The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 10

10

“ M ama already has my days filled with dress fittings and luncheons. She, or should I say you , have received invitations to all manner of recitals, balls, and soirees. Heaven’s stars, it is enough to make anyone’s head swim.” Sitting on the settee across from Martin, Charity flicked open her fan and cooled her face though in truth a bit of a chill hung in the air of the town house’s library. “Did you know our mother sent letters ahead as soon as you announced we would be returning to London?”

Martin opened his gold pocket watch and checked the time. “Why should that surprise me? After all, it is her duty as your mother to see you well-placed.”

“Aye, but once we returned to Scotland, I was sure I’d have another year before I had to face the vultures again. Goodness, Marty, why did you have to go and decide to return so soon?”

With nowhere else to be at the moment, he slid the watch back into his pocket and gave it a pat. It was no secret that Charity preferred a quiet country setting to that of the city, but Newhailes or any of his other residences was no place for her to find a husband. She needed to be in London whether she liked Town or not. “First of all, I hate to shatter your illusions, but there were reasons for my return that had nothing to do with your marriage prospects.”

“Such as?”

“Your brothers. Gibb may have been on the winning side in his past few sea battles, but make no bones about it, I would prefer to see him out of the navy and at the helm as captain of his own merchant ship. Then there are the twins who will be graduating from St. Andrews at the end of this term. Smallwood and I have a business venture to investigate, and the hub of commerce in Britain is in this very city. Not to mention, my vote is needed in the House of Lords.”

The journey from Newhailes to London had been long and arduous just as always. Aside from the incident with the mouse on the first day, they’d managed to make the trip without anyone falling ill or breaking a bone, though they’d nearly left Charity and Grace’s lady’s maid, Georgette, behind when she’d overslept. No one had bothered to wake her even though the lass was sharing a room in the inn with three other servants.

Upon their arrival yesterday, Martin had left Mama to her unpacking and had taken a long ride through Hyde Park for some much-needed time to himself. But as soon as he’d left the breakfast table this morning, Charity followed him into the town house’s library—merely one third the size of the grand library at Newhailes, but it was where the Duke of Dunscaby conducted his affairs when in residence.

The lass pushed to her feet and paced while swinging her fan in a circle. “Och, I ken ye are trying to do your best for the lads. I only wish I could have stayed at Newhailes—or gone up to Stack Castle with Mr. Smallwood. Your steward mentioned that he is planning to visit the castle soon.” She stopped and regarded Martin over her shoulder. “Perhaps I ought to marry Mr. Smallwood. He’s affable enough.”

Martin leaned his head against the high-backed chair and cast his gaze to the ornate plaster relief on the ceiling above. At one of her first balls, Charity had been devastated when she’d overheard a gaggle of girls gossiping about her in the ladies withdrawing room. “Now that is a laughable notion if I’ve ever heard one. Your time of mourning aside, you’ve been out for all of what, a month? Two? I’ll tell you here and now, you are not marrying my steward.”

The corners of Chairity’s lips tightened as she glanced to the window. “Why not? Why would I not be happy with a man like Jules Smallwood? Besides, I’d be able to live out my days at any one of the MacGalloway estates.”

“I beg your pardon, but you are the eldest daughter of a duke, born and bred to marry into nobility or royalty. I’ll not have you hiding because you overheard some jealous chit make an unseemly comment about Scottish lassies being provincial. You are not settling for a steward, no matter how affable he may be.”

“But I like the little fellow. He seems to understand me. And when he rescued us from the mouse he was adorably heroic.”

“Enough.” Martin moved to his writing table and rifled through the stack of invitations until he found the one he wanted. Shaking it open, he scanned the scrawling print, noting the date. “The Marquess of Northampton is to host a private masquerade ball in a fortnight. I will escort you there myself. And, sister, I dunna want to hear another word about marrying my bloody steward.”

Charity smacked the fan into her palm. “You’re so unimaginative. Have you forgotten Mr. Smallwood is the son of a knight?”

