Chapter Thirteen
Alex spoke to Dr. Farquhar the next morning, a Tuesday. The doctor confirmed Lucy’s suspicion. Peter had a case of the mumps. As a precaution, he had the doctor check the other lads working on the property. No one else presented symptoms. A relief. Mumps could spread like wildfire throughout Balforss, bringing the running of the estate to a grinding halt.
Lucy allowed him to stand at the boy’s door and talk to him from a distance. He was relieved to find the boy’s health improved after only one night’s rest. Hercules served Peter well, keeping his spirits high and boredom at bay. The two became great friends immediately.
By Tuesday evening, the lad looked a comical sight, like a chipmunk with his neck swollen just below his cheeks on both sides. He also looked like a prince propped up in the bed with clean hair and face. Alex had mentioned to Lucy that Peter could neither read nor write and had only a limited grasp of basic mathematics. She took it upon herself to teach him his letters and reported Peter’s progress at supper. As Alex suspected, the clever boy proved to be a willing and able student.
On Wednesday afternoon, he found Peter in an enviable position, propped up in bed with Lucy seated next to him, her arm around him as she read.
“As you value your pence,
at the hole take your aim,
chuck all safely in,
and you’ll win the game.”
Peter glanced up at the doorway. “Mr. Alex.”
“I recognize that,” he said, and rattled off the rest of the children’s tale.
“Chuck-Farthing, like trade,
requires great care;
the more you observe,
the better you’ll fare.”
He smiled. “The Pretty Little Pocket Book. That was my favorite when I was a wee lad.”
“Miss Lucy is teaching me to read. I know my letters and I can count to one hundred. I can even write my name. Want to see?”
Lucy brought him the slate tablet upon which Peter had been practicing his writing. He smiled at the boy’s childish scrawl but recognized the achievement as significant. She’d spent only two days with him. He was like a sponge. The time Lucy spent teaching Peter had a positive effect on her, as well. She was continuing to blossom. It occurred to him, for the first time, that she would make an excellent mother.
“I’m proud of you, Peter,” he said.
Peter’s chest inflated. “I’m proud of me, too.”
Haddie appeared behind Alex in the hallway with a tray, and he moved aside to let her into the room.
“I’ve got your dinner, Peter. Mrs. Swenson’s made mince and tatties.”
“Wash your hands first,” Lucy said in a low voice. “And Haddie, will you please take Hercules out to do his business?”
Peter slid out of bed and dutifully scrubbed his hands in the washbasin. After Haddie had finished laying out the table, the boy pulled out a chair for Lucy, who in turn took a seat. He made a gentlemanly bow then proceeded to take his own seat.
She turned to Alex and explained, “We’re practicing our manners.”
Haddie exited with Hercules, her lips sucked in and pressed tightly together in an effort to keep from laughing.
Alex leaned against the door jam, arms folded across his chest. He’d seen Peter eat in the kitchen in the past, always hunched over his plate protectively, holding a spoon in a death grip, and shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could. Witnessing what followed was entertaining, but also disturbing.
Peter picked up a serviette, tucked it into the collar of his nightshirt, and delicately collected a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. The boy proceeded to eat—a slow, if not clumsy process—with occasional admonitions from Lucy.
“Take your time.”
Lucy demonstrated patience she’d never offered Alex before.
“Chew before you swallow.”
If he didn’t know better, he might be jealous of the attention she lavished on Peter.
“Elbows off the table.”
When Peter finished, he wiped his mouth on his serviette, placed it back on the tray, and said, “May I please be excused, Miss Lucy?”
After tucking Peter back into bed, Lucy turned toward the doorway and said, “Close your mouth, Alex.”
He jerked to attention and tipped his head toward the hallway. “Could I have a word, Lucy?”
“You forgot to say please,” Peter said.
Cheeky bastard correcting his manners. Christ, Lucy was creating a monster.
She leaned over Peter and whispered, “It’s not polite to correct adults, sweetheart,” and then kissed him on the forehead. “Sleep well.” She swept out of the room past Alex and down the hall.
He took one quick look at the smug child in the bed before he turned and stomped after her calling, “Lucy. I’ll have a word, if you please.”
The fact that he had to chase her all the way downstairs and into the library only added to his irritation. He found her searching for more books with which to educate the cur occupying the guest bedchamber. Lucy looked beautiful, as always, serene and self-assured.
