Lucy Muir (9 page)

As soon as Lord Murray spoke the words he wished he had not. How could he have Miss Hartwell staying in the castle as well as Miss Laurence, given his feelings for the former? He had no business inviting the woman he most desired to share his castle with the woman he planned to make his wife. However, it was too late to retract his suggestion, and Mr. Laurence heartily approved the plan.

“Yes, that would be acceptable. Miss Hartwell has a good head upon her shoulders, and I would not worry about Celeste if she were in her charge. If Miss Hartwell will agree to accompany Celeste, I shall give my permission.” He laughed. “Here we are making plans and you do not know if Celeste is even of a mind to accept your suit. It is up to her, of course. I shall not attempt to persuade her to anything against her will.”

Mr. Laurence rang the bell and instructed a footman to summon Celeste.

In a few moments, Celeste, clad in a simple white gown in the classical style, arrived at the study door. She gave Lord Murray a quick look and addressed her father.

“You sent for me, Papa?”

“Lord Murray has something he wishes to say to you,” Mr. Laurence explained, as he rose from his desk. “You may speak to him in private. Your mama and I shall join you shortly,” he said, leaving the two together.

Now that the moment was upon him, Lord Murray felt strangely uncomfortable. Celeste waited patiently for him to speak, her eyes downcast, hands clasped demurely before her, obviously aware of what was to come. He forced himself to speak, knowing that once he did he would be irrevocably committed.

“Miss Laurence, in the days I have been in London I have seen much to admire in you. I think my purpose in coming to London is not unknown—and I have sometimes thought you were not indifferent to me. I should like you to travel to my castle in Scotland this summer, and if you find it congenial, I should like you to stay.”

Miss Laurence looked up at him with an air of mingled excitement and triumph.

“Do I understand correctly you are making me an offer, Lord Murray?” she asked, an impish expression on her piquant face.

“Yes,” Lord Murray said, amused at his inept proposal of marriage.

“Then I thank you, Lord Murray, and I should like very much to accompany you to Scotland this summer.’’

Her words reminded Lord Murray of the one condition Mr. Laurence had placed upon his consent.

“Your father agrees to these plans only if your friend Miss Hartwell will be able to accompany you, since your mother is not well enough for such a long journey.”

Lord Murray was surprised to see that these words seemed to evince more excitement than his actual offer.

“Oh, that will be of all things wonderful, Lord Murray!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I am certain Phoebe will agree to go.”

Lord Murray looked at Miss Laurence uncertainly. He supposed he should kiss her; that was what one did when one made an offer. However, he felt surprisingly little desire to do so, despite her undeniable beauty and youthful charm. He took her hand, noting absently that it was an exceptionally soft and well-formed one, and brought it to his lips. Miss Laurence seemed to find this a satisfactory seal to their betrothal, and when they were joined soon after by Mr. and Mrs. Laurence, the couple wisely refrained from commenting on the decorous behaviour of the newly engaged pair.

* * * *

Phoebe was preparing to retire that evening when Celeste burst into her bedchamber.

“You will never think what has happened, Phoebe!” her friend exclaimed. “Lord Murray has offered for me.”

“What?” Phoebe cried, turning to face Celeste with a cold sinking feeling in her stomach. Lord Murray had offered for Celeste? Somehow she had not expected him to do so. She knew he enjoyed Celeste’s company, but she had thought he looked upon her more as an impish younger sister than a possible bride.

“Yes, he has truly offered,” Celeste confirmed excitedly. “He is with Papa now, working out the details of the settlements.”

She stood before Phoebe and took her hands in her own. “We have won!” she exclaimed, squeezing her friend’s hands tightly. “But it is to be unofficial for now, which is a pity, for I cannot tell Olivia. Never mind, she will be jealous as Juno when she hears I am gone to stay at Castle Abermaise this summer. For that is what I am to do—Lord Murray wishes me to find if Scotland is congenial to me before anything is announced. As if it could be otherwise! And best of all, you are to accompany me!”

