The Richness of Love Read online

  “Ah, Emily Tennant? I do hope that all goes well this evening. I cannot see how she could fail to fall for such a handsome young man. But there will be many disappointed others should he be taken.”

  Moira smiled. It was true, Ewen had collected quite a few hearts during their short stay, but he seemed blissfully unaware of them.

  “Dear, I will not keep you any longer as it is almost after five. I suggest that you go upstairs and start getting ready.”

  Moira hurried back to her room where the maid had already laid out her apricot chiffon after sponging it down. It looked almost new again thanks to her tender care. Taking down her vanity case from the top of the wardrobe, Moira found the pale blue box containing her mother’s diamonds.

  ‘The last of a very fine collection and if Ewen’s plan goes to order, mother can replace some of the other pieces she has been forced to sell. God willing.’

  *

  The carriage taking them to Lord Kinross’s residence arrived at seven o’clock sharp. Ewen told Moira that his friend lived in a rather unfashionable area, called Chelsea.

  “It is full of ordinary people and many artists, sculptors, actors and singers,” he explained, as their carriage set off. “It is not as smart as Mayfair, but I’ll warrant that he has some interesting types for neighbours. Aye, George has always preferred the company of colourful people.”

  “I hear that he likes to frequent the theatre. Perhaps we shall be graced with the likes of Sarah Bernhardt or Dan Leno the clog dancer.”

  “Moira! He is not to be found in the supper rooms or East End taverns. George has more breeding than that. You have a vivid imagination.”

  Moira had a notion that Lord Kinross was in the habit of befriending what Sarah would describe as ‘bohemians’, but she tried to keep her mind as open as possible.

  It was a chilly night and a mist was beginning to rise from the Thames as their carriage pulled up outside Lord Kinross’s house.

  Moira was surprised that it did not appear at all grand from its exterior and that fact, in a strange way, made her feel less anxious.

  ‘No one will be casting critical eyes over my gown tonight,’ she thought.

  As they walked up the path towards the open front door, Ewen hissed in her ear,

  “Of course, you know that George keeps a mistress. An artist’s model who lives nearby. I hope that he has not invited both her and his fiancée tonight otherwise there will be hell to pay!”

  Moira felt shocked. How could Lord Kinross even entertain such an idea? Surely it went against all taste and decency?

  She had heard rumours when in Edinburgh that there were gentlemen who had ‘kept women’ as well as wives, but in her innocence had dismissed it as idle gossip.

  As soon as she entered the door of the house in Cheyne Walk, she could tell that the people who flitted around inside like exotic butterflies were a world away from the stiff snooty crowd whom she had met over the past few weeks.

  There was an altogether more relaxed atmosphere at Lord Kinross’s home and looking around, she noticed that not every woman present was wearing the latest bustle.

  “Why, the old rascal,” whispered Ewen, as they entered the large drawing room. “Look, that yon lassie with the dark hair and fine figure – that is George’s mistress!”

  She looked over to the other side of the room and there, dressed in a strange yet becoming gown was a haughty looking woman of about twenty-six standing by an impressive Davenport.

  She wore a mass of feathers in her hair that hung loose down her back, and sported a large Chinese jade pendant on her bosom that drew attention to the fact that she was not wearing a corset.

  Moira noticed that the woman followed George with the eyes of a hawk, yet she did not attempt to accost him. She had never seen a mistress before and she could not help but stare.

  It was only the arrival of Emily and May Tennant that took her attention away from the fascinating creature by the Davenport.

  Ewen caught his breath as Emily arrived in the drawing room – she looked quite beautiful with her blonde curls piled high on her head and a sprinkling of diamonds that were just enough to make her sparkle in a subtle way.

  Her dress was pale lemon chiffon and quite put Moira’s old gown into the shade.

  “Moira, will you pardon me while I go and greet Miss Tennant?” said Ewen, breathless with excitement.

