Chapter 9
9
A few days later, seated at the head of the table in the Newhailes dining hall, Martin buttered his toast while glancing pointedly at his mother. “It is time for you to begin half-mourning.”
Mama paused, holding her porridge spoon in midair. “Has it been six months already?”
“Yes, it has,” said Grace, flanked by her two sisters across from their mother. “Which means I can wear any color I wish.”
“Me as well?” asked Modesty.
After finishing her bite of porridge, Mama rested her spoon at the side of her plate. “By custom, Grace is correct, however, as head of the family, the decision is Martin’s.”
He held up his arm revealing the absence of his mourning band. Though there were no hard and fast rules, it was proper for children to mourn their parents for six months and, after three, Martin had allowed his sisters to dress in half-mourning. Of course, as the widow, his mother was expected to mourn for an entire year. “I do believe it is time for the girls to be done with half-mourning. It has been spring for five days even though the weather isna cooperating. Nonetheless, I ken Papa would have preferred to see his daughters clad in happier colors.” He covered his mother’s hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “And I do hope I will see you in lavender from time to time, since it is allowed.”
While Mama gave a solemn nod, Grace squirmed in her seat and clapped her hands as if it were Christmas morn. “If only I were out, I’d be able to attend balls.”
“But you are not out,” Martin said, matter-of-factly. “And you will not be out for years to come.”
The lass gave an enormous eye-roll. Of the three sisters, Grace had perfected the irritating gesture. “Humph.”
Mama raised her glass of apple juice. “Lord save us all when she does come of age.”
“Excuse me?” Grace objected, her mouth forming a delicate O. “How can you say such a thing? I am more proficient on the pianoforte than Charity, more graceful than she, and every bit as bonny.”
A fiery blush spread across Charity’s face as she cast her gaze to her hands. “Thank you for pointing out my flaws, sister. I’m surprised you didn’t claim being bonnier , I’ve overheard you report as much to Georgette.”
“Enough.” Mama held up a disciplinary finger. “All three of my daughters are unique beauties with unique talents, and I’ll not have you pitting yourselves against each other. MacGalloways always stand together.” She leveled her gaze at Grace, who was in the midst of those awful early teens. “And, Miss Snooty Petticoats, you will do well to remember a boastful young lady is the most unseemly of them all.”
Sitting very straight, Modesty moved to the edge of her chair and tilted up her nose. “A young lady shall embody wholesomeness, neatness, and cheerfulness.”
Charity’s shoulders shook as she stifled a giggle before clearing her throat. “She shall be humble, unpretentious, kind, mannerly, and affable.”
“Are you saying I don’t embody those things?” Grace demanded, now the one growing red in the face.
“Not at all.” Charity picked up her knife and gouged the butter. “I’m simply repeating what we hear every morn from Miss Hay.”
Before the conversation grew further out of hand, Martin intervened, “Ladies, if you will allow me to continue, I must inform you that I have decided we shall be returning to London for the remainder of the Season.”
“London?” asked Mama looking a bit dazed while Modesty took the news as if it were merely a report on the weather and bit into her toast. Grace clapped with a brilliant smile, and Charity turned a tad green, her knife clattering to the floor which was immediately replaced by a footman.
Martin dabbed the corners of his mouth with his serviette and tossed it onto the table. “Aye. My vote is needed in Parliament and I’ve a number of business dealings to which I must attend.” He scooted his chair back. “We will leave in a fortnight.”
To the chatter of four females speaking at once, Martin made his escape. But no sooner had he taken his seat in the library when Giles appeared, carrying a silver tray in his palm. Evidently, the butler had made a quick exit from the dining hall as well. “The Morning Gazette, Your Grace.”
“Verra good.” Martin grabbed the paper and sank into his chair.
Giles rocked back on his heels. “I will inform Mrs. Lamont of the morning’s announcement. Rest assured all will be ready for the family’s departure for London.”
Martin took note of the headlines before looking up. “I can always count on you.”
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you will be needing this morn?”
“I think I’ve just piled enough on your shoulders for the time being.”
The butler chuckled. “Indeed, sir.”
Martin managed to skim the front page before the rear door opened.
“Would you have a moment, Your Grace?” asked Mr. Smallwood.
“Ah, I suppose you’ve already heard the news. It always amazes me how efficient the rumor mill is among the servants.”
“I’m afraid I have been shut in my rooms this morning.” The little man pattered across the floor. “How are you feeling, may I ask?”
