The House of Lyall (12 page)

Smiling at this comforting thought, Marianne advanced into the room, and held out her hand. ‘You must be Hamish's mother? I
was
expecting him to come to meet me at Laurencekirk – or at least one of the family – but it seems none of you has even a nodding acquaintance with mannerly behaviour.'

The last part came out before she realized what she was saying. She had no right to speak to a titled lady like that, and although she derived great satisfaction from seeing the woman's jaw drop as far as it would go, she whirled round in dismay at a sound behind her. The man in the doorway, however – quite short and unheathily thin, wearing old corduroy trousers and a battered tweed hat and jacket – wasn't scowling at her as she deserved, but was softly clapping his hands.

‘Good for you!' He grinned at her impishly. ‘Hamish said you had a lot of spunk. I am his father, in case you were wondering.'

‘I thought you must be,' Marianne smiled, still determined never to fall into the trap of apologizing. ‘I'm very pleased to meet you.' She turned again to his wife, and this time, after a slight hesitation, her hand was touched by the heavily ringed fingers. ‘I'm pleased to meet you, and all, Lady Glendarril,' she smiled, doing her best to put things right between them. She should have thought before saying what she had; she would be wise not to make an enemy of her future mother-in-law.

Lord Glendarril looked accusingly at his lady. ‘Hamish said he was going to collect Marianne. Where is he?'

‘I have had frightful indigestion since Sunday – I didn't tell you, Hector, in case it alarmed you – so I asked him to get some magnesia for me from the pharmacist in Montrose. He left early enough to be back in time to meet … the train.'

Her husband frowned. ‘You did not need to send him to Montrose, surely? Robert could have given you something?'

She glared at him defiantly. ‘I always get it from Montrose, but I have just remembered … the old man died some weeks ago, and I do not know if anyone has taken over from him yet.'

Marianne glanced at the man to see if he had been fooled by this blatant ploy to keep Hamish from going to the station, and was glad to see that his lips were compressed in a thin hard line.

When he caught her eye, he said, ‘Would you like me to show you round some of the gardens, my dear? Or are you too tired after your journey?'

‘No, it wasn't far and I'd love to see the gardens.'

He waited until they were clear of the house before he said, in a low voice, ‘I am afraid that Lady Glendarril is against Hamish taking you as his wife.'

‘I gathered that.'

‘Since our other son died, she has pinned all her hopes on Hamish, and even if he wanted to marry one of the royal princesses, his mother would not consider her good enough. In any case, I have always believed that this family needs a new strain in it to set healthier blood running through its veins, and when he told me how well you had stood up to a girl who was nasty to you, I knew you were the one for us.'

‘Well, I'm prepared to do my duty as his wife …' She decided to be brutally honest – there was something about this man that demanded it. ‘I suppose he told you that love was never mentioned between us, so you won't be surprised to know I'm marrying him for the money?'

His expression saddened. ‘I was afraid of that … but perhaps … in time you will …' He broke off. ‘We should go back. Hamish is probably here and will be wondering where you are.'

While they strolled along he said, ‘My wife is a woman who likes her own way, and I would advise you not to cross swords with her. For instance, however much you want the wedding to be to your liking, let her arrange it. She will derive great pleasure from letting it be known that she was responsible for everything. She has her mind set on making a great splash, the kind of show she was denied herself because her father, titled although he was, could not afford it. It
was a pity you got off to such a bad start with her, but I am sure she will come round to you. Ah, here is Hamish now, and I would be obliged if you kept our little talk a secret.'

The length – and strength – of Hamish's apologies for not meeting her did much to soothe Marianne's ruffled feelings. It wasn't his fault that his mother had manipulated him. What was more, she had most likely smothered him with love after his twin died, and she would be to blame for Hamish being the way he was now. That was something
she'd
have to remember, Marianne told herself, when her son came along … When she arrived she had been pleased that both Hamish and his father were casually dressed, remembering her previous dress mistakes, but when she entered the dining room at seven that evening and saw them in evening dress and Lady Glendarril in a beautifully embroidered gown, with her greying hair coiled up in a deep swathe, Marianne's heart sank.

