Authors: Highland Rivalry
In the Great Hall Phoebe noticed the piper relaxing in one of the window seats, and impulsively invited him to join her on her walk. Showing no surprise at being invited to accompany the guest, Dinsmore accepted and the two exited the castle.
“I hope Miss Atwood is finding the pipe music to her liking?” Dinsmore asked as he strolled along the path at Phoebe’s side.
Something in Dinsmore’s voice confirmed Phoebe’s suspicion that he, and probably Mrs. Baird as well, knew full well what Phoebe was up to in requesting the pipe music be played for Olivia, and she was relieved to note there was no censure in his manner. No doubt Dinsmore had not forgiven Olivia for mistaking him for a servant.
“Yes, Miss Atwood has often said how pleased she is with the pipes,” Phoebe answered truthfully. Olivia
was
always careful to say how much she liked them.
“If there is anything else that would make Miss Atwood’s sojourn here more pleasant I hope you will so inform Mrs. Baird.”
“I shall,” Phoebe promised, the rest of what she was going to say dying on her lips as they rounded a curve and came face-to-face with Lord Murray on his way back to the castle. The three stopped to exchange greetings, and Dinsmore, with an unreadable expression, said he had forgotten an errand and walked back toward the castle, leaving Phoebe and Lord Murray together.
Lord Murray looked after Dinsmore’s retreating back in some consternation. He had been sitting at his favourite spot overlooking the loch, attempting to puzzle out what to do about Phoebe and Celeste. Miss Hartwell had continued to spend a great deal of time in Atwood’s company, and Wilfred’s demeanour was certainly not that of a man who had had his troth broken. Moreover, Celeste had continued to behave possessively of him, and should Miss Laurence unaccountably decide to hold him to their engagement, he would have no choice but to stand by it; a gentleman could not do otherwise. Now, coming unexpectedly upon Phoebe, Lord Murray had the most urgent desire to ask her directly what her feelings were for him. Yet he could not, for he was not free to ask.
“Did you wish to walk any farther, Miss Hart-well?” Lord Murray finally enquired after an awkward moment of silence, his voice sounding flat and cold even to himself.
“No, thank you, Lord Murray. It is time I turned back,” Phoebe replied to Lord Murray’s commonplace words, her voice equally devoid of emotion. In mutual silence they returned to the castle, both wishing to speak but neither daring.
* * * *
That evening Phoebe joined the others at the supper table, wishing she had pleaded a headache and avoided another interminable miserable evening. She watched Celeste in wonder, for her young friend sat in her place next to Lord Murray, eating venison with apparent relish. Miles Huntsford engaged Lady Atwood in light social chatter as he consumed a perfectly prepared dish of salmon, and Lady Melville helped herself to a second serving of partridge. Only Olivia, picking at her generous plate of brose, seemed to have as little appetite as Phoebe herself.
Suddenly Celeste, apparently noticing Olivia’s half-hearted attempts to finish her brose, spoke up sweetly.
“Is the oatmeal brose not to your liking this evening, Miss Atwood? I am sure Mrs. Baird would instruct the cook to prepare a new mixture if something is amiss.”
“Oh, no Miss Laurence, it is quite delicious, as usual,” Olivia replied, rallying and taking a more generous spoonful. “You must try some.”
“No, thank you. I do not care overmuch for dishes made of oatmeal,” Celeste responded, helping herself to some of the salmon.
“It appears there are many things in Scotland you do not care for, Miss Laurence. I wonder that you remain,” Olivia said rather tartly.
“Oh, but there are some Scottish things I like very much indeed,” Celeste replied, looking significantly at Lord Murray.
Phoebe choked on her bite of partridge. Celeste’s implication could not have been clearer. She might as well have openly announced her betrothal to Lord Murray. Phoebe tried to catch Celeste’s eye, but her young friend carefully avoided looking her way.
“I say, am I to wish you happy?” Wilfred enquired of Lord Murray, thinking perhaps he had been remiss in his manners.
Lord Murray, looking as stunned as Phoebe, said nothing, but Celeste quickly answered for him.
“Thank you, Mr. Atwood. It is unofficial as yet, but I know you will keep my news in confidence. We are such close friends here that I felt I could not keep my happiness to myself any longer.”