Phoebe pulled abruptly away from Celeste, busying herself with lighting another candle so that she could regain control over her emotions. Celeste to marry Lord Murray. She could barely fathom that such a thing could happen or that she was not simply having a bad dream from which she would awaken. But for her to accompany Celeste to Lord Murray’s castle and be forced to observe his courting of her? No! She could not possibly. Not when she was in love with Lord Murray. For the first time she now admitted to herself the depth of her feelings for Lord Murray, and the pain of knowing she was to lose him was more than she could bear. Never having any cause to envy her friend before, Phoebe knew she would now give anything to exchange places with her.

“I do not think I could possibly accompany you, Celeste,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and not betray the turbulent emotions she was experiencing. “My sister—not to mention the expense—’

“But you
must,”
Celeste interrupted, recapturing Phoebe’s hands and looking at her pleadingly, not understanding why her friend was not as excited as she. “I cannot possibly go alone. Besides, this is what we dreamed of, what we planned for, going to the Highlands together. You will find a Scottish lord there, too, and we shall live next to each other happily ever after,” she proclaimed, using the favourite line of nurses to end the stories they told their charges. “As for the expense, Papa will stand it. He told me he insisted.”

Phoebe found she could not ignore her friend’s plea, however she wished she might. Celeste had been her closest friend for nearly fifteen years. She was truly like her own sister. It was not Celeste’s fault Phoebe had been so foolish as to give her heart where it was not returned. How could she be so selfish as to sacrifice Celeste’s happiness to her disappointment that she had not been Lord Murray’s choice?

“If Mama and Papa give their consent, I shall go,” Phoebe agreed at last, ruthlessly quashing her misgivings.

Chapter Six

Phoebe and Celeste stood side by side contemplating the view before them while the coachman, groom and postilions waited with the carriage.

“It is precisely like the scenery described in
Lady of the Lake,”
Celeste said breathlessly as she looked over the Perthshire countryside spread beneath them.

“ ‘So wondrous wild, the whole might seem

The scenery of a fairy dream,’ ”

Phoebe quoted. For once, she thought, she was not amused by Celeste’s romantical outpourings, but in full agreement with them. The Highlands of Scotland were fully as rugged, majestic and sublimely beautiful as the pictures Mr. Scott had so vividly painted in his poem. Purple mountains rose precipitously in the distance, flanked by gentle hills covered with oak and beech. A large lake filled the floor of the valley below, its placid surface shining brightly in the afternoon sun, flanked by meadows and fields dotted with farmhouses. At the far end of the lake Phoebe could see a large stone castle.

“That must be Castle Abermaise,” Phoebe said, pointing.

Celeste looked in the direction Phoebe indicated, and at the sight of the impressive edifice, felt the doubts that had occasionally assailed her during the long journey vanish.

For several minutes the two friends gazed wordlessly. Then a strong breeze ruffled the lake’s surface and blew their skirts about, bringing Phoebe back to the present.

“We had best continue, Celeste, or Lord Murray will think we have had an accident,” she said, walking back to the carriage. With a final sigh, Celeste followed her, and they joined their maids in the carriage for the last stage of their journey.

Lord Murray had travelled by horseback with them for most of their trip to Scotland, arranging the accommodations at inns and seeing to their comfort. That morning, however, he had ridden ahead to see that all was satisfactorily prepared for their reception at the castle.

Phoebe awaited the end of their travels with some trepidation. She had not yet decided whether she had made the right decision to accompany Celeste to Perthshire. She had tried to overcome her feelings for Lord Murray, and had hoped that during the long journey he might reveal some less admirable qualities that would make her task easier. But his thoughtfulness and care for their comfort had only increased her admiration. Moreover, his demeanor towards Celeste had made it somewhat easier for her to forget his betrothal, for he had treated her not like a lover but like a sister. Celeste, who had seemed to view the journey as an adventure, apparently saw nothing amiss in Lord Murray’s behaviour towards her. To be sure, Phoebe did not really know how Celeste truly felt where Lord Murray was concerned. She had done her best to avoid the subject, fearing she might inadvertently give away her own feelings.

The castle they had seen in the distance grew slowly larger, and Celeste’s eyes began to sparkle in anticipation.

“Oh, Phoebe, I never did really think my dream of going to the Highlands would come true,” she confessed, “but it has. Did you ever imagine things could be so wonderful?”