  “Of course, dearest. However, please do not leave me on my own all night as I fear I do not know anyone here.”

  Ewen gave her a grin and then darted over to where Emily and May were standing.

  Moira watched as Emily smiled shyly and put her head on one side while Ewen talked to her.

  “Ah, you must be the Scots girl,” came a piercing voice behind her.

  There was a tug on Moira’s elbow and she turned to find a trio of elderly ladies.

  “I am, Agnes, Sarah Cunningham’s sister-in-law and she has told me about you.”

  Moira graciously nodded at the three ladies and smiled politely, hoping that they would disappear. But to her dismay Agnes grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out into the connecting dining room.

  It was informally set for a musical recital with a long buffet table groaning with food along one side.

  At the end of the room stood a grand piano and two chairs and leaning against one was a cello while a violin was laid across the other.

  Lord Kinross obviously took no notice of the polite social code that dictated that pianos should be covered with a chenille cloth and decorated with at least a candelabrum and a vase of flowers, for his was completely bare of any such embellishments.

  “Yes, shocking, isn’t it?” commented Agnes, pointing at the offending instrument as if it were a naked statue rather than a piano.

  “He only invites us because he knows we will be scandalised,” cried her friend.

  “Well, I find him refreshing and unstuffy,” put in the third. “What say you, young lady?”

  “I could not say. We do not have a piano at Lednock – my father prefers us to play the harp.”

  “The harp,” enthused Agnes. “How delightful.”

  “Such quaint ways, the Scots,” added her friend, “do tell us more about your charming country.”

  And so, Moira spent the first part of the evening fielding questions about her culture from haggis to bagpipes to kilts.

  “And I do hear that the new Duke of Brampton is a distant cousin who hails from your country,” said Agnes suddenly. “It was such a terrible shock to all of us, hearing of both untimely ends. And then comes news of this heir who is not known to any of us. I do hope he is not some ruffian from the bogs!”

  Moira suddenly snapped out of her torpor and seized upon what she was saying.

  “Do you mean that the new Duke is a Scot?”

  “Yes, my dear. Perhaps you will know him? Now, if only I could remember his name. I declare it does not sound Scottish at all which is why I cannot recall it.”

  Agnes was infuriatingly vague and waved her hand in the air as if to conjure up the name from the ether.

  “Scotland is not so vast,” answered Moira. “I may well be acquainted with his kin at the very least. There are relatively few good families in my area and we all know each other it is not like London.”

  “No! No. The name has gone,” fluttered Agnes, “perhaps I will remember after the musical recital. I do so find that music soothes me and all kinds of memories come flooding back.”

  “But, Agnes, dear, have you not heard? It is rumoured that George Kinross has invited the new Duke to this very event,” intervened her friend, “so perhaps the young lady will have the pleasure of renewing an old acquaintance.”

  Moira suddenly felt rather excited.

  ‘Who could this elusive stranger be?’ she wondered.

  She knew practically everyone there was to know in the social scene in Edinburgh and Glasgow and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that she had indeed already met him in the
past.

  ‘Perhaps he could prove to be a prospective suitor,’ mused Moira, as the gong sounded to summon them into the dining room.

  Moira became so excited that she ate only a small amount from the large buffet.

  Ewen came over to her, his face aglow with happiness.

  “Moira. There you are. Where have you been?”

  “Talking to Lady Cunningham’s sister-in-law and I found out a rather interesting piece of news the new Duke of Brampton is Scottish. It is rumoured that he has been invited to this very party. Now, what do you think of that?”

  “Och, I cannot take much interest in women’s gossip,” he chided, “as I am making such good progress with Emily. She has accepted my invitation to go out walking tomorrow and she has invited me to her father’s shoot after Christmas.”

  Moira squeezed her brother’s arm warmly.

  “Dearest, that is wonderful news. So we will be staying on after all?”

  “Aye, we will. I shall send a telegram to mother and father tomorrow and let them know of our decision.”

