby, it’ll be born in wedlock. I won’t let you face anything alone, little bear.”
Ursula frowned, looking at the ring and then at Rye.
“If there’s a baby?” She wasn’t sure what he meant.
“It was all my fault. You must’ve noticed? I didn’t…” His brow creased in embarrassment. “I didn’t do what I should’ve to protect you from that. It was just so doggone amazing, I lost my head.”
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