The Highlander's Yuletide Love (4 page)

The men left Gentleman
Jackson’s together, and Ranulf eventually turned towards his club, leaving Francis
to make his way back to Strancaster House. He went searching for Isobel, and
finally found her in the nursery where their daughter, Catherine, had just
fallen asleep. Isobel held a finger to her lips and led him from the room,
nodding to the nursemaid as she left.

“I thought she
would never sleep,” she confided. “She is teething, and seemed utterly inconsolable
for some time.”

Francis followed
her down the stairs and into a sitting room.

 “I am glad she
is sleeping, as it means you will fret less,” Francis said, wrapping an arm
around her waist. “I have to apologize to you for something I have done.”

Isobel leaned
into him and laughed. “What is that? I cannot imagine you disappointing me.”

“I don’t think
you’ll be disappointed in me, but you might be displeased. I have invited
Ranulf Stirling to stay with us.”

“Ranulf
Stirling?” Isobel looked startled. “Why would you invite him here?”

“He is staying
with his cousin.”

Isobel wrinkled
her nose. “Hugh Stirling?”

“You see?” said
Francis. “I felt the need to rescue him.”

“Hugh is very
dull,” Isobel allowed. “But why would he wish to stay with us? He keeps to
himself these days, I’m told, and we have visitors coming and going all day
long. It is a pity he is so reclusive, I remember dancing with him long ago,
and very charming he was.”

Francis nodded. “Yes,
he has eschewed Society for the past several years. I’ve never told you much
about him, as I seldom see him now. But when we were in the Peninsula, we were
good friends. He was an excellent officer—bold and dashing, but also thoughtful
of his men and as kind as he could be to the civilians. The Duke trusted him
implicitly, as did I.”

Isobel glanced
up at this profile. “You seem to think very highly of him.”

“I do.” Francis
shook his head slightly. “It is hard to explain how difficult it could be—the
mud, the cold, the sleepless nights, the death all around. Ranulf could always
be counted on for anything—whether military advice, a glass of whisky, a
cheerful tune or a friendly ear.”

Isobel nodded. “I
didn’t realize how much he meant to you. What has happened that he seldom
leaves his home?”

Francis gave her
a thoughtful look. “He would not wish me to tell you, so you must not betray my
confidence.”

Isobel drew
herself up with mock indignation. “If you think so little of me, sir, you need
not tell me.”

He leaned over
and kissed her lightly. “I think the world of you, which is why I am telling
you this. But Ranulf is very quiet about it. He would not want your pity.”

“Then I shall
not pity him,” said Isobel simply. “He has no need for me to take care of him,
clearly.”

Francis sat and
drew her down next to him. She nestled in the crook of his arm and laid her
head on his shoulder. “I knew you would understand,” he said. “Ranulf was a
very gifted pianoforte player. If he were not a nobleman, I suppose he may have
made his living at it.”

“Was?” said
Isobel.

“He took a
bullet in his wrist at Waterloo. He refused to leave his men; he had it tended
to in camp and continued on. It didn’t appear to be a severe wound--it seemed
there would be nasty scar, but it was clean, and the bullet came out easily. He
was in pain for a few weeks, but he hid it well, and it healed up soon enough.”

A thoughtful
look came over Isobel’s face. “His fingers?” she asked hesitantly.

Francis nodded. “For
the most part he proceeds as always, but he can no longer play the pianoforte. I
didn’t know for some time, as he spoke very little of it. But I do have fond
memories of a few nights, with Ranulf playing tunes and all of the officers
standing around, singing songs that reminded us of England.”

“How sad. But
surely, after all this time he must not feel it so acutely?”

“How would you
feel if you could no longer read your books and write about your excavations?
How would Sophy feel if she could no longer paint?” asked Francis.

“I would be miserable,”
she said, after pondering his words a moment, “and Sophy would be distraught.”

“You see? It
does not seem to be much to others, but it was a source of great joy for him. I
think that is part of the reason that he went to India to campaign against the
Marathas. That hardened him, and while he made a fortune there, and is now the
heir to Spaethness as well, he’s a changed man; harder, less open and cheerful.
I have no doubt that the wars had much to do with that. Certainly, when I
returned, I no longer felt like the man I was before. I was not so interested
in the pastimes of my youth. Who knows what I might have done had I not met you
and devoted a year of my life to convincing you to marry me. It certainly kept
me from dwelling on my other difficulties, as you were a constant source of
aggravation. I think having to give up the Army following his brother’s death,
as well as losing his music, is troubling him.”

