Chapter 4

Dearest Delia,

Oh, my friend, I have this very morning discovered what befell you and I am so terribly sorry for the ordeal you have endured. My darling Ashton returned in the early hours, after having discovered the truth from Wrexham. I am so relieved to hear you are safe but cannot imagine how frightened you must have been.

Is it true you will marry Muir Anderson? I must tell you I have always admired Mr Anderson and Ashton says he is a fine man and will make you an excellent husband. I do hope you will be as happy as I, my dearest Delia. I beg you will write as soon as you are able and tell me everything. How I wish I could fly to you at once and hear the story from your own lips, but I too have had a little excitement recently, and Ash will not hear of me travelling such a distance until he is certain I am strong again. He is such a dear man, but frets over me like a mother hen.

Write soon please!

―Excerpt of a letter from The Lady Narcissa Anson to The Lady Cordelia Steyning.

27 th March 1850, The Red Lion, Inverness, Scotland.

The following day they'd travelled from Edinburgh to Inverness by carriage, and Muir had done his best to put Delia at ease. It worked at times, and when the conversation flowed easily between them, he thought perhaps they would make a go of it. But the journey was long and tedious and there was too much time for fretting over the future, for cursing the past and a turn of fate that seemed to think his life was a grand joke. By the time they'd reached their destination, they were both tired and out of sorts, and now they had to do it all over again.

He'd woken early, as was his habit, stretching his aching limbs after another night spent on the floor. Though he'd certainly slept in worse places, and he did not begrudge Delia the bed, he was looking forward to the comforts of his own home. Muir hoped they'd be back in time for dinner, for he was looking forward to some home cooking. He toyed with the idea of taking Delia directly to the farm. Mrs Paterson would certainly treat them to a good spread. She usually did, being a fine cook and housekeeper, though undoubtedly the most terrifying woman in the Highlands. Even his da gave Mrs Paterson a wide berth when he was visiting, rather than cross swords with her. He wondered how Delia would rub along with her, and suspected Mrs Paterson would eat her for breakfast. He'd have to keep an eye on that situation if they made a go of things. However, he could not take her straight to his home. She'd have to stay with Lyall at Wildsyde until they were wed, which meant he'd have to explain everything that had happened the moment they arrived. The idea of having to tell his older brother the details of the mess he was in made his pride burn with resentment, but there was no avoiding it.

Muir crouched to stir the fire back to life and add some more coals, then straightened and turned to look at the bed. Despite the situation he found himself in, he smiled as he regarded Delia. She was curled on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. With nothing resembling baggage to her name, he had given her money to buy the overnight things she needed and a new carriage gown, so she looked respectable again. The nightgown she had chosen was a feminine extravaganza of frills and ribbons and somehow, she looked like a sweet little girl rather than a woman whom he was honour-bound to marry.

She stirred, sighing and turning onto her back. Muir looked away, uneasy with watching her while she slept. Footsteps outside announced the arrival of the maid and Muir opened the door before she could knock and wake Delia. He accepted the jug of hot water she carried, thanked her and went back inside, taking his shaving kit from his bag. He propped his small shaving mirror on the mantelpiece and began his ablutions. He'd done half his face when his eye caught Delia's reflection in the mirror and noticed she was watching him.

"Morning, lassie. Did ye sleep well?"

She blushed a rosy colour as she realised he had remarked her perusal of his person and he hid a smile, amused by her innocence.

"Y-Yes, I did, thank you," she said, dropping her gaze at once. "I hope you were not too uncomfortable on the floor again. I feel so very guilty that you are uncomfortable when I have the bed."

"Nae harm done," he said cheerfully, pleased by her concern for him. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he gave her a smile. "Ready for breakfast? I'd like to get going as soon as we can if ye have nae objection?"

"No, not in the least, though I may need someone to help me dress. The gown I bought is lovely, but impossible to put on by myself. It was all they had ready, though. Perhaps the girl who helped me last night?"

Muir pulled a face as he wiped the last of the shaving soap from his face. "I can ask, but the place is fit to bursting by the sound of things. I don't think they'll have anyone to spare at this hour."

