Page 27 of The Texan Duke
“Bealadair and the land?”
The solicitor nodded, although he looked pained to have to admit it.
“But Your Grace...”
“I want to sell it, then.”
Glassey was looking a little pale.
“If you can’t arrange that, I’ll find someone who can.”
“I’ll make inquiries, Your Grace.”
Connor interrupted him. “My name is Connor,” he said. “From now on, if you want me to pay any attention to you, you’ll call me by my name. I’m nobody’s grace.”
He didn’t look at the solicitor as he left the room.
Chapter 9
Elsbeth walked into one of the downstairs parlors, the one favored by the McCraight sisters. The patterned yellow silk on the walls had been made in France. Perhaps at one time it was a darker color, but over the years it had faded to a pale yellowish white. Rather than remove the wall covering, they had simply compensated by changing the furniture.
Two years ago, the specially made settees and chairs had been delivered. The upholstery fabric very nearly matched the French silk. Emerald green accent pillows added a punch of color to the room.
The duchess loved to decorate, or modernize, as she called it. She was forever changing either one of the public rooms or one of those occupied by a member of the family. Last year she’d decided that Elsbeth should move from her suite so that it, too, could be altered. Elsbeth had pleaded with Gavin. There was nothing she needed or wanted changed in the rooms she’d lived in ever since coming to Bealadair. Gavin and Rhona had a rousing fight on the subject, but Gavin had emerged victorious. The duchess hadn’t been happy about the outcome, however, and had frowned at her for weeks.
Rhona wasn’t in the Yellow Parlor, thank heavens, but the sisters were. Anise was holding court, marching back and forth in front of the roaring fire.
“It isn’t fair,” she was saying. “I don’t know as much about the older wing as you do, Lara. You should take it, and I’ll show him the family wing.”
Elsbeth knew what they were talking about immediately. Rhona had decided that her three daughters were to give the tour of Bealadair to His Grace—Connor.
Perhaps she should have taken tea somewhere else, but she’d wanted to visit with Muira. Her friend turned and smiled at her, making her feel somewhat welcome. The other two girls had always been a little standoffish, even when she was a child, but they were that way with everyone. It wasn’t as if they had singled Elsbeth out for rudeness.
She nodded to one of the maids, and the girl left the room. In moments she would be back with another cup and perhaps even another tray, one filled to the brim with treats they’d prepared over the last few weeks.
“I’m not going to trade with you,” Lara said. “It’s bad enough that I have to traipse around the house with the man in his outlandish clothing. Why hadn’t Mr. Glassey outfitted him better in London? Hopefully, no one saw him. Can you just imagine what people would say?”
Elsbeth couldn’t allow Lara’s comment to remain as it stood.
“He’s from Texas,” she said. “Of course they don’t dress the same as Scotland.”
“What do you know about it?” Lara said. “You don’t have an eye for fashion. You don’t care what you wear. How do you know what they wear in Texas?”
“Both His Grace and his friend were wearing boots,” she said. “They were both wearing the same kind of hat. And the same kind of coat. Perhaps if it was just His Grace, you could make the assumption that he’s iconoclastic in his dress. But two men? You can only assume that it’s a Texas style he’s wearing. Shall we ask Mr. Glassey? He’ll know.”
Lara looked away, the same as dismissing her. Elsbeth was used to it. Lara had always been that way, behavior that wasn’t isolated to Elsbeth. She treated everyone the same, as if they were beneath her.
When she was thirteen, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, Lara told her half sisters that she considered them upstarts.
“I’m the only child of our father’s true wife,” she’d said.
Ever since that announcement, there had been a separation between the sisters. Lara didn’t seem to care. The only person she treated well was Felix. She was devoted to her husband.
Elsbeth didn’t like the man. It was difficult to be fond of someone who always looked at you as if he smelled something bad.
“I wouldn’t give any thought to his opinion of you, my dear,” Gavin had said. “Felix is one of those people who doesn’t approve of anyone unless they have a title or significant riches to their name. He is, I’m afraid, a hanger-on.”
His words had surprised her. So, too, the fact that he’d agreed to Lara marrying the man. But, then, Lara always had her own mind. As a child, she would threaten to hold her breath until she got her way. When she had a tantrum, Gavin had always given her a sideways look, shrugged, and walked away.
