Chapter 5
“Supper is to be held in the red dining room, Riona,” Polly announced, after knocking on her door and poking her head inside.
Riona turned, surprised. “The Red Room?” Her mother never used the cavernous room that seated thirty-five, preferring instead the more intimate family dining room. Susanna had named it the Red Room because of the predominant color of the massive tapestry in the room.
“What is the occasion?” she asked, even though she had her suspicions.
“We’ve a visitor,” Polly said. “Fergus’s nephew.
” Polly’s smile seemed younger than her years.
She’d been with them for a decade now, and on their arrival at Tyemorn Manor had been promoted to housekeeper.
Although not exceptionally skilled at all her tasks, she made up for any lack of expertise with a boundless enthusiasm for her new position.
Now she consulted the brooch watch pinned to her bodice.
“Your mother’s invited the parson and his wife, too. ”
“And Mrs. Parker will be present, no doubt,” Riona said. The hope that the older woman was somehow indisposed was dashed the moment Polly nodded.
“You’re to wear one of your Edinburgh gowns and to mind the time.” All her instructions delivered, Polly left the room.
They were keeping town hours in honor of Mrs. Parker.
Normally, at Tyemorn, they ate but two meals a day, a large breakfast midmorning and then a second meal late in the afternoon.
As long as Mrs. Parker was in residence, however, they kept to Edinburgh hours, which meant that three meals needed to be served, since dinner was not eaten until much later in the evening.
Now they were hosting a visitor. An attractive man with a smile that was too charming, and blue eyes that seemed to see into her very thoughts. She really should have planned for such an eventuality. Her mother was famous for her hospitality.
Fergus’s nephew? Strange, she’d not seen any resemblance, but then she’d not been looking for any. No, Riona, you were too occupied in making an idiot of yourself.
She had fond memories of Fergus and had missed him greatly this past year. But he had left Cormech before they had, heading back to his childhood home.
“I’m for changing the way I’ve lived my life all these years, lass,” he’d said the night before his departure.
“In what way?” she asked, sitting beside him and carefully ignoring his wooden leg as she always did.
He wore the appendage casually, even though it was, to her way of thinking, a badge of honor.
The wound that had eventually led to the loss of his leg had been inflicted thirty years earlier.
Culloden and all the battles before it were not subjects he spoke about, however.
Still, there were times when she wanted to ask, to know what it had been like to be truly Scots on that one fateful morning.
“I’ve lived more cowardly than I should have. Fixed in myself and not thinking of others.”
She’d glanced down at his leg, understanding what he didn’t say.
After Culloden, he’d refused to return to his home because of what the war had done to him.
For the same reason, he’d lost his sweetheart, preferring to let her think he was dead rather than maimed.
She’d married another, and he’d grieved for her all these years.
“Don’t you live your life the same way, lass,” he’d said earnestly, and she, just as sincere, had agreed with a smile.
What would Fergus say now to see her cowering in her chamber, almost afraid to meet his nephew again?
Go and face the man, Riona. He’ll not bite your head off. Fergus’s voice boomed loudly in the recesses of her imagination. No, Fergus, she answered silently, but he might smile at me, and that would be just as frightening.
Perhaps she should take a bit more care with her hair to ensure that the unruly tresses stayed in place.
She pushed at the right side and then the left, making the tiny muslin cap on top of her head list like a sinking ship.
Abigail had helped with her hair tonight, but no amount of pomade could keep her curls where they were supposed to be.
Perhaps more pins were the answer, but she had used all that she had and borrowed most of Maureen’s.
A knock on the door was her final summons as her mother’s voice came from the corridor. “Hurry, Riona, the guests are already assembled.”
At least she was dressed well. Her soft green gown had a low square neckline edged with a dark green pleated fringe. Her looped-up skirt revealed a quilted underskirt of cream silk. Her sleeves were gathered and tucked, adorned with small embroidered flowers to match those on her bodice.
Of all the nights for her complexion to be sun-brightened. Her gray eyes were a bit too bright, as if she were a mischievous child holding a secret. In actuality, there was nothing even remotely amusing about this moment, and yet she still looked curiously pleased with herself.