Lady Atwood, her face carefully blank, added her felicitations, and Phoebe, her appetite now entirely gone, gave up any pretense of eating. Whatever had possessed Celeste to do such a thing? The Atwoods would be sure to spread the news when they returned to London, and if they did so, it would become more difficult to ever break the betrothal off. What must Mr. Huntsford think? Phoebe glanced at Miles, but he did not appear in the least upset—rather amused, if anything. Lord Murray had recovered from his start of surprise and was receiving Lady Atwood’s felicitations with equanimity. Only Olivia appeared as upset by the announcement as Phoebe herself was.
Phoebe planned to corner Celeste directly when supper was over and ask why she had essentially announced her engagement to Lord Murray—an engagement she had so recently admitted to Phoebe might be a mistake—but was thwarted in her plans by Lady Atwood, who cornered Phoebe directly the women retired from the table to question her about the betrothal. By the time Phoebe managed to escape, Celeste had disappeared.
* * * *
Celeste walked quietly about the garden with Miles Huntsford, feeling very pleased with herself. The announcement she had made at dinner had certainly put a spoke in Olivia’s wheel. The cat could not now pursue Lord Murray quite as blatantly as she had been. Although Olivia must have heard rumours of the betrothal, she had been behaving as though she were unaware of it. Now she could not, and it was all due to her quick thinking.
“I know you were endeavouring to put Miss Atwood in her place,” Mr. Huntsford’s voice interrupted Celeste’s satisfied thoughts, “but was it wise?”
“I only stated the truth,” Celeste said mischievously as she stopped and turned to face Mr. Huntsford, not pretending to misunderstand.
“Is it indeed?” he queried, regarding her seriously.
“Yes.”
“To the letter, but not the fact, perhaps. However, I still think it was an ill-considered action. You did not think of the potential effects—on others as well as upon yourself. You should not have allowed feelings of girlish rivalry to cause you to act without thought and put you into a false position.”
“I know what I am doing,” Celeste said irritably, walking on. She did not care to have Mr. Huntsford remonstrate with her. Girlish rivalry, indeed! What did he know or understand of the snubs and hurts Olivia had dealt both her and Phoebe over the past two years?
“My announcement will affect no one but Olivia, and she deserves a good set-down,” Celeste added shortly as Miles kept step with her.
“You think not?” Miles asked mildly. “Then I suggest that you have been so absorbed in your own concerns that you have not been aware of what was going on about you.”
Celeste, used to indulgence and not caring to discuss the matter further, kept silent as the two strolled deeper into the garden. Coming to an inviting stone bench, they sat down. Miles appeared to have dismissed the topic of her betrothal announcement from his mind, and they sat together in mutual enjoyment of the rare warm Scottish evening. Ever the coquette, Celeste dared to smile invitingly at Miles. How handsome he was in his claret-coloured evening coat, she thought. Not as romantic as he looked in his kilt, but very fine, nonetheless. She felt a sudden desire to have Miles kiss her, and fluttered her long black eyelashes over her green eyes, knowing from experience the likely effect on a man.
“Minx!” he said, flicking Celeste’s cheek lightly with his fingertips. “But it will not serve to play your tricks upon me. Even I cannot be so much the cad as to kiss my cousin’s acknowledged fiancée.”
Celeste opened her eyes and her red lips pouted. “What made you think I wished you to kiss me? I desire no such thing. Your conceit makes you imagine things.”
“You know very well you wished me to kiss you.”
“I most certainly did not,” Celeste retorted petulantly, tossing her head.
Miles Huntsford’s indulgent amusement vanished. “Don’t act like a child, my dear. You are getting to be of an age where such behaviour is not becoming. You cannot have both Robert and myself. It is not the thing to play fast and loose with a person’s feelings, and that is what you are doing, and not only with us.”
Celeste flushed with anger and mortification at the dressing down she was receiving. She was not accustomed to being so openly reprimanded.
“It is not your place to object to my behaviour,” she said frostily.
Miles studied Celeste a moment and then stood up. “Tell me when you are ready to grow up, my dear. Until then, I bid you good-night.”
Miles turned and walked away, leaving Celeste alone in the darkening garden, near tears. She knew in her heart the reprimand had been deserved, but she could not bring herself to acknowledge that to Mr. Huntsford. For the same reason, she knew she would not tell Phoebe about the quarrel. How mortifying it would be to repeat Miles’s words to her older, more experienced friend. Well, she thought angrily, she did not want Miles Huntsford, anyway. She was betrothed to Lord Murray, who was older, richer and of higher rank. She sniffed, banishing her tears, and with the resilience of youth was soon composed enough to return to the castle and join the others in the drawing room.
