Treasured (9 page)

Isobel spent the following day working in the attic, taking two of the servants with her this time. Kensington did not appear in the doorway—not, of course, that she expected
him to. Certainly she was not waiting for him. Late in the afternoon, one of the maids climbed the stairs to inform her that her cousins had come to call and were waiting downstairs in the drawing room.

Sighing inwardly, Isobel left the attic. No doubt Gregory and his father had heard the news of Mr. Kensington’s arrival. She had little desire to face Cousin Robert, but she could not leave her aunt alone to deal with him. She stopped first in her room to tidy her hair and clothes before she continued to the drawing room. Aunt Elizabeth was seated on the sofa with Cousin Gregory, laughing. Gregory’s father, Robert, sat in the chair across from them, looking unamused. Robert, of an age with Elizabeth and Isobel’s late father, was a short, wiry man whose posture and stern demeanor bespoke his past military career. He approached life solemnly and regarded his lighthearted son with disapproval. Today, however, the chief object of his scowl seemed to be Jack Kensington. Jack lounged beside the fireplace, his elbow propped on the mantel, and gazed coolly back at Robert, a faint smile on his face, which Isobel was sure maddened her cousin beyond measure.

“Cousin Robert,” she said with more pleasure than she felt. “How nice to see you. Please accept my apologies for the delay. I was in the attic.” She went forward to give him her hand in greeting, then turned to his son, smiling with more heartfelt delight. “Gregory! I did not know you were home from Edinburgh. I am so glad you are here.”

“I arrived in Kinclannoch last week.” Gregory, a tall, slender man with strawberry-blond hair and merry blue eyes, got up and stepped forward to take Isobel’s outstretched hands in his and kiss her on the cheek.

“And you are just now coming to see us? I trust Aunt Elizabeth gave you a proper scold for that.” Isobel linked her arm through his as she turned to her aunt.

“You know I did not.” Aunt Elizabeth waved away the suggestion. “I have never been able to be cross with Gregory. He would know I did not mean it, anyway.” She beamed at the young man.

“It was not from a lack of desire to visit, I assure you. Father has been keeping me busy since my return.”

“Then I suppose I must excuse you.” Turning politely to Jack, Isobel said, “I am sure Aunt Elizabeth introduced my cousins to you, Mr. Kensington?”

“Yes, indeed. We were discussing the Highland weather.” She saw the light of laughter in his eyes, and she was tempted to smile. She could well imagine the stilted conversation that had preceded her arrival in the drawing room.

“It is a never-ending source of conversation,” she replied.

“I am sure you would like to visit with your family, Miss Rose, so pray excuse me.” Kensington sketched a bow to her and bent over her aunt’s hand gallantly, which made Elizabeth dimple and blush. With a cool nod to the two men, he left the room.

Robert popped out of his seat as soon as Mr. Kensington walked out. “The nerve of that man!”

“Isobel, are you all right?” Gregory asked, ignoring his father.

“I am fine. Doubtless you have heard the news.”

“Of course.” Gregory smiled down at her. “You know how it is; the entire glen knew within hours.”

“You should have sent for me,” Robert told Isobel sternly. “I would have tossed the man out.”

“I don’t think there was any question of tossing him out. He owns Baillannan.”

“I cannot think why you dislike Mr. Kensington so, Cousin,” Elizabeth said, taking up her embroidery hoop. “He is a delightful young man. It is so rare for one of Andrew’s friends to come visit.”

“You would think so, of course.” Robert rolled his eyes at Elizabeth’s words. “And he is not one of Andrew’s friends. Honestly, Eliza, you might think once in a while.”

Seeing Isobel’s eyes light up pugnaciously at his father’s insult, Gregory took her arm, saying, “I am sure this is all a hum.”

“Of course it is,” Robert declared. “The man is clearly an adventurer. He is trying to swindle you. I will talk to a solicitor for you.”

“That is very kind of you, Cousin, but you need not trouble yourself,” Isobel said. “I have already written to Father’s solicitor about the matter. Anyway, I do not think Mr. Kensington is lying. I saw Andrew’s marker; it was clearly his hand.”

“You were mistaken,” Robert insisted. “It is bound to be a forgery.”

“I have known my brother for some years now,” Isobel replied, holding on to her temper with difficulty. Her father’s cousin never failed to raise her hackles. “I know Andrew’s handwriting.”

