Chapter 3 #2
Lord Alexander Kildare greatly envied the life his old friend had lived in comparison to the one he had been forced to pursue.
The fact was that his father had insisted that, along with his brother, Edward, he would be educated to become a gentleman and, as first son, to inherit the estates in Great Britain; his younger brother to partially inherit and oversee the sugar plantations of the West Indies.
Responsibility had been bred and beaten into both, hence perhaps the reason why he felt such a grave responsibility for Lochranza.
He would have preferred the child, who was now a young lady, not to be here.
He was at an age when his interest in young ladies had long waned.
He did not know how to treat them and nowadays found their company tedious.
Because of all this, he carefully avoided her.
As long as she was looked after as befitted her station in society, then surely that was enough.
‘I fully agree that my niece is not meek and mild. I am also aware that making her presentable in society was never going to be an easy task, but that, Mrs Mackintosh, is why I employed you!’
Perceiving his comment as criticism, Moira Mackintosh winced.
‘I am sure I have done my best, Lord Kildare, but although I have been at pains to warn her of her behaviour, she does not listen. I have told her over and over again that men do not marry women with strong opinions. The wife of a titled man is not required to have opinions; they surely are the preserve of her husband. Hers is purely to support him, bear him children and act as congenial hostess when required.’
His lordship pursed his lips and did not raise his eyes from perusing the imposing cover of his new book. He found the work fascinating and was amazed how human fingers could so exquisitely engrave and gild the title with such fine precision.
Finally, he lifted his gaze to take in the Calvinistic figure of Mrs Mackintosh in her plain grey dress, her doughty ringlets sagging around an equally saggy face. Perusing illustrations of exotic birds was far more attractive.
‘Will she or won’t she make a good marriage?’
‘She would if she would listen to my advice. But she’s a stubborn child.
Perhaps she might do better to be sent to the West Indies.
I have heard tale that society there is more accommodating than it is here.
People, so I have heard, are wilder and not nearly so civilised. I understand the heat fires the blood.’
His lordship winced at mention of the West Indies. ‘And you think that the problem with my niece might be solved in the West Indies?’
Her dark nostrils narrowed as she sniffed up her disdain. ‘It is an option.’
‘Lady Lochranza is here and not in the West Indies,’ he stated slowly, measuring his words more steadily than his thoughts.
The woman he’d employed to educate his niece into the ways of polite society was not to know that Lochranza could not go back, that her life would be in danger if ever she did.
O’Neill had been adamant. I would suggest your nephews would not be amenable to her going back there.
Alexander prided himself on having an agile mind; like a cook with one eye on the pot and another up the chimney. Only more so, and he certainly had more important considerations than a cook. The realm. The king’s person. The nation’s enemies.
‘What has she done now that makes you think she is not ready to become the belle of the ball?’
Mrs Mackintosh drew her receding chin closer into her neck so it almost seemed as though she had none. ‘She’s been riding most of the afternoon!’
She made it sound as though it were the ultimate sin.
Alexander held both his features and his body quite stiffly. ‘Is there any law against a young lady riding out for half the day?’
Something about the tone of his voice made the Scotswoman blush.
‘As a young lady in need of a fiancé, she should have been preparing herself for tonight’s ball. In my experience, a sleep in the afternoon is good advice before dancing half the night.’
Alexander fingered the book cover, thinking how soft the vellum, how shiny the gold lettering which he could only see in his mind’s eyes.
His gaze remained fixed on Mrs Mackintosh.
‘I dare say my niece will survive the evening despite having been riding for most of the afternoon. Unless she fell off and injured herself – which I doubt. Has she sustained an injury, Mrs Mackintosh?’
‘No, your lordship. She is quite well.’
‘Just as I thought. She’s a very good rider, is she not?’
‘Except…’ The Scotswoman’s blush deepened. She sucked in her lips before finally managing to spill the words. ‘She was riding astride! An injury of… some… feminine seriousness could have occurred…’
The woman looked as though her face was on fire. Embarrassed, she looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
‘I see.’
His lordship nodded in a serious manner, as though some heinous crime had been committed.
Inwardly, he smiled. The girl was fiery and independent.
My doing, he decided. If I had taken more interest in her upbringing, she would have been…
His train of thought came to a halt as he searched for the right word.
Ordinary. Yes. That was indeed the right word.
She would have been no different than any other titled lady, all pinkness and primness and shrouded in ribbons, lace and flounces!
‘She rides very well. An athletic girl, Mrs Mackintosh, not one of your fragile English roses, but strong!’
It didn’t trouble him that his niece had been riding astride – like a man.
‘A young lady can be ruined for life riding a horse like a man.’ Her blush deepened.
‘Really?’ he asked, looking genuinely puzzled whilst barely holding back his amusement. ‘Now why is that, Mrs Mackintosh? Please explain.’