The Richness of Love Page 9
The Earl’s house was on the edge of the Heath. Moira instantly took a liking to its aspect and the surrounding area – the hilly greenery was most unexpected in the middle of London.
“Now you must wear your masks,” ordered Lady Cunningham, as the carriage pulled up. “Remember, you cannot take them off until midnight.”
Once inside Moira was greeted with an opulence that far outstripped that of the Duke of Aberfair’s house.
There were so many servants that it made her quite envious.
“Ah, Lady Cunningham, so these are your Highland friends.”
It was the Countess of Hackfield. She was wearing a navy silk dress embroidered with jet beads. On her head was a magnificent diamond tiara. Her mask was an understated affair, but Moira guessed that it was authentically Venetian by its style.
Within minutes, the Countess had led Ewen away to a trio of young ladies who were standing nearby.
Moira watched as, once more, Ewen was fawned over and spoiled.
‘Ah, watching Ewen gives me very little amusement. I will take a turn around the house.’
It was easy for Moira to lose herself in the thronging crowd.
After a while, she became quite tired and sought out a quiet corner. Finding herself in the conservatory, she slipped out of the glass doors and into the garden.
All around the garden were masses of Chinese lanterns, which swung gently in the breeze. Moira thought the effect most charming.
She was standing near the fountain, enjoying the sight of the water splashing from the mouth of a stone dolphin, when she became suddenly aware that she was not alone.
Turning towards the knot garden, she saw a man in a highwayman’s mask standing quite close by.
“Oh, you startled me!” she cried, clutching her throat.
“You do not care for crowds either?” the man enquired.
Moira noted that he had not apologised for surprising her and became wary.
“I simply wanted to see the gardens.”
The man drew closer – she could not see his eyes behind the mask.
“There is little to see in the darkness – ” he replied, almost sinisterly.
It was something in the way that the man spoke that was familiar to Moira. She racked her brains. That voice, she had surely heard it before, but where?
“I do not mind the darkness,” she said lightly.
“Then you are a brave young lady – there are plenty inside who would not dare to venture out. The gardens back onto the heath and there are wild animals roaming.”
“Where I come from, we are used to them. They hold no fear for me.”
“Such brave talk. But I’ll warrant that you are not always so doughty.”
Moira hesitated.
There was something in the man’s manner that was almost threatening. She did not care for the direction the conversation was leading.
“I am sure I do not know to what you allude. With respect, you are a stranger and ill placed to make comment on my constitution, I feel.”
The man laughed a hollow menacing laugh.
It made Moira’s blood run cold.
‘But I have heard that laughter before,’ she thought, frantically searching her memory.
“You do not remember where we last met, do you, Lady Moira?”
In that moment, Moira felt utter panic.
Who was this man and why was he being so threatening? Her heart began to race as she looked towards the lights of the conservatory. The man was standing between her and her escape route.
He began to move towards her and she could smell whisky and cigarettes.
“We have, I believe, some unfinished business – ”
It was then that Moira remembered who it was.
It was Angus MacKinnon!
“How how did you get here?” she stammered, trying to back away.
He did not reply, but laughed a black sinister laugh and made a lunge for her.
Moira tried to run away but Angus grabbed her skirts and dragged her towards the bushes.
“Help! Help!” she screamed, trying to push him away.
“You think you are so high and mighty, madam, but I know that you are a woman of easy virtue. I can see it in your eyes you are naught but a soiled dove!”
Moira shut her eyes and howled, as loud as her lungs would permit.
Within seconds she felt herself flung to the ground and then a woman was helping her to sit up.
“There, there, dear,” she said, wafting a bottle of sal volatile under her nose.
“Stop that man!” came a loud male voice. “He has attacked this young lady and must be apprehended.”
“Lady Moira. I cannot describe how sorry I am that we appear to have a miscreant in our midst.”
It was the Countess.
She ordered a footman to help Moira up and then to take her into the library for a nip of brandy.
“Please, go, leave me,” she told the footman, after he had poured her a drink. “Would you be so good as to find my brother, Lord Strathcarron. He is the young gentleman with the red hair and the pierrot mask.”
The footman bowed and left the room.
Some fifteen minutes later, Ewen tore into the library, his mask in his hand.
“Moira, are you all right? The footman said something about an attack and a man in the garden – ”
“It was MacKinnon.”
“What!”
“He must have found an alternative route to London. But Heaven only knows how he knew we would be at this party. I do believe he sought to take his revenge after his unceremonious ejection from the Victorious.”
“The blackguard!”
“My Lord, the Police have been alerted and a man has been caught running towards the Heath. He has been locked in the wine cellar until they arrive.”
It was the Hackfields’ butler.
“Would your Lordship like me to have your carriage made ready to leave?”
“Aye, I think that would be for the best.”
“But Ewen, you are having such a good time. I do not wish to ruin your evening.”
“There are to be no arguments, sister. Besides, the footman is here with our cloaks.”
Lady Cunningham was most upset to hear of Moira’s confrontation with Angus.