"Oh," Delia said awkwardly. He considered her with interest, wondering if she would ask the inevitable question or delay their journey by insisting on waiting for a maid. She swallowed, her gaze riveted on the embroidered eiderdown that covered the bed. He watched as she traced a simple pattern of entwined daisies and got his answer a moment later. "Perhaps, if you don't mind helping me… I… I might manage without," she offered.

Muir turned and smiled at her. "Aye, lass. Reckon I could do that and don't fret yourself. I'll go out while ye wash and do what ye can. I'll be back in ten minutes and wait outside the door. Ye can call me when yer ready. How's that?"

Her relief was obvious, and she nodded her agreement at once. "That will do very well, thank you."

Nodding, Muir pulled on his coat and went out of the door to order breakfast and arrange their onward journey.

Delia let out a breath of relief once the door closed. Hurriedly, she leapt from the bed and made use of the chamber pot before washing with what remained of the hot water. Horribly aware of the time ticking past, she dressed faster than she ever had in her life before. She did not wish Muir to think her terribly vain if she spent too long over her toilette. That he had intended to marry a practical woman who would have been of use to him was unquestionable until she remembered his name had once been linked to that of Evie Knight.

Since then, Evie had married the beautiful Comte de Villen, much to the envy of most other women of the ton , but Evie did not strike Delia as being any more suitable as a farmer's wife than she was. She was a rather more robust , though she supposed, wondering if Muir preferred a more voluptuous figure than her own. Frowning, she tugged her corset up and tied it as tight as she was able but found herself unable to manage the strings.

"How are ye doing, lass? Shall I come in and help ye?"

Delia started, torn from her thoughts by his muffled voice. "One moment!" she called, ensuring everything was covered as decently as she could manage. "C-Come in."

Though she was determined to be matter of fact about the situation, Delia could not help the rush of colour that ran from her cheeks to her toes as Muir came in. Never in her life had a man seen her in nothing but her petticoats and corsets and she was beyond mortified that it should happen in such circumstances.

"Chin up," Muir told her with a wink. "At least I'm not Enoch Goodfellow."

That startled a laugh from her, easing the tension in the room. "No, indeed," she said fervently, before remembering how much worse than Enoch things might have been.

"Shall I tighten yer corset strings?"

Delia nodded absently, turning her back to him as visions of that awful night flooded her mind. She closed her eyes, shaking her head as if she could rid herself of the horrid images by shaking them loose.

"Is aught amiss?"

Delia forced herself to turn and look up at the man she might well be married to in a few short weeks. "I'm not sure I ever thanked you properly for what you did for me," she said gravely. "You did not know who I was, or what the situation was. You might have been killed, and yet you did not hesitate to come to my rescue. I think you are the most honourable and brave man I have ever known, and I shall never cease to be grateful to you for what you did."

Rather to her surprise, colour crested his cheeks, and he looked away with a laugh. His deft hands tugged at the corset strings, pulling them firmly and tying them together. "Ach, stop that. Ye will swell ma head and then ye will have the devil of a time with me, for I'm an arrogant gowk already."

She smiled at his words, though she could not help asking, "Gowk?"

He flashed her a quick grin, which made an odd, tickling sensation flutter in her belly. "A gowk is a fool, hen."

Delia frowned at that. "I'm not sure I appreciate being referred to as poultry," she said doubtfully.

He gave a bark of laughter, which pleased her more than she wished to admit. "Noted," he remarked easily. "Now, let's get ye dressed, for my innards are tying themselves in a knot with hunger and I want my breakfast."

Hurrying to do as he asked, Delia threw her dress over her head and did her best to arrange her hair as Muir did up the row of tiny buttons down her back.

"There," he said with satisfaction when the last button was done.

Delia turned towards him, smoothing her hands over the gown. Though she had no doubt he thought the dress was fussy and frivolous, it had been the only one available, and she had to admit she loved it. The dressmaker had said the colour was Ashes of Roses, and it was indeed a dusty pink, with a darker pink velvet trim, with little velvet roses and bows embellishing the skirts and bodice.