Maddening.
“He’s not a pet, ye ken.” He used the voice of authority, a tone he’d often heard his father use when confronting his mother.
Lucy lifted an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“What you’re doing with the boy. It’ll be hard for him to go back to the stables after you’ve taught him to be a wee gentleman,” he said a little unkindly.
She lifted her chin to scan the bookshelves. “Maybe he doesn’t need to go back to the stables. Perhaps he would be of more use in the house as a footman, or an underbutler, or as your man.”
“My man?”
“Your valet. You know, to take care of your things and help you dress.”
“I am not a woman,” he said, his Highland accent becoming more pronounced with his rising anger. “I dinnae need help dressing myself. And we dinnae have butlers and footman at Balforss.”
Lucy tore herself away from the bookcase to look at him. “Why not? Is there a law against having footmen in the Highlands?” She gave him a sweet smile. It’s what she did when she said something sarcastic. He hated it.
“Look,” he said, trying to maintain his temper. “I dinnae mind you teaching him his letters, but I’ll ask you to stop teaching him to bow, and say please and thank you, and calling him sweetheart, and—”
“Alexander Sinclair. Are you jealous?” Lucy advanced on him with a predatory look.
He backed away a few steps and fetched up against the desk. “Dinnae be daft. Of course, I’m not jealous of…of…” Alex had never seen her look at him this way, half amused and half…what? Hungry? She leaned against him, and his traitorous body responded in opposition to his brain.
“Are you sure you’re not just a little jealous?” she whispered very close to his mouth.
He felt himself surrendering. “Well, you never call me sweetheart.”
“That’s because I have another name I call you.” She placed light kisses on his neck.
“What name is that?” His question came out as a groan.
“I can’t tell you until after we’re married.” Then, she kissed him full on the mouth.
He was struggling not to lose track of the conversation. Her bold behavior shocked him, but he liked it. A lot. She pushed herself away from him, laughing, then glanced down at the bulge in his trousers. Lucy was in no way disquieted. Quite the opposite. He saw a flush of pink creep up her chest. She was pleased with what she’d done to him, the minx.
“Come help me select another book for Peter.”
He was about to protest, but she put a finger to his lips.
“Dinnae fash, Alex,” she said, using the common Scottish phrase to tease him. Then, more seriously, “Peter gets impatient with the etiquette quickly. It’s just a game to him. He likes learning to read and write, but he’s eager to get back to the stables. He loves horses. That’s all he talks about, really. Horses and you, whom he admires above all other men. When he gets back to the stables, I’m sure he’ll chuck all his manners. But he’ll have them if ever he needs them.”
Speechless, he gave her an apologetic look. She returned a look of complete forgiveness. And he felt the last tumbler fall into place as his heart unlocked. He was in love with her. Completely, immutably in love with Lucy.
Should he tell her? Did he have the courage? Would she laugh? Perhaps if he whispered the words in her ear… He reached to pull her close, but the rumble of hooves and rattle of harness pulled his attention away from his purpose. He went to the window to see who had arrived. One look at the occupants of the carriage and he backed away immediately.
“Oh, Christ. Dig me a grave.”
…
Utterly baffled by Alex’s reaction to the carriage, Lucy asked, “Why? What’s the matter?”
“My mother’s kin come for the wedding.”
“But the wedding’s not until Sunday.”
Flora called from above stairs, “Alex! John! Cousin Diana is here with Sir Ranald. Alex, where are you?”
Looking like a cornered animal, he whispered, “Dinnae tell her where I am.” He folded himself into the wingback chair facing the fire so he couldn’t be seen. Just then, the door to the library opened and Alex’s father John slithered inside, holding a finger to his lips. He went straight to the wingback chair and, finding it occupied, said something in Gaelic that sounded like a curse word.
“Get out of my chair,” John said.
“I got here first,” Alex hissed.
“Well, it’s my chair.” John attempted to remove his son bodily from the seat. A scuffle ensued with much grunting and growling and, Lucy thought, some laughter.
“What is going on with you two loons?”
Lucy, John, and Alex whipped their heads around to see Flora, hands jammed on her slim hips.
“Fighting like a couple of weans when you should be out greeting our guests like proper hosts.” Her scolding evoked shamed faces from the men, whereas Lucy was bewildered by everyone’s behavior.
