Chapter Three
Faith, and I’ll send him packing.
—Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I
“S ir, you are taller than you were,” Mrs. Siddons said, tugging at the purple satin jacket Colin had slipped on over his shirtsleeves. “You wore this six years ago, but it is snug on you now. Try the rest of the costume behind that screen. Go on,” she directed. “You remember how things are done here. You may be an earl, sir, but you must leave that outside.”
“Aye, madam,” he drawled. Taking up the drawers and stockings she handed him, he retreated behind a hinged wooden screen. On the way, he caught Maisie’s glance as she tied a clean apron over her gown. “Romeo does as Romeo is told,” he told her.
“As well he should,” she said with a silvery laugh. Behind the screen, Colin smiled; he had missed that sound. Yet being near her drove through him like fire.
Changing into long green stockings and blousy purple satin drawers that hardly covered his thighs, he tugged at the jacket and crammed a feathered hat on his head. Dreading the reveal, he stepped out. “Well?”
Maisie stared, blinked. “Romeo,” she said quietly.
“I could alter it to fit,” Mrs. Siddons said. “Maisie, what do you think?”
“It seems a bit silly for a man of his—vigor. We have a black velvet tunic trimmed with fur that is not being used. That might fit better.”
“Excellent idea! It is here somewhere.” Mrs. Siddons crossed the room to rummage on a shelf.
“Thank you,” Colin murmured.
“The purple outfit looks ridiculous now.” Maisie twisted her lips.
“You were always honest.” He tilted his head. “And you look—lovely.”
She blushed deep pink and turned away. “I should go finish my painting.”
“Wait,” he said.
“Here it is!” Harriet returned. “Try this, sir.” She tossed it to him and he went behind the screen. Dressing in a hurry, not wanting Maisie to leave, he pulled the long black tunic over his head and arms, over the green hose, and stepped out again.
“It is better, but too wide. I will alter it,” Harriet said. “Maisie, help me. Sir, arms out!”
He obeyed, Harriet to one side, Maisie to the other. She was petite enough to tuck under his arm; Colin studied the dark silky crown of her head crisscrossed with braids.
“Where are my pins—oh, I left them in my office. Maisie, hold the tunic here at his waist, please. Do not move.” She hurried out.
Pinching the fabric, standing close, Maisie looked up, eyes blue as a mountain loch, just as he remembered. “Good to see you again, Miss Gordon,” Colin murmured. “How have you been?”
“Well. And you, Lord Kintrie?”
“Good heavens, it was always Colin. I am well enough.”
“I was very sorry to hear about your father.”
“Thank you. It was unexpected. He seemed hearty, then gone. It has been six months, but I was away some of the time. My brother and I are sorting out some matters. Your family is well?”
“Papa and my sisters are very well. My mother passed two years ago,” she added.
“I am sorry. I had not heard. She was a gracious lady.” He remembered that Maisie had been close to her. Though his mother had died years ago, he still felt the loss.
“Thank you.” She stood so close. He wanted to take her into his arms.
“I missed you,” he said quickly.
“Did you?” She fussed with the fabric. “You did not write.”
“I did, but it seemed you were done with me.”
“Not done. I wanted to know you were well. You were injured?” She glanced at the cane.
“Took a saber across the knee. I am lucky to have the leg. It will heal in time.” He did not speak of it often. “I am glad you suggested the tunic,” he went on. “Perhaps I am too old for Romeo, whether in purple satin or black velvet.”
“Harriet Siddons is at least ten years older, and she plays Juliet beautifully.”
“Young lovers no more,” he said.
A new blush filled her throat and cheeks. Showing her feelings made her even lovelier, he thought. “You will both be excellent in the play.”
“You are still Juliet to me. And I am—” He shrugged. “Changed. Well. It is just good to be home. I recently retired.”
“You will stay in Glen Kintrie?”
“In the city too, depending on—business.” And friends. And a girl he still loved. “It is good to see you, Maisie.”
“And you.”
“We must talk—about the handfasting and such—”
“If you like,” she said, just as the door clicked and Mrs. Siddons returned. Maisie stepped back, and Colin closed his hands over hers to take the tucked fabric from her. Harriet Siddons did not seem to notice, pinning, murmuring.
