Chapter Four #3
Amy touched Aedan’s arm again. “Aedan, do come with me later to look at some things. I so value your thoughts, even though you can be such a grump about the changes. We are putting our heads together to plan the house,” she told the Blackburns.
Aedan frowned. That sounded uncomfortably matrimonial. “I am grateful for all the help my cousin and my aunt are both providing here.”
“The house is beautiful,” Christina said. “John and I would love to see more of it.”
“Amy could give you the grand tour,” Aedan said.
“Mrs. Blackburn, you would especially enjoy the library, I think,” Meg told Christina. “You must ask Sir Aedan about the book collection. He knows the library best.”
“Sir, are you a writer and a scholar like your father?” Christina asked.
“Not like he was, certainly. I am an engineer by education and by trade,” he went on.
“But I helped my father organize his library years ago, so I know it well. Feel free to use it while you are here, Mrs. Blackburn. As a scholar, you will especially appreciate the collection.” He smiled politely even as he thought of her interrupted mission last night.
Clearly she thought of it too, for he glimpsed a flicker of awareness in her eyes.
“Thank you. I consider myself an amateur scholar, though I often assist my uncle, the Reverend Walter Carriston, who is an accomplished antiquarian. I also help at the museum. Sir Edgar asked me to examine the discovery here at Dundrennan.”
Aedan nodded. “So I understand. Sir Edgar described you as an antiquarian. You should take the credit.”
“She should, I agree,” her brother said. “She was very helpful when our uncle, Reverend Carriston, wrote his history of Scotland.”
“Ah, is that A History of Celtic Scotland, in four volumes? We have the set here, as it happens. My father thought highly of his work.”
“That is his,” Christina Blackburn confirmed. “How wonderful that it is in your collection!”
“I have not read it, I confess,” Aedan said.
“My sister is a fine historian,” John Blackburn said. “Her theory about Arthurian Britain helped to shape our uncle’s research and conclusions in his magnum opus.”
The young woman’s cheeks went bright pink, Aedan saw. He reminded himself then that she had come to Dundrennan to cast an expert eye on the stones he had uncovered. That quiet little beauty had the power to ruin his career and cause him to lose Dundrennan.
That, and the so-called laird’s curse here, were sharp reminders to distance himself, even if she was the girl in the painting that had captured his affection. He smiled and felt it go thin. She saw, for she glanced down, cheeks flushed, hands fiddling in her lap.
“My sister is modest about her expertise,” John was saying. “But I like to show it off.”
“John—” she began.
“Please do, Mr. Blackburn,” Aedan said over her. “I am curious to know.”
“She reads and speaks Latin, French, Greek, and Gaelic, and she can read Old Irish too. She can make sense of any old medieval text, I think. She has taught English to Highlanders as part of her charitable work, and she has published scholarly work under her own name. She is also kind and humble.” He smiled at his sister, who pinkened further.
“And lovely too,” Meg, Lady Strathlin, said.
“Mrs. Blackburn is a paragon,” Amy said coolly.
“And yet she looks a green young lass for all that,” Lady Balmossie said bluntly. “I thought a lady antiquarian would be a crabbit auld thing!”
“Mrs. Blackburn is a married lady, Aunt,” Amy said.
“A widow,” Christina Blackburn corrected softly. Aedan frowned, remembering her discomfort with that topic last night; her late husband had broken his promise to keep his painting of her private. That, Aedan thought, did not speak well of the husband.
“I am so sorry to hear it,” Meg murmured.
“Thank you, Lady Strathlin. Might I add, since my brother has said too much about me,” Christina said, “that he is a brilliant artist. His portraits are beautifully rendered.”
“Ah, the Blackburn family of artists!” Meg smiled. “I own a beautiful seascape by another Blackburn, a celebrated artist who was older, and gone now. Was he a relation?”
Christian nodded. “Our father, aye. He did a series of seascapes over the years. It is so good to know that you enjoy his work.”
“We have three Blackburn artworks in this house too,” Aedan said. “A rather dramatic history painting of Queen Mary Stuart at her devotions, done by your father, and a very good scene of Robert the Bruce at his coronation. The third is, ah, in my study.”
“That one is quite improper,” Amy said.
Aedan saw Mrs. Blackburn cast her brother a frantic look. John frowned.
“The picture of Robert the Bruce is very nice,” Amy said. “Did your father paint that one too?”
“Is it Robert the Bruce and Isabella of Buchan?” John said. “I painted that one.”
“You!” Aedan smiled in delight. “How marvelous! It’s an excellent piece.”
“Thank you. I did not know it was here. I, ah, do not keep very careful records. It was a few years ago, and I think it was sold at an exhibition.”
“Aye. It was one of the last paintings my father bought,” Aedan said.
“Oh, Aedan, you must ask Mr. Blackburn to paint the walls!” Amy exclaimed.
“With bucket and brush?” John shrugged. “I could do that.”
“Your talents would be wasted, sir,” Aedan said. “We have an unfinished mural in the dining room, started by a fellow who sadly died. Perhaps you could look at it. I wonder if you would be interested in finishing it at some point.”
“Mr. Blackburn would do a far better job than what’s there,” Lady Balmossie said.
“I agree,” Aedan said.
John smiled. “I would be happy to consider it.”
“What luck!” Amy said. “Would you like to see it now, Mr. Blackburn? I can take you there while Lady Strathlin shows Mrs. Blackburn the library. Aedan, will you come too?”
“It seems I have a prior engagement with Miss Thistle,” Aedan drawled, for the monkey had skimmed down the curtain while they were chatting and had just leaped to Aedan’s shoulder.
He rubbed her head while she chittered and pulled on his ear.
“Dear Miss Thistle, I am fond of you, too. But let go,” he murmured, chuckling.
“Rogue,” Amy teased. “The laird of Dundrennan never allows himself to be smitten.”
“Luckily we are perfectly safe from the affection of monkeys,” Aedan said.
“The lairds of Dundrennan are cursed,” Amy told the Blackburns. “It is just a tale.”
“Cursed?” Christina Blackburn asked.
Lady Balmossie leaned forward. “They do say the lairds o’ Dundrennan must never wed for love. ’Tis nonsense, I think, but our kinsmen have believed it for generations.”
“Oh, dear,” Christina said, looking startled.
“It is nonsense, surely,” Aedan said, standing, monkey on his shoulder.
“But we so tend to avoid the pitfalls of true love. Only sentimentalists like that sort of thing.” He said it lightly as he detached the monkey to set her on tall stand.
Fixing her tiny ankle with a small chain, he fed her an apple slice from a bowl.
“Good! Now you are free to come with me to the dining room,” Amy said.
“Not just yet. My correspondence needs attention. Please excuse me.” With a farewell nod, he went to the door—then paused to glance back at Christina Blackburn. It seemed to him that she bloomed like a rose among the other ladies.
“I’ll come to the library later, Mrs. Blackburn,” he said, his gaze meeting hers, “to show you where Carriston’s books are kept.”