Chapter 3 #3
Her pale face turned deep fuchsia.
Alexander pretended not to notice, his attention seemingly turned back to the book in front of him.
Whilst she flustered and stammered, he took advantage of her discomfort to consider the image he’d seen from his library window, an image that affected him more deeply than anyone could possibly know.
Lochranza’s hair had been streaming out behind her like a fiery cloud, gleaming like molten lava. So glossy. So silky… so much like her mother’s, though hers had been dark, as black as the night when it rolled in from the sea over that small fishing village…
The sharp voice of Mrs Mackintosh blustered into his thoughts, smashing his memories into fragments like so much crystal. ‘If word of this gets out, she’ll be ruined…’
Alexander raised his eyes. ‘Somehow, I think you have that the wrong way round. It wouldn’t be the first time a horse is blamed for the lack of virginal blood on a wedding night!’
There was a great gasp of inhaled breath. Mrs Mackintosh, a woman of middling values, looked as though she were about to faint clean away.
He frowned and made little fidgeting movements with his fingers, tapping the book in front of him as though trying to keep it from sharing his own impatience, stroking the feather of his quill pen, opening the silver lid of an inkwell, then shutting it again.
He wanted to get back to the descriptions and illustrations on the fabled birds of paradise.
More than that, he wished to find a certain page, one in which was hidden something more than a painting of a bird.
He had no wish to have the details of tonight’s ball land on his shoulders.
As far as he was concerned, he’d done his best for his niece.
In time, she would have the coming-out ball she deserved – if she wanted it.
He wasn’t sure that she would. Tonight was a different matter.
Tonight, they had an honoured guest, Arthur Wellesley, victorious from his Spanish campaign.
Lochranza, he had to admit to himself, was quite extraordinary and possessed an intelligence far beyond her years. And so like her mother, Dulcina, the dark-haired temptress, the only woman he had ever loved, and the one woman he should never have loved.
Memories invaded his mind with such intensity that he failed to acknowledge Mrs Mackintosh leaving his presence.
He was vaguely aware of her saying something about the colour of the gown his niece was to wear that evening.
Not that he felt it mattered what colour the girl wore; she would outshine anything.
He sighed. Beauman, his valet, would be along in a moment to help him dress for this evening. Time was of the essence. There were things to read and digest before he came along. Things that had to be done.
He opened the letter from the West Indies, from his nephew. A fiancé had been found for Lochranza.
…a handsome fellow of upright character, a widower and well founded… of Spanish nobility… a fitting match for my darling sister…
Alexander was used to divining a true meaning from flowery words of assurance.
Did his nephew think him a fool? He knew very well that they would do Lochranza harm if they could.
A title and an estate were at stake. Whilst he lived, she was relatively safe, but he couldn’t protect her forever.
The years were weighing heavy. In time she would be alone.
By then he had to have arranged for her to be safe, and the only way to do that was to have her marry a powerful man.
This was not the first missive he had received praising the attributes of a Spanish don, a French noble or a wealthy Dutchman.
The one thing all these had in common was the fact that they were in the West Indies.
His nephew was concentrating all his efforts on getting Lochranza in close proximity to himself, where she might die in childbirth or from a tropical disease – which would suit his nephew very well.
Whilst Lochranza lived, she would inherit a considerable fortune. Without her, it would pass to his nephew. Somehow his nephew had found out the truth as to Lochranza’s parentage, but who had told him?
He gave none of this away when he replied to their missives but was polite but curt.
‘Thank you for your concern for your half-sister, but as her lawful guardian, I have the last word for her welfare.’
He did not touch on her true parentage. Let questions continue to fly around their heads. It was noticeable that they continued to regard her as their stepsister. He would not enlighten them.
Alexander looked out at the trees and grass of the parkland surrounding the house and suddenly felt very old.
The sands of time were running out and he had no wish to leave problems – and dangers – when he died.
The only way to protect Lochranza was for her to marry somebody who could defend her from those who knew who she really was.
A few notable names came to mind, but there was only one strong enough and wealthy enough that would suit.