“I can nip it here, let it out here.” She tapped his shoulder. “It will be ready for dress rehearsals this week.”
“Tell me what is required of me and I will be here.”
“Be here tomorrow. Rehearsals begin after luncheon until dinnertime. Sometimes we stay later if needed. I hope you remember the lines. You will need to brush up quickly.”
“I have read the play so often that it should not be a problem. Tomorrow midday, then.”
“Excellent! Let me give you a script.” She looked about, picked up a sheaf of bound pages, and handed it to him.
“I’ll study tonight. I still have my old script with my acting notes. That should help.”
“That will do nicely,” Mrs. Siddons said.
“You kept our script?” Maisie asked. He nodded in answer.
“This play is the same as when you performed with Miss Gordon.” Harriet Siddons smiled. “You were the perfect Romeo and Juliet. Unforgettable.”
“Unforgettable,” he said, though he could not look at Maisie then.
“Kintrie, thank you again. It was serendipity that you were available. Who is—come in!” she called as a knock sounded on the door and it was pushed open.
“Mrs. Siddons, sorry to interrupt. Just looking for my daughter—ah, Maisie!”
Colin glanced at the distinguished silver-haired gentleman who entered the room; Sir Archibald Gordon, in a dark suit and snowy cravat, smiled broadly.
“Lass, we have a dinner engagement—good heavens, is that Kintrie? What a pleasant surprise to see you again, sir, and looking so well!” He came forward, extending a hand for Colin to shake.
“Sir Archibald! Forgive my state of dress. I will be doing some acting.”
“Lord Kintrie has agreed to play Romeo,” Mrs. Siddons said.
“Outstanding! Is it not, Maisie dear?”
“Very good,” she agreed. “Papa, you wanted me?’
“I came to see your backdrops—beautiful work, child. I have the carriage to bring you home. We have dinner with Sir Walter this evening. Your sisters are eager for you to get ready.”
“I nearly forgot!” She seemed flustered, glancing at Colin, cheeks pink again. “I will gather my things. So good to see you, Lord Kintrie.” She ran from the room.
Her father turned to him. “We must catch up, sir. Would you have a few minutes now?”
“Let me leave you two.” Mrs. Siddons smiled and hurried from the room.
Archibald Gordon turned back. “I was grieved to hear about your father. We were good friends for years but lost touch after you left for the regiment. Yet I always admired him. So you are Earl of Kintrie now, and your brother is Duke of Rothes. I wish you both the best.”
“Thank you, sir. I came to town for meetings and saw Mrs. Siddons too. She convinced me to fill in for the role. I am glad to help.”
“She made an excellent choice.” They chatted about Sir Archibald’s work, Colin’s retirement, and his plans to build roads in the north. “My daughter and I both enjoy painting landscape scenes. We should travel up there.”
“It is beautiful. You must make the trip.” He hoped so, more than Gordon could guess.
“Will you be in the city for a while?”
“Long enough for the run of the play at least. I have the house on Heriot Row, and the engineering work will not start until spring. I am free for a while.”
“Good!” The man looked thoughtful. “I wonder—may I impose on you for a favor?”
“A favor, sir?” A portrait commission, perhaps? Colin was puzzled.
“My daughter is doing excellent work on the scenery.”
“I noticed that. She is very talented.”
“She has a gift. I suppose you saw Reginald Baird?”
“I did.” Surprised, Colin sensed a sudden tension.
“Did you know he recently proposed to Maisie?”
“So I heard.” Was he being warned away?
“She is not fond of the fellow,” Gordon said bluntly. “She has refused his attentions, but Baird is telling others they will marry.”
“Is it not what she wants?” He spoke carefully, heart pounding.
“She must decide. But Baird is—how shall I put this—pleasant but relentless. I suspect he is pestering her. Sometimes she seems distraught, but never complains. I fear he will wear her down. I warned him it was her decision, but it fell on deaf ears. So I am very glad you are back, Kintrie.”
“Sir?” Colin waited, puzzled.
“She was very fond of you once. She trusts you. I believe she is uncomfortable around him now. Would you be so good as to keep an eye on her while you are here?”
“Ah,” Colin said. “I can do that.”