Fellows halted, his face still, his only acknowledgment of her a faint nod. Louisa tried to nod back, but her neck was too stiff to bend. She and Isabella reached the landing on the second floor, Isabella pulled her around a corner, and Mr. Fellows was lost to sight.
"Here we are," Isabella said, ushering Louisa into a large, sumptuous bedchamber. It was a huge room, larger even than her chamber had been when Louisa had lived in the main house on her father's estate. Her bedroom in the dower house was quite small, a corner room under the eaves.
"It's enchanting," Louisa said. "Izzy, I need to tell you. I've decided something."
Isabella turned around, saw Louisa's face, and quietly told the upstairs maid who was unpacking Louisa's cases to leave them and return later. The maid curtseyed and retreated, though she gave Louisa a curious Scots stare before she left.
Isabella took Louisa's hands. "What is it, darling?"
Louisa took a moment to reflect how beautiful her beloved sister had become. Isabella's hair was a rich red, her eyes the perfect green in contrast, her skin pale but not the chalk white of too delicate a complexion.
Isabella knew how to dress well, her green gown with black piping neither too matronly nor too frivolous, her bustle a manageable size in an age where they all must wear the equivalent of kitchen shelves on the backs of their gowns. Tasteful, elegant, lovely. The stark unhappiness had gone from Isabella's eyes, to be replaced by the contentment of a woman who was well loved.
"I've decided I need to get married," Louisa said.
Isabella squeezed Louisa's hands and started to smile, then the smile faded. "I was about to ask who was the lucky gentleman, but suddenly I'm not sure what you mean."
"I mean that it is time for me to marry. I've been of marriageable age for years now, and am actually already on the shelf. I am regarded with pity, despite the fact that I'm an earl's daughter, because papa died in disgrace and poverty. I'm not much of a prospect, am I? But there are men of fortune willing to seek a pedigree, and I do at least have that."
"Darling, you don't need a fortune. Mac and I will take care of you and Mama, you know that. You never have to worry."
"Yes, and you both are very kind." Louisa withdrew her hands from her sister's grasp. "But I want to marry. I want my own household, children. I do not wish to be the spinster sister living on charity the rest of my life. If I marry well, not only will you have me off your hands, I can help restore the reputation of the Scrantons, which is a bit damaged, you must admit. I can hear the gossips now, if I do this--Her father died in terrible debt, her sister's scandalous elopement was played out in the newspapers, but at least the younger sister married into a good family."
"Louisa." Isabella dropped her distressed look and spoke gently. "I love you dearly. I do understand--you want your dignity back. But please, I beg of you, do not marry against your heart. I would be pleased beyond belief to see you settled and filling your nursery, but only if you're in love. I've witnessed many a loveless marriage, and both parties live in misery, believe me. I followed my heart, as much trouble as it caused, and found true happiness. I have a wonderful husband who adores me, and I love him and my three children with every breath."
Yes, she did. Mac was besotted with Isabella, and she with him. But Isabella's happiness had been a long time in the making.
"That's all very well," Louisa said impatiently. "But when you ran off with Mac, it was a complete mess, and you know it. I don't wish to be unkind, Izzy, but as I observed before, you made things rather difficult for those of us left behind. You followed your heart, but you spent many unhappy years before you and Mac sorted it all out."
"I know." The flash of pain in Isabella's eyes told Louisa just how unhappy those years had been. "But life is a complicated thing. Not easily put right with this marriage or that--a man of fortune, a woman of lineage. The newspapers will like it if you make such a match, but you won't."
"What choice do I have?" Louisa swung to her cases and started lifting out gowns--Isabella had purchased every one of them for her. "I am the poor relation, I am left off invitation lists because I've been out several seasons now, and no one has shown interest in marrying me. I want to change that. This spring, I will set out to find a husband. I will have to borrow money from you for a new wardrobe, but I will pay you back when I can."
Isabella's competent hands lifted a skirt and shook it out. "What absolute nonsense. Of course, you shall have your wardrobe, and the most glorious Season any young lady could wish. The debs will be green with envy. If you want a husband, you shall have one."