“Fine. Never better.”
“Are you certain? You did suffer an exceptionally nasty blow to the head.”
“I’m sitting up reading the paper, am I not?”
“You are sir, but?—”
“Smallwood, you’re acting like a mother hen. I am fine. Fully recovered.”
“My word, are you out of mourning, sir?”
“You never miss a detail, do you?” Martin folded the Gazette and set is aside. “What is it you wanted to discuss?”
“I should like to take a journey up to Stack Castle. With the fortress being your greatest holding, it is past time I took inventory there as well as meet with the crofters and audit the ledgers at the distillery in Wick.”
“No, no, that willna do.”
“No, sir?”
“Perhaps you ought to have a word with Giles about your inclusion in the rumor mill.” Martin crossed his legs. He needed the steward in Town and would entertain no argument otherwise. “We’ll be leaving for London in a fortnight. You’ll have to rearrange your inventory schedule and focus on the town house first. Besides, once we’re in the city we will start looking into the viability of your cotton idea.”
“Oh.” Jules stood, appearing a bit dazed. “I see.”
Since returning from the Lodge, Martin’s ire had cooled, having been given time to develop an understanding of the steward’s lack of worldliness. After consideration, he had decided to take on the responsibility to educate Smallwood in the more manly pursuits—activities Jules obviously missed upon the demise of his da. “I say, ’tis past time someone took you under their wing. You have been sheltered with your nose in your ledgers for far too long.”
“I happen to like my work, sir.”
“Which is fortuitous…for the most part.” Martin flicked his hand toward the rear door. “That will be all.”
Though her valise was already packed and stowed on one of the five carriages heading for London, Julia took one last turn about her rooms, mentally ticking off the items on her list. After Dunscaby completely upended her plans and insisted she accompany the family to London, one of the first things she’d done was to send money to Willaby and let him know her new address, as well as to express her concern for Papa’s health. Still, the butler hadn’t written in a month and she had grown a tad concerned.
She’d also sent another payment to Mr. Skinner, Papa’s insidious moneylender, and was very careful not to include a return address of any sort. Ever since Julia had started working for Dunscaby, she’d been fastidious about making the agreed upon installments at a ludicrous rate of one fifth. Papa must have well and truly been out of his mind to accept four times the fixed bank rate of five percent. But then Skinner was a snake who preyed upon men who were desperate.
After spotting her tooth powder pushed back on the washstand shelf, she put it into her satchel and headed for the courtyard. For amusement inside the carriage, she was taking along three novels and, for rest periods, her journal, ink, and quill.
Outside, all five carriages were queued in single file in front of the house. The family and servants who were traveling were all standing below the entry steps. Martin faced them all. “I’ll ride with Mama in the first carriage, the girls in number two and, Giles, see to it the other three have equal numbers to disburse the weight evenly. Let us climb aboard, everyone. I’d like to depart at once.”
Julia headed toward the butler when Lady Modesty latched onto her arm. “There you are, Mr. Smallwood,” chirped the lass, her red pigtails bobbing as she hopped in place.
“Are you excited for the journey?” Julia asked.
The child skipped toward the carriage, tugging Julia with her. “Always. It is ever so fun to throw open my trunks and realize I’ve outgrown half my wardrobe.”
“Truly?”
“Aye. It means a trip to the modiste when we arrive in Town and all new dresses.”
Julia gave the mischief-maker a wink. “Now that you’re out of half-mourning, what colors do you fancy?”
Modesty stopped skipping, grasped both of Julia’s hands and all but dragged her toward the second carriage. “Mama says rose pink goes quite well with my complexion, though I quite like spring green and azure.”
“You’ll look like a leprechaun in green,” said Grace.
Charity took Tearlach’s hand and, before allowing the footman to hand her into the carriage, she regarded the middle sister over her shoulder. “You’ve seen many leprechauns have you?”
“I’ve seen enough renderings of them to know that red hair, freckles, and green would make Modesty appear positively impish and pixie-like.”
“I think green would suit her nicely,” said Julia, twisting her arm away from the youngest’s grip. “As would azure, which would match your eyes.”
“You’re very opinionated for a man, are you not?” asked Grace, reaching for the footman’s hand and following her sister into the carriage.
“He’s merely observant,” said Modesty, clamping onto Julia’s fingers, obviously not planning to release her grip until they reached the coach steps. “I want you to ride with us.”