Seeing her confusion, Flora said, “My dear Cousin Diana and her husband Sir Ranald of Ulbster have arrived. I wonder if they’ve brought Liam and Elizabeth wi’ ’em. Come with me, Lucy. I cannae wait to introduce you.” Flora turned and glared at the men. “And you two, get out there and greet our guests. Now.”
Flora, John, Alex, and Lucy lined up outside the front door to Balforss while the driver helped the passengers disembark. A big woman, both in size and volume, was the first to emerge from the carriage. Lucy guessed the woman was Cousin Diana. She and Mother Flora embraced. At last, Diana released Flora and proceeded down the receiving line, giving John a bear hug he half-heartedly returned, and planting at least six kisses on Alex’s face, all the while talking to him like he was a baby.
Extricating himself from her grasp, Alex said, “Cousin Diana, this is my fiancée, Miss Lucy FitzHarris.”
Lucy bobbed a curtsy, and Diana let out a startling cry. “Ooo hoo hoo hoo hoo. There you are. Aren’t you lovely. Just lovely.” Diana called to her husband, who was making his way down the receiving line in a much more sober manner. “Ranald. Ranald. Isn’t she lovely?”
Lucy bobbed a curtsy Sir Ranald’s way.
Sir Ranald smiled genially. “How do you do, my dear? Yes, yes. Very lovely indeed. Congratulations, Alex. Well done.”
She found it curious that neither Diana nor Sir Ranald had the Scottish burr she had become used to. Were they English?
Diana was a statuesque woman of about fifty who had maintained her good looks. She wore a gown of lavender lawn cloth trimmed with brilliant fuchsia and yellow ribbon rosettes. A green bonnet with red ostrich plumes and long red kid gloves accented her gown. Her ensemble was blinding. Just like her personality.
Diana swept Lucy along with her on her way into the house, Sir Ranald trailing behind. In doing so, Lucy missed being introduced to…what had Flora said their names were?
“Perhaps you’d like to go directly to your room and rest after the journey?”
Ignoring her suggestion, Diana whipped off her bonnet and tossed it on a chair. “Thank God we got here in time for dinner. I’m absolutely ravenous.”
Diana’s voice echoed around the entry hall, making the picture frames rattle. Without waiting for further invitation, she walked into the dining room and plopped herself into what was normally John’s chair. Sir Ranald looked around the entry hall and then at Lucy. He smiled stupidly and nodded, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“Won’t you please follow me, Sir Ranald. I’ll see about the meal.” She led him into the dining room. Instead of sitting, Sir Ranald stood in a corner, admiring a small framed engraving of a ship. Diana emitted loud sighs, signaling her hunger and fatigue.
“Excuse me, Lady Diana, while I go talk to Cook.”
“Aren’t you a darling. Thank you.”
She hurried out of the dining room and down the back corridor. By the time she reached the kitchen, Mrs. Swenson was already loading trays and boiling water.
Mrs. Swenson waved her off. “Dinner’ll be ready in a trice.”
“Did someone tell you Sir Ranald and Lady Diana—”
“Dinnae have to. I heard her coming.” Mrs. Swenson gave a slight roll of her eyes.
Lucy smiled. “You’ve met her before, then.”
“Aye. She’s loud, but she’s harmless. Dinnae fash. She’ll no’ stay forever.” Mrs. Swenson filled a platter with cold sliced beef. “Sir Ranald, now, he’s a quiet man but very deep. Always thinking and planning what’s best to do for Scotland. You’ll like him.”
“Do you recall the names of their son and daughter?”
Mrs. Swenson suddenly stopped what she was doing. “They brought Liam and Elizabeth?”
“Yes. That’s it. Liam and Elizabeth.”
The cook brushed nonexistent crumbs from her apron as if her life depended on it.
“Is anything wrong, Mrs. Swenson?”
“Och, nae,” she said, snapping back to her bubbly self. “I’m sure everything will turn out fine.” Lucy sensed a strong note of uncertainty in the woman’s voice.
When she returned to the dining room, she found Flora sitting at Diana’s elbow, listening to her chatter. Diana stopped long enough to ask if she brought her anything to eat, and Lucy assured her food was on the way.
