Chapter 5

5

W hen the dust of the ride cleared, Wedderburn Castle rose up in all its weathered grandeur, a great pile of stone enhanced with an astonishing number of Palladian windows. Home to the Humes since the fifteenth century, it had undergone numerous improvements since the current laird married his English bride.

Dismounting in the stable yard, Orin and Lord Lovell stood on centuries-old cobbles and took in a well and mews. A groom led their mounts away as the two men started for the castle, leather portmanteaus in hand.

"Do they know I'm coming?" Lovell asked with sudden concern, falling into step beside him.

"I didna ken you were coming till we encountered each other in Edinburgh lately." Orin still thought it a master stroke of luck. Or Providence? "I could have sent word ahead, but sometimes 'tis better to ask forgiveness than permission."

"Blast, Hume!" Lovell's answering smile was wry. "You are no help for my courting nerves."

"Lady Charis likes surprises, so that is in your favor."

"Glad I am of that." Lovell removed his cocked hat. "And Lady Wedderburn is very hospitable if I remember correctly."

"As hospitable as Lord Wedderburn is stern, aye."

They passed through the rear entrance that brought them to a marble-floored hall in back of the castle's central staircase. Servants went about their duties with downcast eyes and quiet feet though the head housekeeper welcomed them warmly.

"Master Orin," Mrs. Candlish said fondly, using the address of his boyhood. "An unexpected pleasure. Shall I have a room readied for your guest?"

Introductions made and details arranged, Lovell followed the housekeeper upstairs while Orin sought the drawing room most used by family. Meandering down corridors brought him face to face with closed double doors. He paused to brush the dust from his garments and straighten his stock, slightly ill at ease. How had three months lengthened to three years? At least his family had come to see him at Hume House in London or else he would have missed them altogether.

After a slight knock, he pushed the mahogany doors open. On the other side was Lady Charis staring back at him as if she'd seen a ghost. For a moment they faced off, speechless.

"Uncle?" Leaving a windowseat where she'd been reading, Charis flew around the furniture to meet him. Tall and lithe, she closed the distance and nearly knocked him off balance with her exuberant embrace. "Does this mean you'll escort me for the season?"

"At least the start of it." Orin held her at arm's length. Could this be his niece now grown so tall and so striking? "How can it be that you're ready for society or society ready for you? I seem to remember a lass in leading strings."

"Leading strings aside, I'm far more confident about my debut with you by my side." She smiled and flushed all at once, her features a pleasing blend of the Hedleys and the Humes. "Given you've spent several seasons in London, you have an expertise few do."

He looked to her discarded book by the window. "What were you reading when I rudely interrupted you?"

"Your interruption is far better than Love in Excess. I do wish you'd leave off writing poetry and plays and try your hand at a novel."

"I'm not having much success at anything literary at the moment." He took a seat near the hearth and faced an unfamiliar instrument by a window. "Mayhap your music will inspire me."

She clasped her hands together in that charming way he remembered. "Father ordered a pedal harp for my birthday after he refused to buy bagpipes."

He chuckled at her impudence. "Bagpipes are harder to play."

Gracefully, she sat by what could only be called an objet d'art, a large gilded instrument decorated with flowers and depictions of Minerva, the patroness of artists. Taking a deep breath, she tilted the harp then leaned it on her shoulder and began to gently pluck the strings.

Each ethereal note seemed to evoke an avalanche of shuttered memories, casting him back to that dark day. Hadn't Maryn played another harp in this very room before they all took to the sleighs? His gaze veered to a window. He'd sat in this very chair and looked out those same panes onto snow. How many times since he'd rued leaving his seat to follow the lure of that wintry world. If only he'd stayed put. Taken up a book. Ignored the challenge. Today he hadn't time to ruminate long as behind him came a rustle of silk and an unmistakable dulcet voice.

"Orin Alistair Cospatrick Hume, can it be you?"