“Andrew would never—” Robert began, but his son interrupted him.

“No, Father. I fear it is exactly the sort of thing Andrew might do. You have not seen him when the gambling fever has him in its grip.” Gregory squeezed Isobel’s arm gently. “I am so sorry, Izzy.”

“One cannot crumble at the first wave of attack, Gregory.” Robert scowled at his son. “If it does turn out that Andrew lost the estate to him, I am quite certain that the fellow used sharp practices. The man is clearly a charlatan.”

“You could tell his nature just from being introduced to him?” Isobel shot back

“One has only to look at him. He is too polished, too smooth. I seriously doubt that is really his last name, either. It is exactly the sort of thing one would make up.”

“So he is a villain because he has excellent manners? Because he shares a last name with a royal palace? There
are
people named Kensington, I imagine.”

“That does not make him one of them,” Robert snorted. “Good gad, Isobel, are you defending the scoundrel? I have no doubt that he has cozened Elizabeth, but I thought you, at least, were too reasonable to fall under his spell.”

“I have not ‘fallen’ under anyone’s spell,” Isobel said tightly. “But I know nothing to make me believe he is anything but what he appears.” That was a bit of a bouncer, given that Jack had admitted to her that he was no gentleman but a man who made his living at the card tables. However, she was too irritated by her cousin’s overbearing attitude to care.

“I cannot imagine why you think he is not a gentleman, Robert,” Aunt Elizabeth spoke up. “Mr. Kensington is charming, and quite refined. Why, he recognized a piece I played yesterday as Mozart.”

“Lord save me.” Robert sent a quelling look at Elizabeth. “Just because a man makes an elegant leg or knows a bit of music does not make him respectable. Who is he? Where does he come from?”

“Why, London, Cousin, I told you,” Elizabeth said, puzzled.

“One doesn’t ‘come from’ London. Where did he grow up? What school did he attend? Who is his family?” When no one answered him, Robert went on triumphantly, “Hah! You see? You know nothing of importance about his background.”

“Well, no, I do not think he has mentioned any of those things.” Elizabeth turned to Isobel, her brow creased. “Has he, dear?”

“No. I did not interrogate the man.”

“You should not have to. If he weren’t smoky, he would have told you those things. It is what one does.”

Robert was right; she didn’t know anything about Mr. Kensington. She had nothing to prove he had not cheated Andrew out of the estate, only his word for it. She had believed him; she had seen the truth, she thought, in his eyes, heard it in his tone. But then, would not an accomplished liar be equally convincing?

Still, she
had
believed him, and she felt her instincts were good. There was an equal lack of proof that he had lied to her. Cousin Robert’s suspicions had even less basis than her own judgment. And in any case, she was not about to admit any doubts to Robert.

Apparently Robert needed no response from her, for he heaved a deep sigh and went on, “I don’t know what else one could expect from Andrew, though. He has always been a wastrel. I tried to talk some sense into him, but clearly my efforts were in vain.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I told you not to spoil the boy so. It’s no wonder he grew up wild.”

“Andrew’s mistakes are not Aunt Elizabeth’s fault,” Isobel protested.

“No, dear, perhaps he is right.” Tears sparkled in her aunt’s eyes. “I was lax with the boy; I felt sorry for him, his mother dying when he was born.”

“We all did,” Robert agreed. “John never paid enough attention to the boy.”

“John was grief stricken when Barbara died,” Elizabeth flared. It was just like her, Isobel thought fondly, to defend her brother from their cousin’s accusations, but not herself. “He loved his wife dearly; he was devastated.”

“Doesn’t excuse him from acting like a father.” Robert waved away her words. “One has to set an example, after all. When Gregory’s mother died, you did not see me falling apart. I had my command to think of. And Gregory, of course. Worse, John hired that woman to look after Andrew and even let her bring her own brood into the house. Raised them with his own children. It was disgraceful. No wonder the boy ran wild.”

“Janet was an excellent nurse.” Isobel set her jaw. “None of us were any the worse from being around Meg and Coll. Quite the opposite.”

“Of course you would say that. She was far too close to all of you. There was talk,” Robert said flatly. “The Baillannan’s children growing up with the servants—it was not right. Those too are far too familiar with you even now. John should have had more care. It gave rise to gossip. There are still those who whisper—” He broke off hastily.