“So Colonel
Stirling has found nothing to occupy his time?” asked Isobel.

“I think he is
trying to overcome his misery with dubious amusements,” said Francis. “Riding
to the hounds and boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s dulls the pain a bit, I imagine,
and then there is the Daffy Club and gaming. But he still goes home at night
and must face it.”

“Hence the
women, I suppose.” Isobel broke into a laugh at the sight of Francis’s
surprised countenance. “Did you think I had not heard? I am no innocent miss,
you know. There’s been a great deal of talk lately about him and the Lady of
Ardfern.”

“Is that who it
is?” asked Francis.

“Oh, men never
know anything,” scoffed Isobel.

“I knew enough
to keep pursuing you,” countered Francis.

“’Tis true.” Isobel
laid her hand on his. “If you think Colonel Stirling will be happier here, I am
glad to have him as a guest. I would never turn away someone you care about so
deeply. “

“You are the
best of wives,” said Francis.

An impish smile
crossed Isobel’s face. “I think we are quite alone. Would you like to give me
my reward?”

Sophy floated up
the steps to Strancaster House in a cloud of dusty rose muslin, her dark curls
tucked under a very fetching bonnet trimmed with cerise ribbons that tied under
one ear. She rapped on the door and then turned to Harriet, who stood at her
side.

“It is a lovely
day for a drive out to Richmond,” said Harriet. “How sweet of Isobel to invite
us.”

“It is,” agreed
Sophy. She straightened her wine red spencer with quick fingers and turned to
her stepmother. “How do I look?”

“Lovely, of
course,” said Harriet vaguely. “You always do, my dear. I am forever telling my
friends what a very pretty girl you are.”

            “Yes,
but—” Sophy broke off as the door opened and the butler bowed, recognizing the
visitors immediately.

“Lady Glencairn,
Lady Sophia, welcome,” he said with a bow, ushering them into the cavernous
hall. “Lady Exencour expects you. If you will follow me.”

He led them up
the elegantly carved staircase that dominated the entry hall and to the door of
a sitting room, which he flung open. Harriet and Sophy entered as Isobel, who
was seated at a little desk writing a note, sprang up to greet them.

“My dears!” she
said. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting. We have a visitor, and I had some
small housekeeping matters to attend to. I shall not be a moment longer!”

“Do not be
concerned about us,” said Harriet, perching on the settee. “A visitor! How
delightful. Who might it be?”

“Don’t you
remember, Mama?” asked Sophy. “I told you that Isobel had written me a note
saying Colonel Stirling was to come to stay with them.”

“Oh, did you? It’s
very likely, I have so many others things to think about that Isobel’s guest
doubtless slipped my mind.” Harriet gestured vaguely. “Colonel Stirling. That
name sounds familiar. Do I know him from somewhere?”

“You may have
met him years ago, before he went to the Peninsula,” said Isobel. “Or perhaps
Sophy mentioned that we met him in the Park two days ago.”

“Oh yes, indeed
she did,” agreed Harriet. “At dinner she asked her papa if he knew him.”

Isobel looked
amused. “Did she?”

“I do not—”
began Sophy, but Harriet blithely continued.

“Glencairn has
met his father, of course, but knew little of the son. Douglas, on the other
hand, appears to have made quite a study of his life. I gathered from his
worshipful babblings that the colonel is quite a ‘top of the trees Corinthian’.”

Isobel chuckled.
“I suppose he is. Not that he’d thank you for saying that.”

“If the
opportunity arises, perhaps you’d be so kind as to introduce poor Douglas to
Colonel Stirling. The lad seems to have be somewhat overwhelmed by stories of
his doings, and meeting him might serve to bring him back to earth a bit.”

Sophy frowned. “Colonel
Stirling struck me as a proud, disagreeable fellow,” she said coldly. “I can’t
imagine how you could wish Douglas to model himself after him.”

