“Is that Lady Charlotte?” Miss Wellesley asked.
“Aye.”
“She’s so beautiful,” Miss Wellesley said. “I had heard the stories, but the descriptions do not do her justice.”
“Nae point in telling her that,” Duncan said. “She’s immune tae flattery. We’d best go now. She doesnae like tae be kept waiting.”
They rode down the hill, the horses picking their way along the well-worn path. By the time they reached the bottom, Lady Charlotte had gone in again. But two grooms were waiting. “Mr. Murray!” the younger said. “Yer home!”
“Aye, Robbie,” Duncan said, dismounting and playfully tousling the lad’s hair. “Ye’ve grown since I saw ye last.”
“I hope so. I’m sixteen now!”
“So ye are.” He turned to the other groom, who was just a few years older. “Walter, how are things?”
“Verra good, sir. Lady Charlotte will be happy yer home.” His gaze strayed to the ladies, who Stratford had assisted with dismounting. “And ye’ve brought guests.”
Duncan smiled wryly. He knew the implication. The lad thought one of the women must be his bride. Duncan supposed he should disabuse his mother of that idea right away, so there were no misunderstandings.
“Robbie and Walter, these are my friends, Mr. Fortescue, Miss Wellesley, and Miss Neves. They’ve come all the way from England.”
The lads bowed. “We’ll take good care of the horses,” Robbie said. “And the dog.” He gestured to Loftus, who was sniffing at the ground and eyeing the chickens nervously.
“Good. Their master will arrive in a few days tae take the horses back. The dog belongs tae Miss Wellesley. He could use a bath before he comes inside.” He gestured to the small party. “If ye’ll follow me.”
They walked across the courtyard, the shadow of the house creeping closer. The chickens scattered as they moved closer, and the maids in the laundry nearby paused in their washing to smile and nod at him. This was home, but after his father’s death, it had never felt particularly warm or welcoming.
He stopped at the door, wiped his boots, and lifted the latch. “Mother!” he called as he entered. “I’m home.”
She stepped out of the dining hall, which adjoined the entryway. “I can see that.” Her voice still held the English accent, though it had been softened a bit by her time in Scotland. Her dark black hair had a wee bit more gray in it, he saw, but it tended toward silver, and the way her maid had swept it into her coiffure only made her look more elegant. She approached as the others crowded inside behind him. Coming close, she took his shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks. She smelled of lavender, as she always had. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I am glad you are well, my son.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I thought I told you to bring home a bride.”
Seventeen
INES
Ines did not know what she had expected Duncan’s home to look like. She supposed she had imagined one of those small dwellings they’d passed on the trip here. They were sturdy enough homes, built low to the ground and with thatched roofs. But this was no small dwelling. This was a stately home.
The entryway was long and paneled in wood. A table sat against one wall, a crystal bowl on top of it. Light poured through a window high above the door. Ines imagined if it had been sunny, the blue and green rugs she stood on would have been bathed in light. And then, just as she was accustoming herself to this part of the house and imagining what the rest must have looked like, Lady Charlotte stepped out and into the far end of the entryway.
When Emmeline had remarked that she was beautiful, Ines had tried to look around the other woman to get a look. She had seen her, but not very well. Years of doing detailed work in dim light meant that she could not see as well far away as she did up close. She saw only a female figure, a tall woman with dark hair, but no details.
But now she saw the details, and Emmeline had not exaggerated. Lady Charlotte was beautiful. Like her son, she was tall, but where Duncan was broad, she was slim and elegant. Her thick hair, a dark mahogany, was brushed with silver that had been swept gracefully into a delicate chignon. Her eyes were green, not amber like her son’s, and they looked almost emerald. Ines supposed that she had chosen her dress because it complemented her eyes. It was made of fine wool, and she wore a plaid shawl draped about her shoulders. She’d seen that pattern before, perhaps on something Duncan had worn, and Ines assumed the colors were those of the Murray clan.
Lady Charlotte had greeted her son warmly enough—at first—but then her eyes had drifted to Emmeline and skated over Ines. Skated was exactly the word Ines wanted because she felt like a sharp blade had run over her skin. If she had ever wondered if this woman would think her good enough for her son, Ines had her answer.
Not that it mattered as Duncan did not want her anyway. Well—he might want her, but he did not love her, did not want to marry her. Ines squared her shoulders. What did she care what the legendary Lady Charlotte thought of her? Ines and Catarina had been looked down upon in Lisbon then Barcelona then London. Until people discovered their lace. Then they fell all over themselves to buy it.
Catarina always said skill and talent were better than status because with skill and talent one could not only create beautiful things but earn money from the sale of those things. Status only bought one respect, and one could not fill an empty belly with respect. And so even though Ines had never felt more like the daughter of a Portuguese peasant than in this moment, she lifted her head high and looked Lady Charlotte in the eye. She had skill and talent. She had made something of herself. She did not need Lady Charlotte’s approval.
Beside her, Emmeline curtsied. Ines glanced at her, then tried to do the same, clumsily, when Emmeline swatted at her. Duncan introduced them, Emmeline first.
“A pleasure to finally meet you,” Emmeline said, rising from her curtsy. “I have heard so much about you.”
Lady Charlotte raised her brows. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Of course not,” Emmeline said.
“Only the really bad things you’ve heard about me are true.”
Emmeline started to laugh, but when Lady Charlotte did not smile, Emmeline closed her mouth and tried to look serious again.
“Lady Charlotte, might I present Miss Neves,” Duncan said. Ines had already risen from her poor attempt at a curtsy and wasn’t quite sure what to do when Lady Charlotte’s green eyes fastened on her. Her first instinct was to cower. She had not really thought about what she looked like for several days. She had washed quickly with cold water every morning, so she was clean, but she hadn’t made much of an effort with her hair, and from the corner of her eye she saw it hung over her shoulders in messy tangles. And then there was her dress. Mrs. Brown had given her a maid’s livery she had found at Wentmore, and Ines had been grateful to have clothing not covered in blood.
But now she saw herself as Lady Charlotte did. Far from being dressed in the latest fashion, as she had been when she had left London, Ines wore an ill-fitting maid’s dress that she’d caught on a log and whose hem hung lower on one side than the other.
There was nothing she could do about it, though. And it was not as though it mattered what Lady Charlotte thought of her. Duncan wanted her to go. Benedict would track her down any minute and then she would be gone. Who cared if her hem had come loose?