Amanda Scott (22 page)

“Certainly I will, sir,” she replied, grinning back at him.

Lady Rothwell stiffened. “I do not think that at all wise, James dearest. Surely, you will prefer to remain here and look after us. I cannot feel entirely safe at Rothwell Park, you know, when neither you nor Rothwell is in residence.”

James grimaced, thought better of it, and said coaxingly, “Mama, really, if you have been thinking I would stay with you and Lydia, you ought to have known better. I came along only to lend my cheerful countenance to what otherwise promised to be an uncomfortable journey for you all, and now, since you have expressed concern for Miss MacDrumin’s safety, you must agree my next duty is clear. Two gentlemen must be thought safer company than one, particularly since you would not expect Rothwell and Miss MacDrumin to travel in the same coach as their servants.”

“There is nothing amiss in Maria’s riding with them.”

“Ah, but if Matthew longs for his wife’s companionship, he will be most annoyed to be relegated to ride with the baggage whilst Maria plays gooseberry. Moreover, Ned and Miss MacDrumin will much prefer to have me. You do not object, do you, Ned?”

“No, indeed, I will be glad to have your company.”

“Then that’s settled,” James said, shooting a look of glowing satisfaction at Maggie.

She was suddenly aware of hostility in the very air around her, and though she could not be certain of its origin, she rather thought she knew. Rothwell had returned his attention to his plate, and Lady Rothwell too appeared concerned only with her dinner. She made no further effort to dissuade James, but Maggie was nearly sure that it was she who was upset, for Lydia wore one of her mischievous looks. The servants, ignored throughout by everyone, continued with their duties.

The rest of the evening passed slowly, and by the time Maggie went up to the bedchamber allotted to her—a chilly, stone-walled room much more like ones she was accustomed to in Glen Drumin albeit nearly as prettily decorated as the rooms in Rothwell London House—she was convinced that the dowager viewed her as a threat to James’s future well-being, but she did not know whether Lady Rothwell was more distressed by that fear or by James’s refusal to submit to her will. Nor did she know whether the dowager actively disliked her or was simply having second thoughts about sending her highly skilled tirewoman to the wilds of Scotland with such a low creature. Lady Rothwell was civil to her but no more than that.

The following morning—a sunny one at last—they were ready to depart at the early hour ordained by Rothwell the night before. Lady Rothwell had not yet risen from her bed, of course, but Lydia arose early on purpose to see them off, and although she suggested wistfully that she would like to accompany them, she took Rothwell’s flat refusal in good part, hugged Maggie, and bade them all a fond farewell.

Matthew and Maria Chelton likewise presented themselves in good order, but if either one was particularly pleased by their new duties, Maggie could see no sign of it. Matthew Chelton was a dour man, lean of body and stern of face—a lowland Puritan to the life, Maggie thought. And Maria, who in London had seemed a haughty dame, even higher in the instep than her mistress, seemed somehow diminished when she stood next to her austere husband. She looked as if she had been crying, and Maggie, aware from her brief sojourn in London that servants enjoyed their own strict hierarchy, in which a dowager countess’s dresser was a woman of high estate, had no doubt that Maria believed she had sunk to the very depths in being commanded to wait upon a mere miss.

The gentlemen having decided to take advantage of the improved weather and ride the first few stages, Rothwell ordered Maria to sit in the lead coach with Maggie, leaving dour Matthew to solitary splendor in the baggage coach. Though the lead coach was Rothwell’s best, and better sprung than most, Maria did not seem happy to be separated from her husband, nor he from her. The tirewoman was sulky and disinclined to talk. So much, Maggie thought as she let down the glass window to wave a last farewell to Lydia, for looking after her and bearing her company.

Several times during that first hour, she attempted to engage Maria in conversation, but although the woman replied politely whenever she was addressed, her replies were monosyllabic and unencouraging. Like her mistress, she was civil but uncommunicative.

