The Duchess

  “Quiet!” Trevelyan roared.

  Angus looked at him with a sly, smug expression on his brown face. “She said you betrayed her, that you listened to her so you could write about her. You been drawin’ those wee pictures of yours again?”

  At first Trevelyan didn’t know what he meant. Since Claire had left so abruptly a few days ago, he’d tried his best not to think of her, about her. He’d tried not to miss her. But he hadn’t been very successful. Twice he’d almost spoken to her. In a mere few days he had become almost accustomed to having her in the room with him. He’d wanted to read her a passage from what he’d written and ask her what she thought of it. He’d wanted to hear more of what she had to say about his writing, because she’d told him, before she knew who he was, that his writing was sometimes boring. Trevelyan told himself not to be vain, but his book sales weren’t what he thought they should have been, and maybe, possibly, she, looking at them as a reader, could help him improve them.

  “I believe I made a few drawings, yes,” he said at last.

  “They made her think you didn’t like her.”

  Trevelyan could only stare at the old man. “Didn’t like her? What have a few drawings to do with whether I like her or not? I make drawings of everyone.”

  “Maybe the girl ain’t heard of your abilities. Maybe she don’t know that them drawin’s of yours and that mouth of yours has made people so mad they’ve shot at you, beat you, and more than once tried to kill you, but it ain’t so much as dented your head a bit. Maybe she thinks it ain’t polite for people to laugh at others.”

  Trevelyan shrugged, for he still didn’t understand. It couldn’t have been something as small as the drawings that made her so angry that day. Surely it was that she’d just found out he was Captain Baker. He thought that when she got over her fear of him, she’d return. “I shall tell her that the drawings meant nothing and she may return. I meant her no harm.”

  “The girls always did want you, didn’t they?” Angus said. “No one else could see it. Not the men, that is. But the girls liked you better than they liked your older brother. He was a handsome devil and he was to be the duke, but it was always you the girls liked.”

  “You know nothing of me. I haven’t been here since I was a child.”

  “I know more of you than you think, and I’ll wager that that mother of yours knows a great deal too.” Angus lifted one eyebrow. “So now you plan to take Harry’s little American heiress away from him.”

  “I have no such intention. I have not so much as touched her.”

  “But you’ve spent more time with her than Harry has.”

  “That’s his fault, not mine. If I were engaged to her I’d sure as hell not neglect her.”

  “Aye, you’d woo her with all the things she likes: with books and words and wearin’ the laird’s plaid.”

  “She didn’t know it was the laird’s plaid. She’d never seen it before.”

  “But many of the crofters had. Many of them knew who you were that day you sat there and watched them dance. They were dancin’ for the new laird and his lady.”

  “She’s not my—” He lowered his voice. “She’s not my lady and she was never meant to be. We are…friends,” he said softly. “There is nothing more between us and there never will be. She is determined to marry my brother and become the duchess.”

  “You could tell her who you are. Her parents would approve the marriage. From what I hear they wouldn’t care if the duke were a hundred years old and missing limbs.”

  Trevelyan gave a one-sided smile. “She would marry me because I’m a duke, but I don’t want to marry anyone. I couldn’t travel if I were married, and I don’t want the responsibility of this house and the others, and I bloody well don’t want a wife who marries me for my title.”

  Angus gave a sound like a laugh. “T’were a pretty girl to tell me that she wanted to marry me because I was the laird of Clan MacTarvit, I’d run to the kirk with her.”

  “That’s just one more difference between you and me. I don’t want to marry, I don’t want to be the duke, and I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I have work to do.”

  “She means to marry your sister to James Kincaid.”

  “What?” Trevelyan was stunned. “How does she know of that? That was years ago.”

  “Your young brother told her.”

  “And it suits her sense of romance to bring them together. She wants to make them as happy as she is with Harry.”

  Angus told him what Claire had said about her children being the cornerstone of the duchess’s life. “The girl learned that from her grandfather. I think she means to take the old woman’s power away from her.”

  Trevelyan shook his head. “Stupid American child! She has no idea what she’s talking about. She has no idea what the old woman is like. Claire is a child, with the innocence of a child. She has dreams of living an idyllic life with Harry and raising blond children with titles after their names. She doesn’t even know that people like the old woman exist.” His cynicism turned to bitterness. “That woman would kill anyone who tried to take away either her son Harry or her power.”

  “But I think the lass means to try,” Angus said softly.

  “Oh, well, she’ll fail. She hasn’t the years of experience at treachery that the old woman has.”

  “What will the old woman do when she learns that the girl has tried to defy her and failed?”

  “Lock her away somewhere. How do I know? It’s none of my concern.”

  Angus didn’t say a word, but continued to sit on the window seat and stare at Trevelyan.

  When Trevelyan spoke again he could barely be heard. “The old woman will find out what is happening because Claire doesn’t know how to be secretive. All she thinks and feels shows in her eyes. And she will confide in Harry.” He snorted. “Her perfect Harry. She might as well tell the old woman directly. Harry will never see it as the threat that it is. If Claire tries to get him to help her marry Lee and Kincaid, Harry will only see it as work he has to do and he’ll complain about it to his mother.”