“Proud and
disagreeable?” Harriet looked at Isobel. “Why would you invite such a man to
stay with you?”

Isobel’s amused
gaze swept over Sophy, who looked away resolutely. “In this matter I fear Sophy
and I disagree. I find Colonel Stirling delightful. He is less merry than when
I danced with him at Almack’s many years ago, but I still find him charming,
well-spoken, and not proud at all. He is a very good friend of Francis’, you
know, and he is an excellent judge of character.”

Harriet looked
from one woman to the other. “The pair of you so seldom disagree about
anything. I wonder what it is about Colonel Stirling that makes you perceive
him so differently?”

Sophy made a
moue of distaste. “Apparently Colonel Stirling dislikes young women. It seems
he prefers ladies to be, er, sophisticated.”

Harriet gaped at
her. “Sophy!”

Isobel laughed. “No
such thing. I told Sophy that Colonel Stirling is likely unused to the company
of young ladies after spending so much time on the Peninsula and in India. But
I think you may have the opportunity to judge for yourself.”

She nodded at
the open door and Sophy and Harriet heard footsteps approaching. Francis and
Ranulf appeared in the doorway, dressed immaculately in dark, well-cut riding
coats, fawn colored breeches, and perfectly polished boots. They stepped into
the room, Francis to the fore.

“I thought I
would find only Isobel here. How pleasant to you see you as well, Harriet.” He
raised her hand to his lips with an elegant gesture. “And Sophy as well. Isobel
tells me how much you enjoyed the exhibit at the Royal Academy two days ago.”

Sophy glanced at
Ranulf. He stood behind Francis, his face politely bland, but she thought she
saw a touch of curiosity in his eyes at the mention of the Royal Academy. She
resolutely looked away and focused her attention on Francis.

“It was
beautiful. I found Mr. Constable’s work, The Hay Wain, to be of particular
technical and artistic merit. I wish I could paint so well.”

“Perhaps one day
you will, child,” chirped Harriet. “After all, did your papa and I not promise
that you may try?”

Francis nodded. “Isobel
mentioned that you would be returning to Scotland soon, and Sophy would pursue
her craft. I am very happy for you. But I am being remiss. Lady Glencairn, do
allow me to present Colonel Stirling.”

Ranulf bowed
over Harriet’s hand and then straightened, smiling down at her warmly. “I am
delighted to meet you. I’ve heard much about you from the Exencours. They are
both very fond of you and, I’m told you are responsible for them making a match
of it.”

Harriet’s eyes
widened as she looked up at him. “Gracious, how kind of you,” she said. “But I
had very little to do with it. Indeed, Lady Morgan—that is, Lady Eynsford
now—had far more of a hand in the matter than I! I am very pleased to see them
so happy together, though. There were days I despaired of ever talking sense
into Isobel!”

“Young lovers
can be so difficult,” agreed Ranulf. “I am happy that wiser heads prevailed.”

Under Sophy’s
startled gaze, Harriet giggled delightedly. “How kind of you to say so, Colonel
Stirling, though I fear it cannot be said that I am known for my wisdom! Still,
young people do not always know what they want.”

“They are
fortunate to have a friend such as you,” said Ranulf.

“So we are,”
said Isobel. “I don’t know what we would have done without Harriet. Colonel
Stirling, I believe you must remember Lady Sophia Learmouth?”

Ranulf turned to
Sophy with a smile that seemed cooler to her than the one with which he had
greeted Harriet. “I am delighted to meet you again, Lady Sophia.” He bowed
elegantly.

Sophy inclined
her head. “Colonel Stirling.”

“Do I understand
that you are a painter?” he asked politely.

“I do paint, but
indifferently,” said Sophy shortly.

“Never say so,
my dear!” Harriet looked up at Ranulf earnestly. “She is truly talented, and
really very devoted to her work. Why, when she was still a girl I had taught
her everything I knew, and when I told her she need not paint anymore, she
burst into tears! It’s seldom a day goes by that she does not have a brush in
her hand.”

Ranulf turned
his attention to Harriet. “Then she has you to thank for her skill, Lady
Glencairn,” he said smoothly.

