Page 7 of The Texan Duke
From the look in her eyes, however, he doubted she found anything all that funny.
He’d seen that same look on a ranch hand’s face when he was tired of staring out at the horizon. A man could get weary of seeing nothing but grass, occasional mesquite trees, and clumps of cactus. He yearned for hills and valleys and rivers wider than the streams they could cross on foot.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Lady Lara Gillespie yearned for. Or what she was tired of seeing.
Felix Gillespie was slightly shorter, with a goatee-like beard, a mustache that was impeccably trimmed, and hair Connor considered too long.
Felix stood with his legs slightly apart as if he was ready to take on the world. His lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
If Felix had applied for a job on the XIV Ranch, Connor wouldn’t have hired him because of the feeling he got—one that indicated that it might be a good idea to keep that man in his sights for a while, at least until he proved to be either friend or foe.
Felix and his wife still lived at Bealadair, which surprised him. At home, his youngest sister was getting ready to marry in a few months, the other four having already found husbands. Eustace and Joe would occupy one of the houses in the Western Division, at least until they could build their own home there.
Although he was the heir to the XIV Ranch, Connor had been more than willing to share the wealth. Joe Pike, the man Eustace was going to marry, had proven himself a dozen times over. He had no qualms about deeding them a few thousand acres, enough to give the couple a start.
Lady Anise, the next in line to be introduced, had a softer face, with a less prominent nose and a mouth that wasn’t as wide. She wasn’t smiling at him. Nor did she deign to do so when her mother announced her name. She did, however, incline her head, almost regally.
Lady Muira, however, was a change from her two older sisters. She surprised him by smiling brightly.
“Would you like to go stand in front of the fire?” she asked. “I can’t imagine that the journey here was a warm one. But I’m so glad you arrived before the snow got worse.”
Muira’s eyes were smaller, her eyebrows surprisingly bushy. Her cheeks were like two pink biscuits on her face and her mouth was as large as Lara’s. He had the feeling that people didn’t care about Muira’s appearance. All he knew was that for the first time since he’d walked through the door he felt welcomed. Maybe part of that feeling was the fact that she reminded him of Eustace.
“You mean the snow can get worse?” he asked, smiling at her.
“Oh my, yes. It looks as if we’re to have one of our spectacular Highland blizzards. We might be snowed in for weeks.”
He sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. He wanted to conduct his business, get it out of the way, and be home again in a matter of weeks.
“We’re preparing for the Welcoming of the Laird, Your Grace. It will be held in ten days.”
He turned to face his aunt. “What’s the Welcoming of the Laird?”
Glassey, who had disappeared after they’d entered Bealadair, hadn’t mentioned it.
“It’s typical for all the members of the clan to greet a new laird, Your Grace. Once, it was a very formal affair, begun at Castle McCraight and completed in this very room. But in the last hundred years it’s been in the form of a ball. Less formal, but a great deal more entertaining.”
He doubted it. The idea of a ball didn’t sound fun at all.
“Of course, in normal circumstances we wouldn’t be entertaining at all, because of our dear Gavin’s death, but introducing you to the clan is a special event. People from as far away as London have indicated they would like to attend.”
He knew a bit about distances and how long it took to travel. If the future guests for this ball had to endure what he and Sam did traveling from London, he wondered if the occasion was worth it.
There was a light of zeal in the duchess’s eyes, however. He’d seen that look in his sister Barbara’s eyes when given the opportunity to attend some kind of party and she needed an escort because her husband was out of town. A sure and certain indication that he was doomed to attend whatever kind of soirée the duchess and his cousins had devised.
He sent a look toward Sam, but Sam had taken a seat near the duchess and was still staring rapturously at her.
His aunt struck him as one of those snobby people who thought they were better than someone else just because they were born into a certain family. It was luck and that was it. Otherwise, they could easily have been the daughter of a ranch cook or a blacksmith.
That’s why titles didn’t mean much to him, a fact that Mr. Glassey had yet to understand.
Pride came from a job well-done. He liked what he could accomplish from dawn till dusk. That’s what mattered.
When he was invited to sit, he remained standing. He didn’t want to sit. He’d been doing enough of that for the past twelve hours. Nor did he want to make small talk. He didn’t want to discuss the weather. It was still snowing and looked like it was going to keep snowing for a while. What was there to say? Nor did he want to talk about his father. Not right now. Especially not when he felt a little off-kilter.
This place, this huge house, was where his father had grown up, where Graham had spent twenty years of his life. A place he’d never mentioned.
He didn’t feel his father here, not in this fancy room with its chandeliers and crimson velvet. But there was every chance that there were nooks and crannies throughout the house that would suddenly remind him of Graham. He wasn’t entirely certain he was ready for that and it was a strange and unsettling thought. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t wanted to come to Scotland, for fear that he would be face-to-face with his father again. Instead of ghosts there would be memories. Not his, but his father’s and the family he didn’t know. Nor was he entirely certain he wanted to.
