The Scottish Bride by Catherine Coulter
Jason sniggered behind his hand, then cleared his throat and stared down at his boots. His father grew very quiet. “Did you know what she would do?”
“No, really, not quite, Papa. Just the idea of it is worthy of note, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.” Douglas knew his beautiful son, knew he was more stubborn that a stoat, knew that he’d never get any more out of him, particularly if it would get his cousin in trouble. He said, “Thank God she came to no harm. An idiot thing for Meggie to do. They have just arrived back at the vicarage.”
“You said that Uncle Tysen found a vicaress in Scotland?”
“Hmmm,” said Douglas and tapped the letter with a fingertip. “Tysen was smiling when he wrote this, I’m sure of it. I can see him smiling, laughing, his mouth all wide. Maybe even dancing a bit, at least his feet are moving. What is going on here? I think perhaps we should all pay a visit to the vicarage. What do you think, Jason? We could return the boys’ clothes.”
“Do you think she’s ugly on the outside?”
“Why would you say that?”
“I overheard you saying to Mama once that Leo’s mother was close to an abomirat—”
“An abomination?” Oh, Lord, Douglas thought, he was continually forgetting that children’s ears were so sharp they could hear a mouse eating cheese in the corner of the pantry.
“Yes, that’s it. And I’ve heard Uncle Tysen say that the flesh isn’t important, that it’s what is in the soul, and in the heart, that makes a person ugly or beautiful.”
Douglas stared at the small human being who had come from his loins, and had excellent hearing, and very likely had looked up “abomination” in the dictionary. “Yes,” he said slowly, “your uncle is perfectly right. We shall just have to see, won’t we? Listen to me, Jason—you will not ever say the word ‘abomination’ in your new aunt’s hearing, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Papa, but do you think she will be as, er, unpretty as Leo’s mama was? Although, of course, I don’t remember her.”
“I have no thoughts whatsoever on the subject. Forget it, Jason.”
“Yes, Papa, but it will be difficult.”
“You’re strong. You can do it.” However, Douglas found himself clearly remembering Melinda Beatrice, Tysen’s first wife. He remembered that Tysen had believed her a goddess, the perfect wife for a vicar, his soul mate, his helpmeet—and he had been quite wrong. He winced. Well, Tysen had been very young, much too young to have his brains working properly. And any joy, any full-heartedness, that he’d had, that twit Melinda Beatrice had crushed right out of him. But now Tysen wasn’t very young, and he seemed changed, and it was for the better. God be praised.
“You’re always telling Mama how beautiful she is,” Jason said.
“Your mother is very special, Jason. Her insides are just as beautiful as her outsides.”
“I’ll go tell James, Papa. Maybe our new aunt won’t be able to tell me and James apart and we can pretend to be each other and gather information.”
“I request that you don’t.”
But he knew that Jason was already coming up with scenarios that would make Douglas’s head ache. They would drive the poor woman distracted, pretending to be each other.
“Can we play chess a bit later? A new aunt—maybe she’ll have presents for us.”
“Greedy little beggar.” After his son left the estate room, likely to wander with his twin in the Northcliffe gardens and ogle all the naked statues, Douglas rose and went to look for his wife, to give her the news.
He found her in the music room, practicing her new harpsichord. She was endeavoring to get through a Scarlatti sonata that had a goodly number of high, tinkly notes. It was to be played very fast, and she was trying, but the result was regrettable. She played with verve, however, just as she did everything. He rubbed her shoulders lightly, then leaned down to kiss her ear, then her nose, and then her mouth. She turned on the bench, her hands closed around his back, and she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Ah, bless you, Douglas. I was ruining my ears.” Alex sighed. “It isn’t very easy.”
It wouldn’t have occurred to him not to lie cleanly and quickly, and so he did. “It was wonderful, Alex,” he said, kissed her again, and added, “I will just give you a little respite. Read this letter from Tysen.”
