Page 21 of Sinful Scottish Laird
Thank the heavens!She might have convinced at least one of them. “We won’t know until we’ve met them, will we?”
“I think we ought to invite them, Mamma,” he said.
She beamed at her son and one true ally, then turned that smile to the rest of them. “I think we ought to, as well.”
She could plainly see that Belinda and Mr. Tuttle didn’t agree with her, but Daisy had made up her mind. There was no opportunity like the present—she was fast running out of time as it was. A young widow of a wealthy viscount and the mother of an heir to a substantial fortune could not remain free forever. Daisy would, out of necessity for her son, be under the thumb of a man again. But for now, she was free to do and act as she pleased. She answered to no one, and if she wanted to travel to invite her Scottish neighbors to dine, she could bloody well do it.
The invitations were sent out the next morning.
There were eight in all, a number determined after some consultation with Mr. Munro, an elderly gentleman who lived somewhere on the lake and brought hares around to sell. He knew who lived where, and agreed to deliver the invitations. “No’ a man in these hills I donna know,” he’d bragged.
But the replies were slow to return. By the end of the week, they had only four favorable replies from the eight they’d delivered—from the MacDonalds of Skye, the Somerleds of Killeaven, the Murrays of Moraig, and the Mackenzies of Balhaire. The others did not respond.
Among those who failed to respond was Arrandale.
“I see Arrandale has not replied,” Daisy said casually to Mr. Munro when no one was about. “Was he not at home?”
“Aye, that he was. Setting a window as I recall.”
Daisy considered his lack of response to be quite rude, but she was not the least bit surprised. The poor dear probably feared he’d have to fend off any ladies in attendance, who he surely believed would latch on to him like leeches, being the prize catch of the Highlands as he was.
But what of the other invitations that went unanswered? All their guests would be expected to stay the night, as the distances they would travel were too great. Was that it, perhaps? Did they fear Auchenard would fall down around their ears and didn’t know precisely how to say so?
Belinda was, predictably, less optimistic in her reasoning. “They must know of your situation,” she said. “Those that are coming mean to gawk.”
Gawk.At her? At Ellis? Did they think her fortune dangled from her waist like a set of chatelaine’s keys? Daisy deflated. Was there no one on this earth who desired to know her for no other reason than she was a new neighbor? “I think they are interested in Auchenard,” she said stubbornly. “And those that didn’t respond? Well...they must have their reasons.”
Belinda shrugged and returned her attention to her painting of a tower ruin on a hill near Auchenard. Daisy couldn’t help but notice the stormy sky her cousin had painted.
Preparation for the dinner was daunting, particularly with a smaller staff than what Daisy generally employed for such an evening. Nevertheless, they managed to prepare the food and the lodge for guests, and she was quite pleased that the meal would be sumptuous, owing primarily to the availability of vegetables in Balhaire. Moreover, Rowley had been dispatched and had returned with several bottles of French wine and enough Scotch whisky to fill the lake.
“French!” Daisy had trilled with excitement.
“Indeed, madam, and had for a song,” Rowley reported excitedly.
“Well, of course,” Belinda said. “It’s been smuggled.” Nevertheless, she exclaimed at the fine quality of the wine when she drank it.
The day of the supper dawned cold and quite wet, but Daisy didn’t despair. The lodge was warm and dry, which was an improvement since their arrival. That afternoon, she dressed in her best gown, a soft green-and-gold brocade silk with a gold petticoat and embroidered stomacher, trimmed in satin ribbons and Belgian lace at the sleeves. It was the height of fashion, sewn for her just before she’d left London. Daisy also piled her hair high, then festooned it with summer flowers. She wore emerald earrings that matched the emerald she wore on a ribbon around her neck. If they’d come to gawk, let them see her in all her finery.
The guests had been invited to arrive by four o’clock. At a quarter to, Daisy made one last walk through the lodge, then went to the great room to wait with Uncle Alfonso.
Four o’clock came and went with no sign of anyone.
“It’s the roads, no doubt,” her uncle said, pacing the room with her. “They’re bloody well impassable.”
At five o’clock, Mrs. Green inquired if she should put the soup on. “They’re not coming,” Daisy said to her uncle.
“Patience, love.”
At six o’clock, Daisy was dejected. She began to imagine it all a cruel joke, and she could picture all the Scots in their strange dress sitting before a hearth somewhere, laughing at the Englishwoman who had come to the Highlands to open a nearly abandoned lodge. Arrandale was right—no one wanted her here.
Ellis, restless and hungry, was as confused as Daisy. “Why do they not come, Mamma?”
“It’s raining, darling,” she said absently.
“But not very hard at all,” he said, staring out the window.
Daisy stood up and held out her hand to her son. “Come. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Green if we can save any of the supper, shall we?”
