‘Have you never been here before?’
‘I have not. I told you, the McCrieffs and the Lochmores are old foes, even though the Lochmores have tried in the past to cool the bad blood between them.’ Including the attempt to marry Flora’s Aunt Tessa to the current Duke of Lochmore after his first wife died. ‘I am amazed my father came here at all—the McCrieffs’ memories are long and their grudges are deeply held.’
Lachlan’s eyes glinted as he smiled at her. ‘I shall remember that, Flora.’
His smile did funny things to her insides, but she soon forgot them as she realised the size of the task facing her: a husband who was a stranger, but who nevertheless imagined she had enough influence to ease his path in society; a huge castle that would no doubt take a mountain of money and effort to maintain; neighbours and workers who might very well resent a McCrieff becoming mistress of Lochmore.
‘Are the servants members of the Lochmore Clan?’
‘A few are locals who have worked here for years, but I also hired several from Glasgow.’
‘Glasgow? But...what will they know about Highland life? And working in a castle?’
He frowned. ‘Every one of them is a Highlander, from various clans. They, or their parents before them, were forced to move to the city in order to survive when they were turned off their land. They may not have worked in a castle before, but they are keen to learn and to earn their living. Jobs give people self-respect and they are proud people.’ His frown deepened. ‘We talked about the plight of the people earlier—why I need my whisky to succeed, for those who rely on me for their living. Starvation and disease are rife in the Highlands now the potato crop has failed again.’
In truth, Flora hadn’t fully understood his meaning. She had little idea of what had been happening in the rest of Scotland, outside of the area in which she had grown up. Her father did not believe womenfolk should be concerned with politics. All Flora had known was her family’s dwindling fortunes and the loss of several local families as they left to seek a better life elsewhere. She was fortunate. She was not, and never had been, starving.
‘I expect the workers to be treated with respect, even though their backgrounds are not the equal of yours.’
She raised her chin, offended. ‘I always treat the servants well. I am not about to change now.’
His comment stirred her curiosity about his past. She knew nothing about him, other than that his intense stare sometimes made her insides quiver and that his smile was rare but, when it broke, it lit his features and everything around him. A mental image arose of that long-ago day in the tower, when a ray of sun broke through the clouds and glinted off the silver metal of the brooch. She lifted her hand to it, as she had done countless times through the journey, happy that she had managed to keep it safe all these years. As ever, she felt a deep sense of peace as she touched it.
She studied Lachlan, taking in his expensive clothes. His gold fob watch and the signet ring he wore on his right hand. His confidence. He must be very wealthy to afford a place such as Lochmore Castle. And from that thought it was a short hop to realising that her own appearance nowhere near equalled his. In the eyes of the staff she would look nothing like the daughter of a nobleman or the mistress of Lochmore Castle. Her luggage consisted of just one evening gown and one afternoon dress—gowns she’d worn during her brief excursion into Edinburgh society last October. Other than those, she only had her everyday clothing—nothing like the luxurious and lavish trousseau she had once dreamed of. The remainder of her garments from last year were back at home, intended for Aileen who, at seventeen, would soon be expected to catch a suitable husband, with the help of the dowry paid by Lachlan.
‘Are you ready?’
Lachlan’s gaze swept Flora from head to foot, raising a quiver of awareness in her, but reminding her again of her sorry appearance, clad in a worn velvet cloak and bonnet, both of which had seen better days, with a scruffy wire-haired terrier at her heels. Her husband’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts and she raised her hands to tuck away any stray strands of hair. Did he find her unattractive? Not many men found short, freckled ladies with red hair appealing. If he wasn’t already disappointed by his end of the bargain he had struck with her father, he surely would be once he realised how little help she would be in finding patrons for his whisky. The scandal she had caused had been huge. Her parents had whisked her home and she had not shown her face in society since, although she knew from Donald exactly what the gossips were saying, including their speculation that she was no longer an innocent.
She swallowed. She could not avoid this. She was married now and this was her new home. Her new life. She drew in a steadying breath and nodded.
‘Then come.’ Lachlan swept one arm around. ‘Welcome to Lochmore Castle, Lady Flora McNeill. Welcome to your new home.’
Flora took Lachlan’s arm—her fingers curling around his hard bicep—and they walked up the front steps and through the door into a spacious, bright entrance hall, a still-subdued Bandit at their heels.
Halfway down the hall, just past a tall stone-dressed archway on the right-hand side, a wide, polished wood staircase carpeted in red and gold swept up from the marble-tiled floor. A huge chandelier hung over the stairwell—luxury indeed, thought Flora, as she pictured the stone staircases of Castle McCrieff, still lit by wall sconces at night.
Footsteps echoed and a tall thin female and a short, wiry man with thinning sandy-coloured hair emerged through the stone archway that gave access to the old keep. They were followed by two footmen. The woman’s greying hair was pulled back from her face and a bunch of keys was attached to the belt of her uniform.
‘Ah. Allow me to present my wife, Lady Flora. Mrs Dalgliesh is the Lochmore housekeeper, and Drummond is our butler.’
‘May I offer my congratulations on your marriage, Mr McNeill? And welcome to Lochmore, Lady Flora.’
The housekeeper’s gentle greeting belied the harshness of her features. What Flora had at first taken for lines of disapproval etched into Mrs Dalgliesh’s countenance were, upon closer inspection, lines of sorrow and disappointment. Flora relaxed and smiled at her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Dalgliesh.’
Drummond echoed the housekeeper’s felicitations before sending the footmen to fetch the luggage.
‘I shall leave you to show Lady Flora around the castle and to introduce her to the rest of the staff, Mrs Dalgliesh. I have work to attend to, so I shall be in my study if I am needed.’ Lachlan hesitated, then bowed to Flora with a fleeting smile. ‘I shall see you at dinner, my dear.’
Flora watched her new husband stride across the hall and disappear through another archway directly opposite the first.
My dear.
He had used no endearments until now. She was not fooled—the endearment was for the servants’ edification. She could not help but be disappointed that he chose not to show her around himself.
She stretched her lips into a bright smile.
‘Would you show me to my bedchamber first, please, Mrs Dalgliesh?’
‘I have already ordered warm water to be sent up, my lady.’ Mrs Dalgliesh spoke over her shoulder as she preceded Flora up the stairs. ‘A maid is waiting to unpack your clothes and to assist you. If she pleases you, you may keep her as your personal maid, or you may wish to appoint your own woman, of course.’
The first flight of the staircase angled oddly to accommodate what was clearly the outer wall of a tower. Flora’s step faltered as she trailed her fingertips around the curved wall, memories rushing in on her of that long-ago day when she had found her brooch.
Mrs Dalgliesh paused. ‘That