Amanda Scott (25 page)

“Ye’ve gone mad,” he said angrily, his childhood accent surfacing as it generally did on those rare occasions when his temper stirred. “I ken what it is, though. In your mind, ye’re no marrying Kintyre. Ye’re marrying your damned ghost Ye canna see that the pair of them are two separate entities.”

Mary and Duncan were present, and Lady Agnes and Roddy, as well, since the exchange took place at the table. The silence that followed Chuff’s outburst was at first the simple silence of surprise, but when it lengthened, Pinkie sensed perilous moments ahead. She avoided Duncan’s gaze, and felt grateful when Roddy was the first to speak.

“I dinna think ye should be vexed with her, Chuff. It’s a fine thing, for I like Kintyre, and just think! We shall be able to visit Cailean whenever we like.”

Thus reminded of the others’ presence, Chuff shot Pinkie a rueful glance. The damage was already done, however.

Duncan said gently, “What is this about a ghost?” When no one replied, he added with a familiar, dangerous edge to his voice, “I am waiting.”

Pinkie said quietly, “I told Chuff that Kintyre bears a resemblance to a ghost I have seen at Shian Towers.”

“When was this?”

“I told him a few days ago.”

“And when did you see this ghost?”

“I saw him several times, sir, beginning when I was but a bairn.”

To her surprise, he did not instantly declare that she must be daft to imagine she had seen a ghost. Instead, he glanced at Mary, who looked amused.

Duncan sighed. “How clearly did you see this ghost of yours, lassie, and what was he doing when you saw him?”

“I saw him quite clearly, sir, and he was doing different things,” she said. “When I saw him outside the castle, he was walking on the hillside near the woods with a big black deerhound that looks…looked…like Cailean.”

“That’s not the whole of it, though,” Chuff said. “Tell him the rest, lass.”

Pinkie shook her head. She could not speak of those earlier times, not with Roddy and Lady Agnes at the table.

Chuff grimaced. “Then I’ll tell it,” he said. “I shall spare you the details, sir, but Pinkie recalls at least one time, long ago, before we left Shian, when her ghost protected her from harm. She was but a wee bairn at the time, before Mary took us away from our uncle.”

“Aye, I remember,” Duncan said.

“You see, sir, I fear that she has seen enough of a resemblance between her ghost and Kintyre that she has endowed him with the same attributes that she believes her ghost to possess, and thus she thinks she’s in love with him.”

Duncan looked at Pinkie. “Is that true, lassie?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I cannot be sure, of course, but I do not think I am in love with him, or obsessed with my ghost.”

“The ghost sounds real enough,” Mary said thoughtfully. “There is an old legend about Shian Towers being haunted. I do not recall the details, but the ghost was supposed to be a young man in search of his true love. By the time he found her, she had married another and died in childbirth; and he died of a broken heart. I don’t recall a dog, but how odd that Kintyre owns one like the one you saw.”

“Especially since the deerhound is a rare breed,” Duncan said. “You are certain the dogs are the same?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Ghosts,” Lady Agnes said, shaking her head. “One hears of them, of course, but Balcardane Castle never, thank heaven, boasted such a creature. I do not think Balcardane—your father, that is, Duncan, not you—would have countenanced one in his home. So unnerving, you know, to walk round a corner in the night and bump bang into it.”

Chuff laughed. “I do not think one bumps into ghosts, ma’am.”

“No, of course not,” she said. “But how unsettling to think that one is about to do so and then to walk through the creature instead. You cannot deny, young man, that such an event would put one off one’s supper more times than not.”

“No, ma’am, I won’t deny that,” he agreed.

“It would be almost as unnerving as one of our dearest Mary’s episodes of second sight,” she added.

Duncan and Mary were looking at each other again.

He said, “What do you think of this, sweetheart?”

“Are you expecting me to peer into the future, sir? You know I cannot.”

“Nothing of the sort,” he said. “I wondered if Pinkie’s intention to marry Kintyre has stirred you to experience any distress, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “None at all. I like him.”

“Then she shall do as she wishes,” Duncan said, turning his stern eye on Chuff, “and none of us will plague her to do otherwise.”

