Chapter Six
At the creak of the door and the rustle of skirts, Aedan peered over his newspaper to see Christina Blackburn enter the sunny, oak-paneled breakfast room.
He took a moment to admire her graceful figure as she crossed the room.
She wore a dark-gray gown, her auburn hair winged back in a low knot.
With spectacles on her nose and her cheeks high pink, she looked demure, scholarly, and yet delectable.
Desire rushed through him in a wave. He was finding it difficult to remain detached around the museum antiquarian. He almost wished Edgar Neaves had come in her place.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackburn.” He rose to pull out a chair at the table.
“Sir Aedan,” she murmured. She sat, and he caught a waft of lavender and vanilla. “What a lovely room,” she remarked.
He nodded, glancing at the rose chintz draperies, the flowery seat coverings, and the green tartan carpet. “We have been redoing the place,” he said, sitting to take up his newspaper again.
“It is cheerful and relaxing. I am sorry we missed you at supper last evening.”
“Ah. I had a good deal of work, and had to drive out to the building site. So I took a late supper in my office.”
“Lady Strathlin and Mr. Stewart had gone to visit friends, so John and I had a light supper together, and then I enjoyed some time in the library.”
“So you found your way.” His lips twitched.
“I did, though John was tired and went to bed. What was this room like before you made changes?” She was looking around.
He frowned, thinking. “Dark drapes, leather chairs, worn and shabby but I thought it was comfortable enough. But my father wanted changes made, and the ladies of Balmossie insist that the queen likes flowery things. At least Cousin Amy does.”
“Very pretty. The floral pattern complements the view of the gardens from here.”
“So it does. I had not noticed that before.” He glanced toward the window, where flowery curtains framed rosebushes heavy with late-summer blooms. How had he never seen that? He flicked his newspaper and returned to reading.
A maid sailed into the room, small and redheaded, to pour coffee into a china cup for Mrs. Blackburn and refill Aedan’s cup. She set a packet of mail at his elbow.
“Thank you, Muriel,” he murmured, as the maid bobbed, smiled, and left the room.
Christina looked up. “I thought she was called Sonsie Jean.”
“Her given name is Muriel. My father called all the maids Jeanie to save himself the trouble of learning names. He was a brilliant poet, but scattered about some things.”
“What about Bonnie Jean and Wee Jean?”
“Bonnie Jean happens to be her name. Wee Jeanie is Eliza.” He sipped the steaming coffee. “Mrs. Gunn calls the maids the Jeanies, since she clings to my father’s ways. Part habit, and partly because she misses him a good deal.”
“His influence is everywhere here.”
“It is.” Aware of her steady gaze, Aedan raised the newspaper like a shield and tried to concentrate on a column that reported Queen Victoria’s public schedule.
“What is so fascinating?” she asked.
He turned down a corner of the page. “It is reported that the royal family are expected to travel to their Highland home at Balmoral soon. Their schedule is here for September and October.”
“I understand they are expected at Dundrennan.”
“Aye, in about two months. And my highway must be completed by then.”
“I hope it all goes smoothly.”
“I certainly hope so.” He met her gaze pointedly. How remarkable that this petite, lovely creature had the power to prevent him from meeting his obligations.
When Christina rose to go to the sideboard, he read on through the paper. He had finished breakfast and should start his day, but something held him—she held him here.
She returned with a plate of eggs, toast, fruit, and paused by the window. “What’s that, beyond the trees? A stone arch, there in the sunlight?”
Aedan looked up. “The Remembrance. A monument to the princess of Dundrennan.”
“The ancient legend? How romantic! It looks like a medieval ruin.”
“True. It may look wildly romantic, but it is just crumbling stones, moss, mildew.”
“But very picturesque. You must be proud to have such a thing on your estate.”
“I suppose so,” he admitted, glancing at the ruined arch surrounded by trees and roses. Somehow Christina Blackburn made him see familiar things in a new way. “You should visit it before you leave.”
“My brother might like to sketch it.”
“He may draw what he likes here,” he murmured, turning another page.
He was aware that he acted cool toward her, but he needed the distance, having revealed too much of himself to her.
Now he must reel in any lines he had cast out.
The woman was just a business acquaintance, and would be gone in a few days.
He glanced at her as she sat again. A stranger, yet he felt as if he had known her all his life, as if she were a missing puzzle piece that fit neatly into a space he had not even known was empty.
