Page 3 of The Scottish Duke
As far as he was concerned, Ruth wasn’t capable of loving anyone other than herself.
He had no doubt that, given the passage of years, she would have still charmed people. They would have said things like:She hasn’t changed, has she? She’s still one of the most beautiful women in Scotland, isn’t she?
Ruth would have gloried in their comments. She would have draped herself in diamonds whose sparkle matched that in her eyes.Did you hear that, Alex? They did enjoy themselves, didn’t they? We should entertain again soon, I think.
Even perched in the middle of the Highlands, Blackhall Castle had once been known for its hospitality, its entertainments, and its beauty.
The beauty had never faded, even though it took a fortune to maintain. The entertainments were fewer lately; he hadn’t the inclination to invite hordes of people to his home. And the hospitality? At the moment, he wished them all to perdition, including the men from the society in their evening attire, clustered in small groups around the ballroom.
Who would Ruth have dressed as tonight? He suspected she would prefer to come as herself, the Duchess of Kinross. Or perhaps she would have stolen her sister’s costume. Mary was Cleopatra, her long, white tunnel-like dress adorned with an intricate gold necklace. His mother was Queen Elizabeth, if he didn’t miss his guess, complete with a bright curly red wig.
Why was Ruth at the forefront of his mind tonight? Because he felt betrayed again? Because this was the first ball they’d held since her death three years ago? Because he’d been made raw with this feeling that he’d been a fool?
The orchestra his mother had hired was excellent. They were playing a waltz and a great many people were dancing. He should be a good host and greet his guests, but he had neither the will nor the ability to mask his emotions that well. He was furious, the rage building with each moment he stood there.
He waited until a footman was near, then gave him an order in a low voice. In moments the young man returned with a tumbler filled with whiskey.
“Watch me,” he said. “When it’s empty, I want you to bring me another one.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He didn’t drink often but he would tonight, with the single-minded pursuit of drunkenness. He could only remember two times he’d done something similar in recent memory: the day he’d learned his wife had been unfaithful, and the day she’d died in childbirth, taking his heir with her. Or perhaps the child hadn’t been his after all, a question he’d never have answered.
Tonight seemed an excellent occasion as well. He was facing the destruction of a dream, one brought about by someone he’d trusted.
You must learn to trust people, Alex.
The echo of his mother’s voice intruded into his thoughts.
Whyseemed as good a word as any in response. Or perhaps a resoundingNowould suffice.
Chapter 2
June was a wet month, storms always chasing across the horizon. Tonight another one was coming, but the people crowded into Blackhall’s ballroom didn’t seem to notice.
Lorna stood at the doorway, mesmerized by the sight. Every woman was dressed in a costume of some sort, and more than a few men were wearing kilts topped with a black evening jacket. One man stood in the corner, a red sash across his chest, evidently accepting the well-wishes of the people clustered around him.
The doors to the terrace had been shut against the rising wind of the storm, making the air even thicker with scents: various French perfumes, men’s pomade, heavily spiced punch, and the musty smell of her hundred-year-old dress.
One did not disturb the Duke of Kinross.
One did not make oneself known to the family.
One did not evince any curiosity whatsoever about the comings and goings of the Russell family, especially not the Duke of Kinross or the Earl ofMontrassey.
As she had been told, countless times, not only were they her employers, but the Russell clan was vastly influential in Scotland and the entire empire.
She was not to inquire about the meeting in the duke’s library this afternoon. The staff had speculated that it had to be a secret society of some sort, due to only footmen being allowed inside the room.
Everyone was careful not to talk around certain people at the castle. Mrs.McDermott, for one. The housekeeper was strict about gossip and would take away your half day off for a week if she found you were engaging in it. The second was Matthews, the duke’s valet. He not only gossiped but did so to members of the family.
Lorna knew that because she’d overheard him one night. Every day, after dinner, she escaped to the conservatory, retrieved her father’s journal from its hiding place inside the large pot in the corner, and worked on a sketch from memory. Being in the conservatory served a dual purpose. Not only could she sketch in private, but she might see the duke, who had a habit of walking outside every evening. Sometimes he came inside the conservatory, but not often.
She never spoke. Nor did she ever betray her presence. It was enough to simply remain motionless and silent for those minutes, sharing the space with him.
“You’re going to get in trouble, you are, disappearing like that,” Nan said one night. “If Mrs.McDermott finds out you’re not in bed, she won’t be happy.”
If Mrs.McDermott knew about the times she went to the conservatory, Lorna knew that the housekeeper might well send her packing. And if the housekeeper knew about tonight, there would be no doubt about the repercussions.