With a circular motion, Julia managed to wrench her hand away. “Oh no, I’d best ride with Giles in the next carriage.”
Charity popped her head out the doorway. “We’d love to have you, Mr. Smallwood. Being shut in such a small space all day with these two young ladies is enough to drive a sensible woman mad. I’m certain your presence will be a welcome diversion.”
“Well, I say riding with you is unbearably dull,” said Grace from inside.
Modesty circled around to Julia’s back and shoved. “’Tis settled, then. You’re riding with us.”
As she reached for Tearlach’s hand, the aghast expression on the footman’s face reminded her that a steward did not need assistance boarding a coach and she quickly snapped her fingers away. “Very well,” she said, planting her foot on the step and placing her palm on the side of the carriage for balance. “I’ll join you until we make our first stop.”
Julia settled beside Modesty facing backward, as was the typical conundrum for the last in. Thank heavens Charity sat directly across. Nothing against Grace, but she was fourteen and as with many adolescent young ladies, the girl was a tad surly and filled with self-importance. Julia remembered being fourteen. It was akin to being on a ship in unpredictable seas—one moment inexplicably happy and the next weepy or angry or withdrawn—all behaviors she’d seen the lass exhibit in the time she’d been at Newhailes.
With the crack of a whip, the carriage creaked and swayed into motion.
“Here we go!” said Modesty, clapping her hands and wriggling in her seat.
Julia couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s enthusiasm. “Off on a great adventure.”
Charity sighed and pressed her head against the backrest. “If only we were going anywhere but London.”
“We cannot arrive fast enough if you ask me.” Grace fluffed a pillow. “I intend to sleep for as much of this dreary journey as possible.”
Upon that announcement, Julia could have joined the youngest in her clapping and wriggling. Rather, she eyed Charity with genuine concern for the eldest MacGalloway girl. “What is it about Town that you find off-putting?”
Tugging up her gloves, Charity groaned. “Aside from everything?”
Modesty kicked out her feet, barely missing Grace’s knee. “I like that we can walk to the shops and to Hyde Park. There’s always something to do. And the weather’s warmer there than in Musselburgh.”
Julia patted the child’s shoulder. “Those are all very good points, but I would like to hear your sister’s take on the matter.”
“The air is rather stifling with every chimney belching black smoke,” Charity said, though that alone could not be her reason for her abhorrence of the most bustling city in Britain.
“I daresay, every town of any size I’ve ever been to has that problem.” Julia leaned forward. “Tell me more. Are you not out? And the sister of a duke, no less. Do you not enjoy balls and soirees, the theater, recitals, and?—”
“All the shopping,” Modesty added.
“Och.” Charity pulled aside the curtain and cast her gaze outside. “I may be the sister of a duke, but I’m a Scottish lass. Whenever I walk into a ballroom all eyes shift my way, heads move together, and I’m certain the gossips are chattering about how awkward I appear and how unsuitable I am especially because of my unseemly burr.”
“Nonsense. I happen to think your little accent is delightful.” Julia found herself wanting to snap open a fan and cool her face. Instead, she crossed her arms. “I may be from the southwest of England but I have attended a London ball or two and I’d be more disposed to believe the gossips titter about how lovely you look, how they wish they were you, and that they think you’ll be the first to receive a proposal.”
As steward, Julia was also well aware that all three young ladies had sizeable dowries. The only thing they needed to worry about in the marriage mart were fortune hunters.
“That is very kind of you to say, but I find the Season and all that comes with it, especially parading young maids in front of eligible bachelors, mortifying. ’Tis like being trussed like a swan for a grand dinner only to find the meat is tough and bitter.”
“Quite a vivid analogy, though I daresay if I were to see a lady such as yourself at a ball, I would be the first in line to sign your dance card.”
A blush spread up Grace’s cheeks. “You are too kind, sir.”
“Even though you’re an awful dancer?” asked Modesty.
“Oh, please.” Julia laughed—if they only knew how much she truly adored dancing. “I am improving.”
“Thanks to Miss Hay,” said Grace, opening an eye.
“Speaking of your governess, why is she not riding in your carriage?” asked Julia.
Grace fluffed her pillow and nestled against it. “No, thank you. We endure enough of her as it is. Miss Hay watches our every move, corrects our every word. If she were riding with us, I’d be completely mad by the time we reached London.”
“I daresay she can be a tad overwhelming,” Charity agreed.