She ate discreetly but with good appetite. He liked that in women; some, like Amy, ate like wee birds due to silly notions about appearance and propriety. Amy nibbled at meals, and sometimes even fainted, albeit prettily, from hunger and tight stays.
He sipped coffee and began to open his mail. One letter was another request from the Parliamentary Commissioners for a firm date on the completion of the road through Dundrennan. That answer would depend on what Mrs. Blackburn decided about the find on the hill. Scowling, he pocketed the letter.
“Sir Aedan,” Christina said, “am I late this morning? There is no one else about.”
“Mr. Stewart and Lady Strathlin left for Glasgow early this morning, but asked me to tell you farewell. When my aunt and my cousin are here, they are rarely seen before ten-thirty. After we have all had breakfast, Mrs. Gunn will see that the rest is wrapped and delivered to those who may need it. I am glad to see that you have an honest appetite,” he added.
If he had said that to Amy, she would have stopped eating for the rest of the day.
“It is very good, and I appreciate the hospitality. Sir, do you suppose Tam Durie could drive me and my brother up to Cairn Drishan this morning?”
“I will be glad to drive you there myself if you can wait until I read my mail.”
“Thank you. I thought to walk, but John is not comfortable with rugged walking.”
He nodded. “May I ask if his injury is temporary, or more permanent?”
“He was in the Crimea. Injured at Balaclava,” she answered quietly. “He has regained some of his strength and abilities, and we hope for further recovery.”
“I see.” He set down the envelope in his hand. “My older brother was at Sebastopol,” he said. “He did not return.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” she breathed.
He fought a sudden, unexpected onslaught of grief triggered by the tenderness in her tone.
“Well,” he said. “Well. As we were saying, I would be happy to take you and Mr. Blackburn out to Cairn Drishan. You may walk another time, or you can take ponies if you wish. We keep garrons for hill terrain. If you need to see the hill again,” he added.
“I expect to visit it several times to prepare a report for Sir Edgar.”
“I was surprised he sent you here rather than coming here himself.”
“Because I am female?” She sat straighter, backbone curving away from the chair. “Sir Edgar intends to come here as soon as he is free, if that eases your doubts about my expertise and authority.”
“I do not doubt your ability, madam,” he said quickly. “You may well be more competent than Edgar. When does he intend to arrive?”
“He has gone down to London, so I cannot quite say.” She had a few bites of fruit and then eggs, each movement neat and prim. Aedan watched the food enter her lips, then summoned better focus.
“Either way, madam, you may find little of interest on Cairn Drishan. We uncovered an old stone wall, but that is common enough. It may be a boundary wall and not very old.”
“Sir Edgar says that Pictish ruins are in this area, and so he wants to be sure.”
“I have seen it, and I assure you it is quite ordinary.” He tapped his fingers on the stack of envelopes. “I was there when my work crew blasted in that section.”
“Blasting? I hope nothing was destroyed.”
“Only what we intended to do—clear a section of rock out of the way. I am a civil engineer for the Highland Highways project in this region, doing work for the Parliamentary Commissioners of Roads and Highways.”
Her eyes widened. “Sir Edgar said you were an engineer, but I did not know you worked with the Parliamentary Commission. I understand the Prince Consort works closely with the Commission in the interest of promoting tourism and healthy industry in Scotland.”
“Aye. It is a good scheme, though some feel more roads and railways and such will spoil Scotland. But whatever increases Scotland’s finances and provides work for Highlanders down on their luck is the better direction in my opinion.”
“I agree. But would you want to see tourists here at Dundrennan?”
“I am glad to build much-needed roads. But I would rather not see uninvited visitors treading over my lands in search of the romantic Highlands. My father would have thrown our doors open to the public, for he always believed Dundrennan was a historic treasure. That may be, but I prefer privacy.”
“Yet you build a public road through your property,” she pointed out. Taking another delicate bite of breakfast, she set the fork down.
“The estate and the deed are mine. But most of the land in Scotland actually belongs to the Crown. The landowner’s permission is a legal formality.
So Parliament takes precedence in matters like public roads.
And the route would need to cross my property regardless.
At least this way I have a say in just how it cuts across my property. ”
“What if the wall you found proves to be a national treasure? You cannot deny access to it in that case.”