The Richness of Love Read online

  Moira had not been invited to go out on the grouse shoot, so she made herself busy helping her mother. While she was handing out sticks and boots, she noticed a young man standing on his own whom she did not know.

  ‘I wonder who he could be?’ she thought wistfully eyeing him. ‘He seems so out of place at this gathering.’

  The young man was tall and handsome with long flowing hair that reminded her of a cavalier’s. He held the air of one who preferred his own company.

  He caught her gaze and smiled, bowing his head respectfully.

  Moira blushed to the roots of her hair and hurried away.

  She desperately wanted to find out who this charming stranger could be, but she knew that if she asked Ewen, he would only make fun of her.

  Moira watched as the young man set off with the rest of the party. Was it her imagination or did he look back at her as they turned the corner into the drive?

  Her heart leapt and she suddenly felt incredibly light – she could not wait until he returned later that afternoon.

  *

  The party was out until teatime. Larry returned with several brace of grouse bragging about his prowess. His voice could be heard well before he came into view.

  Moira rushed outside and looked hopefully for the young man who had stirred her earlier.

  She searched eagerly for him, but to her enormous disappointment, could see no sign of him.

  Feeling quite deflated, she circled around the castle intending to visit the vegetable garden. She often came here to be alone as only cook and the gardener ventured into it.

  As she turned the corner, she saw a figure standing by the runner beans. At first, she thought it must be the gardener, but as she drew closer, she caught her breath.

  ‘It is he,’ she thought to herself.

  Sensing someone was close, the young man turned to face her. He seemed quite embarrassed to be caught inspecting the blossoming runner beans and became flustered.

  “I beg your pardon,” he bowed low, his long hair falling forwards over his collar.

  “I had quite tired of the company I was keeping and sought some peace and quiet. I could not help but notice that your runner beans have an unpleasant infestation.”

  He pointed to the leaves that were covered in black insects.

  “I would have a word with your gardener. He must take steps to remedy this blight or you’ll have no crop later in the summer.”

  “Why – thank you,” stammered Moira, surprised that such a gentleman should be so interested in horticulture.

  “You are a gardener yourself?” she asked him, nervously.

  “No, sadly not. But I am forgetting my manners. Stuart Weston at your service.”

  Moira noticed that his eyes were a startling shade of pale blue. The sun danced on his brown hair, bringing out its reddish highlights – she thought that his hair would not disgrace a woman as it was so lustrous and thick.

  “My name is Moira,” she said, quietly. “Are you a friend of my father’s?”

  “I know him a little. Your brother and I have had dealings with each other. It was good to spend some time with them both today.”

  “And are you staying with us or with Lord Crieff?”

  “Oh, nothing so grand for me. I will be staying at the inn this evening.”

  Moira suddenly felt an overwhelming impulse to invite him to stay at Lednock, but she knew that it would be far too forward of her to do so.

  Stuart took a step back and bowed once more.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, Moira, I should retire to my lodgings. I have no appetite for the drinking that goes on after these events and wish to be fresh for the hunt tomorrow. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you then?”

  ‘He is so handsome,’ Moira thought, as she nodded her assent. ‘I must find out some more about this very intriguing gentleman.’

  *

  It was with some surprise that the Countess waved off her daughter on the hunt the next morning.

  “But darling, I thought that you said that hunting was for old men,” she commented as she stroked the mane of Moira’s fine white mare. “Could it be that a young man has caught your eye?”

  Moira blushed deeply and tried to hide her face.

  ‘I must not be so obvious,’ she decided. ‘Mother will tell father and as I know nothing about this Stuart, he might not approve of my interest in him.’

  “Why, mother, I declare I do not know what you are talking about,” replied Moira, pulling on her mount’s reins. “My only wish is to keep father happy and see how delighted he is that I am at last accompanying him on a hunt?”

  The Countess looked over towards her beaming husband. He raised his stirrup cup in salute she had not seen him this happy in ages.

  Moira spent the entire hunt doing her best to keep pace with Stuart, but his mount was much swifter than hers. He laughed as she struggled to keep up and waved as he sped off into the distance.

  ‘He treats me as he would a younger cousin or little sister’ she thought to herself dejectedly. ‘Perhaps I am too young for him and he thinks me of no consequence.’

  Later that evening she watched with a sinking heart as Stuart left before dinner with the rest of their guests. He thanked the Earl heartily for a wonderful weekend’s sport and then inclined his head at Moira before kissing the Countess on the hand.

  “Lady Strathcarron, it was a pleasure,” he declared, his blue eyes sparkling.

  Moira watched as Larry Harwood suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. She thought what a contrast the two men presented. Larry, so lacking in social graces yet so sure of himself and Stuart, so charming and so self-effacing.

  She hardly touched her dinner, she was thinking of Stuart. She also had to endure the ordeal of listening to Larry droning on and on about how easy it was to make money in America.

  “You know, you could make a fist in New York, Scott!”

  Moira shrank when he used her father’s first name. She heard it rarely even her mother was not accustomed to using it much.

