Not long after that, Papa left for Edinburgh, and when he returned, he announced his marriage to Lady Malvinea.
Though he never admitted it, Bronwyn knew he’d married for her sake, to give her a mother who would help her develop more genteel habits. The thought that he might be disappointed in her weighed heavily and had stiffened her resolve to please her new mother, whatever effort that might take.
When Lady Malvinea and her daughters had arrived at Ackinnoull in a carriage followed by two wagons piled with furnishings and clothes, Bronwyn had been torn between apprehension and hope. The thought of having a new mother was awkward—but sisters? She had never wanted anything more.
Within a very short time, ten-year-old Sorcha, eight-year-old Mairi, and sixteen-year-old Bronwyn had formed a deep bond. The younger girls admired Bronwyn’s independence, something they’d never been allowed. For Bronwyn, having two little sisters who shared her sense of humor and her love of reading was a dream come true.
Sadly, things hadn’t proceeded as smoothly with her new mother; she and Lady Malvinea had clashed from almost the first moment. Bronwyn had thought of herself as already grown, while Lady Malvinea felt a decided need to mold her into something more pliable.
To be fair, Bronwyn was far too used to going her own way, and she’d had to fight the urge to argue about every “improvement” Lady Malvinea wished to make to Bronwyn, Papa, and the house. Sometimes Bronwyn’s struggle to contain herself was far more visible than it should have been, but she’d been as conciliatory as possible.
Unfortunately, her stepmama had been unable to return the favor. Lady Malvinea, driven by a need for constant affirmation by members of “high society,” believed she knew best, and no amount of argument or common sense would ever convince her otherwise.
It might have helped if Papa had stepped in to smooth things over between his daughter and his new wife, but he’d spent years avoiding unpleasant reality and saw no reason to change that now. The more Bronwyn resisted her stepmother’s attempts to “civilize” her, the more Papa stayed in his workshop, until they only saw him for dinners, and even then only on occasion.
It took time, but eventually Bronwyn realized that for all Lady Malvinea’s flaws, she truly wished for Bronwyn to be happy and successful. The problem was that to Lady Malvinea, that meant a successful marriage to a man of title, birth, and property.
But Bronwyn couldn’t be something she wasn’t, and her explanations merely irritated Mama. She and her stepmother might have continued their struggle except for one thing—Sorcha.
At eighteen now, Sorcha was tall and graceful, and possessed the sort of rare beauty that had caused the meteoric rise of Elizabeth and Maria Gunning, young ladies of Irish decent who’d achieved legendary social success many years before. Mama often spoke about them with awe.
Sorcha loved balls, flirtations, and the latest fashions. She was her mother’s daughter in every way, except for her love of reading and her strong sense of humor. Bronwyn might wish her sister didn’t see marriage as her one and only path to happiness, but Sorcha was adamant. And with her looks and natural charm, it wasn’t difficult to imagine her finding a worthy, titled husband who would treasure her for the rest of her life.
Bronwyn’s only fear for Sorcha’s plan was Mama. Although she wished for the best for her daughters, Mama was often blinded to a person’s true nature if they possessed both wealth and a title. Bronwyn had witnessed it time and again, and she had no desire to see Sorcha unhappily wed. So, hoping to protect her stepsister from any sort of disastrous consequence, Bronwyn had become involved in her stepmama’s search for a mate for Sorcha. A fortunate side effect of this involvement was that Bronwyn and Mama now found themselves on much more charitable footing.
Together, they’d exhaustively searched out events for Sorcha to attend so she could gain some polish before her presentation to society, had honed the household budget so that funds could be found to buy the silks and satins so necessary for a proper wardrobe, enlisted their housekeeper’s help in saving the trim from some older gowns for reuse, and—oh, the million little things that would make Sorcha’s debut a success. And all too soon, Mairi would be old enough for the same. Though she was not quite as pretty as her sister, her liveliness promised to make her equally sought after.
Bronwyn set the roll on her plate. “I assume there’s a reason you’re launching rolls at me?”
“Oh yes!” Sorcha set down her teacup, an eager expression on her face. “I heard the most wonderful news, and I wanted to tell you before Mama came down.”
