Page 9 of The Texan Duke
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not.”
“Oh, you are,” Muira had continued in an unconcerned voice. “Everyone sees it. You’re a beauty while we’re just acceptable.” Muira’s smile had the effect of transforming her face, making her brown eyes sparkle and her plump cheeks turn a flattering shade of pink. “I don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to be so pretty that everyone stares at me. I don’t think Lara minds, either. Anise might be the only one who cares, but everyone knows she’s vain.”
She’d discounted Muira’s words. She hadn’t chosen her gray eyes or black hair. But the McCraight girls were just as pretty, especially Anise.
If the duchess disliked her because she wasn’t ugly, there was absolutely nothing she could do about that. She suspected, however, that the true reason she and the duchess didn’t get along lay in the relationship Elsbeth had had with the duke. Over the years they’d become fast friends, with Elsbeth taking tea in the library every day with Gavin. She’d gotten into the habit of discussing anything with him from the repair of the roof tiles to poetry. He, in turn, had confided in her about his difficulties in finishing his volumes on the McCraight history and fussed at her about working too hard.
Those hours were special to her because they made her feel as if she belonged at Bealadair, the few times she did. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t felt the same way since Gavin’s death.
Before she left the room she gave Maisie, one of the senior maids, instructions to stand by the door in case anyone needed anything.
“Monitor the trays, Maisie,” she added. “If you see that we need anything else replenished, go to the kitchen.” Heaven knows they had enough food.
She gave the duke’s coat to one of the maids with instructions to have it carefully dried. The two of them shared a look as they examined it. It was lined with fleece, so soft and thick that it was surely the warmest coat she’d ever seen. The leather on the outside was sueded, water beading on it.
“It’s American, then,” the maid said.
“I suppose so,” Elsbeth replied.
Why hadn’t Mr. Glassey informed them that the new duke would be attired in such a startling manner? For that matter, where was the solicitor?
She found Mr. Glassey supervising the distribution of the baggage from the two carriages.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” she said, explaining that their majordomo would have helped if he’d been well. “Mr. Barton is suffering from a case of the gout,” she said. “The poor man has been laid up for nearly a week.”
“It’s no trouble, Miss Carew.”
Just then one of the footmen stumbled in, struggling under the weight of the strangest saddle she’d ever seen. It didn’t look anything like the one she used in shape or adornment. The tooling was ornate and complex, covering most of the leather.
When she gave instructions for the saddle to be taken to the stable, Mr. Glassey interrupted her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Carew, but His Grace would want that in his room, at least until he was certain the stable was acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“We have carried that saddle in coaches, aboard ship, and on various trains, Miss Carew. I’ve never seen anyone as possessive of an object as His Grace is about that saddle.”
How very odd.
“Are you very certain, Mr. Glassey?”
“I am more certain of that than of anything, Miss Carew, including the fact that I’m currently drawing breath. The man has not let it out of his sight.”
“Very well,” she said, countermanding her own order. The saddle would go into the duke’s suite.
She couldn’t help but wonder what else the new duke had brought from America.
“I’ll direct the footmen to put the rest of the trunks in the proper rooms,” she said. “Why don’t you join the others in the Laird’s Hall?”
The man certainly knew the way. It was where Gavin’s will had been read, instead of the library where he’d spent most of his days. He had, in the way of the preceding Lairds of Clan McCraight, requested the presence of the members of his clan. Nowadays, they numbered a little over two hundred. On that day they’d filed into the Hall and listened as their laird bequeathed each of them a sum. The amount wasn’t large, but it would go to making their lives easier. When there were tears shed, it was not only in appreciation for the laird’s generosity, but also in genuine grief for the duke they’d lost.
Would the new duke understand his obligation to the clan? Only time would tell.
“I’d much rather do this if you don’t mind, Miss Carew. His Grace and I have been having a difference of opinion these past few days.”
Normally, she could curtail her curiosity, but not tonight.
“Does he have a difficult nature?” she asked.
