Chapter 5
The next morning, Claire snuggled deeper into the covers. Sleep had eluded her during the night no matter how hard she had tried to gather it to her. As a result, her head felt like a leaden weight on the pillow as she stared into the dusky gray of dawn.
She had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening away from Jules and his friends.
No one had come to find her, to offer her a meal, or to even see if she had returned from the loch.
Her throat tightened for a heartbeat before she shoved her sadness away.
Jules and his friends had ignored her yesterday.
And she had made it easy for them to do so.
Today, she would not be a passive miss. No, today she had plans.
She would start her day by tackling the house.
She had learned how to keep a house over the years.
She would apply that knowledge here, and turn around what she could in the manor.
Then she would see about winning over his friends.
If they started to trust her, perhaps Jules would as well.
And then, finally, she would play up to her husband.
She had to find some way to win his heart.
Her eyes opened into the twilight. What was she willing to do to win his affection? Would she willingly give herself to him if it helped achieve her goal? Was she that kind of woman?
She hoped not . . . and yet . . . he was her husband. Such things were allowed, even expected between a man and his wife. Even so, self-doubt crept past her determination. What if he’d left her alone last night because he didn’t find her in the least bit tempting?
He had walked away from their kiss as though it had cost him nothing at all, while she had spent the better part of the night trying to forget the feel of his warm, seductive lips on her mouth.
She sighed at the memory. If he had been so immune to her, then why save her from the snake?
Why kiss her at all? She frowned. He had to find her at least somewhat appealing.
She had left behind that gawkish, unrefined girl she had once been years ago.
She could do nothing about the brightness of her hair, or the paleness of her skin, but she had learned proper manners and ways of holding herself that could at least accentuate her finer points.
She had a small waist. And more than once men had commented on her upright posture.
That was a good thing in a refined wife, was it not?
Claire closed her eyes once more, still hanging on to hope that sleep might yet come. One night of her bridegroom ignoring her would not turn her from her plans. Too much was at stake with Penelope, Anna, and Eloise. They needed her to be strong.
And as for his friends? She had seen the way Nicholas had appraised her yesterday. He, if not all of them, suspected all was not as she claimed between herself and Jules.
Claire released a groan and turned her face into her pillow, shielding herself from the faint light of dawn and the challenges awaiting her with the coming of the new day.
She had to make Jules fall in love with her. The memory of his arm curled around her waist brought heat to her cheeks. She drew in a breath, then recalled the soft scent of mint that had curled around her senses when he had drawn her close.
She would do whatever it took to make certain her girls would have the future they deserved.
As their guardian, she had to see her plans with Jules through.
Despite her claims yesterday, she would do anything at all to make that happen.
Anything at all. Her life and her reputation did not matter.
It was the three young women whose livelihood she controlled because they had no one else.
That knowledge alone would steady her in her task.
As soon as morning arrived, she would begin again, and do things right this time.
The thought had barely formed when a loud explosion vibrated just outside her window. Caught between sleep and awareness, Claire twisted out of the tangle of sheets and sat up, staring into the predawn light.
Her head ached dully, and she had the uneasy feeling something disturbing had happened. What could make that kind of noise so early in the morning? The sound came again. Two, three times. Whatever the sounds were, they were coming from beneath her tower window.
“For heaven’s sake,” Claire cried, throwing off the covers and jumping out of bed with more energy than she truly felt after a night of little sleep.
She hastened to the shutters and released the latch, then peered out into the faint light of dawn.
Beneath her she could make out three dark shapes. Men.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw not just any men, but Jules, David, and Nicholas. Another clatter of noise filled the peaceful morning as each man pointed a blunderbuss level with the grass and fired.
The shutters opening must have made a sound because Jules turned toward her. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Did we wake you?” he called from below.
He was hunting. Beneath her window. Nothing suspicious about that. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Claire released a long sigh. He would not make her task an easy one. “How are the pheasant this morning?” she asked, ignoring his barb.
“We’ve taken four already,” David called up to her.
“Sounds like we will feast for supper tonight,” she said, smiling at her husband with as much friendly candor as she could muster so early in the morning.
“That we will,” Jules said. His gaze lost its softness and his smile faded. “’Tis a meal you will be preparing for us all.”
Claire tried to keep her smile. As his wife, she was the head of his household staff. She was not much of a cook herself, but she could certainly direct others in cooking the meal. “It will be my pleasure to assist the cook in the preparation of the meal.”
“We have no cook, Claire darling.” The endearment was spoken so sweetly, yet the look in his eyes was anything but sincere. “I have had no time since my return to hire a proper staff. You will have to do it yourself.”
Claire frowned darkly into the silvered light that surrounded her husband. She could not, absolutely would not, fold at the first challenge he threw out to her. She straightened. “Supper will be served at eight o’clock on the west terrace.”
She turned her gaze toward the sky, to the pink fingers of light streaking through the morning haze. “It looks to be a warm day ahead; let us relax and enjoy ourselves and our company out in the evening breeze.”
“The day has yet to begin and you are already forecasting its direction,” Jules replied with a hint of annoyance.
“Oh, I can forecast a great many things, Jules MacIntyre. The weather is an easy one. The unhappy response of your female guests to your morning shooting is another, and that you will delight in the supper I prepare is yet a third.”
“We will see about that,” he replied with a fierce challenge in his eyes.
With a bright, artificial smile, Claire replied, “Indeed, we will.” Not waiting for a response, she closed the shutters and returned to her bed.
She collapsed onto the linens and pulled the pillow up over her head.
Claire closed her eyes and prayed for a moment that she could actually cook something edible for Jules and his guests.
Wearily, she turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling once more. She could fret about the meal and her attempt to lure Jules to care for her, or she could get up and try to determine how to help herself.
The thought was all the encouragement Claire needed. Her heart suddenly leaping with renewed purpose, she got out of bed, dressed carefully in a lavender gown she knew made her hair look more gold than red, and left her chamber.
She also knew she should head downstairs, to the kitchen, and see to preparing some sort of meal for their guests to break their fast, but instead the silence of the house beckoned.
Jules was outside with his male guests. Jane and Margaret were still abed.
Now was the perfect time to explore the dark secrets of Kildare Manor.
Not that she expected to find anything. Jules was far too clever for that.
But another question had burned through her thoughts in the silence of the night. Why was she here? Obviously someone was manipulating both her and Jules, but to what end?
Even in Edinburgh the stories of Jules MacIntyre poisoning his stepmother had spread through the gossip mills. The crime had supposedly happened in this very house. But if Jules had been exonerated of the crime, then who had murdered the woman?
That question filled her thoughts as Claire reached for the candlestick near the hearth and lit the wick with the last remaining coals from the fire.
Perhaps she could learn more about her husband from his home.
There had to be traces from his past life here that still remained, things she could use to understand him better.
Claire walked silently down the curling staircase, past the other bedchambers, to the staircase at the opposite end of the hall.
The servants’ staircase would provide the access she needed with a modicum of stealth as the stairwell shifted behind the wall and into a passage where only the servants usually tread.
The candle cut a pale yellow-gold swath through the darkness as she ascended the stairs.
The ancient wood creaked beneath her feet.
Claire flinched at each sound, but continued steadily forward.
Her progress up the stairs was like entering a foreign land, revealing only a hint at a time of what lay ahead.