Martin shook the invitation under her nose. “Not another word. I task you with finding appropriate masquerade costumes for the both of us forthwith.”

A knock came at the door and the little steward popped in his head. “Oh, do excuse me, Your Grace.”

Charity beamed and batted her damned eyelashes. “Good morn, Mr. Smallwood.”

Stepping into the library, the fellow bowed. “It is a very good morning indeed, Lady Charity.”

Martin glared at his sister. “You may go but pay heed to what I said.” He waited for Charity to slip out and close the door before he leveled his gaze on Smallwood. “What the blazes did you do to the lass?”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Stay away from her. She’s young and impressionable and…”

“Of course she is, sir. In my observation, Lady Charity is ever so concerned about how she appraises in polite society. She feels the other young ladies hold her in low esteem because of her Scottish lilt. But let me tell you here and now, she is like a pure white rose among the brambles. And I find her accent nothing short of delightful.”

Martin clenched his fist and pounded on his writing table. “Well, you can take your opinions and keep them to yourself.”

Smallwood opened his mouth while a crease formed between his eyebrows. “Forgive me, sir. I-I most definitely did not intend to pry.”

“Evidently you made quite an impression on the lass whilst you were catching mice in the carriage.”

“It was only one very measly, underfed mouse, might I say.”

“Aye, well, Charity thinks you would be a fine suitor. You of all people.”

“Oh dear.” Smallwood rubbed a hand along the jaw of his smooth-skinned face. “Though I hold Lady Charity in the highest esteem, I’m afraid we are not well suited.”

Releasing a long breath, Martin sank into his chair. “Exactly what I tried to tell her.”

Smallwood blubbered with a flabbergasted snort. “She’s destined to marry into nobility for certain, not a doddering steward.”

Though relieved to hear it, Martin was taken aback to hear the man refer to himself as doddering since he was neither old nor shaky. “Aye,” he said, deciding an agreement was in order. “’Tis good to hear you do understand, though I am the first to admit you are of sound character, I would prefer it if you did not encourage her…ah…affections.”

“Of course I will not. You can count on me where the lass is concerned.”

“Verra well.” Though relieved on one count, Martin gripped his chair’s armrests while a flame spread like wildfire through his chest. “Tell me, exactly what is it you do not like about my sister?”

Smallwood’s expression grew utterly bamboozled, turning apple red while his eyes grew as round as guineas. “N-nothing. Lady Charity ought to be the darling of the ton . In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a dozen proposals within the next fortnight.”

Martin sat back and rubbed the sudden throbbing pain attacking his temples. “Yes…Lord save us.”

“Do you not wish for Her Ladyship to entertain proposals?”

“Of course I do. But we are talking about my sister. The wee lass I carried into the house when she scraped her knee. I taught her how to swim and climb trees.” Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers firmly, willing the headache away. “I’m not so certain I’m ready to see her wed. And I most definitely will not agree to any marriage unless it is to a man with an impeccable reputation. By God, no rake will place a hand on her, else I’ll be forced to shoot a hole through his miserable heart.”

“I’m sure with you at Lady Charity’s side, all the rakes and fortune hunters in Town wouldn’t dare request an introduction.”

“Quite.”

Smallwood pulled a slip of paper from inside his waistcoat. “After we received verification that the Irish sharecroppers are anxious to be our supplier in America, I made a few discrete enquiries and found Barry and Coates Shipbuilders have offices at the Pool of London and they’ve listed a number of seaworthy vessels for sale—half the price of building new.”

Martin snatched the list and scanned the contents. “Why so steeply discounted? Are the vessels full of rot?”

“We’d definitely need complete inspections before seriously considering any purchase.”

“I wonder when Gibb will next be in port.” Martin pushed the list across the table and sat back. “I’ll have a word with the admiral. If I’m going to buy my brother a ship, I want it to be one in which he wholeheartedly approves—be it new or be it a refitted, nearly new vessel.”

