Page 112 of The Texan Duke
She suddenly looked away, her expression stricken.
“Elsbeth?”
She reached behind her and held out her hand. He took it. When she squeezed his hand, then pulled free, he watched her go, his chill forgotten in his confusion.
Chapter 34
Everything was in readiness for the ball to introduce the Laird of the McCraight Clan.
Elsbeth inspected the ballroom, noting the well-polished floor, with the exception of the four-foot-square area in the middle, the sparkling chandeliers, and the bustling staff. Musicians had come from Inverness to entertain and were tuning their instruments as she approved the preparations. Dozens and dozens of china platters were arranged on the spotless linen-draped tables, all in readiness for cakes, tartlets, sandwiches, slices of beef, mutton, all manner of food and drink—the finest larder in the Highlands ready for the clan.
Those members of the staff who were not working tonight would be attending the ball. It was the annual meeting of the clan and everyone was welcome, even if your name wasn’t McCraight.
Elsbeth was sure that the duchess secretly didn’t approve, but it was a tradition that Gavin had begun nearly thirty years earlier. Or perhaps she was doing Rhona a disservice. She had a feeling that she’d been harsher on the duchess than Rhona had ever been on her.
Once she was certain everything was in readiness, she descended the stairs to the library, one hand on the banister, the other lifting her heavy skirts. She hadn’t worn a ball gown in a while and she was finding it cumbersome.
She entered the library, opening the door slowly. Connor wasn’t there. She closed the door softly, moving to Gavin’s desk and sitting on the chair he’d used for years.
Despite the celebration to be held in an hour or so, she was close to tears. Tonight marked a turning point in her life, one more definite than even Connor’s arrival or his announcement that he was putting Bealadair up for sale.
Her gaze went to the fireplace. Gavin’s presence was still being felt. Or perhaps it was Connor’s. A fire was laid in the library every day, in readiness for its occupation by the duke.
She looked up, suddenly feeling as if she weren’t alone. The sensation wasn’t frightening as much as strangely reassuring.
Gavin had always said that he thought she was a little fey. “You’re more Scottish than most women I know,” he said once. “I’m surprised you don’t have the Sight.”
Maybe she did. Or maybe it was simply because she wished him here so desperately.
She stood and rounded the desk, moving to the fire, sitting on one of the two chairs there. If Gavin had been there, he would have placed his hand on her shoulder as he’d done many times, in a wordless gesture of encouragement.
He might have spoken then, asked her to tell him what was bothering her. He’d always seemed to know when something was weighing on her mind.
She spoke to him now, almost as if he’d asked:What is it, Elsbeth?
“I miss you. I wish you were here. Especially tonight. They’re all going to hate me after tonight, you know. And this time, I won’t be able to come and cry on your shoulder.”
Silence answered her.
As long as she was confessing to a ghost that didn’t exist, she might as well tell him the whole truth.
“I feel too much for him,” she said. “For Connor. Isn’t that foolish? How can that be? I’ve only known him a short time.”
When had it begun? From the first sight of him striding toward her in the snow? Or had it been when she watched him looking at his father’s portrait and feeling his sense of loss and grief? Whenever it was, it had been instantaneous—or at least without much conscious thought at all.
She put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.
Gavin didn’t answer her, but she didn’t need him to tell her what she already knew. Nothing could come of her feelings. Nothing more than future heartache.
She opened her eyes, stood, and went to the door. It was time. She was about to do the unthinkable: betray the family that had taken her in.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Gavin wasn’t here after all.
It had been drilled into Connor these past days that the ball to introduce the duke and laird to his clan was tradition, one he couldn’t avoid. The ball was a function of his dukedom that he couldn’t give to Glassey or anyone else. He could almost hear his father and uncle nodding and agreeing that the whole thing was an annoyance, but it was a McCraight annoyance and he’d best set his mind to doing it without complaint.
He strode into the Laird’s Hall as the first strains of music floated down from the ballroom. Guests had been arriving for the past hour, but strangely not one member of the family had been on hand to greet them. He’d been told that was part of the tradition. They would all come marching in to the sound of pipers once everyone arrived. He, as the Duke of Lothian and Laird of the McCraight Clan, would lead the procession.
He couldn’t imagine a more loathsome duty.
