“Oh yes. We’ve done it several times now. We’ll have two full courts, and there will be a viewing stand with the chairs from the Blue Salon.”
“The viewing stand was MacDougal’s idea.” The duchess bent to scoop up the closest pug, which immediately licked her cheek. “He’s brilliant at adding those little touches. We shall put up the courts and leave them for the duration of our guests’ stay, so that you may all enjoy a game whenever you wish.”
“It sounds lovely,” Lady Mary said. “But how do you set it up?”
“Oh, that’s quite easy. The footmen place the net poles in the very large pots that hold our giant ferns.”
“They are almost as tall as my head,” Lady Charlotte added. “They hold the nets better than planting them in the lawn.”
Miss MacLeod looked impressed. “What a unique idea.”
“The foliage also gives the game a truly festive feel,” her grace added. “Almost as if one were playing in a jungle.”
Lady Mary smiled. “The arboretum must be quite large to hold two battledore courts and a viewing stand.”
“
Two
viewing stands,” Lady Charlotte corrected gently. “Roxburghe has never been one to build small.”
“I, for one, cannot wait.” Miss Stewart turned to Lady Mary and Miss MacLeod. “Shall we fetch our hats and then retire to change into something suitable for battledore?”
“Yes, please,” Lady Mary said. “But before we change, breakfast would be most welcome. I am famished.”
Miss MacLeod turned to Dahlia. “Do you come with us to the breakfast room, Miss Balfour?”
Dahlia smiled. “No, I believe I’ll have a tray in my room. But I hope to see you in the arboretum this afternoon.”
The three women curtsied and, after making their good-byes to the duchess and Lady Charlotte, headed toward the salon, whispering to one another as they went.
The duchess turned to the viscount. “What about you, Lord Dalhousie? Are you not going in to breakfast?”
“No, I am perfectly satisfied here, with you, Lady
Charlotte, and Miss Balfour.” He bowed to Dahlia, his gaze flickering to her hair and then away.
She bit back a wince. From now on, she’d make sure she carried a comb in her pocket during her walks.
Kirk hadn’t seemed to care, but then, he was immune to fashion. For the first time, she realized there might be a benefit to that flaw.
The duchess sighed sadly. “I had thought about setting up an indoor pall-mall game, but there’s simply no challenge to it when the floor is flat. The footmen tried to make it more entertaining by putting piles of rags here and there under the carpet to simulate a lawn, but it didn’t work.”
Lady Charlotte leaned toward Dahlia and said in a low voice, “It was an utter disaster. The balls hit the little hillocks and, as they had no grass to soften the roll, they shot into the air. We lost two vases and a chandelier—an Italian one—before her grace put a stop to it.”
“Charlotte, please don’t remind me.” Her grace kissed the pug’s forehead before she put him back with his brothers and sisters, who were stretched out upon the floor in various piles. “Fortunately, battledore works quite well indoors. Better, perhaps, than outside.”
“There’s no wind,” Lady Charlotte explained. “So you don’t have to chase the bird if it gets gusty outdoors, which it always does. Scotland is filled with bad weather.”
Her grace frowned. “We have delightful weather in the summer.”
“On occasion,” Lady Charlotte agreed, not at all put out by the duchess’s apparent displeasure. “Between rainstorms, and fog, and wind, and—”
“Thank you, Charlotte. I’ve had to deal with the weather enough today, if you please. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll meet with Mrs. Cairness about lunch.” Her grace started to turn away, but then paused. “Miss Balfour, perhaps you’d care to join me in the salon in a half hour for a bit of tea?”
“I wish I could, your grace, but I must get ready for the luncheon, and my hair will take at least an hour to fix.”
The duchess looked disappointed. “I suppose you must. Well, then, I’ll be certain to catch you later this evening, before dinner. I wish to make certain you’ve sustained no injury from your walk.”
“You are too kind, your grace. I walk all of the time, and as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“We’ll see about that. Until this evening, then.” The duchess turned. “Angus!”
A footman stepped forward, and Dahlia recognized him as the one who’d assisted her out of the carriage when she’d first arrived.
The duchess pointed to the oldest pug. “Poor Randolph is panting so. Perhaps you could carry him for the rest of the morning?”
“Aye, yer grace.” He bent and scooped up the elderly dog, who took the opportunity to lick the footman’s chin.