“Oh, dear,” Alex said, blinking several times, when she finished the letter. “Goodness, she has two names, just like Melinda Beatrice. Do you think she has no bosom either?”
Douglas laughed and laughed. He remembered how Ryder had said that no girl should have two names and no bosom. Well, Tysen had married another girl with two names. He wondered if Ryder had received a letter yet and if he was thinking about his new sister-in-law and the rather astounding change in Tysen.
Chadwyck House
Between Lower Slaughter and Mortimer Coombe
The Cotswolds
Ryder Sherbrooke had one little boy tugging on his left arm, another little boy clinging to his right leg, and a little girl with her legs locked around his middle, laughing in his ear, her skinny arms clasped around his neck. He was laughing himself, even as he tried to free just one hand. “Don’t strangle me, Linnie. I must read this letter. It was just delivered, and it’s from your uncle Tysen. I don’t like letters delivered like that, it usually means something is wrong. All of you need to let me go for just a minute. That’s right, I’ll be a prisoner again, just let me sit down first.”
Ryder sat down in a very large chair, made exactly to his specifications. It fit one adult and at least three small children or two larger children. “And,” he’d said to his wife, Sophie, rubbing his hands together, “I’ll even be able to hold one of the very little ones as well.”
Ryder smoothed out the piece of foolscap and let the children gather in close. As he read, he was stroking little Theo’s arm, nearly healed now.
Dear Ryder:
I am writing to tell you that I have brought a wife home with me from Scotland. Her name is Mary Rose and she is lovely. When I left Kildrummy Castle, Oliver was dancing about, exclaiming over everything he saw, so excited that he could barely speak. He sends his love and tells you that he will do just fine as my manager there. Many things happened—I dealt with the strangest people—but all worked out, and I did gain a wife, who, to be perfectly honest about it, is adorable. She fills me with pleasure. My love to all your children. You will meet my Mary Rose soon.
Your brother Tysen
“By all that’s amazing,” Ryder said slowly, staring over Linnie’s head at nothing at all, unable for the moment to believe what he’d just read. “This is something indeed. No, don’t any of you worry, it’s not bad news. It’s incredible news, actually. It appears that perhaps my dour, righteous brother has changed a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Hmmm, we’ll have to see.
“Now, Theo, I saw you frowning just a moment ago. Does your arm pain you? No? Good. Linnie, my shoul-der’s a bit numb. As for you, Ned, you may just stay right where you are and hug me as tightly as you want.”
“What is it, Uncle Ryder?” Linnie crawled closer and plastered herself to his side. As for Theo and Ned, they were each sitting next to him, each pressing against part of him, each touching him, from his neck to his knee. Now that he’d finished the letter, they moved even closer, something that was always possible even when you’d wager it wasn’t. He’d learned there was always more room for a child, he’d learned that wondrous fact many years before. He hugged them all, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. They were still so afraid, he thought, afraid that they would suddenly find themselves back in the hells where he’d found them, afraid they’d feel pain again, the humiliation and helplessness, the god-awful hunger that had shrunk all their small bellies. He felt the pain deep inside him, and rage, knew he would feel it until he died. He realized how very lucky he was to have them, and he smiled at them, patted them, and stroked their small faces. They would get better. They would learn to trust. He had ha
“Do tell us, Uncle Ryder, who writted to you?” Theo was very young and had learned to talk from a gin-soaked thief in the back alleys near the docks in London. But he’d improved tremendously in the four months he had been here, and his arm, finally, was mending well. Ryder said easily, “It was a letter from one of my brothers. He’s your uncle Tysen. You met him, Theo, do you remember, just after I brought you here? Just at the beginning of summer? He is the vicar and he brought his three children.”
“Meggie taught me how to climb a tree,” Linnie said. “I fell on her, but she just laughed. She showed me how to hit a boy, too, so he’d really hurt.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear any more about that,” Ryder said.