Louisa recognized the determination in her sister, a determination that could flatten forests. "Please do not match-make for me, Isabella. I know the eligible gentlemen in London and the chances I have with each. I've made it my study. I will do this on my own." She let out her breath, softening. "Though I do appreciate your help, Iz. You know that. And Mama will certainly enjoy herself. She adores going out, and she will accompany me everywhere."
"As will I, when I can," Isabella said. "You know that London during the Season is my territory, and I'll be presenting another artist and new violinist at my little gatherings. You shall of course be there to hostess with me."
"As your unmarried sister."
"As my brilliant little sister who would make any gentleman invited to my house a good wife. Not to worry, Louisa. This will all turn out well."
Louisa let Isabella dream and scheme as they turned to unpacking. Louisa would curb Isabella's enthusiasm when the time came, but for now, she could allow Isabella her enjoyment.
Louisa's treacherous thoughts returned to Mr. Fellows, and the glitter of his Mackenzie eyes as he looked at her across the empty space in the staircase hall.
Mr. Fellows, a working-class man with scandalous connections and illegitimate birth, was a most ineligible bachelor. But he kissed like fire, and he'd stirred a longing in Louisa's heart she'd never forgotten.
*** *** ***
Christmas Eve arrived, and with it, David, but without the precious Ming bowl.
"Don't growl at me, Hart," David said, when he reported in. "Glastonby's a tough nut, and I'm cracking him. But it takes time."
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
"What am I to tell Beth?" Hart did not want to explain to her that his idea of sending David to coerce the bowl out of Glastonby had failed.
David shrugged. "Tell her that I am working hard and nearing the goal. But Glastonby has become the consummate family man for Christmas, so I thought I'd return to Scotland and enjoy mine."
Hart poured whiskey into cut-crystal glasses and handed one to David, reflecting that David always looked better when he had his teeth sunk into something. His eyes lost their red-rimmed, bloodshot appearance, his puffy face returned to lean lines, and his voice was steady and whole. Hart kept the amount of whiskey in the glass small, and noticed that David sipped it rather than downed it in a single swallow.
"I'll leave after Boxing Day and return with the bowl before New Year's. Promise. Beth can give it to Ian as a Hogmanay present." David broke into a grin. "Believe it or not, you'll owe some of my success to a vicar."
Hart selected two cigars from his humidor and handed one to David. "How so?"
"Ah, thank you." David lit the cigar with a match and spent a moment sucking in smoke. "You know, I maintain my friendship with you because you always stock the finest. The vicar's an old friend--well, old family friend. He's always kept an eye out for me, sort of a substitute father, because mine was rubbish, as was yours. Anyway, he knows Glastonby, agreed that the man was a hypocrite, and said he'd help me, as long as Glastonby's wife and daughters never find out and aren't hurt by it. Glastonby deserves to be shamed, not his family, and I agree. The man insists on keeping me to the straight and narrow."
Hart took a pull of the cigar and chased it with a sip of whiskey. He savored the combination, as he always did, finding enjoyment in every corner of life he could. He'd learned to do so a
t an early age. "If it works. I need that bowl."
"Oh, it will work, my friend. But for now." David sank into an armchair and stretched out his long legs. "I'll drown in decadence for the next two days, then return to work."
"By New Year's," Hart said in a firm voice. David was loyal, but too easily distracted.
"By New Year's." David saluted Hart with the glass, then gave up moderation and poured the whiskey down his throat.
*** *** ***
Mac had established, the first Christmas Kilmorgan Castle had seen the new brood of Mackenzie children, that the family spent Christmas morning in the nursery giving gifts to the children, before the adults partook of the more formal dinner with guests downstairs. Hogmanay would be only family and very Scottish, with bonfires, Black Bun, more presents, the First Footer, another feast, and much celebration.
Beth loved the traditions. Christmas Day during her childhood had been the same as any other, except in the workhouse, when they'd heard a sermon and had a small second helping of bread. New Year's had come and gone without much acknowledgment.