“Hear, hear, sir.” Smallwood turned the paper over. “On the reverse side, I’ve noted twenty acres on the River Tay near Kinclaven in Scotland. It is presently the site of an empty warehouse and might be an ideal location upon which to situate a cotton mill, what with being on the river that flows into the Firth of Tay and whatnot. I could make arrangements to travel to the property and conduct an inspection.”

Martin leaned forward and noted the price. “On the Tay, did you say?” He not only liked the idea of being on a river to make use of the power of water wheels, he also preferred to have his brothers in Scotland and, with twenty acres, he could not only turn the warehouse into a factory, he could build matching manor homes for each of the twins.

“Yes,” said Smallwood. “It is partially cleared, has road access, and wherries can ferry supplies from Dundee and Perth.”

“Then buy it before someone else takes the parcel out from under us. I’ll write to the twins and have them take a weekend jaunt to visit the site—that will whet their appetites for certain. And mind you, twenty acres on the Tay is a sound investment, regardless.”

“Very well, I’ll advise Mr. MacCutcheon that we wish to move forward.”

After completing the transaction to purchase the land in Kinclaven, Julia returned to the town house by way of the mews. Now that she’d been in London the better part of a week, she was quickly growing accustomed to the freedom her disguise afforded. Though Newhailes was only an hour’s carriage ride from Edinburgh, it was considered a country estate and, aside from her hunting expedition to the Highlands and her jaunt to the cobbler for new boots, she’d rarely left the grounds. However, in London, shopping and businesses were within walking distance, making it far easier for her to conduct business transactions and the like. And as was customary, she had a carriage and driver at her disposal whenever necessary.

Though her rooms were more spacious in Newhailes, she had a very cozy chamber in what was one of the largest town houses in the city. Located between the family’s main residence and the mews, the steward’s apartment was long and narrow with a door leading to the courtyard and another into a corridor on the first floor, directly above the kitchens. She had a writing table situated in front of a substantial hearth with bookshelves on either side. Across the chamber were her sleeping quarters, separated by a silk screen, painted with a lovely pastoral scene.

Another boon was the library was on the second floor which made her less accessible to Dunscaby. After her arrival, they’d quickly developed a pattern of discussing matters after the duke breakfasted, then Julia was usually on her own for the rest of the day which was exactly how she envisioned the role of steward to be.

As she opened the door to her chamber, two footmen came into the courtyard toting a trunk. “This arrived for you, sir,” said Tearlach.

“For me?” she asked, holding the door while the men brought it in. “Who is it from?”

“It came via the post. Doesn’t appear to have a return address.” said Tommy, setting the crate down just inside.

“Thank you.” Julia moved to shut the door, but the footmen hadn’t brought the trunk in far enough. She tugged one end, but it jammed on the carpet. “Heavens, it is heavy.”

After releasing the buckles on either side, she unfastened the hasp and opened the lid. On one side were neatly folded shirts and neckcloths, but as soon as she spotted her copper bed warmer with a J engraved on the top, she knew the package was from Willaby. She found the wooden handle and screwed it into the warmer, then held it up. “I could have used this in Scotland.”

Beneath it was the enormous, scratched, and dented brass inkwell and quill holder that adorned the steward’s desk at Huntly Manor. “Why did you bother to send this old relic?” she asked with grunt as she hefted it out of the trunk and set it atop her writing table.

Aha! The ugly inkwell had concealed a letter from Willaby. “Oh dear,” she said with a bit of dread in her tone, her skin growing clammy as she pulled it out and slid her finger beneath the wax seal. Her father’s butler had addressed the letter to Mr. Smallwood, wording it in a way that was more businesslike than familial, bless his heart. He knew how precarious her situation was and, if anyone aside from Julia happened upon the letter, no one would realize she was related to the earl, let alone his only child who happened to be female. But as she read, not only did she break out in a cold sweat, her hands shook.

