“I am finally myself. My book will be highly instructional and highly sought after. Eventually men as well as women will clamor to read it.”
Arran snorted.
“Men of inquiring intellect,” Justine said, narrowing her lovely eyes. “Men with fine sensibilities. Men who seek to know more about the feelings of the women they plan to marry.”
Calum shook his head. “You are an innocent, my dear. And your innocence shows, thank God. Men do not wish, or need, to know more about women's feelings in these matters. Men are perfectly capable of ensuring the outcome in such …” He reddened. “Men know how to deal with their wives, Justine.”
She pointed a finger at him. “That is exactly the attitude I intend to combat. My book will detail events that transpire between men and women during courtship and after marriage. My mission is to remove the mystery from the entire process.”
Struan watched Arran and Calum's faces and winced at their bemused horror.
“You know nothing,” Calum said at last. “Absolutely nothing.”
Arran patted her arm. “A noble ambition, I'm sure, my dear, but out of the question, of course. Leave the project to someone qualified for the work.”
“A man, no doubt,” she said sharply. “As has always been the case, only a man could possibly write about those things closest to a woman's heart. Am I correct?”
“Ah—” Arran's mouth remained open.
“Naturally,” Calum said. “It is not for women to trouble their pretty heads over these things. Now. Enough said. Don't give it another thought.”
“I certainly shall. My plans are already under way.”
Calum let out an exasperated breath. “Justine, kindly desist in this. Even if it were suitable, a single woman cannot instruct other women in matters outside her experience.”
“They are not outside Struan's experience,” she retorted.
Struan bowed his head and prayed for deliverance.
“And what,” Arran said coldly, “does that have to do with this?”
“Why, it's simple,” Justine announced cheerfully. “Struan is too polite to argue with Calum's foolishness. I am not too polite. Struan and I have come to an agreement. The terms are to our mutual satisfaction and no interference can possibly be tolerated. In return for my looking after his household and instructing his children,
he
will instruct
me
on every detail I require for my book!”
T
he scent of steeping alkanet root, linseed oil, and rose pink drifted through the lodge. The mixture had already been vigorously applied to priceless but neglected wooden pieces to bring them to gleaming luster.
In the small billiard room where Justine had finally found Ella, green damask wallpaper had been carefully cleaned with lumps of old bread, and mahogany wainscots glowed from polishing.
Dressed in ill-fitting boy's clothes, as she had been on each of the four days since Justine arrived, Ella stood before the open casement. From outside came the sounds of sticks thwacking carpets hung in the fresh morning air for cleaning.
“Ella?”
The girl showed no sign of having heard Justine. With her booted feet braced apart and her hands clasped behind her back, she made a disquietingly defiant picture.
Justine went to her side and looked out onto a courtyard where Mrs. Moggach, the housekeeper from the castle, oversaw several tenant women working on the carpets.
“They will be quite beautiful again soon,” Justine remarked.
Ella glanced at her blankly.
“The carpets,” Justine told her. “Mrs. Moggach tells me there were few bad stains and they were easily enough removed. A little rubbing with hot loaves of bread will bring back their full color.”
“How would you know about cleaning carpets? You've never cleaned anything.”
Justine's smile slipped. “Is it necessary to be rude to me, Ella?” She instantly regretted her sharpness. “Mrs. Mercer explained the process to me. Buttercup had one of the maids from the castle tell her.”
“Someone would have to tell her,” Ella said. “Mrs. Mercer doesn't have carpets of her own.”
“You sound angry.”
Ella returned her attention to the scene outside.
“I thought you would be glad to have me come,” Justine said. “At first you were. But you seem less so with each day.” And with each day Justine needed firmer resolve to continue with the bold plans she'd made in Cornwall.
Ella's throat moved sharply before she said, “I am glad you're here. And I don't mean to be rude. It's just that I'm not certain what's expected of me.”