  “They will be disappointed.”

  “But not when I take Emily back as my fiancée,” he cried, his eyes full of joy. “And then we can snatch back Lednock from the hands of those evil creditors!”

  The butler announced the musical recital and Ewen and Moira took their seats next to Lord Kinross and his fiancée. Emily and May shyly followed and sat next to Ewen.

  Moira was amused to note that Lord Kinross’s mistress was sitting behind them, glaring daggers at his intended. She wondered if there would be a scene at some point during the evening –

  “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” Lord Kinross asked of Moira.

  “Yes, I am indeed. But what is this news I hear that the new Duke of Brampton is to be present tonight?

  “Why yes, he was meant to be here, but so far he has not graced us with is presence. I expect that he has been detained on some urgent business. He is a lucky man – the Brampton fortune and estates are considerable.”

  Just then, the pianist arrived in the room to polite applause and curtailed Moira’s chance to make further enquiries.

  She felt quite disappointed that the new Duke had so far not shown his face as she had been sufficiently piqued by Agnes’s chatter to nurture hopes that if he was unmarried, she might wheedle an introduction.

  After playing for around twenty minutes, the musicians took a bow before announcing that they would resume playing again after a short interval.

  Moira had just resumed chatting to Lord Kinross when his butler interrupted them.

  “Begging your pardon, my Lord, but His Grace the Duke of Brampton has just arrived. He is in the hall. I wondered whether you wished me to bring him through.”

  “No, I will come and greet him myself,” was the hearty reply, “and bring my best Napoleon brandy as I must drink to his health.”

  “A late arrival?” asked Moira, as calmly as she could.

  “Yes, better late than never.”

  Lord Kinross arose from his chair, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Moira could hardly bear to look, so she averted her gaze away from the entrance to the dining room.

  Ewen was deep in conversation with Emily as Moira casually scanned the room.

  It was not long before she spotted a newcomer.

  ‘Surely it cannot be. No. This is a miracle,’ she thought, as her eyes alighted on a familiar figure with reddish-brown, flowing hair and penetrating pale blue eyes.

  There, standing by the door and conversing jovially with Lord Kinross was none other than Stuart Weston!

  Stuart caught Moira’s eye and his face lit up.

  Her heart was beating hard in her chest and her mouth became dry as Stuart walked over to where she was sitting.

  “You!” she stuttered, at last. “What are you doing here and where is the new Duke of Brampton? Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours?”

  “You are looking at him,” answered Stuart, bowing low, his blue eyes dancing.

  “Ah, I see that you two know each other already. You have deprived me of an introduction,” blustered Lord Kinross, as the butler brought in a bottle of brandy.

  Stuart took the seat next to Moira and looked at her longingly.

  “I cannot believe it is you! How? Why?” she whispered.

  “Hush, I will you tell you more later,” he replied softly as the music resumed.

  But Moira could not concentrate on what the trio was playing, no matter how fine it was as her thoughts were utterly consumed by Stuart.

  ‘Stuart. Oh, my love. How I have longed for this moment.’

  She could not help but steal peeks at him and she noticed that he was always looking at her, his eyes telling her that he had missed her.

  ‘I cannot wait for this recital to be over,’ thought Moira impatiently. The trio was now playing a pretty little Chopin etude, but she could not enjoy it, even though it was one of her favourites.

  It was some time before Ewen realised that his dear friend had joined the party.

  In fact, the recital had drawn to a close and Moira was just about to quiz Stuart on how fate had brought him to Chelsea, when Ewen noticed him.

  “Kelpie!” he roared, “what brings you here?”

  “It is a long story, old friend.”

  ‘Oh, I do hope that Ewen will not keep him long,’ thought Moira, annoyed at having Stuart’s attention snatched away from her by her brother. ‘I have not seen Stuart in over a month and there is so much I need to discuss with him.’

  But still they talked and joked.