She'd never experienced childish joy at beholding armfuls of gifts carried in by the men of the family, a Christmas tree heavy with decorations made by the ladies and children and laced with popcorn garlands, or the crackers that banged when pulled open to reveal little toys inside. Soon the children were buried in tissue and ribbons, the adults and Daniel helping them open the gifts. The only two of the family missing were Hart, who hadn't yet arrived, and Eleanor, who was keeping to her bed to rest, planning to join the feast at dinner.
The McBride children were included in the festivities this year. Andrew whooped as he dashed about with a stick hobbyhorse that had a real mane. Catriona sat quietly with the large doll that never left her side, contemplating a doll-sized silk tea gown, exquisitely made in the latest fashion. The dress had been crafted by a dressmaker and had been as perfectly wrought as any gown for a lady. Ainsley explained that Sinclair had one made every year for Catriona's doll.
"How lovely," Beth said, sitting down beside Cat. "Shall we dress Dolly in it?"
"Her name is Daisy," Catriona said, with the scorn only a nine-year-old could muster. "Like my mama. And she doesn't want to wear the dress right now."
"Well, that's all right." Beth addressed the doll. "It truly is beautiful, Daisy. Such fine workmanship. A lovely gift."
"Maybe later," Cat said. She hugged Daisy close, burying her face in the doll's golden hair.
Sinclair shook his head as Beth rose. "I give her a gown every year," he said in a low voice. "Cat tells me the doll likes it but prefers not to wear it. Her mother gave her the doll, you see, the Christmas before she passed. So I don't insist."
Beth understood. The last thing Cat's mother had given her would be precious, not to be touched. Beth's mother had given her a hair ribbon a month before she'd passed, for which she'd saved up her wages. Beth had kept it safely wrapped in paper ever after. She still had it.
She didn't miss the flash of pain in Sinclair's eyes. The death of Mrs. McBride had cut this family deeply.
Ian sat a little apart from the children, watching them laugh and squeal as they pulled tissue from their gifts. None of the boxes to Jamie and Belle had come from him, though Beth had assured them that the new scarves, hats, gloves, tin soldiers, and dolls had come from both Mama and Papa.
Ian only sat, arms on knees, and watched. As Beth started for him, one of the footmen flung open the door to admit Hart, who strode in like a king, his arms loaded with boxes. The six Mackenzie children and Andrew McBride swarmed him, and even Catriona looked up in interest.
"One at a time," Hart roared. The children paid no attention. They grabbed on to his coat or hem of his kilt, and half followed, half dragged him into the room.
Hart deposited the boxes onto a large table, sank into an empty chair much too small for him, and lifted the three smallest Mackenzies--Gavina, Robert, and Belle--to his lap. The others gathered around, talking at once, reaching for the boxes. Hart's visit to the nursery was always An Event.
Ainsley, Beth, and Isabella distributed the gifts, while the other gentlemen retired with Daniel to the side of the room and made what they supposed were sotto voce remarks.
"He looks like a papa bear with all his cubs, doesn't he?" Mac asked.
"A dancing bear," Cameron said.
"They like him," Ian said. "He's kind. He pretends not to be."
"He pretends very well," Daniel said, grinning.
"Yes," Ian answered.
Hart completely ignored them. He helped small fingers undo the parcels, listened to oohs and aahs at the extravagant toys, many made by the best toy makers in Germany, Switzerland, and France.
"Where's Aunt Eleanor?" Jamie asked.
"Resting," Hart said. "If you are good--and quiet--you can go see her later. She has to stay in bed right now."
"We're always quiet, Uncle Hart," Andrew shouted. "Cat's quieter than me."
"We know, Andrew." Hart gave him a severe look, which he softened as he handed the boy a package. "Something for you."
Aimee held out a paper hat to him. "You have to wear the crown, Uncle Hart," she said. "You're the king of the castle. Next year, your little baby will be the prince or princess."