Muir stepped closer, frowning, raising his hand to the bruise where Malmsey had struck her. It was not as bad as she had feared, for it seemed to be fading quickly, but it wasn't exactly pretty either. Delia's breath caught as he touched her cheek beside the bruise, so lightly she barely felt it.

"Does it pain ye?" he asked gruffly, a fierce look burning in his eyes.

"Not much, no. Only it's not very attractive, is it?" She flushed, aware she was fishing for compliments. "Will I do?"

His eyes warmed a degree as he looked her over, darkening in a way that made her stomach react with that odd ticklish sensation once again.

"Aye, lassie. Ye look good enough to eat," he said, and then turned, striding to the door before she had time to fully appreciate the lovely bit of flattery.

She went downstairs on his arm, and despite her nerves at being in public, for fear of the scandal having reached so far, so quickly, she discovered a burst of pride at being escorted by Muir. The place was every bit as busy as he had predicted, and Delia could not help but notice the covetous glances many of the women they passed sent his way and wondered if he remarked them. She could not blame them either, for he looked splendid, all broad shoulders and that wild, untamed aura that surrounded him, and it was hard for Delia not to gaze at him in wonder too as he guided her to the private parlour he had secured for them. That this man might soon be her husband seemed at once impossible and wonderful and downright terrifying. She had spent all yesterday in a stew of mixed emotions, and it appeared today would be little different.

Breakfast passed in a companionable manner and Delia watched Muir with covert fascination as he devoured more food than she thought she herself would manage in three days, never mind one meal. It was not until they were seated in the carriage that would carry them on to Wildsyde that she remembered Evie Knight and wondered what it had been about her that Muir had so fancied. Had he been in love with her? For Evie could not have returned his feelings, having run off with the comte a very short time later, if gossip was to be believed. The notion that this was the kind of woman he favoured, a voluptuous, dark-haired beauty nagged at her though.

Troubled, Delia did her best to console herself with the passing scenery and waited with anticipation for the first glimpse of Wildsyde Castle.

"Papa, Papa, will we stay with Pops and Grandmama?"

Pip looked up from the letter he was writing as Tilly hurried into the room. For once she had not barged through like the wildebeest Mrs Harris often accused her of emulating, but she forgot to knock or to ask if he was busy. Not that he cared; a visit from his daughter was the only reason he needed to stop what he was doing and give her his attention.

"You know that we are, little bird," he said, amused, for she had been in alt since he had announced they were going to town, and she was to go with him. She seemed to find it hard to believe and kept asking the same questions over and over, just in case his answer changed from one day to the next. The truth was, he could not bear to be parted from her, and the world would have to know of her existence, eventually. He hoped between himself and his formidable father, no one would dare to treat her unkindly, but he had no illusions. People could be cruel, other children especially, and he had every intention of guarding his daughter closely.

"That's good," she said with a sigh as Pip sat down and allowed her to scramble onto his lap. She was seven now, and no doubt some people would think her too old to treat so affectionately, but Pip did not care about that. She was the apple of his eye, and the little devil knew it too. "Papa, why are we going to town?"

She had not asked that question of him before and Pip hesitated. His father had always been honest with his children, preferring to give them the truth, even if that truth was difficult to hear, rather than placate them with an easy lie.

"I have things to do in town, sweetheart," he replied carefully, which was true, but he knew he was prevaricating, hoping she might change the subject. He ought to have known better, for Tilly frowned up at him, sensing at once there was something he was not telling her.

"What things?" she demanded, a suspicious note to her voice that made him quail inwardly.

Damn it . He had not wished for her to know just yet of his real reasons for returning to society, but he could not keep it from her when it would impact her life as much as his own.

"Well, I have some business dealings that I need to attend to, people to see and… and…" Pip cleared his throat, wishing he could find a way of breaking the news gently but in the end, he'd best just get it over with. "It's time I found a wife, Tilly."

The silence that followed this pronouncement seemed to ring through the room and Pip held his breath.

"But you don't need a wife, Papa," she said earnestly, covering his hand with her own. "You have me."

