Chapter 4
4
In a word, ’tis the cleanest and beautifullest, and best built city in Britain, London excepted.
Daniel Defoe
G LASGOW
Turning east, Leith left the heart of Glasgow by taking High Street up to the Drygate, which led to the steep, serpentine Carntyne Lone road. Eclipse, his newest stallion, was a bit flighty freed from the stable. Leith spoke slow and low to calm him, using less leg to lead him, and the horse soon rewarded him with a lowered head and huffed breath.
Niall rode alongside on a more placid mount, wanting to see the twins after a fortnight’s business in their Edinburgh offices. Leith’s youngest brother had been especially attentive since Havilah’s passing, spending far more time with the twins than Leith did. So much time that Leith’s pleasure in it turned to guilt. Somehow Niall managed to attend to business, acquire more art to adorn his new estate, and make time for family with a balance that eluded the rest of them.
“Did I tell you about my latest hoped-for acquisition?”
Leith slowed his gait. “Through your agent, James Christie?”
“Aye. Walpole’s collection of the Old Masters. But alas, I may lose to the empress of Russia.”
Leith stanched a chuckle, and talk turned to decidedly more banal matters.
“A fair day after so much rain,” Niall mused. “I’d rather go twice the distance in such weather.”
A few miles’ ride was enough to clear one’s head and earn the approach to Ardraigh Hall’s gatehouse. With its dressed stone and arched Gothic windows, the structure was smothered in so many scarlet roses they obscured the tidy white door. Passing beyond the lushness that was sultry as a lass’s embrace, Leith looked uphill to where Ardraigh Hall sat, August sunlight gilding it like a gemstone. Home, nay. This country house outside the chaos and competition of Glasgow held too many dark memories to be a haven.
Here the twins occupied a nursery on the second floor. He pinned his gaze on the bank of windows that were theirs, imagining wee noses pressed to the panes. Their white-haired nurse, Mrs. Davies, had a time of it trying to corral them. Walking before they were a year old, Cole and Bella tested the mettle of anyone who had charge of them.
Leith and Niall continued up and over the decade-old elliptical bridge that straddled a watercourse, the clatter of hooves atop stone loud enough to hear at the house. Their approach from the bridge soon gave way to an avenue of lime trees curving uphill past stone outbuildings.
Two grooms appeared to take their horses to the stables, and then Leith and Niall walked the short distance to the mansion’s wide steps. The front door opened before they reached it, another example that this grand house of his ran as smoothly as the eight longcase clocks that graced the entrance hall, all chiming the hour at exactly the same time. A frightful racket, Euan always said. He had but one clock in Paisley’s entrance hall.
“Messrs. Buchanan, welcome home.” The senior footman gave a little bow and took their tricornes as Leith’s gaze swept the space, the marble interior brightened by large south-facing windows.
They climbed the oak staircase, alert to childish voices. The second-floor east wing was a series of ancillary rooms, and they passed through open doors, first the children’s dining area, then another room of cupboards and closets, even a future schoolroom. The nursery bedchamber was at the very end, a calm, spacious place presided over by the nurse, who was now dozing in her antechamber chair by a coalless hearth.
Walking past her, Leith found what he was looking for. Staring back at him warily was Cole, the gimlet-eyed image of Havilah. Asleep in the narrow bed opposite him was Bella, a toy unicorn clutched in one arm, Leith’s stamp so strong in her she seemed his miniature except for her riotous hair. Both children had dimples in their impossibly plump cheeks as if they subsisted on marzipan and nothing else.
When Leith stopped in the room’s center, Niall kept walking, holding out his arms. A smiling Cole began a clumsy climb down from the bed. Roused, Bella abandoned her toy and soon followed as if determined to be scooped up first, their childish babble amusing.
Putting a finger to his lips, Leith gestured to the slumped, half-snoring nurse. “Nae doubt you’ve both worn her out.”
Niall caught up the twins in thickset arms, remarking on their sun-darkened faces and loose, linen clothes smelling of fresh air and line-drying. They were to have morning and afternoon airings barring the foulest weather, Leith had insisted from birth, and be fed as much meat as bread. He’d not rear the twins like hothouse flowers.
Bella nestled closer, resting her head on Niall’s shoulder, while Cole ran a wee hand over his uncle’s clean-shaven jaw, reminding Leith he hadn’t shaved that morn.
“Soon you’ll ken the aggravation of a razor,” Leith murmured to the lad.
Bella looked up at Leith with a solemn regard as if chastening him for his latest absence. Tearing his gaze from her, he sought a chair as Niall started his usual tickling. With a shriek, Cole gave a kick to Niall’s shins, which he answered by turning the lad upside down as if to silence him. At the outburst, Mrs. Davies awoke and dashed into the room with the fleet feet of a much younger lass.
“Sir, I beg yer pardon for a rare nap.”
Leith regarded her without reply, wondering if so aged a woman was up to the task.
“Rare?” Niall answered. “I’d hope you take one every time they do lest they wear you to a nub.”
She smiled despite looking shamefaced. “I’ve the best job in the world, sir, naps or nae.”