  The next moment Ewen was introducing Emily and May to Stuart, much to Moira’s dismay.

  “You are in town for a few days, I hope?” asked Ewen, his attention beginning to return to Emily. “I hope you are still sailing the Victorious or we will be stranded here.”

  “Yes, I am and she remains at your disposal. But judging by the look of that charming young lady on your arm, you will be in no hurry to leave London.”

  Ewen laughed heartily and patted Emily’s hand.

  “And I must no longer ignore this charming young lady, if you will excuse me, Kelpie. I will speak more with you later.”

  Moira could have cried with relief as Ewen led Emily away with May in hot pursuit. She had been so afraid that Stuart would be distracted by them.

  Now she had him to herself at last.

  “Moira,” began Stuart, leading her away from the dining room, “I would speak with you in private.”

  “Of course, but are you not expected to circulate as the new Duke of Brampton?”

  “That can wait and what I have to say to you will not. Shall we find a quiet corner in this madhouse away from the rest of the guests?”

  “Would that – not be rude?” stammered Moira.

  ‘Why I am behaving like such a fool?’ she thought, ‘I have waited forever for Stuart to return and now I find myself making excuses not to be alone with him. What is wrong with me?’

  But Stuart was not easily put off.

  He took Moira’s arm and made her follow him into Lord Kinross’s study.

  Bidding her to sit on the sofa, Stuart sank down next her, taking her hand in his. Moira’s heart was bursting with emotion.

  “Moira, dearest Moira – I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am to see you and how sorry I am that I did not honour my promise to write to you.”

  “It is of no consequence.”

  “Hush. Let me say my piece.”

  Admonished, Moira fell silent whilst Stuart continued,

  “I said that I was terrible at remembering names and addresses and I fear that is exactly what I did. No sooner had you left the Victorious than the name of the people who you were staying with went right out of my head. Try as I might, I could not recall it and I could not be so bold as to trouble your parents, so I resigned myself to losing you forever to someone else!”

  Realising what Stuart was saying, Moira looked into his eyes, her own so full of love
that she felt utterly vulnerable and open to him.

  “Oh, Stuart,” she murmured.

  “It came as a complete shock to me. One day, I was sailing my ship up and down the coast and the next, I was a Duke! I knew that the Bramptons were distant kin of mine on my father’s side, but had never given it so much as a thought. My second cousin was the heir and the question of what would happen should he die had not arisen.

  “Then the awful accident occurred and word was sent North. I was in Perth when the messenger came and I did not think it was true until I was summoned to the lawyer in London. Overnight, my fortunes had changed and my first thought was to find you!”

  “Stuart, I had not realised that you had feelings for me. All these long weeks without a letter made me draw the conclusion that you cared not one jot for me.”

  “How wrong you are, dearest Moira,” cried Stuart, tightening his grip on her hand. “How very, very wrong!”

  “But you had given me no signal and nothing to hope for. So you will forgive my bewilderment.”

  Stuart sighed and hung his head.

  “I am not a forward man when it comes to matters of love. I have had little experience, having preferred the life of a sea captain, coming and going as I pleased. That first day in the garden when I saw you – it was then that I realised that perhaps what I was searching for was not to be found on the ocean.”

  “You knew so early?” questioned Moira, in wonderment. “I must confess that from the beginning, you did rather turn my head. I found you so dashing and gentlemanly.”

  As they gazed into each other’s eyes, they were rudely interrupted by a group of boisterous guests crashing into the study.

  “Sorry, old boy. We were looking for George’s cigar humidor. I know he keeps it in here somewhere.”

  “Come,” whispered Stuart, “let us go out into the garden, if you think you can bear the cold.”

  “I am a true Highland lass,” said Moira, “the cold is second nature to me.”

  They walked into the small courtyard garden through the back door.

  The stars were shining brilliantly in the clear evening sky and the moon was high and huge.

  Stuart took Moira’s hands and rubbed them to keep them from the cold.