“Thank you, Angus.” Her grace turned to the other
dogs. “Come!” They all rose, stretching and yawning, but looking quite happy to be hailed. With a gracious smile at her guests, the duchess went in search of the housekeeper, Angus following and the other pugs trotting behind.
Lady Charlotte sighed. “Poor Margaret. She hates it when someone criticizes anything that has to do with Floors Castle.”
Lord Dalhousie smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Apparently even the weather.”
“Yes. You should have seen her when MacDougal mentioned that a stiff east wind always makes the fireplace in the dining room smoke. You’d have thought he’d insulted the Roxburghe name.” The huge clock rang the hour. “Oh dear, look at the time! My new novel is waiting and if I hurry, I’ve just enough time to read the first chapter before I change for lunch. Miss Balfour, if you and Lord Dalhousie will excuse me—” As she spoke, the tiny lady hurried off.
Lord Dalhousie chuckled. “Lady Charlotte is right; her grace does not like to hear anything about the castle being less than perfect. Yesterday, during tea, someone dared to say that they thought the garden could use some of their prize roses to ‘fill out the flower bed,’ and that they’d be glad to send some to her grace. She was offended that someone dared suggest that the gardens were not perfect as they are, and it made for quite an awkward moment.”
“She’s very protective. Still, I understand. It’s very
easy to become sentimental over buildings. I’m very fond of Caith Manor, where I grew up, and if anyone says a cross word about it, even if it’s true, I get very defensive.”
“What style of house is Caith?” Lord Dalhousie asked, looking far more interested than he should have.
“It’s a hodgepodge—part Tudor, part Gothic, part something else. But to me, it’s the most beautiful house ever.”
“Oh?” He leaned against the newel post at the foot of the stairs. “What does Caith look like?”
“It’s not overly large, is rather square, but with a beautiful arched doorway, and a parlor that overlooks the prettiest garden. It’s two stories with an ornate staircase that creaks horribly and—” Dahlia bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on and on.”
“Oh, you weren’t. To be honest, I—”
Lady Mary and Miss Stewart returned arm in arm, Miss MacLeod trailing behind.
Miss Stewart cast a blinding smile at the viscount. “Dalhousie, Lady Mary and I were hoping that after lunch, you’d play us in battledore.”
He sent a regretful glance at Dahlia before he turned a polite smile on Miss Stewart. “I will need a partner, then.”
“Very true,” Lady Mary conceded. “Perhaps Lord MacKelton would do.”
“If he can stay awake long enough to play. Why, he must be seventy years old.”
“Eighty-three. I know, for I asked Lady Charlotte just this morning.”
Miss Stewart glanced at Dahlia from under her lashes before saying in a challenging tone, “How about Lord Kirk?”
“Oh yes,” Lady Mary agreed. “With his perpetual scowl and that horrid scar—” She shuddered.
Dahlia had to unclench her jaw before she could speak. “He cannot help being injured.”
Lady Mary didn’t look the least regretful. “He can help how much he scowls. I never see him without getting the feeling that he wishes everyone in the room to perdition.”
“As do I,” Miss MacLeod said. “Although I think him a bit of a tragic figure, like one from a play. There he is, beautifully handsome and yet marred by that scar. I heard he got the scar fighting pirates. How romantic!”
Dahlia frowned. “There were no pirates.”
Miss Stewart turned a curious glance her way. “Oh? Do
you
know how he got his scar, then?”
“He and his wife were returning from the Indies, and their ship caught fire. They were carrying gunpowder and the entire ship blew up. His wife was killed.”
“What a tragic story,” Miss Stewart said.
“Yes, but he has recovered, which is a testament to his character.”
“Oh my,” Lady Mary said, eyeing Dahlia. “It seems that Lord Kirk is not without his admirers.”
Surprisingly, Miss MacLeod interjected, “Of course he is not; he’s an intriguing and mysterious figure.”
“A scar does not add a caveat of mystery, at least not to me.” Lady Mary didn’t look pleased. “The man has a wretched temper; one can see it just by looking at him. If Lord Kirk were to play us in battledore, I’d be shaking in fear so much that I wouldn’t be able to hit a stroke.”
“Then he is the perfect partner for me,” Dalhousie exclaimed. “I shall ask him immediately.”
