Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift (12 page)

"A good nanny can do wonders, sir. I gather your children have no nanny at all?"

"Not at present," Sinclair answered. "Each one I hire never lasts more than a day. Perhaps you could recommend someone, as capable as your good self?"

Miss Westlock's lips thinned. "I will send you a list, sir. I will also suggest that they are growing old enough to need a competent governess, especially your daughter."

Sinclair acknowledged this with a nod. Andrew would be sent off to school in due time, but Catriona . . . Sinclair wanted her home.

"Thank you, Miss Westlock."

Miss Westlock, with the air of a woman having done her duty, closed the door and withdrew.

Sinclair turned to the window. "Maggie, love," he said softly. "You always told me to have faith, but I'm lost."

Silence met him. The coal fire on the hearth made little noise, and wind blew outside, bringing back the clouds, but the thick panes kept out the sound.

Sinclair sighed, one of his black moods descending and bringing a headache with it. "Talking to you does make me feel better, Daisy. But I
wish
for once, you'd answer me."

*** *** ***

"Louisa!" came a delighted cry.

Lady Louisa Scranton looked up the stairs, a smile spreading across her face as her exuberant sister Isabella ran down to her. In a moment, Isabella was folding Louisa into her arms. Louisa returned the embrace, soaking up the warmth and fragrance of her sister. Her
happy
sister.

"So good to see you, Izzy."

"Mama." Isabella left Louisa to gather up the woman in black bombazine, who'd come in behind Louisa. "How are you?" Isabella kissed the dowager countess' cheek. "How was the journey?"

"If you must know, darling, long and somewhat tedious." Their mother returned the kiss. "But all the better for seeing you."

Isabella relinquished her to the care of several servants--the dowager countess loved to be looked after by servants--then Isabella linked arms with Louisa to walk her upstairs to the bedchamber prepared for her.

Isabella chattered breezily about the house, the holiday preparations, about what a wonderful time they would all have. Louisa made the requisite responses, wishing she could let Isabella's joy raise her spirits. But Louisa recently had assessed her life, her mother's life, and their future, and had made her decision.

As Isabella went on in exuberance, Louisa glanced about at the hanging decorations that went all the way up the marvelous staircase, the greenery and streamers warming the cold marble and paneling. She looked down over the railings to admire the giant vase of yellow mums placed on the table on the ground floor.

A man in black strode into the open hall below. A Mackenzie, Louisa thought, then her chest constricted, and her mouth went dry.

He was a Mackenzie, and he wasn't. Lloyd Fellows, the detective inspector, was very like Hart Mackenzie when viewed from afar, with the same commanding air, tall body, and dark hair brushed with red when the light was right. He also had hazel eyes that missed nothing, a sharp face, and a biting wit.

The last time Louisa had seen Mr. Fellows had been at Hart and Eleanor's wedding, when she'd brazenly kissed him.

Louisa remembered the firmness of his lips, the scent of cigar that clung to his clothes, the taste of whiskey and spice in his mouth. A strong man, capable, unafraid of work and hardship, but his hand had shaken a little as he'd brushed back Louisa's hair.

As though he felt Louisa's gaze on him, Fellows looked up, through the greenery and the railings, and their gazes locked.

Louisa's face flooded with heat, but she would not let herself look away. Yes, she had kissed him. She'd been filled with the joy of the wedding, even with its complications, and a sadness that she'd likely never have such a wedding herself. She'd found this handsome man, as sad and alone as she was, and she'd wanted his warmth.

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
in
eligible 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 at 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.