  “Make a fist?” enquired the Earl clearly puzzled.

  “It’s an American expression – it means to make a success of something,” Larry explained expansively. “With your breeding and eye for detail, you’d soon be one of the big bugs! Have you never thought of travelling to my country? There are Upstate mines just ripe for picking. The folks back home would sure give you a warm welcome with you being an Earl ‘n’ all!”

  There was a glacial silence as Moira and her mother stared at the Earl in horror.

  Surely he was not thinking of leaving them to go on a trip? Especially when things were so difficult on the estate.

  Moira patiently waited for her father’s dismissal of the subject, but to her dismay, none came.

  “Mr. Harwood, my husband has much to occupy him here at Lednock,” the Countess finally broke the silence, cool yet polite.

  “Maybe you should come with him, Margaret. You’d love New York Society – it’s every bit as high falutin’ as anything you’d find in London. I don’t expect you get much in the way of a social scene out here, do you?”

  He took a deep drag on his cigar, oblivious to the froideur descending upon the room. Moira looked over at Ewen and could see that he was fuming.

  The Countess simply rose gracefully from her chair and kissed her husband on the forehead.

  “Dearest, would you mind if I excused myself? I am quite tired from all the excitement of the weekend. Ewen, Moira, goodnight.”

  “I think I will retire too,” added Moira, eager to remove herself from the strained atmosphere.

  Ewen grunted and jumped to his feet.

  “Goodnight, father,” he said and followed his mother and sister in silence.

  As Moira made ready for bed, she thought about the weekend’s events. Almost immediately, she pictured Stuart Weston so dashing in his hunting clothes with his hair flying out behind him. He really was a most unusual man.

  She fancied t
hat he was something like Alan Breck in Mr. Stephenson’s novel ‘Kidnapped’. She had read it several times avidly and loved his descriptions of the troubles in the Highlands during the last century.

  And what of Larry Harwood? A cold fear crept through her body as she remembered the conversation that had led to them all retiring early. Surely her father would not leave them?

  “He cannot. He cannot!” she cried aloud, brushing her long dark hair ever more vigorously as if to expunge the thought from her head.

  She found sleep did not come easily that night. She dreamt of Stuart only to have him evade her and then she dreamt that her father had left Lednock and sent word that he was never coming back.

  But little did she know that worse was to come.

  *

  “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you all after dinner this evening,” announced her father over breakfast. “Today I will be travelling to Stirling to see my lawyer but when I come back, I wish for everyone to be present.”

  “Does that include Mr. Harwood?” asked Ewen slyly.

  “No, it does not. This is family business. Mr. Harwood will be dining with Lord Crieff this evening.”

  Ewen tried to conceal his delight, but Moira looked worried.

  Later that morning as she accompanied him on his rounds of the farms, she expressed her concern.

  “Ewen, I am certain that father is going to tell us something terrible. Do you know why he is going to Stirling today?”

  “It is of some concern, aye, I agree,” concurred Ewen, as he grappled with a late lamb. “But until we know what father has to say to us, we cannot worry unduly. He may be visiting his lawyer to amend his will. After all, our assets are considerably less now than when he first made it. I think that will be it.”

  “Yes,” agreed Moira, “I hope you are right for all our sakes.”

  The day dragged by and Moira found it hard to keep herself occupied. She tried to finish her embroidery, but the light was not good enough on this overcast day for her to see well enough.

  She then sought out her mother who was busy planning the week’s meals.

  “Our visitor is turning into an expensive drain on our resources,” she sighed, checking the list of stores next to her meal plan and budget sheets.

  “Did Mr. Harwood pay for the shoot?” enquired Moira.

  “Yes, he did. But it will only cover some of the weekend’s expenses. We must continue to be frugal, darling, if we are to make ends meet.”

  “Would it help if I sought some employment?” offered Moira, hesitantly. “I could teach at the local school or perhaps give dancing lessons.”

  “Darling, you are too kind but I could not consent to you lowering yourself. Remember, you are the daughter of an Earl and times are not so hard that we should be sending our children out to work as common servants.”

  “– or maybe I should think of getting married – ”

  Moira was picturing Stuart Weston as she spoke.

  “Darling, you are so young and there will be plenty of time. Besides, what kind of dowry could we offer at the moment? No, dearest, you must stay at Lednock and pray that the harvest will be a good one. I heard Ewen saying only the other day that our potato crop is likely to be bountiful this year.”

  The door of the library flew open and there stood the Earl.

  “Sir, I had not expected you for a few hours yet,” smiled the Countess.

  “Aye well, my business in Stirling was successfully concluded and so I hurried back home, anxious to see my dear wife.”

  Moira tactfully withdrew at this point, feeling that her parents would wish to be alone.

  At last the gong sounded for dinner and everyone took their places. Moira noticed that her father did not touch the first course and only ate a small portion of the haddock. There was little conversation around the table.

  Finally, after the pudding was taken away, the Earl cleared his throat.

