Page 22 of Return to Wildsyde

“Mrs Baillie tells me you are intent on learning everything she can teach you. Was that with a plan in mind?”

Luella shrugged. Her dreams of a little cottage seemed exceedingly foolish now.

“I thought if I could learn to cook and manage a household, perhaps with my inheritance I could buy a small property with a spare room and offer room and board. Ridiculous, I know, but I’d hoped… Perhaps I could still seek a position as a housekeeper, but I would need to have Jack with me. I worry that he’ll follow in our father’s footsteps if I don’t keep a close eye on him. There are so many pitfalls for a young man. I… I just want to provide for us, and I know you won’t believe this, but I want to do it honestly.”

They heard footsteps approaching and Lady Morven gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “We shall talk of this again, Luella. You keep learning what you can from Mrs Baillie, and we’ll see what we can figure out for your future.”

Luella turned to her in surprise. “You would help me?”

“I would help anyone willing to help themselves,” the lady said briskly, and turned to smile at Mrs Rosie who came back into the room, laden with bolts of fabric and with a gown slung over her shoulder.

“Well, I thought I would bring some things the young lady ought to like, and this, Lady Morven, should do very nicely for the time being,” she said, hefting the fabric onto a side table and holding up a lovely gown in a deep shade of forest green. “I also have some very fine undergarments which I made for another customer, but sadly, she has not yet been able to pay for them. I can always make more for her if she comes by the necessary. In the meantime, my best customer ought to profit from them,” she added eagerly.

Luella gazed at the green dress with longing. She’d worn nothing so lovely since she was a small girl, before Mama died, and Papa went to pieces. Yet the idea that Lord Buchanan would foot the bill made her stomach roil.

“Well, come along then, Miss Fulbright. The changing room is just here, and we shall get ye looking as fine as fivepence in no time.”

Luella sent Lady Morven one last look of appeal, but the lady just smiled. “Go on, Luella. We’ll sort everything out, I promise.”

Luella bit her lip, fearing she might cry at the sympathetic expression on the lady’s face. This woman had no reason in the world to trust her, or to believe a word she said. She certainly had no reason to be kind to her. She did not dare reply in case she began sobbing, so she just nodded, and followed Mrs Rosie into the changing room.

Chapter 8

I’m sorry to hear about the damage to your greenhouses. We have clearly been targeted by some bloody madman. As for the cellars, it was only a small fire, and it appears Larkin had it quickly under control, thank heavens, but we lost several cases of burgundy and six crates of excellent brandy that I could weep for. I’m currently experiencing sensations of a more murderous nature, however. When I figure out who the bastard is who’s doing this, I’m going to make him wish he’d never been born.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Hartley de Beauvoir (son of Minerva and Inigo de Beauvoir) from Lord Thomas ‘Thorn’ Barrington (son of the Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

15th May 1845, Wick, Caithness, The Highlands of Scotland.

Lyall signed the papers before him, looking up as his solicitor reached for them. Mr Forbes was a middle-aged man with a paunch and always looked a deal too pleased with himself for Lyall’s liking. Still, the job was done, though it had taken the devil a damned long time to draw the blasted things up.

“You think it’s enough?” he asked dubiously.

“Indeed, my lord. In three years’ time, there will be a tidy sum for the young lady to support herself very nicely. Enough that she should have no reason to call upon you if she is not imprudent.”

Lyall snorted. That was the rub, was it not? What would she do with that tidy sum? Well, that would be her affair and not his. So long as he could get rid of her with a clear conscience and no one able to say he had behaved shabbily, that was all that mattered to him. He was stuck with being the boy’s guardian until he was four and twenty, but he might mould a lad of that age into a decent human being, as his mother had pointed out, and Lyall could always send him away to school if he became troublesome.

“I thank ye for yer time, Mr Forbes.”

“A pleasure as always, my lord,” the man said, hurrying to stand as Lyall rose and rushing to open the door. He bowed low, a show of obsequiousness that made Lyall feel even more ill at ease, and so he bid the man a good day and left as quickly as possible.

Lyall stopped for a glass of whisky at the first inn he came to. Though he ought to feel better having made provision to get his wife’s cousin’s out of his life as soon as possible, he was still troubled. He made his way to a seat in a quiet corner of the room.

The table to his right had apparently not marked his arrival. There was an older couple, perhaps in their sixties, talking animatedly with two younger men and Lyall—or more precisely, Lyall’s ward—was the subject up for discussion.

“Can ye credit the brass balls of the man to make Lord Buchanan ward to such a creature after what his wife did? Well, one only had to look at her to know she was a nasty little slut, but now the poor man has another just like her under his roof. Ach, it’s criminal is what it is. He would do well to sling her out on her behind. A woman like that will always find a way to earn her keep,” the woman said meaningfully.

“Aye, I’d help her fill her coffers right enough if she’s anything like his missus was. She may have been a she-devil, but she was the bonniest lass I ever saw.”

This sally was met with a splutter of ribald laughter from the men and a disapproving sniff from the woman.

Lyall downed his whisky and set the glass on the table. He rose to his feet.

They looked up only when his shadow fell over the table and then craned their necks up.

“Oh!” the woman said, the first to react, flushing and pressing her hand to her bosom. “Lord Buchanan. Why, ye gave me a start, but ye are looking well. Such a handsome man ye have become and the image of the earl, too. How are things at Wildsyde? I hear Lady Morven is biding with ye a while. ’Tis nice to have family around ye in times of trouble.”

“Aye, Mrs…?” he replied, frowning at her.