Laird John, Sir Ranald, and a well-groomed younger man, who must be Liam, stood in the corner, also chatting, but at a much lower volume. Lucy remained standing for some time before Liam noticed her and introduced himself.
“So you’re the one Alex will marry. I’m Liam Ulbster.” Liam made a courtly bow, and she matched him with a curtsy.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Ulbster.”
“You must call me Liam. We’ll be family now.” Taking her un-offered hand, he kissed it with wet lips. He dressed like a London dandy—fawn-colored pantaloons, Hessian boots, navy tailcoat with brass buttons, and an elaborately tied cravat with ruffles bursting from a silk waistcoat. At one time, she had found this mode of dress attractive. Now it seemed effeminate compared to her kilted Highland warrior. There was something Lucy did not like about the man, despite his stylish dress and manners.
“By the looks of you, no one had to twist Alex’s arm to marry you.” Liam let his eyes travel up and down her body. That, along with his comment, offended her.
“I assure you, Mr. Ulbster, no one had to twist anyone’s arm,” she said, her voice as brittle as autumn leaves.
Liam laughed, a nasty, unholy laugh.
“You sound English,” Lucy said. “But not like any Englishman I’ve ever met.”
“Elizabeth and I spent most of our lives in England. I was educated there. We only come to the Highlands once or twice a year for brief stays.”
At the mention of Elizabeth’s name, she glanced around the room. Alex and Elizabeth were not to be seen. If Elizabeth was anything like her mother or Liam, she ought to go rescue Alex.
She made to leave the room, but Flora called to her. “Oh, Lucy, do join us.”
“I’m just going to find Alex.”
Diana bellowed, “He’s with Elizabeth. Leave them be, dear, and talk to us.”
Against her better judgment, she joined Flora and Diana at the table. When Mrs. Swenson and two kitchen maids entered with the meal, the men took their seats. Unfortunately, Liam took the seat right next to hers and sidled up to her.
She half rose saying, “I should tell Alex and Elizabeth dinner is served.”
“They’ll be along.” Diana motioned for her to sit. Goodness, everyone seemed determine to leave Alex to his fate.
Liam buttered a scone vigorously and leaned toward her. “Worried about Alex and my stepsister, are you?”
“Of course not. Why should I be?”
“Surely he’s told you about him and Elizabeth?”
Lucy felt her cheeks flame.
“Oooh,” he said chuckling. “I do apologize. I’ve spoken out of turn. Well, I’ll leave it to him to tell you.”
She wanted to stab him with her fork. He wasn’t sorry at all. He relished telling her—and what the devil was the disagreeable fop implying?
“I’m sorry. Did I spoil your appetite?” Liam bit his scone.
At that instant, the men rose to their feet, and Alex entered the room with Elizabeth draped on his arm. They seemed alarmingly familiar with each other. Lucy felt a swell of jealousy. Elizabeth was stunning—blond, perfectly coifed, not a hair out of place. Merde. How did she do that? She’d just gotten out of a carriage, for goodness’ sake.
Elizabeth wore a pastel green gown with lace overlay, long sleeves, and low square neckline. She laughed at something Alex said, as though he was the most entertaining person in the world.
How dare she?
Lucy stood and prepared herself for introductions.
“Miss FitzHarris.” Elizabeth bobbed and gave her a cool smile.
“Miss Ulbster.” She bobbed and mirrored her exactly.
The exchange lowered the temperature in the room ten degrees. All conversation came to a halt, the room deadly quiet but for the rustling of Elizabeth’s skirts. Alex pulled out her chair with a screech that made Lucy’s teeth buzz inside her head.
John, bless him, engaged Elizabeth in conversation. Soon, the room began to hum again. Alex had the presence of mind to help Lucy back in her seat before taking the last chair available. Next to damn-her-eyes Elizabeth.
Throughout the meal, Elizabeth monopolized Alex. Diana and Flora were deeply engaged, as were John and Sir Ranald at the other end of the table. She wished Liam was a polite conversationalist but, truth be told, the man turned her stomach. When she couldn’t stand his innuendo any longer, she excused herself, explaining that it was time for her to check on Peter.
As she quit the room, Lucy heard Flora talking about the groom’s convalescence at Balforss. She ran up the stairs and down the hall to Peter’s room. Knocking, she heard Hercules bark.
“Come in, thank you,” Peter called.