  “As you know, I requested that everyone be here for dinner tonight as I have a most pressing matter I wish to discuss.”

  He paused and then looked directly at his son.

  “You may be pleased to hear that Mr. Harwood will be leaving us tomorrow to return to America and it is my intention to go with him.”

  There was an audible gasp from the Countess and Moira felt as if someone had gripped her throat.

  “Father, you cannot leave us,” cried Ewen, “we are only months away from the harvest and we need you here.”

  “Ewen, you have showed yourself to be more than capable of running the estate,” replied the Earl, not meeting his eye, “I have every confidence that you will manage.”

  “But father, we need you,” burst out Moira, tears starting to fill her eyes, “it is not just the estate, what about the castle and the village? If things go wrong for us this harvest, the farmers will be up in arms.”

  “Ewen will cope. He is a man and capable of doing a man’s job.”

  “Dearest, what is the purpose of your visit to America?” The reasoned voice of the Countess broke through calm and collected.

  “My dear wife, I have a chance there to make some money. Larry has assured me that whatever I invest will come back threefold if not more. I have realised some assets that I held in Stirling and with that money, I will go to America and come back much richer. I assure you, darling, I would not take an unwarranted risk, as well you know.”

  Moira could see that her mother was close to tears. The Countess simply nodded meekly and folded her napkin.

  “Then there will be arrangements to make for your journey. I will speak to Rankin about the preparations first thing in the morning. Children, leave us now, please, I wish to speak to your father alone.”

  Both Ewen and Moira reluctantly rose and left the table. Moira could not hide the tears that were falling.

  ‘I will go to him later and plead with him,’ she mumbled as they made for the drawing room.

  “I think he has made his mind up – you ken what father is like, he’ll not be budged from his decision now that it’s made,” said Ewen, trying to comfort his sister as best he could.

  And so later that evening, Moira went to her father and entreated him to stay.

  “Please, father. If you are wanting to invest, then the shipyards of Glasgow are so much closer than America. Please, will you not reconsider?”

  “You will mind your place, my daughter,” the Earl snapped testily, “and that is not to question my decisions. The good book says to ‘honour thy father and thy mother’ and you will do just that. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, father,” responded Moira, miserably retreating.

  And so the next day dawned.

  Although Ewen and Moira were glad that Larry was leaving them, the thought that he was taking their father with him was a very bitter pill indeed.

  “It is for the good of Lednock Castle and the Strathcarrons,” the Earl reminded them as he climbed into the carriage that would take him and Larry Harwood to Glasgow thence by steamer to Liverpool for their Atlantic crossing.

  “Now, come and kiss your father and wish him ‘bon voyage’.”

  With sinking hearts, Ewen and Moira advanced towards the carriage to say their goodbyes. Moira clung to her father’s neck and tried not to weep.

  The Countess could hardly speak – she had not been parted from her husband for a single night since the day that they had wed.

  “Goodbye, dearest,” she called, waving as the coachman cracked his whip high over the heads of the team of horses. “Goodbye and God speed.”

  As the three of them watched the carriage speed down the drive, they all wept silently.

  “Your father is doing this for the good of us all,” said the Countess, hugging her two children close, “he will be back soon and Lednock shall stand proud once more.”

  “I do hope you are right, mother,” replied Ewen, grimly, “our fate is now in his hands.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  But the high hopes of
the Strathcarron clan soon melted as the months wore on.

  The Earl, never a man prone to putting pen to paper, wrote infrequently. When he did, he stated quite simply that he was in good health and that he was finding America a most exciting place.

  “Well, that tells me nothing at all,” groaned the Countess in exasperation throwing down the Earl’s latest missive.

  “What does father say?” enquired Moira eagerly.

  “Look for yourself, darling. It is the usual, ‘I am well and finding life in New York most stimulating’.”

  “Maybe he does not wish to raise our hopes unnecessarily.”

  “Or maybe there is nothing to tell. This really is too much. Your father has been away now for nearly five months and still no news of his investments – the very reason why he left us in the first place.”

  Ewen strode into the drawing room looking haggard and in need of a bath.

  “News from father?” he asked wearily.

  “Hardly,” replied Moira sitting down on the worn velvet sofa. “He says nothing more than a few banalities.”

  “How go things on McKee’s farm?” interrupted the Countess. She could see by Ewen’s appearance that he had been up all night.

  “We lost three more calves,” he answered, flopping down on a wooden chair.

  “I am certain that you are doing all you can,” murmured the Countess soothingly. “If your father was here, he could do no more.”

  “Does he say when he is coming home?”

  “I am afraid not, dearest. But he cannot stay in America much longer. It will be Christmas soon and I cannot imagine that he will want to spend it away from his family.”

  “I have some good news, mother,” interjected Ewen, “we have recovered a substantial amount of the crop from the field of beet that was washed away two weeks ago when the burn burst its banks. There will be feed for the animals this winter if the weather stays fine and dries everything out.”

  “Well, we must be thankful for small mercies,” she responded, casting her eyes heavenwards.