Linnie said, “Meggie told us not to bother her papa, that he had very serious thoughts in his head, and that those serious thoughts occupied all of his time. She said he needed her close to protect him because he was so very unworldly.”
She knew her father very well indeed. Ryder smiled, imagining Meggie’s precious little face as she’d said that. He said now, “He had very serious thoughts for many, many years. But now? A new wife? I wonder what has happened to Tysen? I wonder what Meggie thinks of her?”
“Leo taught us how to race,” Ned said, “around the big oak tree, jumping over the yew hedges, and around the pond back to the house. Leo taught the winner how to flip over backwards.”
“Max was teaching us Latin,” Theo said.
“Vos amo,” Ryder said, and kissed each of them.
“What does that mean, Uncle Ryder?” Linnie asked.
He gave each of them another quick kiss and a hug. “It means ‘I love you.’”
“Vos amo,” each of them said, then repeated it again and again, until it became a chant. Ryder rolled his eyes, knowing that Sophie would hear nothing else from any of the sixteen children for the next month. As for Jane, the directress of Brandon House, which stood only one hundred yards from Ryder and Sophie’s own home, Chadwyck House, he didn’t doubt that all the children would be chanting it to her in unison until she was ready to throw up her hands and run from the room. Of course, she would be smiling because it would also wring her withers.
Theo said, “Max taught us ‘Diabolus fecit, ut id facerem!’ ”
Linnie said complacently from Ryder’s armpit, “That means ‘the devil made me do it.’”
“He said that never failed to make adults laugh,” Theo said. “He said any mischief followed by that would likely save you a hiding.” Theo frowned. “But how could that be true if the adult didn’t speak Latin?”
“It couldn’t,” Ryder said and laughed. He didn’t stop laughing for a very long time.
He looked up to see his own daughter, Jenny, standing in the doorway, her head cocked to one side, listening carefully, a smile on her lovely face. She was seventeen now, looked like him, nearly mirrored his expressions, only she had her mother’s soft green eyes. She was slow in her thinking and in her speech, but she had a beautiful soul and a very sweet disposition. She also loved all the children.
“Vos amo,” Ryder called out to her. “That means ‘I love you.’ ”
Jenny gave him her sweet smile, and said softly, to all of them, “Vos amo, too.”
Ryder moved Ned and brought Jenny down on his legs. Ned, without hesitation, climbed up on Jenny’s lap. Ryder closed his eyes. He was blessed. He also had a feeling that he would probably be losing his daughter to Oliver, now in Scotland, managing Tysen’s Kildrummy Castle. He also believed that Oliver loved Jenny more than anything, even more than himself, and that was an excellent basis for a marriage. They’d grown up together. As far back as Ryder could remember, Oliver had always protected her. As for his Jenny, he fancied she quite worshipped Oliver.
Everything would be fine.
He hugged her closely to him and felt her soft laughter against his neck. “I miss Jeremy,” she said. “When he comes home from Italy, do you think he’ll stay here or go immediately to Scotland to visit Oliver?”
Ryder thought of Sophie’s younger brother, born with a club foot, and it didn’t matter a bit. He was a bruising rider and fighter, a fine young man.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “We’ll just have to see.”
Jenny missed Jeremy? Not Oliver? What was this?
Ryder sighed and closed his eyes. Life, he supposed, would always be life and that meant twists in the road and surprises to hit you in the eye.
Jeremy? Not Oliver?
Eden Hill House
Glenclose-on-Rowan
Credo fatum nos coegisse.
I think fate brought us together.
He loved to kiss her belly. He loved to rub his cheek against the soft, warm flesh. He would sigh with pleasure even as she giggled at the feel of his scratchy morning beard against her. And then, in such a short time, she would be free to yell his name as she climaxed because his palm covered her mouth. No chance that the servants or any of his children would come running.