She smiled. Peter was trying so hard to please her. “Did you sleep at all?” Lucy arranged her skirts and sat on the bed next to him.
“No, miss. I couldnae. There’s such a stramash down there. What’s going on?” A shrill cackle reverberated through the floorboards. “Are we being raided by pirates?”
Lucy had to stifle a laugh. That’s exactly what it sounded like.
“No. Mr. Alex’s cousins have arrived for the wedding. They’re having dinner in the dining room. Your room is just above, so, unfortunately, you can hear everything.” More wild laughter vibrated the floor.
“Maybe I should go back to the stables so I can get some rest?” He sounded hopeful. It had taken only twenty-four hours for the novelty of his room to wear off. Since then, Peter had been pestering her about when he could return to the horses. Lucy’s best efforts to keep him entertained had not been diversion enough. She felt for him. Two days in bed and he was bored silly.
“When your temperature goes down, and the swelling in your neck disappears, then you can return. But you don’t want to go back and give Robby the mumps, do you?”
Peter’s eyes slid sideways, as though he considered the prospect a good one. “Well, no,” he said with some reluctance. “I suppose not.”
“Try to sleep. I’ll be back after supper to read you a story.”
“Do you have any stories about pirates?” His eyes glittered with excitement.
“I’ll see what I can find in the library.” She scooped up Hercules and left Peter’s room.
More laughter from below echoed up from the staircase. She didn’t want to go back to the dining room. Instead, she went to her own room and closed the door. The fire was nearly out, so she added another brick of peat and poked up the flames. She hazarded a glance in the glass above the washbasin. Not too bad, she thought. Her hair was reasonably in place. Complexion clear and rosy. She smoothed her brows and bit her lips to plump them.
Lucy wasn’t wearing her best gown, but at least she hadn’t had on her grey serge and apron when they arrived. They would have mistaken her for a servant. She hadn’t brought many gowns with her; two morning gowns, and the navy wool for every day, the light blue gown she was wearing, the brown silk, the yellow silk, the beige cotton, and the white gown made of lawn cloth. She’d brought her hunting jacket and skirt, the outfit she’d had made two years ago with the hope that she might be asked to participate in a hunt. Alas, she had never gotten around to riding lessons and so had not had an opportunity to wear the ensemble. And, of course, she’d brought the gown she would wear for her wedding. Made of silk chiffon, it was the most beautiful cream color, like rich vanilla custard, with delicate gold roses Phillipa had embroidered on the bodice.
“Charmante!” Phillipa had said when Lucy tried on the gown. “Your husband will think he marries a princess. Oui?”
Lucy hoped Phillipa was right. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she wanted to please Alex. Until now, she had only been concerned with whether he could please her. A tiny thread of self-doubt crept into her consciousness. Would he come to love her the way that John loved Mother Flora? Would they have a happy marriage? Or was there someone else Alex preferred?
And what the devil did that insufferable man mean by, “Surely he’s told you about him and Elizabeth?” Liam’s salacious tone and waggling eyebrows seemed to imply there had been a romantic relationship between the two. She pulled Hercules onto her lap and let him kiss her face. He was, as always, a comfort to her.
The door to her room burst open, and Elizabeth stepped inside. Hercules barked his head off at her until Lucy managed to quiet him.
Elizabeth made a face. “What is that thing?”
“This is my dog, Hercules, given to me by my father.” She lifted her chin and added, “The Duke of Chatham.”
“You’re quite certain he’s your father?”
She nearly gasped at Elizabeth’s crass reference to her parentage, but she refused to take the horrible woman’s bait.
Elizabeth looked around. “They’ve put you in my room.”
“Your room?”
The woman let her eyes slide to the adjoining door and back to Lucy. Smiling, she said, “Yes. I usually stay in this room.”
The nastier side of Lucy surfaced and took possession of her faculties. “Yes.” She let her eyes slide to the adjoining door and back to Elizabeth. “I don’t doubt that you do.”
She had the extreme pleasure of seeing rage flare in Elizabeth’s eyes before the woman spun around and stomped away. The hollow sound of her heels echoed down the hallway. As quickly as satisfaction filled Lucy’s bosom, it evaporated. The heavy realization that Alex had been romantically involved with that awful woman practically crushed her.