The maid assigned to Marianne had asked about a dress but Marianne hadn't understood the situation and had shrugged off – foolishly, she now knew – suggestions that she change.

The woman pounced on her immediately. ‘Why have you not changed? Did Hamish not tell you that we always dress for dinner?'

Hamish jumped to his feet. ‘I'm sorry, Marianne, I didn't think.'

‘It wouldn't have mattered anyway,' she shrugged, struggling to keep her temper under control. ‘I don't have any dresses – just blouses and skirts.' And not many of them, she thought sadly.

He came over and took her hand, squeezing it comfortingly as he led her gently to her place. Unfortunately, his seat was at the opposite side of the table and during the meal, he scarcely had a chance to say a word to her, his mother skilfully manoeuvring the conversation to exclude the interloper. Trying not to show how hurt she was, the girl took the opportunity to study as much of the room as she could see without twisting round. Facing her was a fireplace so immense that you could roast an ox in it, she thought, then smiled as she realized that any roasting of oxen or other beasts would be done in the kitchen, not in the dining room. The andirons, the poker, tongs and long-handled shovel, looked to be made of silver but surely they couldn't be? Heat would melt silver, wouldn't it?

The two magnificent portraits on either side of the chimney breast must be Bruce-Lyall ancestors. The man, resplendent in a maroon velvet jacket with a cream cravat at the neck, had a look of the present Lord Glendarril – the same penetrating blue eyes and silver hair receding from his deep forehead; the same brownish eyebrows and bushy moustache, though the beard was much bushier – his father, or grandfather? The woman at the other side would be his mother, or grandmother. Her attire was more sombre, her black dress, moulded to her body, showing a bust of large proportions. Her long face was sharply featured and her hair was metallic grey, pulled severely back off her face. The one redeeming feature in what would otherwise be a mundane representation of a serious, plain woman, was the twinkle, the sparkle, the artist had caught in her grey eyes.

Hoping that no one had noticed her absorption with the portraits, Marianne stole a glance at Hamish, and was astonished to find him looking at her with the same sparkling twinkle in his eyes, more blue than grey. His mother seeking his attention again, he turned away at once, and Marianne was free to continue her appraisal of the room.

Above the mantelshelf was another portrait, a younger man posing in a bright red uniform, his blond hair partly covered by a shako with a red hackle at the side. He was so like Lord Glendarril that he must be his brother.

To her left, she saw a pair of smaller paintings on the wall at right angles to the fireplace wall, again of a man and woman she took to be husband and wife, dressed in what could only be Regency style, very elegant and ornate. Beside the door, she noticed for the first time a row of miniatures, oval in shape and with narrow gold frames. She came to the conclusion that the only way she would find out who was who would be to ask Hamish … if she could get him away from his mother long enough.

By the time dinner was over, the strain was beginning to tell on Marianne, and when Lady Glendarril remarked on how tired she looked, she gladly took up Hamish's suggestion that she go to bed. She did need a rest, and a good night's sleep would help her to withstand all the jibes the woman cared to make tomorrow.

Chapter Seven

Perhaps it was the euphoria of organizing on such a large scale in such a short time, or perhaps Lady Glendarril had been warned by her husband to be more friendly towards her future daughter-in-law, but whichever it was, Marianne was very thankful that the woman grew less antagonistic towards her as the days went past. The only friction, a slight contretemps, was the compiling of the guest list for the wedding.

‘Have you decided whom you wish to invite?' Clarice asked. ‘If you have, I would like a list of the names and addresses as soon as possible … not more than two hundred, if you can avoid it.'

Marianne burst out laughing. ‘I can give you my list right now, Lady Glendarril.' She stretched over for a piece of paper and a pencil, wrote for a minute or so and then handed it over.

Clarice scowled. ‘I do not appreciate your sense of humour.'

‘It wasn't meant to be funny. I just want to ask four people to my wedding, that's all, and surely there's nothing wrong in that?'

‘But have you no other relatives?'

