Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (12 page)

“Hmm. I don’t know whether I should believe
you, Lord Rothsburgh.” There was a sudden silvery glint of humor in
the usually solemn, grey depths of Beth’s eyes. “I think most
ladies of good character would suspect that you were just trying to
get them inebriated.”

Taking her amusement as an encouraging
sign—he felt like a gawking, inexperienced youth as he continued to
linger in the doorway—he finally entered the room and sat in the
chair opposite her.

“I wouldn’t dare to do such an immoral
thing,” he said with mock indignation. “What sort of gentleman do
you take me for?”

She started to laugh. However, the sweet
musical sound quickly dissolved into another bout of coughing. At
the end of it, she was so breathless, she’d turned an alarming
shade of blue around the mouth.

The severity of her condition concerned him
greatly. He would have to send for Blackhaven’s physician, Dr.
Addison, to attend her again.

“On second thought, Mrs. Eliott, it would be
remiss of me not to make you drink the whole dram.” Taking the
glass off the tray, he passed it to her. “Trust me. I promise it
will help,” he said gently. “Just take it slowly.”

With a look of tired resignation, she nodded
then took a few small sips, grimacing as she did so. Thankfully,
her breathing started to grow less effortful and uneven with each
passing moment.

She smiled weakly. “Thank you. You are quite
correct. Who would have thought such a thing would work?”

“Och, we Scots are a verra canny lot,” he
said with a soft burr as he shot her a deliberately roguish grin.
She immediately blushed. Good. She needed color in her cheeks.

But then she dropped her gaze. “My lord…I
feel more than a little weary. Would you mind if I bid you
goodnight?”

Damn
. Disappointment welled within.
He’d gone too far and had scared her off. But she was right. It was
late and he really had no good reason to be here…other than to
assuage his own less than honorable needs.

“Not at all, Mrs. Eliott.” He rose and
bowed. “Good night again. I trust that the whisky will help you to
sleep.” He clicked and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern followed him to
the door.

“Good night then, my lord.”

Resisting the urge to rake his gaze over her
one last time, he firmly closed the door and marched back to his
room. He knew he shouldn’t, but once in his own chamber, he downed
another dram of whisky in an attempt to ease his aching need—not
only the ache of desire, but also an intense yearning for Beth’s
company.

Why did it only just occur to him how ill
advised his offer of work had been? How the hell was he going to
keep his distance from Beth, now that she had agreed to stay on as
his housekeeper?

But perhaps she wouldn’t stay for long.
Hopefully, Helena would know of another governess’s post, and Beth
would leave before he gave into the urge to seduce her or
worse—fall in love with her. He was on treacherous ground indeed,
and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be lost just as surely as if he’d
been caught by the tide on his own causeway.

He couldn’t risk falling for anyone again,
not after Isabelle
.

There was only one thing for it—he needed to
leave for Edinburgh at first light tomorrow, before the unthinkable
happened.

* * * *

“Lord Rothsburgh left fer Edinburgh first
thing this mornin’, Mrs. Eliott.”

Mrs. Roberts had just delivered a breakfast
tray to her room when Elizabeth had asked the servant where she
might find the marquess. She wanted to discuss her duties as
housekeeper in more detail with him at some stage during the day.
Now she felt oddly deflated at the news. She wondered why he hadn’t
thought to mention his imminent departure last night when he’d paid
her an unexpected visit—a visit that had been welcome and
unsettling at the same time. She was more than a little bit
reluctant to examine the strange feeling of emptiness that had
filled her after he’d departed her room.

“Oh…I see.” Elizabeth attempted to keep her
expression neutral. “And did he say when he would return?”

“I’m no’ sure. Per’aps a week, maybe two.
It’s hard to say wha’ his lordship will do.”

Elizabeth nodded. She should be pleased he
had gone to Edinburgh. He would undoubtedly be visiting his
daughter. And perhaps he would speak to his sister about helping
her to find a governess’s position elsewhere. That could only be
for the best.

She glanced at Mrs. Roberts who was busy
uncovering the items on the breakfast tray. There was a pot of tea
and another bowl of grey-looking porridge. Elizabeth knew she
should eat. When she’d looked in the mirror this morning she’d been
shocked to see how much weight she’d lost over the past few days,
but she really had no appetite.