“She tried to get your attention three times,” Mairi said, buttering her toast. “You didn’t even blink.”
“Your ploy worked; I’m now listening.” She tore open the roll and reached for the butter. “What wondrous news are you so anxious to share? Is there a new hat in Mrs. MacLeith’s window in Inverness? Or a new pair of shoes on—”
“Sir Henry is opening Tulloch Castle!”
Bronwyn stopped buttering her roll, a vision of deep green eyes flickering through her mind and causing her heart to race. “Och. Yes.”
“And he’s bringing dozens of guests!” Mairi added excitedly.
“Dozens, Bronwyn. Eligible guests.” Sorcha couldn’t have looked happier.
Mairi leaned forward. “Sorcha means eligible men.”
“How lovely. We shall have something to look forward to.” Bronwyn took a bite of her roll and then reopened her book. Since meeting the huntsman in the woods, she’d done her best to not think about those confusing moments, for they had bothered her. Had she been too brash? Too forward? Those thoughts had pinched, but the ones that had really tormented her . . . Should she have stayed for more kisses? And if she had, what might have happened then? It was the last thought that had kept her awake far too often since that day.
“Bronwyn?” Mairi’s smile had faded. “Don’t you think that’s exciting news?”
“Oh yes. Quite.” She traced a finger down the page to find the last line she’d read; she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words.
“Wait a moment,” Sorcha said. “You’re not at all surprised. You knew about this!”
“How could she?” Mairi asked. “We didn’t know until this morning. Mama only found out because Cook spoke to the housekeeper at Tulloch Castle.”
Sorcha nodded. “Mama said Mrs. Durnoch didn’t know Sir Henry and his party were coming until she received a letter a little over a week ago. So how did you know?”
Bronwyn put her book on the table. “I was going to tell you this, but I forgot.” It had been a waste of time trying to forget the stranger in the woods; dreams and thoughts were far more unmanageable than she’d realized.
“What did you forget?” Mairi asked.
“A few days ago—three or four—I ran into a huntsman in the woods, one of Selvach’s. The man mentioned Sir Henry and his party might arrive soon.”
“And you didn’t mention it to us?” Sorcha demanded.
“I wasn’t sure he was telling the truth.” At Sorcha’s quizzical look, she added, “I’d never seen the man before, and after I’d thought about it, it seemed far-fetched. Sir Henry never visits Tulloch.” Plus, the more Bronwyn had thought about her meeting with the huntsman, the more it had all seemed like a very vivid, but impossible, dream.
“I was shocked to hear the castle’s being opened, too,” Sorcha said. “Perhaps Sir Henry is planning on gathering his family and friends at Tulloch for a few weeks before heading to Inverness for the Northern Meeting?”
The Northern Meeting was the grandest social event in Scottish society. Started in 1788 by a group of gentlemen as a way to enliven Scottish society, which had been demoralized by the sanctions following the Jacobean uprising, the meeting was aided liberally by the Duchess of Sutherland, who had added activities and balls for the ladies to attend. Held without fail every year in Inverness during the month of October, the meeting was a roaring success from the beginning, and had grown to
include elaborate balls and fancy dinners, punctuated by bagpipe competitions and military drums. It was the highlight of the Scottish season, and Sorcha was to be presented there for her debut.
Sorcha continued, “Whatever Sir Henry’s reasons are, Mama is certain he’ll be holding at least one dinner, and perhaps even a ball!”
“We can’t wait!” Mairi gave a little hop in her seat.
“Yes.” Sorcha smiled. “But Bronwyn, why didn’t you tell us about this huntsman? You could have at least mentioned him.”
“Oh!” Mairi’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “Was he handsome?”
Bronwyn had relived those moments in the forest so many times, had imagined going beyond them, and had seen the huntsman’s face in her dreams so often that she was certain she could draw it from memory. “I don’t recall.”
“You don’t remember anything about him?” Sorcha didn’t look as if she believed a word.
“He . . . he was . . . tall.” Bronwyn quickly took a bite of her roll to keep from having to answer any more questions.