Watching the passing countryside and catching only occasional glimpses of the two horsemen, Maggie soon found herself thinking about the earl again. Despite his calm assumption of always being right and knowing what was best for everyone around him, his temper clearly had its limits. Perhaps that was why she sensed such a crackling vitality whenever she was in his presence. On the journey into Derbyshire, she had seen him exert more patience with his stepmother than anyone might have expected of him, and she had seen enough of the always stylish, generally cool-tempered gentleman to know that although he was different from any Highland or Lowland man she had met, he attracted loyal and dedicated admirers. If she could judge by his stepmother, even his enemies accorded him respect.

She glanced at Maria, who still sat with her hands in her lap, looking out the opposite coach window. They were moving faster than they had with the dowager along, but if the swaying of the coach discomfited her, she gave no sign. Maggie found the constant lurching and rocking over the poor road tiresome at best. It was not long before she developed a headache and began to wish that she too might ride with the men.

Rothwell had said that he meant to enter Scotland by way of Carlisle, and since she had come to England through Berwick-on-Tweed, the countryside was new to her. Having left his second coachman with his own horses at the end of the second stage, Rothwell hired another whenever he changed teams, in order, he had said, always to have a man traveling with them who knew the best route. By this means, and by keeping to post roads and frequently changing teams, they were able to maintain the fast pace, and by the time they reached Carlisle on the evening of the second day, Maggie was exhausted and sick of her own company.

A drizzling rain had begun to fall shortly before they came within view of the city walls, but the town felt friendly to her nonetheless, for she knew that Carlisle was one English city where Bonnie Prince Charlie had been welcomed. She knew, too, that for their loyalty the people here had suffered nearly as much in the aftermath of Culloden as the Highlanders had. She did not attempt to explore the city, however, for not only was she exhausted but she knew the earl would forbid it.

She slept soundly, as indeed, she nearly always did, and it was still raining the following morning when Maria, having shared a room with her husband, woke her and helped her to dress. When they joined the men in the coffee room for breakfast, Maggie saw that although Rothwell was as elegantly dressed as ever, he wore his dark hair uncurled and without powder for once, simply tied back with a plain black ribbon. She liked the change, but when he said casually that he hoped to make Edinburgh in less than two more days, she forgot about matters of costume and fashion and objected at once, strenuously.

He said, “I am told that royal mail carriers generally travel from London to Edinburgh in only four days.”

“But on horseback, sir, not as passengers in a coach that careens like a ship in a storm. If you insist on maintaining this wicked pace, I wish you would hire a horse for me to ride, for I shall be as ill as Fletcher was if you do not. Indeed, I do not know how it is that you and James are not as exhausted from riding as Maria and I are from traveling in the coach.”

“The pace does not seem fast,” he said, “but perhaps we are more accustomed to riding for long hours than you are to being shut up in a carriage. For you to ride with us would not be seemly, however, and in any case no one will be riding this morning. We would be soaked to the skin in minutes.”

“Well, if you sit in the coach with me, I shall not complain,” she said with a sigh. “I daresay you will slow the horses soon enough if you are made to endure the awful rocking.”

Rothwell said, “Perhaps, but we will sit with Matthew in the second coach. My stepmother had second thoughts about the propriety of your traveling with two of us in a closed carriage.” He glanced at Maria, who seemed more cheerful now than at the start of their journey. “Did she not, Maria?”

“She did, my lord, and she was quite right.”

James chuckled. “What nonsense! Tell me, if you can, just what Mama thinks we can do to Miss MacDrumin with four of us squeezed into the family coach? I do not care a fig for what you choose to do, Ned, but I mean to ride with her in the more comfortable coach. I daresay she is bored to distraction with Maria’s company and will be delighted to have mine.”

Maggie’s spirits lifted considerably. “Oh, thank you, sir. You can have no idea how grateful we will be to have someone else to talk to.” She glanced guiltily at Maria. “I fear I have annoyed Mrs. Chelton with my frequent attempts to chatter.”

“Not at all, miss,” the woman said stiffly, glancing at her husband, who was offering Rothwell more toast. Maggie had noted from the beginning of their journey that the earl preferred to be attended by his own servants, even at public inns.

