Chapter Three

 

Caithness, Scotland

 

Lord Ogilvie strode back and forth across the floor of his bedchamber. He had sent his servants scurrying away with threats to dismiss anyone whose face appeared before him until he wished it.

A pile of bills sat on his dresser that he’d no means of paying. His trip to London failed on all counts. He’d lost heavily at the betting tables while his pursuit of a wealthy wife came to naught. He was tired as death. And that irked him the most! He’d kept the debtors at bay with a number of promises, but now time and their patience had run out. If not debtor’s prison, he would still lose his home. He’d be destitute. Unbelievable to think that this should happen to him, the Sixth Earl of Douglass. In truth, it had been a downhill slide for several generations. Scots were reputed to be a parsimonious lot, but not his family, self-indulgent spenders, the lot of them.

Not his fault there was too many blood feuds in his sad history. Could he help his ancestry?

The fire crackled, and a log fell onto the grate sending out sparks. Where was that servant? Oh. He’d sent him away. Scottish weather could be hell when it chose. Sleet struck the window panes and the fierce wind howled around the castle walls, creeping into all the cracks to blow down stone stairways and along corridors, chilling everything it touched. All the servants were hacking and sniffing, not that he cared, but it made it difficult to keep staff here. Particularly now that he couldn’t pay them. Only the desperate with nowhere else to go remained, he caught their surly glances when they thought his back was turned. It occurred to him that one of them might murder him in his bed and steal the few things left of any value.

He poured a whiskey and took several large gulps. The liquid burning its way down his cold body. He cradled the glass in his hands. Tomorrow, if the harsh weather eased, he would go out in the carriage. But where? Friends fell away along with his dwindling finances. And the people in the village now spurned him.

Several whiskeys later, Ogilvie’s mind turned to Blair Dunleavy. It was his fault. Dunleavy had spoiled his chances of marrying the heiress. Elizabeth might be here with him now. A plain wench and rather stupid, but he was prepared to accept that, she was a flesh and blood woman to warm his bed and fill his coffers. His forays into the London fleshpots would continue after his marriage, funded by her inheritance.

His hatred for Blair suddenly swelled to block his throat. He made up his mind. When the weather improved, he would return to London to another high-stakes card game. His luck was surely due to turn.

 

* * *

London

“Gina, is that you?

Gina laid her purchases down on the table. “Of course, it’s me. Who were you expecting, Queen Victoria?”

Milo hurried from the next room, holding a fat wad of notes in his hand. “Look! I’ve sold the painting, Aphrodite. I told you that one would be successful.”

She took a deep breath. “How much?

“After commission, three hundred pounds.”

“La mia bontà!” Gina put her hands to her cheeks. She’d never even dreamed of so much money. “That cannot be right.”

Milo sniffed and wiped away a tear. “The painting broke a record for my work at auction.”

Gina rushed to hug him, feeling his bones through his skin. When he started a new painting, he often forgot to eat. “We’ll eat meat tonight.”

“And vino.” Laughing, he took her hands and danced with her around the room. “The best that money can buy.”

“Not too much wine, Milo. We’ve debts to pay…” Gina began. Milo drank like he painted. He didn’t know when to stop.

“You don’t understand, girl. I’ve three good paintings of you, and I’ll do more. They will fetch a very good price now. You’re my lucky charm. We’ll never have to worry about money again.”

She laughed with him. Might it be true Milo’s talent was to be recognized at last? “How wonderful.”

He peeled off several notes and thrust them at her. “Go and buy yourself a pretty dress.” He studied her. “And a new coat. A young woman should wear pretty clothes.”

She took the money, curling her fingers around it with excitement. “We need to pay the bills,” she said, thinking of the beautiful hat she’d seen in a shop window. But what use did she have for a blue velvet hat, adorned with tulle and soft, white feathers?

Milo patted her arm. “At last I can do what I promised your mother. I can take better care of you, Gina.”

She kissed his bristly cheek. “Oh Milo, you’ve always been there for me.”

His expression sobered. “No. That’s not entirely true, but it’s about to change.” He gestured at the patch of damp on the wall. “The first thing I’ll do is look for a better place for us to live.”

“That would be most welcome,” she said to his retreating back. He returned to his easel, and she saw that he’d already forgotten about moving to a better place. She would have to keep reminding him. Gina followed him into the studio. “Where do you think we might live?

“Arthur Cowper has done well for himself. He’s bought a studio-house in Holland Park. Says it’s the best thing he’s done.”

“Holland Park? How wonderful to live in a park,” she said wistfully.

“Then we shall, just as soon as I’ve sold enough paintings. Change into your costume, girl. Let’s not waste time.”

Gina ran to her room as a vision of Holland Park formed in her mind, green hills with many trees, and roses. Yellow roses.