* * * *
Determined to question Celeste about her betrothal announcement that evening, Phoebe prepared for bed and waited several minutes for Celeste to come in for their nightly coze. When after a half-hour had passed Celeste had still not come, Phoebe finally tapped on the connecting door and, without waiting for a reply, entered Celeste’s bedchamber. Celeste stood before her glass, experimenting with ways to fix her hair, evidently oblivious to the havoc she had created that evening.
“Whatever possessed you to make your betrothal to Lord Murray public?” Phoebe demanded without preamble, irritated by her friend’s apparent unconcern. “I know you want to make Olivia lose hope and leave, but that was not the manner in which to accomplish it! Your betrothal will be much more difficult for you to end now.”
“I
am
betrothed to Lord Murray, should you forget,” Celeste said truculently, turning to face Phoebe. Another scolding was too much, especially from the friend who had always supported and understood her, even when no one else did.
“But I thought you had realized you had made a mistake—that you were coming to care for Mr. Huntsford,” Phoebe said, surprised and bewildered by Celeste’s anger.
“Whyever would you think that?”
“Because you told me,” Phoebe replied, puzzled, for Celeste’s antagonism seemed out of proportion to the severity of Phoebe’s reprimand.
“Well, I found I was mistaken. I wish to remain betrothed to Lord Murray,” Celeste said shortly.
“But—”
“Why do you press me so,” Celeste interrupted, flinging herself into the chair at the foot of her bed and scowling sullenly at her friend.
Shocked by Celeste’s anger and hurt by the younger woman’s refusal to confide in her, Phoebe managed a stiff “I am sorry to have disturbed you,” and left the room, tears stinging her eyes.
* * * *
Long after the women had retired, Miles and Wilfred finally voiced their intention to do the same and Lord Murray thankfully made his way to his bedchamber. Whatever had possessed Miss Laurence to announce their betrothal to the Atwoods? He wondered, still feeling dazed by the abrupt turn of events. It must somehow be connected to the rivalry he had sensed between the young Miss Laurence and Miss Atwood, but what a foolish start!
Once in his chambers Lord Murray gave himself into the care of his valet, Dunbar, finding comfort in the normal routine. It would be best to get some rest and think about the consequences of his betrothed’s rash actions in the morning. But his desire was not granted, for Dunbar had just begun to remove Lord Murray’s coat when a footman delivered a message from his aunt requesting that he join her in her chamber at once. Dunbar smoothed the coat back over Lord Murray’s shoulders and he went to do his aunt’s bidding.
Lady Melville was ensconced in a dainty damask-covered chair before her small chamber fireplace. Dismissing her maid when Lord Murray entered, she motioned him to sit in the chair across from hers.
“I asked you to come to me here that we might speak privately,” she said. “Now, what led to Miss Laurence’s revelations at dinner? I had rather thought the two of you were coming to agree you should not suit.”
“I had thought we were, too, Aunt,” Lord Murray said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “But if Miss Laurence has changed her mind I shall be honour-bound to marry her.”
“Of course,” Lady Melville replied matter-of-factly, but her eyes conveyed her sympathy for her nephew’s predicament.
“Miss Laurence’s ill-considered announcement was not the only matter of which I wished to speak,” Lady Melville essayed after a few moments. “I have remarked that Dinsmore has been playing the pipes outside Miss Atwood’s chamber quite early every morning, and that Miss Atwood has been given a plate of oatmeal brose at every meal. Those things are according to her wishes, I trust?”
“Miss Atwood has often expressed her liking for oatmeal and pipe music,” Lord Murray answered carefully. He, too, had noticed the new routine and had made a good guess as to what the intended outcome was to be, but had chosen not to interfere. Frankly, he found it rather diverting to see Miss Atwood forced to back up her claims of loving all things Scottish. As long as the jest went no further, he did not think any harm would come of it. But he did wonder with whom the idea had originated. Dinsmore, perhaps? The proud piper would not have forgotten being addressed as a servant.
Her biggest concerns answered, Lady Melville addressed some minor problems that had arisen with the running of the castle, and Lord Murray returned to his chamber. So even his aunt knew Miss Laurence was not the right wife for him, he thought as Dunbar again removed his coat. It appeared everyone was aware of their unsuitability except the girl herself.