He was smiling at her as he watched her sip her tea, knowing she was worried about their visit around the town, to bid all his parishioners hello and for them to meet her. Meggie was coming, insisting that everyone had to see that Mary Rose was very welcome at the vicarage. He was also thinking about nibbling her crooked toe.
An hour later, Tysen was still smiling, for most folk wished him well, because they liked him, he supposed, and believed that Mary Rose would be a helpful addition to the town.
“Mrs. Bittley is a fishwife, Papa,” Meggie said and squeezed his hand.
“Yes, but she has always been one. There is no change there. That is gratifying, I suppose. At least it’s expected, so one is never surprised.”
“I like change,” Meggie said, giving her father a sideways glance.
“Yes,” Tysen said absently. “Now, it’s time to have our last—hopefully small and of short duration—bride-welcome, at the Strapthorpes’. They live just over toward the forest, Mary Rose, a ten-minute walk. Grattling Grange—a strange name for a house. Mrs. Strapthorpe tells everyone that it comes from a German count who built it in the fourteenth century. I have no idea if this is true.”
Meggie said, her voice far too grim for a ten-year-old, “I’m sorry, Mary Rose, but you’ll have to face Miss Strapthorpe. But I won’t leave you. At least now she will have to stop flirting with Papa. And the way she’s always treated me and the boys—” Meggie shuddered.
“She was rather quiet when all the ladies visited the vicarage our first day back,” Mary Rose said, tilting her head up so the sunlight could fall full on her face. It felt wonderful. She felt Tysen’s warm breath on her cheek as he lightly kissed her. She stopped, looked up at him, her heart in her eyes, and said, “Did she really flirt with you, Tysen?”
“No. Meggie is exaggerating.” He kissed her again, on her ear.
Meggie rolled her eyes.
They heard a noise that sounded like a giggle. It was Mrs. Snead, the local seamstress, who had been examining a swatch of muslin. A soft pink muslin that, Tysen thought, would make up a beautiful gown for Mary Rose. He smiled at her and introduced his wife, who complimented her on the beautiful muslin. Tysen then asked Mrs. Snead to make his beautiful Mary Rose a gown.
Mrs. Snead sighed, a palm over her heart.
“Well done, Papa,” Meggie said when they were on their way again.
“Mary Rose looks beautiful in pink,” Tysen said, and kissed her ear.
Meggie began humming at that. As for Mary Rose, she was happy to her toes. She was also feeling very confident. It didn’t matter if Glenda Strapthorpe had flirted with Tysen and was very pretty. Mary Rose was wearing the pale yellow muslin walking dress that was a gift from Sinjun, and she knew she looked very fine in it. Meggie had told her so at least three
“Quis est qui inquit, Max?” Mary Rose said, and grinned at his father, who was closing a large hand around his son’s throat.
Meggie asked, her brows lowered at her brother, “Just what does that mean?”
“It means ‘Who said that,’ ” Max said. “Why, Mr. Harbottle says that, that’s who.”
Tysen shook his head, perplexed. He’d been thinking that Mary Rose looked edible, at the very least, until his ears had finally picked up Max’s words. He said, “I don’t wish you to listen to Mr. Harbottle again, Max. Do you understand me? I can’t believe that I never before realized what a fool the man is. I have made inquiries, Max, but there just aren’t many tutors about who know more than you do. Is it possible for you to simply learn from him and not adopt any of his absurd philosophies?”
“You mean like girls are worth very little?”
“That’s it exactly.”
“I will try, Papa,” Max said.
“You’re such a shortsighted little dolt I doubt you’ll be able to manage it,” Meggie had said, and smacked him in the shoulder.
Now Meggie said to Mary Rose, “I don’t trust Glenda Strapthorpe. She’s a cat. She’s wanted Papa for more than a year now, and he’s had to be very wily to escape her. Remember that time she trapped you in the vestry, Papa? I heard two of the ladies saying behind their hands that she tried to assist you out of your robe.”