  “But the old woman will know what it is.”

  “Yes,” Trevelyan said. “The old woman will know that Claire has tried to take some of her power away. And she’ll retaliate.”

  “As she did to a small boy who was a bother to her,” Angus said softly.

  Trevelyan gave no indication that he heard. “She will wait until Harry and Claire are married. God, she might set the date for very soon. She would never let Claire get away after such an attempt.”

  “And what will she do to the girl?”

  “I cannot imagine,” Trevelyan said softly. “Torture her in ways that even the worst tribes I have seen would not think of. She will break Claire’s spirit as she has broken Lee’s. Did you know that Lee was once a bit of a devil herself? She was the leader in some of the pranks that we—”

  He broke off because Angus had stood and was now walking toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Trevelyan snapped.

  “You said you had work to do, and I must go back to the girl. She gets cold easily and I must see to her.”

  “You left Claire alone in that horrid old place of yours? She could be murdered. She could—”

  Angus was smiling at him. “This is Scotland and it’s the safest place on earth. It’s not the wilds of Africa or that city you looked for and couldn’t find.”

  “I did find it.”

  “Nay, lad, you died.” For a moment the two men locked eyes, then Angus looked away. “Now I must go back to her. You stay here and write your books. And when you’re well you can go back to your strangers in those faraway lands. Leave this place to the likes of Harry and his wife and his mother. It’s no concern of yours. You’re not the duke. You’re not the laird. You’re not marryin’ the girl. Stay up here with that man of yours and eat and sleep and write and stay out of it. It’s no concern of yours.”

  With that he turned and started down the stairs.
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  Trevelyan immediately went back to the third table and picked up his pen. He was working on his book about Pesha. He was going to tell the world what it had been like to visit, in disguise, that secret city. After Jack Powell had told the world he was the one to have visited Pesha, thinking there was no one alive who could contradict him, Trevelyan was going to publish his book and tell the world the truth. Jack thought he had taken all of Trevelyan’s notes on Pesha when he’d left him there to die, but Trevelyan had much more in his head that was not written down.

  It was hours later when Oman quietly entered the room and handed Trevelyan a flat package.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “The American lady gave it to me for you.”

  It took Trevelyan a moment to realize that Oman was calling Claire a “lady”—high praise indeed. He frowned as he opened the package, but as he pulled out the first drawing, his eyes widened.

  The drawings were crude, done by an unpracticed hand, but it was easy to see what they were meant to represent. They were drawings of him. She showed him as a highwayman about to be hanged. She showed him as a little boy standing outside a children’s party, sneering, acting as though he didn’t want to join the party, but his eyes were lonely. She showed him as a man sitting all alone in a tower.

  When Trevelyan first saw them, he was enraged. How dare that nobody American make such drawings of him! How dare she represent him in such an unflattering light. How dare she—

  He looked at the drawings again, and his anger was replaced by hurt. He had no idea she thought of him in this way. He had thought she…well, almost worshiped him. To find that this was what she thought of him, was…well, painful.

  It was the snicker from Oman that made him turn. Oman, stone-faced, unemotional Oman, was trying not to laugh aloud at the drawing of the highwayman.

  “I see nothing humorous in this,” Trevelyan snapped.

  “It is just like you. See, here and here. This is very like you.”

  “It is no such thing,” Trevelyan said as he snatched the drawing out of Oman’s hand. “It is—” He stopped, for he did see just a bit of resemblance between himself and the man in the drawing. In spite of himself, he began to smile. “It could not be me,” he said, but Oman had already left the room.

  Trevelyan took the drawings to the window and studied them, and as he did so, he smiled more broadly. Didn’t she know that he was the great Captain Baker? Didn’t that impudent little American know that no one laughed at a man of his accomplishments? He, Trevelyan, was the one who did the laughing, not the other way around.

  He put the drawings down and went to the fireplace, poking the logs around. Claire was none of his business and all that Angus had told him made no difference. He believed in not interfering. His refusal to interfere had saved his life many times.

  But now he remembered the way Claire had taken care of him when he was ill. Of course there was nothing she could do to help him recover from yet another bout of malaria, but she had stayed with him and she had kept his secret. She had let no one know where he was.

  He poked the logs around some more. It really wasn’t any of his business if she wanted to take on Harry’s mother. Harry’s mother, he thought with a grimace. The woman was his mother too. Not that he’d ever received anything from her except abuse and criticism.

  He knew how formidable the old woman could be. As Angus had said, she was capable of anything. Hadn’t she sent her second son away to live with her old bastard of a father? She’d sent her own son away when he was just nine years old, not on a visit, but she’d sent him away forever, never again to live as part of the family, because she thought he was discourteous and disrespectful. It had taken Trevelyan only two weeks with the old man to realize how very much his mother had hated him.