“How on earth did he procure an invitation to the Hackfields’ party?” she wondered as the carriage sped away from the party
“He is a banker and knows many an influential businessman in the City,” said Ewen, grimacing. Since they had left he had not let go of Moira’s hand.
“I can only assume that he must have connections somehow.”
“Shocking! Utterly shocking! The Hackfields were mortified that such a character should have gained access to their circle. He will not be welcome in any good houses from now on.”
The rocking motion of the carriage began to send Moira to sleep. She was totally exhausted from her awful experience and soon drifted off.
Arriving back at Curzon Street, the carriage jolted to a halt.
‘It would make me so happy should I return to a letter from Stuart,’ thought Moira, hopefully. She knew that here in London, there were as many as six postal deliveries a day in some areas.
And so, when Berbridge let them in, she asked if there had been any messages or letters delivered for her.
“I am afraid not, my Lady, but the first post should arrive at half-past seven tomorrow morning. Is your Ladyship waiting for a special delivery?”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling quite foolish. Why should Stuart write to her? They were not sweethearts nor even established friends.
“Moira, will you have a nightcap before you retire?” asked Lady Cunningham.
“Thank you, Sarah, but I feel I need to sleep.”
She went to kiss her brother on the cheek.
“Dearest Ewen, you can tell me all your news tomorrow over breakfast. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you met someone special tonight.”
“Aye, I did. But I will save it until tomorrow. Goodnight Moira. Sleep tight.”
Up in her room, Moira took off her dress and hung it over one of the many chairs in the bedroom. Her feet hurt and her slippers were ruined from the mud she had picked up in the garden.
Even her diamonds did not seem to shine so brilliantly.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she felt a sense of hopelessness.
‘I will never attract a suitable husband whilst I look so much the Scottish simpleton. Even before that awful MacKinnon ruined my evening, I did not have as much as a sniff of a likely suitor. Perhaps it is something in my demeanour.’
The maid had removed the warming pan already and the sheets were quite cool, but still Moira was grateful to slide into bed.
The fire in the grate was burning low and she was soon drifting off.
‘I must make a big effort at the next ball,’ she resolved, drowsily. ‘I cannot be such a dismal wet blanket any more. I must put this whole MacKinnon incident behind me and look forward. The same goes for Stuart – why, the man cannot even honour a promise. Ewen is counting on me and failure is not an option.’
She was soon fast asleep, dreaming of the Highlands and better days at Lednock Castle.
But would her dreams ever become reality?
She knew that only time would tell, but right now, the future was not looking good –
CHAPTER SEVEN
Moira was most surprised to find Ewen already seated at the dining table when she came down for breakfast the next morning.
“Good day, Moira,” he called, wolfing down porridge and thickly buttered toast.
“You are in good spirits, brother. I hope you are going to tell me more of the young lady who is obviously responsible.”
“Aye, I confess I am exhilarated. The young lady is called Mary Anne, she is twenty and her father is a Marquis. She is enchanting and it is my intention to call upon her this very morning.”
He seemed so excited that Moira was quite touched. Her brother – in love!
“What does she look like? Is she pretty?”
“Very. You could not mistake her for her hair is as red as mine. I told her that she must have Scots blood.”
Moira had the vaguest recollection of a rather feisty-looking girl with titian-coloured hair who was laughing very loudly all night. She had been one of the girls who had surrounded Ewen upon their arrival at the ball.
“Ah, yes, Lady Mary Anne Kirkbride,” intervened Lady Cunningham, using the kind of tone of voice that Moira instantly discerned held more than a hint of disapproval. “The Marquis of Kirkbride has had a somewhat chequered past.”
“But they are rich?” Ewen could not hide his anxiety.
Moira glared at her brother – it was imperative that Lady Cunningham did not gain any hint that Ewen’s choice of partner was dictated by their dreadful finances.
“Terribly,” was Lady Cunningham’s reply.
But there was something in her reluctance to elaborate that made Moira wary.
‘If Ewen proposes, then I shall have to swallow my feelings and be glad for him,’ she decided, as he rose from the table. ‘But surely he would not want to propose after just one meeting?’
“Moira, I will see you later. Sarah.”
He bowed elegantly and left the room.
“Such a handsome young man,” commented Lady Cunningham, putting down her napkin.
“Moira, dear, how are you feeling this morning after your ordeal?”
“I am perfectly fine, thank you, Sarah.”
“But I do sense that perhaps you are not enjoying your stay with us as much as you could and I am most anxious to help. Do not protest. I have seen those long sad looks of yours. Tell me, is there anything I can do to help? You are worried about your father’s health naturally – ”
Her words had a devastating effect on Moira. She could not help herself she simply burst into tears.
Sobbing as if her heart would break, she was led into the morning room by Lady Cunningham, who shielded her from the stares of the servants.
Closing the door behind them, Lady Cunningham bade her sit on the button-backed sofa and sank down next to her.