“What?” Isobel’s eyes flashed. “That Coll and Meg are our half siblings? That is nonsense, and you know it. There was nothing between my father and Janet. It is the people who whisper about it who are wicked.”

“Of course it was nonsense; anyone can see Coll is the
image of that feckless Alan McGee. That is not the point. There was bound to be talk. Everyone knows what the Munro women are like. The way they always have been. Living out in the woods by themselves, making Lord only knows what kind of concoctions with their plants, refusing to marry. Taking up with whatever man they choose, with no regard to morality. It’s no wonder they were burned as witches two hundred years ago.”

“Father—” Gregory said warningly, wrapping his hand around Isobel’s arm, as if to hold her down.

“Yes, of course, you are right—it’s not a fit topic for ladies’ ears.”

Isobel simmered with anger. She was tempted to point out that after Gregory’s mother died, Robert, off with the army, had dropped his own son here at Baillannan, and Gregory had been raised by the same woman Robert so disdained. However, one look at her aunt’s distraught face kept her from saying it. Instead, she turned to Gregory. “Come. Let us talk about something more pleasant. Tell us about Edinburgh, Cousin. Did you enjoy your trip?”

“Indeed.” Gregory’s face lit up, and he began to talk about his visit. Unlike Isobel, he had never been content in Kinclannoch, and he traveled to Edinburgh whenever he could. His enthusiasm kept the conversation on a pleasant path until it came time for him and his father to leave. As they stood up to say their good-byes, Isobel remembered the things from the attic that she had set aside for her cousins.

“Before you go, Cousin Robert—as I was cleaning out the attic, I ran across a trunk and some items that seemed to belong to your father. There was a book with
Fergus Rose
written on the inside cover and a leather case with documents also bearing his name. I thought you might want to have them.” Robert looked at her blankly, and she explained, “I have to do something with the family items in the house. Elizabeth and I cannot take them with us, and Mr. Kensington will not wish to keep them.”

Robert’s expression hardened, but he said only, “Of course. Gregory, see to putting them in the carriage.”

“I’ll show you where they are,” Aunt Elizabeth offered quickly, clearly wanting to escape the room.

As they left, Robert turned back to Isobel. “I am not giving up. I intend to talk to a solicitor.”

“If you wish. But I fear you will find that we have lost Baillannan.”

“You will live with us, of course.”

“I am not sure. I must think of Aunt Elizabeth.”

“What is there to think about? Where else are you to go? You haven’t enough income to set up a household, just the two of you. And before long, Elizabeth will be too much for you to manage on your own.”

“What do you mean ‘manage’?” Isobel bristled.

“Her mind is failing her daily. You know that, even if you will not admit it. Look at what she said today about that Englishman. She has no understanding of what is happening.”

“She does.” At the older man’s skeptical look, Isobel admitted, “Yes, very well, sometimes she is unclear about it, but she understands that we will have to leave. She just took Gregory to get the trunks.”

“Because she wanted to get away from me,” he snorted.

“Don’t you see? That is precisely the problem—the two
of you do not get along. It would not make for a happy situation.”

“I am not talking about happiness. I am talking about family. You have to go somewhere, and soon. The man is a brute to toss you out, of course, but—”

“Mr. Kensington is not tossing me out. Indeed, he very kindly offered for us to stay as long as we needed. He is giving me an opportunity to decide what to do with everything.”

“Why do you keep defending the man? It’s not appropriate for you to stay here with a man, a young, unmarried woman such as yourself.”

“My aunt is here; surely that is ample chaperonage.”

“Elizabeth is hardly any sort of protection.”

“I don’t need protection, and even if I did, there are the servants. Mr. Kensington is not going to ravish me.” Isobel thought of the kiss in the attic, and she began to blush. She looked down, hoping her cousin had not noticed.

“Isobel, really! You must not say such things. I fail to understand why you seem so determined to stay here. You and Gregory have always enjoyed each other’s company. Indeed, there have been times when I have hoped . . .”

“Cousin Robert . . .” Isobel suppressed a sigh. “We discussed this before; it’s impossible.”

“So you think—and of course I would never urge you to do anything against your conscience—but Gregory is only your second cousin. It is not too close a blood tie.”