Hart took the hat with solemn thanks, unfolded it, and put it on his head. His brothers guffawed in the corner.
"Suits you, Uncle Hart," Daniel called. "Truly."
Hart again ignored them, giving his full attention to the children. Beth however, had seen his flash of fear when Aimee had mentioned the baby.
The man was terrified. He feared losing Eleanor and the new child in the same way he'd lost his first wife and infant son. From the dark smudges under his eyes, Hart hadn't been sleeping. Beth would go to Eleanor after the children were finished opening gifts and look after her, to try to give Hart some relief.
Ian stood up abruptly. "Jamie," he said. "Come with me."
Jamie immediately set down the windup soldier Hart had given him, jumping over the empty boxes and crush of tissue and ribbon. Belle slid from Hart's lap, toddling determinedly after her brother.
"Now?" Daniel asked.
"Now," Ian said.
Daniel gave a whoop to rival Andrew's and raced out of the room ahead of Ian. Ian scooped up Belle and handed her to Beth before he leaned down and lifted his two-year-old son.
Saying nothing, Ian followed Daniel out the door, Beth behind him. Hart, eclipsed, growled for the children to not leave the room like a stampede of elephants.
Daniel led them down the stairs and around to Ian's wing, then back up to the sitting room in which Daniel and Ian had spent so much time.
"Wait," Ian said sternly.
Daniel stopped at the door, turning so his back was against it, his hand on the door handle. "Don't worry. I know how this is done."
"Jamie gets to start it."
"Yes, I know. We've talked about it a hundred times."
Ian kept his frown in place. He might plan something over and over, but when the time came for the execution, he'd meticulously make certain that every step was carried out in exact order. He drove everyone mad in the process, but his plans usually worked.
"Do hurry, Ian," Beth said. "I'm on tenterhooks."
"You do have us all a bit curious," Ainsley said, her daughter in her arms.
Ian gave Daniel a nod. "Open the door."
Daniel pulled a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and very slowly swung open the door. Beth took a step forward, but both Ian and Daniel moved to block her path.
"Careful, Aunt Beth. One puff of air can set it off."
"Set what off? What have you two been doing?"
"Move," Ian said to Daniel.
Daniel stepped aside, and Ian carried Jamie inside. Jamie looked around in awe, then started to laugh. Beth pushed to the doorway, feeling the others press behind her.
She finally saw what was inside the room and stopped in astonishment. "Ian, what on eart
h?"
Ian set Jamie carefully on his feet. "The other children can come in, but they must stay near the door."
They'd already bustled forward. Andrew was stopped from darting inside and ruining everything by the strong hands of his father and Cameron.
"Jamie," Ian said. "Touch the first one just there."
Jamie, wide-eyed, put his finger on the very first domino, and gently pushed.
The room was covered with the things. Rows upon rows of black and white dominos stood upright on end, spaced evenly apart. They were on the floor, the furniture, window ledges, chair rail, every space a domino could be set. They were interspersed with other things Beth couldn't identify, but dominos were prevalent.
She saw this all in a split second, and then wonder took over.
The first domino knocked against the next, sending it into the next and so on. The momentum of falling dominos became a stream, and then a pattern that swirled around and around the floor.
The line climbed up a little ramp to run across the desk and down a set of books piled like stair steps on the other side. Back to the floor to divide into two patterns, each exactly mirroring the other, resembling the carefully trimmed hedges in the garden below.
Next, the dominos ran up to the window ledge and a colorful box there. A domino hit a lever before the next ones ran around the sill, and out popped a jack-in-the-box. Belle laughed and clapped her hands.
The domino stream ran across a ledge and up onto the next windowsill. Again one hit a lever, and out of this box popped a clockwork elephant that lifted its trunk and trumpeted before it sank back into the box.
The adults watched, as entranced as the children, as the line of dominos sped back to the floor. It ran in more patterns, then split again. One domino in the second pattern tripped a switch, shooting a toy train out from the shadows on its track. The train whistled and blew real smoke as it raced around to the end of its run, incidentally knocking down the next domino in the chain.