Moira blew her nose into her new lace hanky and began,
“I really should not be telling you our private family business, Sarah, but you have been so kind. I feel I can trust you and I have no one else to talk to. It is my father, he is much more indisposed than I have been able to reveal.”
Lady Cunningham shook her head in disbelief.
“Is the Earl in danger? Moira, you must tell me.”
“We are not certain. His malady seems to be springing from a deep melancholy. The cause we know not – ”
Moira winced inwardly as she told the lie.
‘But I cannot tell her more, even though I long to,’ she thought to herself. ‘My family would be mortified if they knew I had spoken so freely and Ewen would never forgive me.’
“I trust you have sought medical advice?”
“Mother had been advised that he needed rest and that is why we decided to return your visit.”
“Ah, all becomes clearer now.”
Moira was relieved that she had not told her more and Lady Cunningham seemed to be satisfied with her explanation as she did not question her further.
Just then, the door to the morning room burst open and Ewen stormed in with a face like thunder.
“Ewen. We had not expected you back for hours yet.”
He paced the room, speechless with rage, his eyes bulging and his complexion florid.
“I cannot believe it! Is this how fine London ladies comport themselves?”
“Ewen, please – you must calm yourself,” soothed Moira in a cool voice.
“I cannot!”
“Then you must tell us what has upset you,” Lady Cunningham wanted to know, ringing for Berbridge.
“Mary Anne, the hoyden!”
“Ewen,” called Moira, shocked. “Please refrain from using such language.”
“Begging your pardon, sister – Sarah.”
Berbridge knocked and upon being bidden to enter, slid quietly into the room.
“Some coffee, please, Berbridge.”
Lady Cunningham knew just what to do in such circumstances. Lord Cunningham who had taken himself off to the shires to hunt was prone to foul tempers.
“Och, I am sorry,” apologised Ewen, sitting down on the sofa next to Moira, “but I have just made a fool of myself.”
“How so?”
“I called upon Mary Anne and when I arrived, I was made to sit in the hallway like a servant, along with a line of other young men, who had also come to call on her.”
Moira was not at all surprised.
“The young lady in question was out shopping. Can you believe it? And when she came back, she inspected us as if we were a line of stud cattle!”
Lady Cunningham’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline – she was not used to such plain speaking.
“Of course, I was not going to bear being treated like that and so I left.”
Looking at his sister, he suddenly realised that she had been crying. Her nose was a most unattractive shade of red, as were her eyes.
“But steady. Here I am, prattling on like an old woman when it is plain that something has upset you. Pray, what is it, sister? I hope that it’s not MacKinnon again?”
“It is just a little homesickness. Ah, look, here is the coffee. Thank you, Sarah.”
Lady Cunningham waited until Berbridge had poured the coffee, then she moved gracefully towards the door.
Without hesitating, she took her leave and closed the door behind her.
“Now that she has gone, will you tell me what has upset you,” demanded Ewen.
Moira took a deep breath.
“I wish to go home, Ewen. I hate London and it’s quite clear that I will not meet a husband here. I feel I could have more luck in Gla
sgow.”
“But you cannot go alone. That would be scandalous,” replied Ewen, getting up and pacing the floor. “You must remember why we came here, sister, and mind your duty. We have to do something to help father regain the estate and neither your happiness nor mine comes into it. Do you understand?”
Moira was quite shocked at his tone but she knew he was right.
“Oh, I am being such a selfish girl,” she cried, throwing herself into her brother’s arms. “I must confess to feeling a little jealous of your success – even if things did not go well with Mary Anne. There are so many fine young ladies in London who find you fascinating. It is only a matter of time before you find the right one.”
“And you will meet a suitable young man,” soothed Ewen. “I know it.”
‘I wish I could believe him – ’ thought Moira, ‘but in my heart, I do not think that I will meet anyone I like as much as I do Stuart Weston.’
*
The next few weeks were indeed a social whirl. Lady Cunningham whisked them off to many a fine ball and, as Christmas drew closer, there were charity concerts to attend, exhibitions to visit and carol singing in Berkeley Square.
Moira could not help but look over her shoulder at these events, fearing that Angus MacKinnon was present. But he failed to materialise.
She met a couple of charming young men and one, the son of a judge, did call on her a few times. But interest soon fizzled out when it became clear that he did not possess the necessary financial wherewithal.
In the meantime, Ewen was becoming very much the gay young blade and there was a constant stream of letters on scented paper that found their way to Curzon Street.
“You will break so many hearts,” observed Lady Cunningham, as yet another two arrived for him one fine December morning. “You are the talk of London.”
Ewen blushed deeply and shuffled his feet. For all his bluster, he was still quite shy around women. However, Moira hardly recognised him from the bluff, man’s man who had left Scotland only a few weeks previously.
“So many young ladies – there must be one whom you favour above all the others?” asked Moira, teasing him.
“No. I have yet to meet the pearl of my heart,” shrugged Ewen. “I will know her when I see her. And you, sister, what has become of your serious young man?”
It was now Moira’s turn to blush.