Righting Cole, Niall took a chair near a window while Mrs. Davies began opening the shutters to emit daylight. Enthroned upon his uncle’s lap, Cole seemed to settle while Bella crossed the Axminster carpet to a wooden castle complete with knights of the Round Table and even a princess or two.
“’Tis good to see ye both,” Mrs. Davies continued, looking at Leith. “Are ye here for long, sir?”
Leith took a breath and leaned back in his chair. “I leave in a fortnight on the Thistle .”
Never one to mind his bluntness, for she was a Scotswoman through and through, she said, “Where to, sir?”
“Maryland and Virginia. I need to see to my holdings there ... and other business.” He wouldn’t mention any matrimonial leanings, though she’d been remarkably outspoken since Havilah’s death about the bairns needing a mother.
Done with the shutters, she faced him, hands on hips. “When will ye return, sir?”
“By Candlemas, likely.” With a bride.
Though he omitted the latter, he read surprise in her eyes. He’d miss the twins’ autumn birthday by his lengthy absence. But surely she could sense how weary he was of the scandal. The endless speculation. Since he didn’t want them to grow up without a mother, or with a mother like his, he had to do something, even something rash.
“And ye’ll be here till ye sail, sir?”
“I’ll attend Euan’s assembly tomorrow night at Paisley, then I’ll return to Glasgow ahead of the sailing.”
As if in protest of her father’s words, Bella dashed a wooden knight over Cole’s head, eliciting his howl of rage. Facing off like wee boxers, they made their uncle laugh, two tubby, defiant bairns who knew no better.
“Easy, lad and lassie,” Leith said, warning in his tone.
They looked toward him, both pouting, their eyes bright with tears. Realizing his gruffness, Leith froze. Comfort them, mon. But he felt shackled, unable to break free of that terrible reserve that bound him. A better parent would ken how to soothe their fractured feelings, even if he didn’t.
Niall proved the blessed balm for the moment. Leith watched him, rubbed raw with regret over all their circumstances. Niall remained unwed, and Euan and his wife of five years were childless.
The perfect distraction, Niall got down on all fours and gave a great growl, sending the twins shrieking with delight into the far corner, their former fracas forgotten.
When Leith entered Paisley’s ballroom, all conversation stopped, if only for a trice. Heads turned and a great many sideways glances were given him. In that instant he wished himself anywhere else, even aboard a reeking, reeling ship. He felt certain these guests were reliving Havilah’s death over in their minds, with all the accompanying scandal. Euan’s wife, Lyrica, hastened to his side, while his brother looked at him from where he stood by the marble hearth at the far end of the room.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Lyrica kissed him on both cheeks, hasty pecks that conveyed a warm welcome nonetheless.
“What is Hector Cochrane doing here?” he asked, his mood souring.
“I’m merely trying to keep the peace, Leith.”
“And sully your drawing room in the process.”
Lyrica pouted prettily behind her extended fan. “I ken what’s said about him, but he is one of your fellow tobacco lords, after all.”
“I’ve cut all business ties with him, as you well know, based on his reputation alone.”
“I understand. But Euan insists we maintain some semblance of cordiality.”
Leith looked across the room, where his brother conversed with the man in question. Their shared laughter grated. Sailing to the colonies would save him from seeing Cochrane, at least. “I’ll soon be done with society.”
“Euan says your leaving is imminent.”
“Aye.” He hadn’t had much time to dwell on it, settling his affairs with a finality akin to sealing his coffin instead. “My latest will and testament is in order, so if I perish at sea, let your last memory be of me here at Paisley.”
“Nonsense.” Tucking her arm in his, she smiled up at him, the worry in her eyes undimmed. “Thankfully, the voyage is far shorter to the colonies these days on your latest ship of the line, is it not?”
“Shorter, aye, with a passenger list of indentured convicts this time, not regiments of Highlanders meant for garrison duty in North America.”
She frowned. “I’ve never seen anyone court risk and danger as you do even on a cruise. Perhaps that’s what makes you the most envied man in the ballroom.”
“Envied, nae. Gossiped about, aye.”
“Well, I must say I’m glad you’re not wearing mourning anymore. It just drew attention to the tragedy.”
He took a cup of punch from a liveried footman, turning so that his back was to the paneled wall. Many of the guests he knew, a few he didn’t. When the music started, he let out a relieved breath as everyone’s sly staring ended and the dancing began. He hated dancing. He was not a man given to mincing steps or delicate maneuvers.
Lyrica studied him warily. “You look bored already.”
He stifled a yawn till his jaw ached. “Who said dancing is a very trifling, silly thing but one of those established follies to which people of sense are sometimes obliged to conform, and then they should be able to do it well?”
“I believe that was Lord Chesterfield.” She took a sip of punch. “Promise me you won’t behave as a merchant tonight. I won’t have this ball turned into a business meeting.”
“You ken it’s all I’m thinking about—business.”
“I don’t doubt it, but even you need a diversion. We shall miss you when you’re gone. I’ve not been to America nor have any wish to go. Such heat and snakes!” Lyrica gave an exaggerated shudder. “I pray you don’t succumb to some fever there. There seem to be as many maladies as mosquitoes.”