“Oh, not at all!
Why I never had a fraction of her brilliance,” protested Harriet. “I merely
shared what poor abilities I had with her, and she has far surpassed me.”

Ranulf turned to
Sophy. “I would like to see your work sometime.”

“Perhaps,” said
Sophy repressively.

“Of course you
must!” chimed in Harriet. “What an excellent notion. I’m sure a gentleman with
your vast experience of the world must know a great deal about art. We shall
have a family dinner party—just the small group of us—and Sophy can show you
her paintings. I’m certain your advice would be appreciated!”

Sophy’s eyes
widened in horror. “Mama, I don’t think—” she began, just as Isobel made a
hasty gesture.

“Colonel
Stirling does not—” she said, but Ranulf smiled down at Harriet, a hint of laughter
in his eyes.

“That sounds
very pleasant, Lady Glencairn. I would be delighted to dine with you
en
famille
,” he said.

Isobel raised
her eyebrows in surprise and glanced at Francis, who returned her look. Sophy
flushed beet red.

“Mama, you must
not tease Colonel Stirling. He cannot possibly be interested in our family, and
certainly not in my work.”

“On the
contrary, Lady Sophia, I am very much looking forward to the experience.” Ranulf
glanced at her, his gaze enigmatic.

“There, you see!”
said Harriet triumphantly. “Isobel and I shall arrange an evening that suits
you. How fun it shall be!”

“Indeed.” Ranulf
bowed again. “Thank you for the invitation.”

Francis stepped
forward. “Perhaps we should be on our way now, Ranulf.” He turned to Isobel. “I
came here to tell you that we are off to Tattersall’s. Stirling tells me that
Berksville is selling several hacks and a very well set up pair.”

“Tattersall’s!”
exclaimed Harriet. “You must speak with my stepson, Lord Kincraig, about your
horses some time, Colonel Stirling. He was quite voluble in regard to your
skills as a horseman. I fear you have quite cast Exencour here into the shade.”

To Isobel’s
astonishment, Ranulf smiled again at Harriet. “I would be delighted to speak
with Kincraig. I’m sure there will be time to answer his questions when I have
the pleasure of dining with you.”

Harriet beamed. “Thank
you! How glad I am to have met you, Colonel Stirling.”

“Your sentiments
are reciprocated, Lady Glencairn.” Ranulf bowed to her again. He turned to
Sophy. “Good afternoon, Lady Sophia.”

“Colonel
Stirling.” Sophy inclined her head frigidly.

The gentlemen
strolled from the room, and scarcely had the door closed behind them, than
Harriet burst into speech.

“What a
delightful man! Sophy, I have no idea how you can think him disagreeable! Such
excellent manners, such a presence, and surely you noticed how very handsome he
is.”

“My taste must
be deficient, I suppose,” said Sophy.

“I’ve never
known it to be so, but in this case I must agree with Isobel!” Harriet shook
her head. “You were so cold to the colonel, Sophy, that it bordered on ill-mannered.
He will think you do not like him.”

“The colonel
appears to be receiving plenty of admiration from you and Isobel,” responded
Sophy. “I doubt he has need of mine as well. He may flirt with you, Mama, as
much as he pleases, but I have no intention of adding to his self-regard.”

Isobel laughed. “I
suppose we must allow Sophy to have her own opinion. In time she may come to
like Colonel Stirling a bit better.”

“She will have
the opportunity when he comes to dinner,” said Harriet. “How charming that will
be. Douglas will be overjoyed.”

“Mama, you
cannot mean for him to see my paintings,” said Sophy.

“Of course I do.
What harm can it do, child? He is well-traveled, and might have some excellent
advice for you.”

“But I don’t
wish him to see them!” To her chagrin, Sophy realized that she was speaking far
more vehemently than she should.

“Why ever not? You
cannot tell me you wish to be a painter and then tell me that you do not wish
others to see your work!”

“I think that,
perhaps, it is not others, but rather Colonel Stirling whom Sophy objects to,”
said Isobel.

“Nonsense,” said
Harriet firmly. “It can do no harm.”

Sophy, realizing
that Isobel was looking at her in a quizzical way, subsided. “Very well.”

“You see?” asked
Harriet brightly. “Shall we be on our way?”