A rush of warmth in his chest—and a beat of amusement that she used his full name—replaced the chill of before. He stood and faced the Countess of Wedderburn, torn between an embrace and a bow. Lady Blythe had an undeniable presence. He'd seen royalty less regal yet she exuded a genuineness royalty lacked.

"Milady," he said, giving a courtly bow.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she embraced him. "Welcome home."

The harp music continued, allowing them a private moment. He felt oddly emotional. This woman who'd wed his eldest brother had always been more mother to him than sister-in-law. Had he only been seven when she'd fled her Northumberland home and taken refuge at Wedderburn Castle?

"I've hoped and prayed you'd return to us at just the right time and here you are." She continued to study him as if accounting for the time they'd been apart. "The laird is out hawking but should return by supper."

"I hope you don't mind that I've brought a guest." His gaze swung to Charis. Matchmaker he was not, but he wanted her to have the domestic felicity he lacked. "Lord Lovell is upstairs but will join us for supper."

Blythe's delighted smile banished his concern. "An upstanding young gentleman is always welcome."

"None finer than Lord Lovell. I left the rakes behind in London." A great many libertines he didn't want anywhere near his lovely niece.

"We have a few rakes here though the laird doesn't let them trespass."

Another swing of the door and a maid entered with tea and toddies and the bannocks he'd missed but couldn't seem to find anywhere else. Charis left her harp and they sat in a companionable circle as more coal brought by a footman enlivened the hearth's fire.

"So tell us about your literary pursuits of late," the countess said, pouring tea.

"Or the lack of them," he replied bluntly.

Charis sent him a worried look. "Perhaps a change of scene will provide inspiration."

"You mentioned His Majesty's birthday in your last letter," Blythe said as he reached for a toddy. "I suppose that's a challenging endeavor given his choleric temper."

He grimaced. "I might not be the Poet Laureate much longer if I don't come up with something suitable."

"Perhaps you'll meet a lady who'll turn you so tapsalteerie that all your bottled-up musings will pour out." Charis gave a wink as she stirred milk and sugar into her teacup. "Once your homecoming is known, all the Lowlands will be a-titter."

Orin winked back at her. "This is your debut, not mine, remember."

She laughed as he took a bracing sip of the toddy, savoring the tang of whiskied cloves and nutmeg.

"Your enterprising uncle has brought a guest … " Blythe told her daughter between sips. "So it seems the social season has already begun."

Charis turned to him in question. "Oh?"

"Lord Lovell," Orin said.

A pause. "Here … in this very house?"

"Aye. He was in Edinburgh on business and we happened to meet up at the theatre a few nights ago. When he heard my plans he said he'd like to rekindle your acquaintance."

Charis's porcelain skin pinked. "Rekindle … what an interesting choice of word."

"His, not mine," Orin returned. "He's upstairs preparing to meet you."

Her hand went to her fair, upswept hair. "Then I'd best do the same and prepare to be met."

Blythe shook her head. "You look lovely as you are. 'Twill be interesting to hear of his adventures on the continent during his Grand Tour. You'll not want for conversation."

The reassurance seemed to settle her. Charis returned to her tea, though she kept her eye on the door as if Lord Lovell might walk through at any moment. Orin tempered his own hopes for a future match. People changed. Moved on. Grew apart. Few knew that truth as acutely as he did.

"Lovell's father is unwell and so he's begun to take on more of his affairs since returning to Britain." A dukedom wasn't to be taken lightly. Orin didn't envy him the title though Lovell was equal to the task. "The duke wishes to see his son wed before his passing."

"Well, he seems to have found an ally in you," Blythe told him with a sympathetic smile. "I wed your brother soon after your father passed despite the constraints of mourning. Grieving goes easier with a loving companion by your side."

"Is Lord Lovell much changed?" Charis asked. "'Tis been so long since we parted. And he is, if I recall, nine years older than I am."

"He's older, aye. Wiser," Orin said. "Isn't that the standard reply?"

"Indeed, Uncle." Charis rolled her eyes at his teasing. "Though I hate to appear overeager, supper does seem one too many hours away."