“ Mr. Skinner has sent several letters demanding an additional payment of twenty pounds sterling to make up for the two months of interest not paid. He has also threatened to force His Lordship into bankruptcy and evict him from Huntly Manor, though I do have it on good authority that Mr. Skinner would have a very difficult time indeed if he attempted to take a peer of the realm to debtor’s court. He has made it clear, however, that he will not allow the earl’s exalted position to stand in his way… ”

“Blast,” Julia cursed under her breath. In addition to the ten pounds per month she was sending Skinner for interest, she had added an additional pound, which was supposed to count against the twenty pounds in default until she paid it off. For the love of Moses, after she paid the moneylender and sent funds home, she had but one pound fifty pence to herself. Fortunately, aside from buying new boots, she’d saved most of it. But she certainly did not have twenty pounds.

She read on…

“I hate to ask this of you but I see no other option but to request that you visit Mr. Skinner on the earl’s behalf and settle this dispute. Mrs. May and I have agreed to forgo our wages if we must. In four months, that ought cover the sum he’s demanding.

“Aside from the business with the moneylender, the earl is a tad jaundiced of late. Unfortunately, the physician has agreed that there has been a decline in his health. I do wish I had better news to report.

“You will find all you need for a visit with Mr. Skinner in the compartment of this trunk…”

Julia looked through the shirts Willaby had sent. They were not only threadbare, they were men’s. She pulled them out and examined the bottom of the trunk, finding an iron key, yet she saw no keyhole. Odd, even though the butler had added the awful inkpot and holder, it was heavy for the few items it had contained.

Unless…

Smoothing her fingers around the edge of the wooden base, she searched for a ribbon, or bit of leather and found nothing. She stood back and eyed the trunk, tapping the key against her chin. Willaby knew she could not approach Silas Skinner as Jules Smallwood. Not only was there the risk that the vile snake might recognize her, she must not let the man ever know she was in the employ of the Duke of Dunscaby.

She pulled the straps to the buckles all the way off. Lo and behold, beneath the strap on the right was a keyhole two thirds of the way down. Julia quickly slipped the key into the lock and turned. With a resounding click, a secret compartment popped open, along with the white lace of her favorite chemise.

“What have you there?” asked a childlike voice which must belong to none other than Lady Modesty MacGalloway.

Julia slammed the compartment shut. “Ah, my lady…I received a parcel from my last place of employment—my old bedwarmer and inkwell.”

The child examined the shirts still sitting on the floor. “These are as good as rags.”

“I suppose they are, though it was very kind of Willaby, the old butler to send them to me.”

“Ah, Mr. Smallwood,” said Charity, following Modesty through the doorway, her gaze immediately falling to the bit of lace poking out from the hidden compartment. “My, that is a large trunk—far larger than the valise with which you traveled to London.”

“Indeed, it is, my lady.” Julia tugged on the handle, again jamming the blasted thing on the carpet. Though the trunk was lighter, it was still awkward to move.

Charity grasped the other side. “Let us lift it together, shall we?”

“Thank you.” Indeed, it was far easier to move the beastly thing with two people. “Against the wall, if you please.”

“We’re off to the bookshop,” said Modesty, holding the door.

“That sounds diverting.” Julia gave a bow, careful not to look Lady Charity in the eye and unintentionally giving her the wrong impression. “Do enjoy yourselves.”

After the two MacGalloway sisters took their leave, Julia locked both doors, then opened the secret compartment. Indeed, everything she’d need was there; petticoats, gloves, slippers, a blue gown and a yellow (worn but functional), a set of stays, reticule, hats to go with each dress, and a woolen pelisse for warmth.

Julia regarded her things before quickly replacing them exactly as she’d found them. She locked the trunk and refastened the buckles. In no way could anyone ever discover women’s garments in her chamber.

But that seemed the least of her problems. Not only must she gain an audience with a vile scoundrel, she must find a way to don a gown without anyone in the MacGalloway household seeing her.