  And what would the duchess do to Claire when she found out Claire had attempted to usurp her place? Make her a prisoner as she’d done to Lee, Trevelyan thought. And who would defend Claire? Not Harry. He wouldn’t want to be bothered with the turmoil. Harry wouldn’t want anything to interfere with his hunting schedule. Would Claire’s parents defend her? From what Trevelyan knew of them, he didn’t think so. They would have obtained what they wanted—no matter that it was at the expense of their daughter.

  So, in the end, nothing would have changed. The duchess would still have complete and absolute control over the household—and his sister and Claire would be the woman’s prisoners. Life would go on.

  Trevelyan tried to think what Claire would be like under the old woman’s rule. There would be no more sitting in Angus MacTarvit’s cottage and drinking whisky or dancing with the crofters. In fact, there probably wouldn’t be any crofters to dance with. Trevelyan hadn’t asked Harry, but it was his guess that his mother planned to use part of Claire’s dowry to buy sheep, and you couldn’t graze sheep where people were living.

  Trevelyan looked at the fire. It was not any of his business. He’d come back for the sole purpose of recovering his health and writing his books. When that was done he was going to leave, and if Harry made good on his promise of money for expeditions, Trevelyan planned to go back into Africa by the end of next year. There was much more of Africa he’d like to see.

  “It is of no interest to me,” he said aloud. Then he looked again at the drawings, and in the next instant he called Oman to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harry was sleeping so soundly that Trevelyan had to shake him awake. Harry rolled over, looked at his brother in disgust, then turned away and closed his eyes again.

  “I want to talk to you,” Trevelyan said.

  “Do you never sleep?”

  “Not if I can avoid it.” When Harry didn’t bother to open his eyes again and looked as though he were going back to sleep, Trevelyan pushed him on the shoulder again. “I’m not leaving.”

  Harry grimaced and slowly sat up. “For someone who’s supposed to be in hiding you do get around. What’s wrong now?”

  “What happened between Claire and your mother today?”

  At that Harry opened his eyes wide. There was genuine puzzlement on his face. “Nothing unusual. Claire said she wanted to meet Mother and she did. They had tea together.”

  Trevelyan looked at his brother for a long while. Trevelyan was always amazed when people didn’t see what was going on around them. No doubt Harry thought that his mother and his fiancée had had a lovely tea together. Harry had probably not even realized Claire had left the room, as MacTarvit said, in a state of terror.

  “What has Claire been telling you?” Harry asked.

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  Harry smiled at that. He was glad his little American heiress wasn’t spending her time with his older brother. “Then how do you know she has complaints?”

  “I have heard things.”

  Harry yawned. Trevelyan’s constant air of mystery might interest the rest of the world but it merely bored him. “If that’s all you have to say, then I’d like to go back to sleep.”

  “After you marry Claire are you going to send…her”—he said the word with contempt—“to the dower house?”

  “I don’t know why you persist in believing that our mother is a dragon. She is a simple, sweet woman and always has been. If you’d just make some effort to get to know her, you’d find that out. As for your question, no, Mother is not going to move to the dower house. I think it’s better that she stay here where I can be near her. She is crippled, as you well know.”

  “She means to stay here where she can rule the house and Leatrice.”

  In spite of himself, Harry was beginning to wake up. His brother could infuriate the devil. “Mother is not a monster. She loves her daughter and wants to spend time with her. Is that so wrong? Lee is perfectly happy.”

  “Is that your opinion or Lee’s? How long has it been since you spoke to your sister?”

  “A great deal less time than it’s been since you spoke to her,” Harry shot back. “I’d like to know
who you think you are to come in here and try to change everything. You leave when you’re a child, then run off from Grandfather and no one sees you for years, and now you come back here and expect to give everyone orders. If you want to do that then you’re going to have to step forward and declare yourself.”

  Trevelyan sat on a tall chair by the bed and didn’t say a word.

  “I thought so,” Harry said. “You want to skulk about and run things but you don’t want to step to the forefront.”

  “Your little American wants to marry Lee to James Kincaid.”

  Harry laughed. “Well, let her try,” he said, moving down into the bed. “Claire’s perfectly free to make all the love matches she wants. Women like to do that sort of thing.”

  “You don’t mean to help her?”

  “Help her? All she has to do is reintroduce them. I don’t think they’ve seen each other for years.”

  “And what about your mother?”

  Harry turned toward his brother, his face furious. “She’s your mother too. Why do you persist in acting as though you were hatched from an egg and have no mother? If Leatrice wants to marry someone she may do so. She’s not a prisoner.” Harry refused to think of the argument his mother and Lee had had over Kincaid years ago. Of course it was years ago, and at that time Lee had a suitor who their mother approved of. Now, Harry believed, the situation was different.

  When Trevelyan spoke, his voice was soft. “Lee is a prisoner and you don’t see it, and if something isn’t done soon your little bride is going to be a prisoner too.”

  “You’ve spent too much time in the sun,” Harry said tiredly. “I’ll marry Claire and everything will be fine. Mother said she rather liked Claire and thought she’d make a fine wife for me. I think the two of them are going to be friends. I hope they become as close as Mother and Lee are. Now would you mind leaving my room? I’d like to get some sleep.” He snuggled down into the covers and closed his eyes.