“She also likes to flirt with Tommy,” Modesty added, definitely in need of some coaching in her namesake.
Julia looked to the eldest. “The footman?”
Charity nodded. “We haven’t any real proof.”
Grace opened an eye. “When we stop, I’ll wager she’ll be riding in the same coach as Tommy.”
“But the footmen don’t even ride inside the carriage,” said Julia.
“Aye, though they do help the ladies embark and disembark,” said Charity. She held out a gloved hand as if offering it to a gentleman for a kiss. “Oh, the lasting tingle of a lover’s mere touch. I, for one, would ride in a carriage if I fancied the footman tending the door.”
“You’d better hope a footman never takes your fancy, else there’ll be a reckoning with Mama,” said Grace, tossing the pillow aside. Either the conversation was too diverting or the lass wasn’t yet sleepy enough to ignore the chatter.
Charity heaved a sigh while she pulled her embroidery out of her basket. It seemed the lass had been doing a great deal of sighing of late. Though Julia was well aware some of the darlings of the ton could be catty and vicious, in her experience there were far more young ladies who were affable. The eldest of the MacGalloway sisters had a bit of a Scottish lilt but her accent was endearing. And the girl was quite fetching with loads of rich, dark cinnamon hair. Her face was oval with a slender nose, eyes the color of a stormy sea, and a petite mouth complemented her delicate chin. In truth, she had absolutely nothing to fret about. Unless…
“Did you have an unpleasant experience when you came out?” Julia asked, genuinely perplexed.
The poor girl turned scarlet. “I’ll say.”
“Would I be prying if?—”
“Aaaaack!” Grace squealed in an explosion of cloaks, skirts, and petticoats.
Julia shot to the edge of her seat. “Whatever is the matter?”
“A-a-a-a mouse!” she shrieked.
Modesty and Charity squealed incomprehensibly while the youngest drew her feet up onto the seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. If Julia would have blinked, she would have missed the tiny brown rodent dart across the floor and beneath Charity’s skirts, the tip of its tail not quite concealed.
Julia looked her in the eyes. “Do not move.”
“Me…where is it?” the lass squeaked.
“Not even a twitch,” Julia warned, slowing bending downward to the whimpers of all three MacGalloway girls. “Nearly there.”
Sucking in an enormous breath, she pounced, grabbing the vermin’s tail and holding it up. “I have him!”
The poor little fellow thrashed, thrusting out its tiny little paws, frantic to escape while all three girls screamed as if they were being attacked by a crazed headsman. “Stop the carriage,” Julia shouted, stomping her feet to notify the driver.
As the words left her lips, Tearlach threw open the door, his face twisted in a frightening scowl as if he were ready to fight Julia to the death to defend the girls’ honor.
Recoiling away from the footman, Julia held up the mouse. “It seems a stowaway has the ladies in a bit of a dither.”
“Och, ye’ve had a wee bit of excitement have you?” asked the footman standing back and gesturing to a clump of gorse just off the road. He then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “’Tis merely a mouse.”
Though she surely could have used a hand to step down, Julia managed to alight from the carriage without dropping the rodent. As soon as her boots hit the road, applause came from the drivers and footmen in the procession.
Dunscaby marched toward them. “Good God, Smallwood. When I heard the bloodcurdling screams, I feared the worst.”
“No harm done, Your Grace. Aside from a few frayed nerves.” Including Julia’s. She hastened to the clump of gorse and let the mouse go. As she straightened, she kept her back turned while a shudder coursed through her entire body. Truly, she didn’t mind mice when they were out and about in the countryside, it was just they were ever so out of place in a carriage, or in one’s home for that matter.
Thank goodness, she hadn’t joined the ranks of the ladies and screamed bloody murder, no matter how much she’d wanted to.
Brushing off her hands, she gathered her wits and faced the duke with her soberest expression. “It always amazes me how such a tiny creature can invoke terror in the hearts of women.”
“I daresay you are the hero of the hour. I’ve no idea what the lassies would have done if they’d been attacked by the little fellow had you not been present.”
“Aye, thank you,” said Charity, smiling from the doorway, adoration filling her eyes. “We are in your debt, sir.”
Julia bowed. “It certainly made for an exciting start to our journey, my lady.”
“Very good, Smallwood.” Dunscaby clapped Julia on the back so hard, she lurched forward. He seemed not to notice as he continued, “Everyone back to your carriages. We will not be stopping until we reach Middleton and that willna be for a few hours yet.”