Chuff smiled. “You know I wish you well, Pinkie. I won’t be at hand to plague you in any event after Friday week, for I aim to drive down to Oxford and get settled into lodgings before the term begins. Duncan has agreed to go with me.”

“Aye,” Roddy said, grinning mischievously. “He promised to find you a strict tutor, Chuff. Faith, though, I’d happily give you Terence, and welcome.”

“Mr. Coombs,” Duncan said with emphasis and a gimlet eye directed at his heir, “is a Cambridge man. He will be returning for the new term shortly himself.”

“Aye, and good riddance,” Roddy said, unabashed. “I dinna like the man. He’s too fond of himself to pay heed to anything that amuses me, and although he kens London right well, he’d rather explore it with Chuff than with me. Has he no promised from the first to tak’ me to Mrs. Salmon’s Waxworks? Aye, he has, but have I seen them? Nay, then, I have not!”

Duncan’s jaw tensed, and Mary swiftly changed the subject to certain lists and preparations necessary for the wedding. By the time they rose from the table, she had made it clear to everyone that there was much to be done before Saturday if Pinkie was to be properly married.

The wedding went off without a hitch. The parson was a kindly gentleman whose bald pate rose from a halo of soft white hair. He kept pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles back in place with one index finger or the other whenever they slipped down his nose, and as he read the service, Pinkie found herself watching to see how far they would slip before he would push them up again. The words of the service floated in the air around her, seeming strange and disconnected from reality. She was far more conscious of Kintyre’s tall, strong body beside her.

Energy from the man seemed to encircle her, almost to shelter her from the others in the drawing room, for it was there that Mary and Lady Agnes had decided to hold the ceremony. Kintyre’s shield was not impenetrable, however. Standing beside him, hearing the steady murmur of the parson’s voice, Pinkie was distinctly conscious of Bridget’s presence behind them.

The guests were numerous, for Balcardane and his lady had made many friends in London. Rothwell and Maggie were there, of course, as well as Lady Marsali, Mrs. Thatcher, and a number of the latter’s friends. As the service progressed, Pinkie felt little awareness of those others, except for the occasional sneeze or cough. Bridget’s presence, however, seemed to fill the room.

Although the girl made not the slightest sound, Pinkie could feel her eyes boring into their backs as they gave their responses. When Kintyre slipped a gold ring on Pinkie’s finger, she could feel Bridget’s fury, and when the parson presented them to the company as man and wife and Kintyre kissed her, she could feel the younger girl’s outrage as if it enflamed the very air between them.

T
HE WEDDING DINNER, FOLLOWING
the ceremony, began at three, and by five—thanks to free-flowing wine and whiskey—the guests were feeling far merrier than the bridal couple. Pinkie was pleased that Kintyre had stayed at her side throughout the festivities. She had feared that he might, after the manner of men, leave her to her own devices once the matter of their wedding was completed, but he did not.

He looked splendid, too, she thought, in peach-colored breeches and coat, the latter lined with brocaded white silk to match his waistcoat. With this elegant rig, he wore silver knee buckles, white silk stockings, and black pumps. His hair was neatly curled, clubbed, and powdered, and atop his head he wore a cocked hat with a soft peach-colored ribbon cockade. She still felt more at ease with him when he dressed in buckskin breeches, but such attire was clearly ineligible for one’s wedding, and at least he did not carry an amber cane, or delicately pinch snuff from a snuffbox.

For much of the time, despite her new sister-in-law’s glowering looks, Pinkie enjoyed herself, and she laughed when Elizabeth Campbell revealed to her and a few others certain amusing details of her first wedding, to the Duke of Hamilton.

“He was quite mad for her,” Sir Horace Walpole said. Smiling at Pinkie, he added, “Hamilton had formed the awkward habit of making violent love to the lovely Miss Gunning whilst he was supposedly playing faro, you see. That is to say, he saw neither the bank nor his cards, and soon lost thousands, so he had to marry her or quickly lose his fortune. I was there that night, you know, at the Mayfair Chapel. ’Twas St. Valentine’s Day, but only half an hour after midnight. The duke slipped a bed-curtain ring on her finger, and a Fleet parson married them.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I was but eighteen then, you see, and only two nights before, Hamilton had sent for a proper parson, but the man refused to marry us without a license or a ring. Hamilton even threatened to send for the Archbishop, but in the end we were married in Mayfair Chapel by a clergyman who was—as Sir Horace describes him—little more than a Fleet parson. He did it for a guinea, and thanks to the bed-curtain ring, Hamilton was able to declare till his death that he had married me without wasting good money on a license or a ring.”