“Is the food no’ to yer liking, Mrs.
Eliott?” Mrs. Roberts asked. Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for the
repast must have shown in her expression.

“It’s absolutely fine. I just haven’t been
very hungry of late,” she replied with a warm smile. She didn’t
want to offend the cook.

“Och. I ken wha’ you mean. I didna want much
of anythin’ either when I was coughin’ away.” Mrs. Robert’s
grey-green eyes narrowed, and she gave Elizabeth an appraising
look. “But I have more meat on my old bones than you. Ye really do
need to eat. An’ the master said I must make sure ye have wha’ever
takes yer fancy, so you dinna fade away to a shadow. I am happy to
bring ye some baps, or a wee bit of toast if ye prefer. Or maybe
some eggs an’ kippers?”

Elizabeth smiled. “The porridge will be more
than adequate, Mrs. Roberts. I don’t want to be a bother.” She
started to eat the thick and slightly salty gruel. She didn’t want
to appear ungracious, especially now that she would be working
alongside the cook and her husband. She wondered if Lord Rothsburgh
had informed the staff about her new appointment. She imagined it
would take some time for everyone to adjust to her presence,
especially since Mrs. Barrie had probably been housekeeper here for
a long time, and her passing was so recent. Perhaps now would be a
good time to test the waters in that regard.

She put down her spoon and caught the cook’s
gaze. “Actually, Mrs. Roberts, I was thinking that I would much
prefer to take meals with you and the other staff—now that I am to
be Eilean Tor’s housekeeper.”

Mrs. Robert’s sparse grey eyebrows dipped
into a slight frown. “I am verra happy tha’ you will be able to
stay on as housekeeper, Mrs. Eliott. His lordship did tell us all
about tha’ afore he left. An’ I would be pleased to have you dine
wi’ Mr. Roberts an’ the rest of us at our kitchen table. But I’m
afraid Lord Rothsburgh has ordered tha’ ye are to have meals in yer
room until yer cough has completely cleared up, which could be some
days. You dinna want to hurry these things.”

Elizabeth sighed. There was probably no
point in trying to fight the marquess’s well-intentioned decree,
even in his absence. She would just have to accept Mr. and Mrs.
Roberts’ ministrations with good grace. She really didn’t want to
get them into trouble with their master for disobeying his
orders.

Nevertheless, she really didn’t think she
could sit about languishing in this bedchamber—as luxurious as it
was—for too long with nothing more to do than read novels, or stare
out the window at the North Sea.

In her former life as the Countess of
Beauchamp, she was used to being busy and productive—what with
organizing the smooth running of the households at Harcourt House
and Scarwood Hall to meet Hugh’s exacting expectations, attending
meetings and fund-raising engagements associated with her charity
work, keeping up with correspondence and paying the expected round
of
tonnish
social calls, she rarely had a free moment. She
knew that the sooner she started to take hold of the housekeeper’s
reins at Eilean Tor, the more satisfied she would be.

And it would keep her mind from dwelling on
one darkly handsome and all too enigmatic marquess.

An idea occurred to her as she looked over
the breakfast tray and noticed there were two teacups. She wondered
if the additional cup had been placed there by design or accident
by the cook. Either way it hardly mattered.

“Mrs. Roberts, would you have the time to
join me in a cup of tea?” she asked. “As we will undoubtedly be
working together, I would very much like to find out more about the
running of Eilean Tor, and in what ways I can best contribute. I’m
sure you would know better than anyone, all that is entailed.”

The cook’s habitually stern expression eased
a little, and Elizabeth thought the woman almost smiled. “I willna
say no to tha’ at all, Mrs. Eliott. I just hope Mr. Roberts does
no’ catch us. He will be more than a wee bit jealous.” She poured
herself a cup of tea then sat down in the armchair across from
Elizabeth. “Now m’dear, what is it tha’ you would like to ken?”

* * * *

Rothsburgh stood by the set of French doors
in the drawing room that overlooked the walled garden of his
brother-in-law’s Edinburgh townhouse, watching his daughter
laughing with glee as her five-year old cousin, Lord Charlie
Latimer, chased her around the parterres of flowers and neatly
trimmed shrubs. The bright banner of her hair caught the late
afternoon sunlight; burnished to guinea gold, it was a painful
reminder that Annabelle was not really his. Just like her mother
had never been his.