Sharing those moments, even talking about them to her sisters, seemed . . . intrusive. As if she’d lose something precious—which was silly. It’s just a memory, but it’s my memory.
When her sisters continued to watch her, she forced a shrug. “He had dark hair and wore a shabby jacket. That’s all I remember. I was going to tell you what he said about Sir Henry’s arrival, but only after I visited Mrs. Durnoch at Tulloch to confirm the story.”
Sorcha’s delicate brows rose. “Why didn’t you see Mrs. Durnoch at once and verify the man’s information?”
“That’s what I would have done,” Mairi added.
“I didn’t have time, with the extra work I’ve had to do for Papa’s newest patent request.” But there was another reason she’d hesitated in visiting Tulloch Castle. A much bigger reason . . . one well over six feet tall.
She’d never met a man who’d made her feel so exposed. And excited. And alive. Had those moments mattered to him at all? And why did she care?
She shifted impatiently in her chair. It was silly to keep thinking about a one-time event. Yet late at night, her imagination took over and she not only remembered the kisses, but elaborated on them as if she were writing one of Miss Edgeworth’s books.
Just thinking about those kisses sent a warm shiver through her, and made her acutely aware of an odd sense of loss, of missed opportunity, of . . . loneliness. How silly is that? She hadn’t felt lonely since her sisters had come to live with her.
She pushed the odd thought out of her mind and smiled brightly. “Now that Sir Henry’s arrived, I hope there are several dinners and a ball. If not two.”
Mairi sighed blissfully. “I would love two balls and four dinners. Oh, and perhaps a carriage outing to the loch, or a picnic in—”
Lady Malvinea sailed into the room, waving a letter in the air, her fashionable green gown rustling with each step. “Look what just came!” Though her burnished blond hair owed its color to artistry rather than nature, and her figure had settled into a thicker cast over the years, and she claimed that her eyes were puffy some mornings, Mama was still a handsome woman.
She beamed at her three daughters now, though Bronwyn saw a determined glint behind the excitement. “All my lovely daughters in the same room, and here I am, bursting with good news!”
Mairi scooted forward, an eager expression on her face. “Is it about Sir Henry? Is he having a dinner for—”
“Mairi, please. All in good time.” Mama took a chair at the table with her daughters. “A lady never rushes.”
Mairi slid back in her seat and clasped her hands before her, though a hint of stubbornness marred her subdued expression.
“There,” Mama said approvingly. “What a pretty picture! Such—” Her gaze found Bronwyn’s gown. “Bronwyn?”
Bronwyn lifted her gaze to her stepmother’s. “Yes?”
“I thought you threw out that gown.”
“This one? No, I threw out the gray one.” Actually, she hadn’t thrown that out, either, but had designated it as a to-only-be-worn-out-of-doors gown. When she remembered.
“But we spoke about that gown, the green one. Not the gray one.”
“Did we?” Bronwyn tried to look confused but was fairly certain she was failing.
“Yes. We spoke about how it was out-of-date, and needed to be resewn in a dozen places, and did very little to flatter your figure, and—”
Bronwyn had to laugh, though it made Mama’s mouth tighten. “This gown needs some repair, I’ll agree, but only where the pocket snagged on a door handle. It served well enough for the chores I’ve done this morning.” When Mama’s pained expression didn’t lighten, Bronwyn hid a sigh and threw up a hand. “I promise not to wear it in front of guests. Ever.”
Mama opened her mouth to argue, but Sorcha was faster. “Tell us about this invitation. Will we need new gowns? Or will the ones we ordered last month do?”
“I’m so glad we ordered those extra gowns for your coming out, although it’s a pity we’ve none for Bronwyn.” Mama tsked at her stepdaughter. “I do wish you had allowed me to order you some gowns when we had the chance.”
Bronwyn could have pointed out, as she had at the time, that the budget didn’t allow for them all to order new gowns at the same time, but she refrained. “I have three excellent gowns for visiting, and I rarely wear them now.”
“Visiting gowns, yes, but no ball gowns. I’ll have to give you one of my older gowns and have it altered to fit now we’ve been invited to Sir Henry’s opening ball—”
“A ball?” Mairi broke in, her eyes wide with excitement. “Sir Henry is having a ball!”