Phoebe smiled and pretended to be absorbed in the view outside, but her heart was beginning to beat strongly with emotion. Within minutes she would enter the castle she had dared to dream she might be mistress of—but as a guest instead.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Lord Murray strode forward to personally assist Phoebe and Celeste down.

“Welcome to Castle Abermaise, Miss Hartwell, Miss Laurence,” he said formally, with unmistakable pride in his voice.

For a moment Phoebe was awed, and she stood gazing at the castle in wonder. She and Celeste had never been out of London before, and while Buckingham Palace and Carlton House were very fine, somehow neither had the impact this great old stone castle had in its lonely and forbidding splendour next to the great lake. Grey stone turrets rose forbiddingly into the sky, and the face of the castle presented an impassive front broken only by the few narrow arched windows.

Her reverie was interrupted by Celeste, who pulled her impatiently by the arm. Phoebe saw Lord Murray was waiting to usher them into the castle, and she followed after her friend. Phoebe’s first impression of the castle interior was one of spaciousness. There was an immensely high ceiling, and she soon realised that the huge room they had entered occupied the entire floor, or very nearly so. Faint light entered through the deep-set narrow windows, which had seats built beneath them into the thick walls. A few plain chairs were scattered about the stone-paved floor, two large fireplaces were on opposite walls, and she noticed a winding stairway at the far end of the room. At the head of the hall a great chair and some benches were fixed to the wall, a table of boards on trestles before them. Celeste, standing still beside Phoebe, was unusually quiet, and Phoebe sensed she was dismayed at the starkness of the great hall.

Before she could take in all the details, Phoebe’s attention was diverted by two people advancing towards them—a plump comfortable-looking woman with thick grey hair partially covered by a kerchief, and a tall forbidding-looking man with thinning hair. Without waiting to be presented, the woman launched into speech.

“Sic bonnie lassies! But whaur’s your havins? They’ll be sair forjeskit and drouthy, I’ve na doot.”

Celeste looked at Phoebe in bewilderment, unable to understand the woman’s broad Lowland Scots dialect. The tall man saw Celeste’s confusion and came to her aid.

“How could you expect the lassie to understand such blather?” he asked the woman, and then turned to Celeste. “Mrs. Baird asks where our manners are, for you must be tired and thirsty,” he translated for Celeste in perfectly understandable English, albeit with a different lilting cadence.

Celeste’s face cleared “Yes, something to drink would be delightful.”

After a disdainful look at Celeste’s translator, the matronly woman bustled away, and the man led them to the board table. They had no sooner seated themselves than the woman returned, bearing tea and two plates of what appeared to be a kind of porridge.

“If you are wondering what the porridge is, it is called oatmeal brose,” Lord Murray told his guests. “You will find we Scots eat many dishes made from oats.” He noticed Celeste’s enquiring look at the woman.

“Mrs. Baird is my housekeeper, and this is Balneaves, my butler,” Lord Murray explained, indicating the tall man, who was placing a cup of a strong-smelling drink before his master. “In the Highlands it is customary to take care of the immediate needs of one’s guests before introductions.”

A practical idea, Phoebe thought, as she tried the porridge, which tasted surprisingly good. As she ate, Phoebe glanced about the room, seeing things she had missed on first inspection. She noticed there were various other people in the hall and was puzzled by some piles of what appeared to be brush along one wall. A sweet pungent odour seemed to permeate the room.

When Phoebe and Celeste had finished their tea and brose, Lord Murray made the suggestion that perhaps they would like to retire to their chamber after such a fatiguing journey. Both women assured him that they were not over-tired and did not need to rest just yet, so Lord Murray introduced them to the other occupants of the room. Phoebe was amazed to learn that they all seemed to be relatives, for Lord Murray referred to them as cousins. There were several Murrays, a Spalding and two Dunbars. The cousins were all men—large, roughly dressed and with odd-looking footwear. But their expressions were friendly and hospitable despite their rather fierce appearance.

One in particular stood out to Phoebe, the only one clad in full Highland dress. He was a short man, or perhaps he only seemed to be short in the room of giants, Phoebe thought. He had hair as red as her own, a wild-looking beard and piercing hazel eyes. He was presented as Dinsmore, the piper. Phoebe instinctively curtsied to the proud-looking man, her action earning her a look of approval from Lord Murray.