“Even though she misses you, she has settled
in quite well, James.”

Rothsburgh turned and smiled fondly at his
sister, Helena, Lady Maxwell. She stood beside him, studying him
closely. He knew he must look thoroughly disreputable in his
travel-stained clothes with his overly long hair curling over his
collar, but he hadn’t wanted to waste time visiting his favorite
barber in the High Street in the Old Town before he arrived.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied then
frowned. “Does she ask about her mother?”

Helena’s brown eyes darkened with sadness.
“Hardly at all. But from what you’ve already told me, that’s not
surprising given Annabelle never saw that much of Isabelle anyway.
Her nurse—Miss MacFarlane—is excellent as you would already know.
And Annabelle seems to have taken to our governess, Miss Palmer,
quite nicely.” Her wide mouth curved into a smile as she watched
her niece jump out from behind a hedge, making Charlie squeal.
“Aside from having boundless energy, your daughter seems to have
quite a curious mind. I think she will do well at her lessons.”

“Good.” He caught his sister’s gaze. “I
can’t thank you enough, Helena, for taking her in,” he said with
grave sincerity. “Lord knows, I certainly haven’t been in a fit
state to take care of her adequately. It’s such a relief to know
the poor child has a proper family life now.”

Helena grasped his arm and her brown eyes
sparked fiercely. “James Huntly. I know you love Annabelle as if
she was your own. So don’t you dare blame yourself for Isabelle’s
neglect of her, or any of the other appalling choices that dreadful
woman made. She was selfish through and through.”

“I know.” He sighed and ran a hand down his
face. “I just wish that I had been there for Annabelle when
Isabelle…when it all happened. It can’t have been easy for my
staff, what with their mistress dead and I….Well, I’ve been little
more than an absentee father and landlord for the best part of this
year.”

“James, you were still on the Continent,
tidying up after Wellington when Isabelle died. I’m sure all your
staff understands. It’s not your fault, any of it. You must try to
stop feeling guilty.”

Rothsburgh gave his sister a wry smile. “You
give me too much credit for being a good man, Helena. If you knew
of the things I’d done…” He shook his head, thinking of all the
times he had sought satisfaction outside of his marriage with
mistresses. And worse. A vivid memory of the butchery he’d
committed against Napoleon’s troops at the battles of Quatre-Bras
and Waterloo as he’d fought with the 92
^nd
regiment of
the Gordon Highlanders, flashed through his mind. He closed his
eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to master the
feelings of disgust and horror that always accompanied the
recollection. “Believe me, you’d think differently, dear
sister.”

He felt Helena’s hand on his arm again. “You
are
a good man, James. I know you. But I have a feeling we
aren’t talking about your marriage anymore. Tell me, are you still
having nightmares about your time on the battlefield?”

“Not as often.” Especially when he drank
enough to plunge himself into a dreamless stupor. He dredged up a
smile for Helena. He didn’t want to alarm her with how troubled he
really was. “But you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve recently
resigned my commission. And writing my memoires, like you
suggested, is helping.”

As well as dreaming about making love to
an angelically beautiful blonde widow
. Not that he could tell
his sister that.

“Good.” Helena smiled and patted his arm.
“And I’m sure the whisky helps too.” Her expression changed,
becoming serious. “But remember, James, whatever you’ve done, you
are a saint compared to Isabelle. I know you loved her at the
beginning, whereas she…I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I
doubt she was ever capable of feeling such a fine emotion…even for
Annabelle.”

They watched the children play for a few
minutes in companionable silence before Helena fixed her all too
perceptive gaze on him again. “Now tell me, James. Aside from
reassuring yourself that Annabelle is all right, why have you
really come to Edinburgh?”

“Where would ye like the rosemary bush moved
to, Mrs. Eliott?”

Elizabeth turned to Roberts and shielded her
eyes against the bright glints of morning sunlight dancing on the
deep blue surface of the sea behind him. There was barely a cloud
in the sky, and for once, the wind had only a slight chill rather
than a freezing edge to it. It was a rare, fine autumn day—a
wonderful opportunity for gardening.