Sorcha clapped her hands together. “And he invited us!”
“Indeed he did!” Mama gave an excited laugh as she waved the paper once again. “My dears, you will never believe this, but Sir Henry has brought more than thirty guests with him to Tulloch Castle, all men and women of breeding and gentility. Our sleepy little hamlet has never seen the like!”
Mairi gave another hop in her chair.
Mama fairly beamed. “Sir Henry is scheduling all sorts of events, beginning with an opening ball. And yes, he invited all of us, as is only right, since your papa has been his nearest neighbor for years.” A flicker of displeasure darkened her eyes. “Of course, Papa is already saying he cannot go, for he’s too busy with some project or another, but that’s quite all right. Bronwyn and I will chaperone the two of you.”
“So I may go, too?” Mairi asked in a breathless tone.
Mama’s face softened. “You may. Papa and I have already spoken about it, and we believe it will serve as good training for when you’re to be presented. But if I see any hoydenish behavior, it will be the last time you enjoy company until you’re eighteen. Do I make myself clear?”
Mairi nodded emphatically. “Yes, Mama.”
“It is quite unusual for a girl of sixteen to attend such a grand event, but Papa pointed out that it’s a country ball and not a formal one, so it will be quite all right for you to attend this one time.”
“I shall behave myself, I promise.” Mairi’s voice was fervent.
“Why is Bronwyn to chaperone?” Sorcha looked displeased. “She’s too young to chaperone.”
“Nonsense. She’s twenty-four, and the perfect age to watch over her younger sisters.” Mama took a sip of her tea. “Besides, it will take both of us to keep an eye on you two. I daresay your dance cards will be filled before we’re even there five minutes.”
“I’m always glad to chaperone,” Bronwyn added. “Relieved, in fact. I dislike talking to people I’ve nothing in common with, and if I sit with the other chaperones I can speak with Miss MacTavish, who has been making the loveliest jellies for her father. She’s promised me the recipe every time we meet, but keeps forgetting to bring it by.”
Sorcha was already shaking her head. “Miss MacTavish is forty if she’s a day. You’re too young to sit with the chap
erones.”
“Sorcha’s right. Besides,” Mairi added, “how do you know you’ve nothing in common with someone until you talk to them?”
“Because I dislike talking to gaggles of strangers. And don’t say I’ll miss the dancing, for I won’t at all. Remember our lessons?”
Mama had insisted on those lessons, no matter how Bronwyn begged to be excused. Fortunately, after several painful sessions, their dancing master had agreed that Bronwyn was a lost cause. She could never keep time, which made dancing impossible.
Bronwyn chuckled. “Poor Monsieur Beaumont was tearing out his hair in frustration with me. It wouldn’t be fair to the men of Sir Henry’s party to be subjected to both of my left feet at the same time.”
“Dance Master Monsieur Beaumont wasn’t a patient man.” Mairi sent her sister a sly look. “He was quite fond of you, though, Sorcha.”
Sorcha flushed. Monsieur Beaumont was one of a long list of tutors who’d been dismissed after falling wildly in love with her, something that had happened quite frequently since she’d turned fourteen.
Mama sent Mairi a quelling look. “Say what you will about Monsieur Beaumont, he was a highly sought-after dance master. One of the best.”
“But a wretched poet.” Encouraged by Sorcha’s flushed cheeks, Mairi added, “Bronwyn, do you remember the poem he wrote for Sorcha?”
Bronwyn had to grin. “It started with—what was that line? Oh yes, ‘Fair maid who doth stand in the night’s window—’ ”
“ ‘—and chase the sun with her stare of beauty,’ ” Mairi finished, laughing. “ ‘Her stare of beauty’! What on earth is that?”
Sorcha’s face flamed. “I wish you would forget that wretched poem, for I have.”
“How can I forget your stare of beauty? And what else did he say? Oh yes, he said your white shoulders were ‘mountains of granite and silk—’ ”
“Mairi, that’s enough,” Mama said firmly. “Or perhaps you’ve already decided not to attend Sir Henry’s ball and would prefer to stay at home with your papa?”