“He is the perfect partner only if you don’t
look
at him. Although I must say his eyes have a peculiar beauty.” Miss Stewart’s sharp face softened. “The very shape of his—”
“That is quite enough!” Dahlia almost didn’t recognize her own voice as four shocked faces turned her way. “Pray stop speaking about Lord Kirk in such a way.”
Miss Stewart blinked. “I was complimenting him.”
Dahlia’s face heated. “Yes, well, before that you were mocking his appearance.”
Lord Dalhousie’s smile had slipped, but he rallied. “You’re quite right, Miss Balfour. Lord Kirk cannot help being injured.”
“We meant no harm.” Miss Stewart looked quite put out. “I did admit that his eyes are lovely.”
“But he does limp horridly.” Lady Mary sniffed. “
If
that’s actually a leg. Why, it might be a peg, for all we know.”
Miss Stewart feigned shocked. “A
peg leg
! Oh, can you imagine—”
“No.” Dahlia stepped forward. “Miss Stewart, Lady Mary, if you’d like a game of battledore, allow
me
to challenge you to one.”
Lady Mary arched her brows delicately. “Miss Balfour, I feel I must warn you that Miss Stewart and I are excellent at battledore.”
“So am I. Quite good, in fact.”
Miss Stewart couldn’t have looked more astounded than if Dahlia had announced that she was the pope. “You can’t play us
both.
There’s only
one
of you.”
“Actually, I can do just that.” She’d played both of her sisters many times, and had won almost every match. “Well, Lady Mary? Miss Stewart? Do you accept?”
Lady Mary’s gaze narrowed. “You sound as if you were challenging us to a duel.”
Lord Dalhousie brightened. “Then I claim the honor of being Miss Balfour’s second.”
Miss MacLeod bounced in place. “I’ll be a second for Miss Stewart and Lady Mary!”
Dalhousie bowed to Miss MacLeod. “We shall set the details after lunch. We will plan the duel for—shall we say, tomorrow? That will give us time to prepare the rules for our wager.”
Miss MacLeod curtsied, laughing as she did so. “I look forward to it! We will make certain all is fair.”
“Then it’s settled. Our fair opponents shall play tomorrow afternoon.”
“It will also give Miss Balfour time to practice,” Miss MacLeod offered.
“I shall have no need of it,” Dahlia said, filled with a determination to win. “I look forward to the match.” Suddenly, she was tired of the house party, tired of defending Kirk’s honor, tired of hearing people malign someone they didn’t know—all of it. “If you’ll excuse me, I must change.” She turned and, boots in hand, marched loudly up the steps in an attempt to drown out the excited chatter of what were surely two of the most spoiled women on the face of the earth.
From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
The battledore courts have been a rousing success and there have been games nonstop since they were set up yesterday, which is a good thing, for the weather has gotten worse.
Meanwhile, this morning, I noticed two of my footmen sporting the gaudiest watch fobs I’ve ever seen.
I shall ask MacDougal to count the silver.
* * *
Dahlia winced. “Ow!”
Freya clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry, miss, bu’ if ye wish yer hair to stay oop, then I must brush it guid and well.”
“I know, I know. But do be careful. No matter how lovely you make my hair, the effect will be ruined if it gives me a headache and all I can do is frown.” Dahlia’s stomach growled and she pressed a hand to it.
“Ye should take yer breakfast on a tray in the mornings, like the others.”
“I had a biscuit earlier, when I came back through the kitchen after my walk. And while certain others may enjoy lazing about until noon, I do not.”
“Och, no. Ye’re oop wit’ the birdies, ye are.”
“I love mornings. Besides, the more interesting guests are up early, and we’ve had some excellent conversations over the breakfast table. Lady Grantham has been telling me the most fascinating tales of the history of their family seat. And Miss MacTintern raises the most exotic animals—she has
two
monkeys, both quite tame, and she’s promised to show them to me if ever I visit Edinburgh.”
A discreet knock sounded on the door.
Freya put down the box of pins and went to the door.
A footman holding a silver salver bowed. “From Lord Dalhousie. I’m to wait fer an answer.”
Freya took the missive and brought it to Dahlia with a mischievous look. “Fro’ Lord Dalhousie, miss.”
Dahlia’s face heated. She slipped her silver comb behind the seal and broke it, and then opened the missive. The entire page was filled with flowing script.
Aware of the waiting footman, she scanned it quickly. “Pray tell his lordship that I will be happy to meet him in the portrait gallery at ten.”
“Aye, miss.” The footman bowed and then left.