James laughed. “You may be certain that I will talk to you, Miss MacDrumin. I say,” he added, “would you mind awfully if I were to call you Maggie? Traveling all together like this does make us all seem like one family, so if you
don’t
mind—”

Rothwell said firmly, “Sit where you like, James, but you will address her properly. He will undoubtedly soon make you wish for solitude again, Miss MacDrumin, but perhaps, if you do not dislike it, I will also ride with you, just to see that he toes the mark. This coach is indeed much better sprung than the other and boasts glass windows, too, which keep out the elements much more efficiently than leather curtains.”

Maria sniffed. “But this one is not so large, my lord, that it will not be prodigiously overcrowded with four of us.”

Matthew, overhearing her, said expressionlessly, “It is not for you to question his lordship, Maria.”

When she flushed deeply, Rothwell said, “She is quite right, however, and I recall now that my stepmother said you had been looking forward to spending time with each other. You may sit with Matthew for a time, Maria. I promise you, Miss MacDrumin’s reputation will be quite safe so long as two of us are with her.”

Maria looked as if she might so forget her position as to argue, but with a look at Rothwell’s placid countenance and another at her husband’s stern one, she capitulated. Thus, when they took to the road again, although the gentlemen still rode when it was possible to do so, Maggie frequently found herself with more congenial company than Maria’s. James knew a number of games that could be played while traveling, and even Rothwell relaxed. The miles flew by, and to her astonishment, they reached Edinburgh by eight o’clock the following evening.

A quick meal, another deep sleep, and she was ready to depart when the sun rose. Rothwell’s hair had gone unpowdered only that one rainy morning, and his extreme elegance and air of command assured them of excellent service wherever they stopped; however, once in Scotland, it seemed to Maggie that a good many more persons than necessary found duties to attend in their vicinity, just to catch a glimpse of such sartorial splendor.

James was his usual, casually dressed self, and if he occasionally seemed amused by the attention his brother drew, he expressed that amusement with no more than a twinkling look flashed at Maggie. The natives, however, regarded the earl not with amusement but with awe, and although Matthew continued to serve their meals, local servants jumped to obey Rothwell’s slightest gesture or most casually expressed desire, and when he indicated that a dish did not please his English taste or sit well in his English stomach, they rushed to produce new dishes or local remedies to ease his slightest discomfort.

That morning, although he said he had not slept well, he wore elegant riding dress, complete with jeweled smallsword, and after a brief discussion with the chief ostler in the innyard, he announced that they would take the post road to Stirling. “The chap says the road is used daily by post boys from Edinburgh,” he told the others, “so it should be adequate for the coaches.”

Maggie said quickly, “It is faster to take the ferry across the Firth of Forth, sir, and go to Perth from there.”

“But we are not going to Perth. I have it on excellent advice that the best route to the Great Glen lies through Stirling, Callander, and Fort William.”

“If you are taking me home, however, the best route lies through Perth to Dunkeld, not through the Great Glen. Do you not know the location of your own estate?” Her voice was tart.

He looked taken aback, and fell silent for a moment before he said quietly, “I was told the estate lies near Inverness.”

“So it does if one is trying to describe its location to an Englishman,” she said. “The nearest large town—indeed, the only one large enough for an Englishman to have heard of it—
is
Inverness. But one need not travel up the Great Glen to reach Glen Drumin. That would be a most lengthy journey, sir.”

“But surely a better way for coaches, Miss MacDrumin.”

“By taking the post road out of Perth, we can take coaches as far as Dalwhinnie, Rothwell, or even Laggan if the weather is not too bad. We will have to ride over the Corriearrack, of course, for the road over the pass will take carts but not carriages. My father keeps horses at inns in several villages, however, for just that purpose.”

“I see.” He fell silent again, and Maggie wondered if he would question her knowledge. Having made the journey from Edinburgh to the Highlands and back numerous times during her school years, she knew she was right, but she knew, too, that men rarely took it kindly when their decisions were disputed. The silence lengthened, but when James shot his brother a quizzical look, Rothwell said at last, “I will bow to your superior knowledge of the roads, ma’am. We go by way of Perth.”

With the ferry ride only an hour away, he and James decided to ride in the coach with her, and when they neared the Firth, James said in a doubtful tone, “Should one look forward to the experience of being ferried in a carriage? I confess, it is something with which I have little familiarity despite our excellent service on the Thames. As I recall from my geography lessons, the Firth of Forth is rather wider than the river.”