Lord Deal, I assure you I would make a most biddable wife. He would never believe it.
Lord Deal, you are my only hope. Pathetic.
Nothing sounded right. Nothing felt right. But of course it wouldn’t. This was a last resort. A desperate situation.
And you are in love with another man.
She pushed the thought of James away. “Come,” she said to Anne, tugging lightly on her hand. “I see Martha.” Martha’s disapproving scowl, to be precise. Its sternness matched the imposing gray walls behind her as she met them partway along the trail that led from the castle to the sea.
“Ach, Katie!” Martha cried, fisting her hands on her hips. “You canna see him looking like this!”
“Will I scare him away, do you think?” She looped her arm through Martha’s, honestly unsure whether to hope for or dread the possibility. She should have been inside preparing for Lord Deal’s visit, having her hair carefully coiffed and powdered and her face brightened with a subtle layer of paint. Instead, she would receive her future husband looking as wild as this place where the rocky shore touched the North Sea.
“The most terrible demon would be scared away by the likes of you,” Martha humphed, and Anne giggled. The three of them headed back to the keep, Anne’s hand in Katherine’s, and Katherine’s arm in Martha’s, the sea wind pushing at their backs. With each step, Katherine’s nerves swirled in fearful eddies in her belly.
Once she and Lord Deal came to an agreement, all this unpleasantness would soon be finished. And Anne’s place would be secure.
Miss Bunsby met them outside the door and took Anne. “But I want to greet Lord Deal, Mama,” Anne complained.
“Next time, dearest. I have business to discuss with him now.” If only she could put off the inevitable forever.
“Will you ask him about the phaeton?”
“I will ask.”
Martha still clucked and fussed after Miss Bunsby took Anne upstairs, brushing at Katherine’s dress and trying to pull her hair together. “At least have your hair done up, Katie,” she begged, clearly distressed. “What will he think of you like this?”
“He will think I’ve been enjoying the wilds of Dunscore. He’s seen me in gowns and jewels, Martha. It will be all right.”
“Humph.”
Katherine looked down the stone corridor that led toward the main hall. Light streamed into the arched passageway through a row of windows down the east side. A line of unlit sconces disappeared into the shadows.
Catch me, Papa! The ghost of the little girl she’d been ran headlong toward the end, laughing, pounding her feet on the stones.
Her grown-up feet did not want to move. Martha’s hands stilled and went to her face. “Don’t worry, Katie. They won’t dare take this place from you,” she said forcefully. And then, more softly, “Maybe his lordship can do something to help.”
A wild laugh rose up in her throat. She wanted desperately to put her arms around Martha and tell her everything just like she used to do after Mama died. But she couldn’t afford to break down now, so she kissed Martha’s cheek and gently set her away. “Perhaps he can at that.” She would tell Martha soon enough that Dunscore would, indeed, remain hers.
Anne’s voice drifted down the corridor. “Wait, Miss Bunsby. I want to feel the floor. I think it is made of great, giant stones!”
I shall step on every stone in the corridor, Papa. How long do you suppose it will take me?
Finally her feet moved.
* * *
“WELL, KATHERINE, WHAT do you think of your old home?” Lord Deal’s voice rang out but was quickly absorbed by the main hall’s vastness. Fires crackling in four fireplaces barely touched the cool, damp air, and he stood near the closest one holding out his hands. He turned now, and behind him the hall arched toward the sky.
“I think it is in dire need of repair.” Katherine walked toward him, her footsteps silent on the wide carpets, then muted on ancient wood planks. Giant paintings lined the walls—hunting scenes, battle scenes, scenes of Dunscore itself. Each one was like a piece of her, she knew them so well even after a lifetime away. On the opposite side, narrow windows rose toward the ceiling and let in the cloudy day’s muted light. Great iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Only two were lit, but the glow from dozens of candles helped chase away the gloom. “There was a time when I had great plans for it.” Plans that had included an addition to the north wing drafted by her great-great-grandfather. How many hours had she spent studying those old yellowed plans while Papa was away at his card games?
“Surely that time has come again,” Lord Deal said. She held out a hand that threatened to tremble, and he kissed it. “A pleasure, as always,” he told her kindly. “You’ve been outside. The weather’s a bit chill, is it not? Oh, but the sea is lovely on a day like this.”
“Yes, lovely.” His hand was warm and firm.
“And how is dear Anne faring?”
“Very well, except that I haven’t a moment’s peace with her asking when we might ride in your phaeton again.”
“She has but to say the word,” he declared, laughing.
“I will caution you now to set limits, or you’ll be spending more time in the phaeton than you ever dreamed possible.” She tried to smile, but fear made it too hard.
Lord Deal must have seen it, because his laughter faded. “I’m very sorry things weren’t resolved in precisely the way we’d hoped,” he said soberly. “But all will be well as soon as you marry—the committee will have no reason to rule against you then—and I feel certain it won’t be as bad as you think.” He smiled and patted her hand.
“Of course,” she said, and tried to return his smile. “Now please, do sit down and let’s discuss the details.”
He let go of her hand. “Of course, of course.” They settled into two oak armchairs by the fire. “Now, I’m not sure there are any details to discuss yet, of course, but I do have some thoughts. McGowan, for one. A bit older than you, but not by too much, and he’s an earl. A solid fellow—never been married. And there’s Arran, of course. Perhaps a bit flowery for a woman like you, but he’d do. And there’s Weogh—”
“Lord Deal.” There was no sense allowing the conversation to move any further in this direction. The time was ripe. “When we agreed to come to Scotland and discuss the details,” she said carefully, “I assumed—” A lick of panic flared. It would be so easy to fail. “I had no idea you intended to introduce me to someone else.”
A moment of genuine confusion knitted his brows.
She pressed on. “I assumed you and I would work out some kind of arrangement.”
“You and I!” Now there was genuine surprise. He managed a kind of half laugh edged with horror. “Good God, Katherine, you’re Cullen’s little girl. Bad enough to be patching you into a hasty marriage to a stranger, but me— Ach.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m afraid that possibility never crossed my mind.”
“Well perhaps it could cross your mind now,” she said flatly. “It makes good sense, given your relationship with my father and the proximity of the Deal and Dunscore estates.”
“Katherine—”
“I do not want to marry a stranger.”
“Of course not. But under the circumstances...” He cleared his throat. “You’d like McGowan. I’m sure of it.”
If there was one thing she could be sure of, it was that she would not like McGowan. Or Arran, or Weogh, or any other bloody pillock Lord Deal got it in mind to marry her off to. The