Sir Horace and the others laughed, but although Pinkie joined their merriment, she could not help thinking how horrid such a scene must have been for Elizabeth, who had been the same age then as Pinkie was now.

Lady Ophelia Balterley, approaching, said sympathetically, “What are they saying to make you blush, my dear? You look quite overcome by virgin sensibility, which is certainly the fashion for brides—poor things—but I had not hitherto thought you the sort who would be overawed by any occasion.”

“No, ma’am, I do not think I am overawed.”

“Excellent,” said Lady Ophelia. “I am glad to hear that, although I cannot approve of weddings. Not only is the married state not generally beneficial to women, but one cannot help thinking of Mr. Richardson’s insightful line in
Sir Charles Grandison,
when he describes brides in virgin white, ‘like milk-white heifers led to sacrifice.’”

Sir Horace, never able to remain silent for long, said, “Isn’t
Sir Charles Grandison
the chap whose bride was so overwhelmed by virgin confusion that she refused to attend a tenants’ party celebrating her marriage?”

“It is not the bride’s faults that concern me, sir,” Lady Ophelia said, flicking her fan open, then shutting it again with unnecessary energy.

“I have no tenants’ party to contemplate yet, ma’am,” Pinkie said, realizing that diversion was necessary. She glanced at her husband, who stood silently at her side, and was glad to see amusement in his eyes. “I believe Kintyre does not mean to return immediately to Mingary.”

“No,” Kintyre said, “and we shan’t be going away by ourselves, I’m afraid, since I have my sister to look after and business at home that will require my presence. My aunt has expressed her desire to return to Edinburgh in a fortnight, and I can see no good reason that we should leave London before then.”

Sir Horace said musingly, “What of the lovely Lady Bridget’s wishes? Your sister does not strike one as a young woman who will readily embrace the solitude of Castle Mingary after enjoying the excitement and bustle of town life.”

“My sister will do as she is bid,” Kintyre said, taking deft advantage of Peasley’s announcement that dinner was served to separate his bride from her well-wishers and lead her to the table.

By then, however, Lady Bridget’s animosity had become nearly tactile, and before the meal was over, Pinkie began to wonder again what it would be like to live with so much anger, isolated from her friends and family, at Mingary.

One part of her wanted to confront the girl, to take her aside privately and demand to know what had stirred such wrath in her. Another part of her, however, believed that confrontation was exactly what Bridget sought, that she was spoiling for a fight and believed she would win it. Just what the prize might be, however, Pinkie did not know.

After the meal, when Maggie Rothwell hugged her, whispering that Kintyre was a splendid man, and others fondly extended their best wishes for a happy married life, Pinkie’s spirits lifted again. Had it not been for Bridget, glowering at her when their gazes chanced to collide, she would have begun to look forward with pleasure to her new life with Kintyre. As it was, her spirits began to sink again as the time approached for the bridal couple to depart.

Bridget had not said a word to her, and if Kintyre had noted her behavior, he had not referred to it.

Michael had certainly noted his sister’s rudeness, and had he been able to take five minutes alone with her, he would speedily have brought her to an understanding of his displeasure. However, experience had taught him that it would do no good to drop a hint in her ear or to warn her with a look. Either tactic would more likely result in an unpleasant scene than in her improved behavior, so he held his temper in check until he could speak to her properly.

After a time, he had stopped watching her, persuaded that in such company she would do nothing more overt than shoot her glares and glowers. Ignoring her proved more beneficial than he had imagined, however; for, denied reaction, she soon turned her attention to flirting with young Coombs. That he was a coxcomb did not seem to faze her. Although Michael suspected that Coombs was responsible for the anonymous string of posies and gewgaws, and even letters, that arrived in George Street on a near daily basis, Bridget knew that he would never permit her to marry such a man, so he left her to her harmless flirting. He did not fail to notice, however, that from time to time she continued to shoot barbed glances at his bride.