Neither was Justine certain what was expected of her—not anymore. Since that first strange breakfast she'd scarcely seen Struan, and spoken to him less. She leaned across the leather-cushioned window seat to get a clearer view of the courtyard. Mrs. Moggach, a large, gray-haired woman in a gray dress and voluminous white apron, stood with her arms crossed under an impressive bosom. Her florid face showed how little pleasure she took in her new responsibilities.
Ella touched Justine's sleeve. “I've made you unhappy.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not you.”
“But you are unhappy. I see that you are.”
Nothing had progressed as she had planned—almost nothing. She would not be put out from Kirkcaldy as long as she chose to remain. In fact, Arran continued to comment at every opportunity that she was to become his sister-in-law. But Calum thundered and roared and threatened and demanded. She should go home with him at once, or … He was quite indistinct about what the “or” was likely to be.
And Struan? Struan's black eyes held the most disturbing of expressions. Anger? Confusion?
Pain?
Justine could not be sure, but she had never intended to cause him trouble. Knowing he already had trouble enough made her doubly horrified at the prospect of bringing him more.
Yet there was something else in Struan's eyes and she thought it was affection. Perhaps she was a hopeless dreamer, but even the slightest possibility that he enjoyed her presence meant that she must not leave without being certain of his wishes.
Today Ella's hair lay in a single thick braid down her back. She pulled it forward and played the end across her lips. “They're saying things about you and Papa,” she murmured; her eyes lowered.
Blood rushed to Justine's face. “What sort of things? And who are
they?”
“All sorts of people. They say Papa compromised you.”
Justine held her throat. “You cannot possibly understand what is meant by such things, and neither should you.”
“I understand. It has been explained to me.”
Justine gave a small, involuntary cry. She could scarcely breathe.
“Is it true?”
“No! How could you imagine Struan capable of such a thing?”
“He likes you a great deal.”
Justine's heart all but stopped beating.
“They say the marquess is insisting there be a marriage at once.”
“How do these things get about so?” Justine said miserably. “Do not listen. Do you understand me? You are not to listen to such cruel lies. I am a year your father's senior and all but a cripple. Surely you cannot believe for a moment that he would be interested in … Oh, botheration, this is beyond all. We shall speak no more on the subject.”
“You and Papa are almost the same age and you are not a cripple.” Ella pushed back her frock coat and fiddled with the too-large waist of her breeches. Even in such unflattering attire her pretty body was impossible to disguise. “I for one would like it very well if the two of you found happiness together. Papa hasn't been happy of late. I try to be everything he needs, but I cannot, of course.”
Justine quickly looked away. Her eyes prickled with the start of tears. “You are a sweet child. But you do not understand.
Liking
is not enough and liking is what your father has for me.”
“How do you know?”
“I know.” Justine drew in a long breath. “Let us forget we've spoken of this. Except that I shall remember your dear acceptance of me. I shall remain here with all of you and help you and Max with your educations. In time a tutor must be retained, especially for Max, but for now I can do a creditable job. In time I shall convince Calum to return to Cornwall and Arran will forget his foolish notions of marriage between Struan and me.”
“I doubt it. Everyone's talking about—”
“Hush,” Justine said urgently. “I do not wish to be cruel, but the chattering of the tenants will not decide what is to happen among the Lords of Rossmara. Now, on to more important things. Your time with us at Franchot served you well,” Justine said, referring to Ella's speech. “You learned quickly there. Pippa will be gratified when I tell her how well you sound.”
“Lady Philipa was kind. So were you. I don't want to be a disappointment.”
“You are not a disappointment.” A dilemma, perhaps, but nothing more. “Your papa means well. He is a good man, but you need a woman's guidance.”
Ella's head jerked around. “Papa is wonderful. He is the best man in the entire world.”
“Oh, yes,” Justine said, unable to bridle her enthusiasm. “He
is
the best man in the world. And he wants the best for you. It's for that reason, as well as because of my fondness for you and Max, that I intend to help him do what must be done. Max must be taken in hand at once. He cannot continue to run like a lull goblin.”
“He's happy as he is,” Ella said.