She wondered if he had protested as long and hard as she had when his father announced that he had to abandon Elizabeth and marry a stranger. Most likely he had. Except he most assuredly had not carried on like a child the way Lucy had. He’d probably born the burden stoically and did his best to accept his lot. His lot, she thought bitterly. This morning she was to be his beloved wife. Now she was just his lot.
Lucy’s better nature felt pity for her betrothed. Poor Alex. He had tried to make the best of the situation. He had tried to make her feel like he wanted her. Like she had been his choice. He had pretended they had a reason to hope for happiness.
And just that quickly, Lucy’s pride reared its ugly head. She faced an impossible situation, a conundrum, a choice between two evils. To marry a man who, no matter how hard he tried, would always love another was something she could not endure. On the other hand, to walk away from the engagement, lose to that awful, spiteful, damn-her-eyes Elizabeth? Unthinkable.
She held the dog up to her face and vowed, “We will not lose, Hercules. Alex will choose me. I will make him fall in love with me. This is my room. Now and forever.”
…
Alex and his father managed to escape the house after the midday meal. His head ached from Diana’s nonstop blethering. The pitch and sheer volume of her voice threatened to make his ears bleed. He was certain the only reason Sir Ranald could live in the same house with the woman was because he was almost deaf. Then again, it was likely Diana’s talking had made him deaf.
Sir Ranald was a pleasant man. Interesting to listen to. Hard to talk to, though, as one had to shout into his left ear. A generous man, as well, charitable and kind. The best sort to be representing the concerns of Scotland in Parliament. How could Liam, a selfish, vain, and dishonorable man, be his son?
Even as a boy, Liam had been unlikeable. He’d lied, cheated at games, and teased smaller children mercilessly. He had enjoyed seeing Alex get in trouble and had always wanted to watch while John took a strap to his backside. He chafed at the attention Liam had given Lucy at dinner. It didn’t look as if she welcomed his company, but if Liam persisted, Alex would have to get physical with the bastard.
“Lord save us all,” his father said.
“Indeed,” Alex agreed.
The two headed for the falls. The mill was in full operation today, the huge water wheel churning steadily with the current. They made their way down the steep stone staircase set into the embankment a hundred and fifty years ago by Alex’s three times great grandfather, James Sinclair.
Alex regarded his father’s back, broad like his own, his carefully plaited queue swaying as he walked, comfortable in his favorite well-worn kilt. His dark hair showed only a few threads of silver, and his step was as light as a young man’s. John Sinclair’s long career as a soldier had kept him fit. He couldn’t imagine his father ever getting old.
At the bottom, they found their hiding place, an alcove carved out of the riverbank. Captain Sinclair was buried here, Alex’s great-great-grandfather. A giant granite slab covered his grave. John lifted a piece of slate and withdrew a tin flask from beneath. They sat, their backs against the rocky embankment and sighed. They didn’t talk at first. Just passed the flask back and forth in silence. Each golden sip of whisky loosened another muscle in Alex’s neck until, at last, he could breathe freely again.
He let his gaze travel a few yards down along the river bank where, only two days ago, he and Lucy had lain in a passionate embrace. He’d almost had her. Almost reached that heavenly place between… Jesus, he should have broken Liam’s Goddamn arm for daring to breathe on his woman.
“Did ya see that mingin’ bawbag, Liam, yaffin’ wi’ Lucy?” Alex said.
“You should be more concerned about Elizabeth.”
“Aye. She never paid me much mind when I was courting her. Now she’s saying how I’m so clever, so handsome, so fine. She spurned me not six months ago.” Alex shook his head. “I dinnae ken what she’s playing at.”
“It could be she’s had a change of heart.” His father’s cool voice had a calming effect on him. “Sometimes people cannae see the value of something until someone else wants it.” John took another sip of whisky. “It’s equally as likely the vain creature needs to have the attention of every man in the room to herself.”
Alex laughed. His father was so right about that.
“But, knowing the spiteful bitch as well as I do,” John said. “I’d bet money this has nothing to do with you. I ken she just wants to humiliate Lucy.”
He scoffed at his father’s speculation. “Och, Elizabeth cannae be that ugly inside.”
“Oh, aye? You never met her natural father, Diana’s first husband, Nathan Campbell. He was Captain of Dragoon’s. I have never seen a man enjoy flogging another as much as he did. His men hated him. Officially, he died in battle, but I suspect his men killed him. And I wouldnae blame them. Elizabeth takes after him, to be sure.”
