Chapter Eleven #3
“Ah. And here is Jean, and Harry too.” He turned as his sister and her husband came outside to welcome them. Jean embraced Catriona and then Evan.
“Come in where it is warm and bright,” his sister said. “We’ve been busy in the last hour readying the house for you. Mrs. Baird, you and the staff as well, come back inside!”
Evan began to guide Catriona to the door. Then he paused, remembering he was entering his home with his bride. Quickly he swept her up into his arms, and she gasped in delighted surprise, looping her arms around his neck.
For a tall girl, she was not heavy, and he swept her easily over the threshold and into the foyer. Then he set her on her feet to laughter and applause from all watching.
He lifted her gloved hand to kiss it as before, cognizant that public kissing was generally frowned upon, and if his staff attended Reverend MacConn’s Free Kirk, doubly so.
Her smile in silent answer was nervous but genuine.
Again, he felt sure that this marriage was good now and would be excellent in the future, though his certainty puzzled him.
He also felt sure that his bride doubted their decision more than he did.
*
Mrs. Baird set a hurricane lamp with a flaring candle on a table in the bedroom, and glanced at Catriona. “Milady, you will be here, if it pleases.”
Catriona looked around. The expansive, elegant room took her breath away. “It is—just grand, Mrs. Baird. Thank you.” Truly, she had never stayed in a room half so grand.
The lofty plastered ceiling, tall windows, and pale salmon-pink walls defined a spaciousness that even the large four-poster bed could not diminish.
Drapes, coverlet, and canopy in a mix of serene creamy damasks and pale floral chintz complemented a deep floral Belgian carpet.
Framed landscape paintings, polished mahogany furnishings—bed plump with pillows and quilts, a large wardrobe, table, leather-seated chairs, and a glass-fronted bookcase—added to the atmosphere of grace and comfort.
To Catriona, whose modest room at Glenachan was all she knew, this was a chamber for a queen.
She murmured quiet admiration as Mrs. Baird showed her a private dressing room, water closet, and large, black-and-white tiled bathing room.
A housemaid was in there, filling a porcelain tub with steaming water from brass spigots and folding a stack of thick linen towels.
“Deirdre,” Catriona said, remembering the girl’s name. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Baird continued the tour. “Milady, a cistern on the roof supplies hot and cold water for this floor and for the kitchen.” In everything, she seemed so brisk and formal that Catriona wondered if years of serving under Evan’s father had made her humorless.
“We sometimes have a bathwater shortage when there are guests. But water will always be provided for your requirements, even if it is carried up in the traditional way.”
“Thank you,” Catriona said. At Glenachan, she normally bathed in a hip tub in a closed pantry, which she filled laboriously after others were asleep. A cistern and a private bath were astonishing luxuries.
Mrs. Baird opened another door. “This is a wee sitting room that you share with Lord Kildonan. His private room is through that opposite door.” She gestured.
His private room? Surprised, Catriona peeked at the cozy sitting room with a small, ornate fireplace, one tall window, and a leather sofa and brocade armchairs arranged on a shabby Oriental carpet.
The opposite door was partly open, where she glimpsed dark-green walls and walnut furniture. Hearing Evan’s voice, she drew back.
Then he appeared in the connecting door, reaching to close it. His gaze touched hers, piercing, curious. He merely nodded and clicked the door shut. Catriona frowned, turned.
“Deirdre will be your lady’s maid until you choose one you prefer,” Mrs. Baird was saying. “The previous countess did not reside here, and Lady Jean brings her own girl. So we do not have a trained lady’s maid for you.”
Catriona nodded. “Deirdre will do nicely,” she said.
Soon Mrs. Baird left, and Deirdre came forward to offer to help Catriona out of her blue plaid gown if she wanted to bathe.
The lass had a gentle manner, and Catriona relaxed as Deirdre helped her out of the gown, then unbound her hair and brushed it.
While Deirdre unpacked her portmanteaus, Catriona closed herself in the bathing room and sank into hot, lavender-scented water. Sighing, she closed her eyes.
Just days ago, she would have sold her soul for such heat and comfort.
In a way, she had, for she had gone willingly into Evan’s arms seeking warmth, and had been grateful for comfort that night, not regretting consequences then.
Yet that had led to this day. Though she felt numb and tentative, she sensed a stir of hope that happiness, rather than regret, lay ahead.
Sighing, she sank deeper into the envelope of warm, soapy water, her hair flowing out in rich bronzy streams. Her mind was a jumble of uncertainties, but her heart yearned to love Evan, earl or none, if only she could let herself trust again.