“Cease,” she said to her reflection, but the Riona of the mirror stared back, a small smile curling up the corners of her lips. She held her shawl, crafted from the same brocade fabric as her overskirt, closer about her shoulders in an effort to compose herself.
She wanted him to see her differently. Not a hoyden hiding behind a hedge. Someone who’d recently spent five weeks in Edinburgh. A woman the match of his attractiveness.
One more glance at herself in the mirror.
When she smiled, her lips curved pleasingly over white, even teeth.
All except the front one that overlapped its neighbor by a tiny bit.
Her nose wasn’t memorable, but neither was it pointed nor overly short.
The chin, however, hinted at her stubbornness with its square appearance.
There was nothing she could do about her accent.
She would always sound Cormech born and bred.
But she could show him that she’d been English trained.
The merriment gone from her eyes, she tilted her head up and surveyed herself, regal pose and all.
No, she abruptly decided, that would not do at all.
She wasn’t the regal sort. But neither was she the kind of woman who skulks about in bushes.
Or perhaps she was, thinking of the calf she’d helped birth earlier.
What she needed to do was show him some sort of happy measure between the two. Herself, perhaps, dressed for dinner with her best manners showing.
She pushed at her hair again, adjusted her shawl, powdered her neckline, pressed a cool cloth against her cheeks. One last glance in the mirror, and she sighed in resignation.
As she walked through her door and closed it softly behind her, Riona couldn’t help but wonder why it mattered so much. He was, after all, only a visitor, and however embarrassed she was by their meeting, he would soon be gone from their lives.
In three weeks she was going to be married. That fact alone should render her more circumspect.
“My daughters,” Susanna said as Riona and Maureen entered the room a few moments later.
Riona inclined her head in greeting as she’d been taught. Until a man’s rank was ascertained, it would never do to slight him. Therefore, an inquisitive look was always better than a snub. Mrs. Parker’s words.
“My dears, may I present James MacRae of Gilmuir. He’s brought news that our dear friend Fergus is to be married.”
“Fergus? How delightful,” Maureen said, stepping forward with a smile. “How is he?”
With Riona’s marriage soon to occur, Maureen’s betrothal to Captain Hastings looked secure. Over the past week, Maureen’s grief had been replaced by an effusive happiness in direct proportion to Riona’s misery.
In all honesty, Riona could not blame her sister.
Maureen had had nothing to do with that night in Edinburgh.
Nor should she be restrained from feeling happiness now.
No one, after all, had pressured Riona into marriage.
There was simply no choice. Still, she felt as if she’d been asked to surrender her glass of wine while there was a full cask remaining in the butler’s pantry.
Their guest was dressed in a buff coat with a high standing collar and deep cuffs, one on which the lapels had been folded back to reveal a rather splendid waistcoat of crimson.
His blue breeches were fitted into tall, immaculate black boots.
The severity of his attire was offset by gold buttons bearing the image of a thistle.
Not one speck of dust clung to him. Not one leaf or spot of dirt. Even his boots gleamed.
“Fergus is well and happy,” James said. “I have been instructed to give both of you his compliments and best wishes.”
Maureen was an excellent conversationalist, easily describing the sights and entertainments in Edinburgh.
As for herself, it was better if she said nothing at all.
Before she’d gone to Mrs. Parker’s house, her companions had been Old Ned and the workers of Tyemorn Manor.
And prior to that, the maids in their Cormech home.
She was not, as the older woman had once ruefully stated, very well suited for polite society.
When MacRae glanced at her curiously, she only smiled slightly at him. A glance that in no way gave him any encouragement. The kind but distant look Mrs. Parker maintained was the kindest way to quell any hopeful, but unsuitable, suitors.
For the first time, she was grateful for the Englishwoman’s lessons.
He didn’t look in her direction again, concentrating his attentions on her sister, instead. Maureen’s laughter was especially annoying, Riona discovered. How odd that she’d never before noticed that her sister seemed to end each sentence as if it were a question.
Had Maureen suddenly forgotten the good Captain Hastings?
“We have missed you, my dear,” the parson said from beside her.
Startled, Riona turned to smile at him and his wife.
“We’ve not seen either of you for months it seems.”