“I’ll land in the cool season where fevers aren’t as virulent and wildlife is at a minimum.”
“Ha! Hurricane season is no safer.” She took another sip of punch. “Remember, pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
Leith smirked. “You are too often in kirk.”
“Well, you commissioned it, after all, and would do well to darken its door more than an occasional Sabbath or two.”
Euan joined them as their youngest brother entered the room at the far end, impeccably attired, a small sword at his side. “I must warn you. Niall’s of a mind to journey with Leith.”
Alarm scored Lyrica’s heavily rouged face. “Why on earth would he?”
Euan shrugged, his expression resuming its hard lines. “He’s not been to the colonies yet, remember, and wants to see the rebels firsthand.”
“Perhaps they’re not all puny Americans, their land a petty little province, as has been printed.”
Euan shrugged. “Niall is interested in tobacco culture and why Virginia’s planters are abandoning it and converting to more profitable endeavors.”
“Don’t be fooled.” Lyrica rolled her eyes. “Niall is interested in Virginia belles, not business, the latter of which you both promised to not talk about tonight.”
“I promised you nothing,” Leith replied. “Every man in this room has been thinking of business from the moment I walked in, though I’d wager the ladies are only thinking of Havilah.”
“Let’s avoid both,” Euan said as if to appease his wife. “Lyrica has worked tirelessly on this assembly, and I’ll not see it go awry.”
She gestured to the chandelier, pleasure softening her worry of before. “Newly arrived last week. Not as grand as Ardraigh Hall’s but stunning nonetheless.”
“Tell me more,” Leith said, pretending interest.
“’Tis Murano glass from the Venetian islands.” She eyed her recent acquisition with undisguised delight. “Not quite eighteen arms nor as many flowers as yours but still exquisite.”
“We’re not having a competition,” Leith said.
She laughed. “But of course we are! Everything you do is competition, right down to your brotherly rivalry over your various enterprises and investments.”
“Nae business, remember,” he murmured.
She dealt his forearm a stinging rap with her closed fan as Niall made his way about the crowded room, bowing over lasses’ hands and exchanging greetings with the men. His presence slipped like a thistle under Leith’s skin. He was the only one of them who’d done a Grand Tour of the continent after graduating university, accumulating a dash and polish his elder brothers lacked. Now he’d be primarily in Glasgow at the firm when not at his newly acquired property, Lamb Hill. Clearly there was no need to seek a colonial American belle. Niall had immense charm and set the lasses here agape.
“Good evening,” he said once he stood before them, flashing a smile that reminded Leith of their mother though he bore their father’s features. “A fine entertainment, which leaves me wondering what Virginia hospitality is like.”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I return,” Leith said.
“Surely you need company on so long a voyage, Brother.”
“What I need is for you to open the Wester Sugar House the day I depart, then oversee the new cooperage opposite Castle Wynd. After that you’re to mediate any further fracas at the ironworks and stand in for me at the guildhall meeting of tobacco workers.”
“Stand in for you?” Niall shook his head in disgust. “All I’ll do is field questions as to when you’ll be back.”
“So be it. Euan will assist you when the need arises, as will the half-dozen new clerks installed in your office trained in copperplate hand. All I have left to say is that you’d best devote as much time to business as your other ... um, pursuits.”
Niall stood between Leith and Euan, his shorter stature well compensated by his bulk, reminding all present of his ongoing obsession with pugilism. Whenever Lyrica confronted him about boxing as brutality, Niall replied it was simply the art of self-defense and reminded her that Leith resorted to his own fists on occasion.
As dancing continued up and down the long, shimmering chamber, Leith looked on stoically. Havilah had loved to dance when she’d first come to Ardraigh Hall. He’d even hired a dancing master for her, but she was such a natural she hardly needed one. Lithe on her feet, she’d entranced more than her husband.
The vivid memory lingered. Would it always?
“The best way to forget Havilah is to look to the future and dismiss the past,” Lyrica had told him from the outset of mourning. “But I don’t see you marrying again. I would tread cautiously given your last choice was such a disaster, though I won’t deny Ardraigh Hall is a honeypot, made to lure a lass. But so full of ghosts!”
He didn’t answer, as marrying again seemed as appealing as smallpox given her blunt words. Besides, he had his heirs ... who would be hers and Euan’s if he didn’t return. For all his faults, Lyrica was fond of him and understood only the direst of circumstances could have led to his leaving Glasgow.
Eyeing his sister-in-law, Leith finished his punch. How long did she expect him to stay? He needed to pack his trunks since he lacked a manservant, unlike the gentry. Many of the nobility accused tobacco lords, mere merchants, of putting on airs. Some tobacco lords were even purchasing coats of arms, but he resisted. He’d not give the true aristocracy more cause to complain.
A lively reel began and couples galloped about, some of them none too gracefully. He swept the room with one haphazard, dismissive glance, aware of sumptuous Spitalfields silks and Bond Street jewels and even a tiara or two. He didn’t see textiles, he saw investments. Specie.
Besides, nary a lass present held the appeal of the miniature in his waistcoat pocket.