The smile was wiped off Marianne's face. ‘No, and the Rennies are no relation either.' She hesitated, wondering if she should divulge her early life to this out-and-out snob, and came to the conclusion that the least said about it the better. She had given Andrew the four sovereigns and the silver and copper before she left Aberdeen and asked him to put them in his church collection, and that, as far as she was concerned, was the end of that! Her conscience was clear … though she still had to account for her non-relationship to the Rennies.

‘They're just three sisters who took me in when I arrived in Aberdeen, homeless and friendless after I ran away from my cruel stepmother. They gave me a job in their shop and a room in their house.'

Lady Glendarril gasped. ‘When Hamish told me about you, I asked my solicitor to make inquiries about them, to satisfy myself of your … and he said that their father had been a sea captain who had left them some money when he died. This was how they bought their shop – selling children's wear? – which, I understand, is quite successful. I had no idea … Hamish let me believe that they were your aunts –'

‘They're Andrew's aunts,' Marianne interrupted, ‘and maybe Hamish didn't realize –' She broke off, then murmured, ‘I'm sorry, but they're the only real friends I've ever had.'

‘But,' floundered the older woman, ‘you must know a few girls …?'

Marianne snorted. ‘Them that I met would be the last folk I'd invite.'

‘But there are already more than a hundred and fifty on my list.'

Hector stepped in now, his eyes resting pityingly on Marianne before he addressed his wife.

‘You must crop your list, Clarice. Why can you not settle for the quiet ceremony Hamish said he would prefer?'

Quite clearly averse to the idea of having to tone down her plans, but an aristocrat to her fingertips, she ignored his last question. ‘I presume you will want to invite the Mowatts, the Peats and the Winks?'

This annoyed him further. ‘We must ask the whole glen,' he scowled. ‘The workers would be deeply hurt if they were not allowed to see their future laird being married.'

‘Then I shall have to book Brechin Cathedral instead of St Giles's,' she declared, giving a resigned sigh, ‘and we shall have to provide transport for them. In the face of that, you must at least let me invite all my relatives.'

‘Just your sisters and their husbands,' he stipulated. ‘That makes four for you and four for Marianne, and I suppose to be fair we should invite four of Hamish's friends too.'

‘I did ask him, but he said there was no one in particular that he wanted to ask.'

Marianne was disappointed at the turn events had taken. She didn't want to be married in a small place like Brechin, even though it
was
in a cathedral. She wanted to be the main attraction at a big society wedding in St Giles, the most prestigious place of worship in Scotland's capital city. On the other hand, though, now she came to think of it, she might make more of an impact as a big fish in a small pond.

When Hamish came home that evening from a trip to Aberdeen, he was pleased to be told of the change in wedding plans. ‘That suits me,' he grinned. ‘I was not at all keen on us being the focus of all eyes in Edinburgh, were you, Marianne?'

‘Not really.' She had actually been looking forward to seeing the bystanders' mouths drop open in reverence at her beauty, to having them whisper to each other that she was the next Lady Glendarril … but surely it would still happen like that, if on a smaller scale. After all, she could make a proper splash when she accompanied her husband and his parents to London for the Queen's Jubilee on 22 June. Lady Glendarril had promised to help her choose some dresses for that occasion, too, and it was to be only two weeks after her own big day. She was bound to meet hordes of the nobility there.

Excitement pulsed throughout the castle as the young Master's wedding drew nearer. The servants were avidly looking forward to the trip to Brechin in the laird's crested carriages and being guests in the cathedral along with the nobs. By early June, Lady Glendarril had taken Marianne to Edinburgh several times to select and fit a gown for the bride, and an outfit for herself, and although Marianne had been given no choice in hers, she didn't care. The creation her future mother-in-law had plumped for was absolutely perfect. Its foundation was a plain ivory silk shift, and at the final fitting, when her waist was confined in a high corset which pushed up her bosom, Marianne was delighted with her new figure. The frothy Chantilly lace overdress had dozens of minuscule seed pearls sewn on, and the matching train trailed yards behind her as she paraded around the small salon in the Royal Mile, which, according to Lady Glendarril, was patronized by all the royal princesses when they were at Holyrood.