Impulsively, Justine held the girl's shoulders and drew her closer. “Max is a viscount's son and you are a viscount's daughter. Max must be prepared for the life he was intended to lead and so must you. If your dear mama had lived I'm certain you would have been brought out this year. But we shall set about preparing for next year. Think about all the excitement that will mean, dearest.”
“Brought out?” Ella sounded uninterested.
Risking the result, Justine hugged her new challenge tightly. “If I had had a daughter, I should have wished her to be exactly like you,” she said. “Humor me, Ella. Let me fuss over you and enjoy doing for you what I would have done for a daughter of my own.”
Ella's sudden, crushing return of her embrace shocked and thrilled Justine.
Then she felt the slight shaking of slender shoulders and grew very still. “What is it?” she asked softly. “Oh, my dear child, do tell me what's wrong.”
Ella shook her head against Justine's neck.
“Are you not just a little intrigued at the prospect of pretty new dresses? And balls and routs and musicales and all manner of lovely times? When you ride in Town—in the Park with some handsome young beau, you will ride better than any other girl. And you will be the belle of any ball. I guarantee that you are destined to be an
originale,
my darling girl. Considered, justly, a diamond-of-the-first-water. A toast. We shall have to fight off the suitors.”
“No!” Ella dropped her arms and pulled away. Moisture loaded her thick lashes. “Thank you, Justine, but no. My place is wherever Papa is. He needs me.”
Justine's heart beat unusually fast. “Your papa will be in London for your Season, Ella. He will want to be and he will want you to find a marvelous husband.”
“There is no marvelous husband for me.” Color climbed Ella's smooth, tear-streaked cheeks. “There cannot be.”
“Of course there is.” Perhaps she should not have been so hasty in broaching a subject about which she, personally, knew so little—yet. “And there will be a fine home and, eventually, children of your own.”
Ella wiped the backs of her hands across her face and sighed noisily. She walked past Justine and hauled herself up to sit in an ungainly attitude on the edge of the billiard table. “If all this is so desirable,” she said. “Why are you not married with a brood of children of your own?”
“It's different—” This was to be expected. An intelligent girl like Ella would be bound to ask such questions. “I shall be blunt. You said I am not a cripple, but you cannot have failed to note my deformity.”
“Deformity?” Ella's brow wrinkled. “You limp. That isn't a deformity.”
“Ah, my dear, dear, child. How wonderfully kind you are. When I was a young girl I had an accident. I was caught between rocks on the beach not far from Franchot Castle. The tide rushed in and I might have drowned. Instead, the force of the water tore me free and tossed me on the beach—with a terribly injured hip and leg. The result, I assure you, is a deformity.”
“Who decided it was? You?”
Justine bit her lip. “This conversation is not about me. It's about you. My life has passed the time when such things as husbands and children are to be considered. Your life is different.”
“You are lovely and gracious, Justine. Many men must have paid suit to you. Why would you not have one of them?”
Justine ignored the question. “I don't believe we should shop in Edinburgh, although I'm sure there are fine establishments there. We shall go to London. To the marquess's Hanover Square house. And you shall visit the Franchot home in Pall Mall. There. London, Ella. Think of that.”
“London,” Ella echoed, lowering her black lashes over her eyes. “Think of that. Did you enjoy your Seasons?”
“I had one Season. It was dreadful.” She hadn't intended to say that.
“Why?” Ella frowned at Justine.
Justine gestured helplessly. “My situation was different from yours. Please do not push me further in this.”
“You're pushing me.”
“You are a child and it's appropriate for you to allow yourself to be guided.”
Ella's expression became wistful. “I used to dream of wearing lovely gowns and dancing the waltz.”
Hope swelled within Justine. “Of course you did. And now it will become a reality.”
“I love music. Yesterday I heard the marquess playing the piano. It was a waltz. Papa told me the marquess composed it himself and it's called ‘Young Girls at the Ball. ”
Justine smiled. “Arran has extraordinary talent, but he is very private about it. Your papa plays a fine fiddle, but I'm sure you know that.”
“He plays the fiddle for us sometimes,” Ella said, a distant smile on her full lips. “The piano also. Papa makes me very happy. To him I am all I should be. He finds no fault with me.”