“Why did you no’ tell me this when I was courting her?” Alex asked.
“You dinnae believe me now. Would you have believed me then?” His father cocked his head in the same direction as his eyebrow.
Whether his father was right about Elizabeth or not, her rejection no longer bothered him now that he had Lucy. He was glad to know, too, he had no more feelings of desire for the woman. In fact, he couldn’t recall what he’d found so beguiling about her in the first place.
He and his father were quiet for a while, enjoying the mesmerizing sound of the falls. Something occurred to Alex, and he asked, “How did you know Lucy would be right for me?”
“I ken her father well. He’s a just and honest man who knows the value of friendship,” John said. “He’s also intelligent, braw, and the most headstrong man I’ve ever met. I saw those qualities in Lucy when she was only nine years old. You met her yourself then. Do you no’ recall?”
“I remember bits of it. I remember the duke took out his sword and named me Lucy’s champion and protector.”
“Do you recall why the duke named you thus?”
“I ken it was because I fished Lucy’s wee ball out of the pond.”
“Nae, lad. That’s what got you the tawsing. That and bloodying her brother George’s nose.” John laughed at the memory. “Nae. Lucy begged her da not to let me punish you. Said you rescued her ball and defended her. Insisted you were brave and should be rewarded. That you were her protector.” John laughed loud and hard. “Oh God, Alex. I still remember you standing next to Lucy, righteous and dreekit. Ready to take your punishment. And you were so scairt when the duke took out his sword, I thought you’d piss yourself.” John wiped his eyes. “But then, after you swore to protect Lucy, well…I was right proud of you.”
“And Lucy? What did she do?”
“Och, she was bold as brass with her da. Standing by you. Demanding justice for you. After you made your oath to the duke, you tried to pledge your allegiance to Lucy like a gentleman. But she ran and hid her face in the duke’s coat. I ken she was embarrassed when the attention was on her.”
Alex could remember some of the pieces but had to fill in the holes, imagining Lucy as a lass. He did remember thinking she was lovely even then. Perhaps that’s why he’d wanted to show off for her by fighting with her brother and retrieving her ball from the pond. He also remembered wanting his father to give him a tawsing. Taking a beating for being gallant would only be further proof of his manhood.
“It’s four days until the wedding. Four days with the Ulbsters under foot. What should I do about Elizabeth?” Alex asked.
“Dinnae do anything about her. It’s Lucy who needs you. Stand by her. Serve and protect her like you promised the duke. If she kens you’re on her side, she’ll be impervious to Elizabeth’s wicked tongue.”
Later that night, Alex knocked lightly on Lucy’s door. It was time for supper. He wanted to escort her to the dining room. That way he could choose Lucy’s seat. Be a buffer between her and Liam.
“Lucy. It’s Alex. Are you ready to—”
“There you are, Alex, darling.” As if by magic, Elizabeth appeared at his side. “Come, take me down to supper.”
“Go on without me,” he said pleasantly. “I’m waiting for Lucy.”
“You wouldn’t let me go down without an escort, would you?” She used her poor little me voice.
“Perhaps your stepbrother Liam will be along soon, aye? I’ll be taking Lucy,” he said firmly.
“Oh, Alex, you are a slave to your duty.” Elizabeth waltzed away. When she was out of earshot, Alex knocked on the door again.
“Lucy, she’s gone. Will you come out?”
The door opened, and Lucy stepped into the candlelit hallway, looking more beautiful than ever with her plump pink lips, rosy cheeks, and large, wide-set eyes. Her hair had been swept up and twisted into a fetching knot with a few errant curls tickling her neck. Glowing pearl ear bobs dangled above alabaster shoulders aching to be kissed, and a string of tiny pearls encircled her long, slim neck. Her rich, chocolaty brown gown sported a daring neckline revealing the swell of her breasts. He remembered the salty taste of her skin and wanted to be alone with her. Damn. If he didn’t have a houseful of guests, he’d take her right now.
He snapped out of his trance and straightened. Although it bothered him that Liam would surely devour Lucy with his eyes, he admired her competitive streak. Alex placed his bet on his thoroughbred bride. She would make Elizabeth run for her money tonight.