Pip's throat constricted, and he swallowed hard. "I know that, little bird, and if I could leave things just as they are, I would, but it is my duty to provide an heir to inherit my title."

"And I can't inherit it because you didn't marry my mother," she replied, her tone thoughtful rather than accusatory.

"Darling, even if we had been married, you could not have inherited. Only a male heir can inherit the title."

"That's stupid," she said indignantly, crossing her arms.

Pip choked back a laugh. "Well, yes, perhaps it is, but it's the law, no matter how stupid it is, and your pops would be very upset if there was no heir to become Montagu in the future."

"Pop wants you to get married?" she asked in a small voice, for she knew if her grandfather wanted something to happen, it would happen.

"Yes, sweetheart. He's wanted me to marry for a very long time and has been rather cross with me for not doing so before now."

"I see," she said, and he could hear the anxiety in her voice.

Pip hugged her close and turned her head, so she looked directly at him. "You're not losing something, you see, but gaining a mama. Won't you like that?"

"No," she said obstinately.

Pip sighed. He had been right to be worried about her reaction. "No matter what happens, and when or who I marry, nothing will change for you and I, darling. You know that, don't you? You will always be my little bird, no matter what."

Her gaze dropped to the floor, her bottom lip trembling ominously.

"Even if you have another daughter?"

"Of course," Pip said, his heart aching for her. "I love you, Tilly. No little girl could be loved by her papa more than I love you. I would give you the moon and stars, you know this."

Tilly swallowed hard, making a visible effort to control herself, before nodding. "Yes, Papa," she said quietly.

Pip sighed with relief, glad to have had this chat with her after all. Though she was obviously troubled, he felt certain she would grow accustomed to the idea. In truth, it had gone better than he could have hoped, and it was a relief to him to know there would be no difficulty from Tilly if and when he finally chose his bride–to-be.

"Run along now and find Mrs Harris," he told her, kissing her cheek and lifting her from his lap. "I must finish this letter and see it sent."

"Yes, Papa," she said obediently and dropped a very creditable curtsy before walking calmly from the room.

Regina Harris looked up as her small charge burst into her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed with a wail of fury.

"Whatever is the matter?" Regina asked, setting the mending she had been doing to one side and surging to her feet. The little girl smothered her face in her pillow, thankfully muffling what would have been a most horrific sound and pummelling the mattress with small fists. "Ottilie, you will stop this dreadful behaviour at once. You are a young lady, and this behaviour does you little credit."

The girl stopped abruptly but when she looked up at Regina, her face was one of such utter misery that she could not scold her further. "Oh, love, what's happened?" she asked, sitting down beside the little girl. "Has the earl decided we must not go after all?"

Much to Regina's regret, Tilly shook her head, and that little ray of hope died a swift death.

"N-No," Tilly stammered, tears streaming down her face. Regina reached for her handkerchief, blowing the girl's runny nose before she could forget her manners and wipe it on her sleeve. "It's m-much worse than that."

"Oh?"

"He's getting m-married," she said wretchedly, and then burst into noisy sobs once more.

Regina stilled, staring at the girl in shock. An odd sensation lanced through her, emotions that she had no name for but identified as fear. If the earl married, things would change, and she could well understand why Tilly was so afraid. Ashburton might be a doting father, but it would take an extraordinary woman to accept his bastard daughter into her own household before she even had a child of her own. Even if she did, the woman would have the power to make Tilly's life a misery if she chose to. It also made Regina's position uncertain. She'd known it could not last forever, but she'd banked on remaining with Tilly for a good while yet, for the earl had never spoken about sending his daughter to school. Perhaps now that would change, and Regina would lose the position that had given her safety and security and no small amount of satisfaction over the past years.

Though Tilly was a spoilt little madam at times, thanks to her father, she was also a bright and affectionate little girl and Regina loved her dearly… more than she ought, if the truth were known. In the absence of her own family, Regina had lavished all the love and care she had to give upon Tilly, whilst trying her best to remain the stern and serious governess she was employed to be.

Yet she could not imagine who the earl was to marry. Though she heard the gossip the servants had murmured about his mistresses over the years, to her knowledge he had visited no respectable ladies in the area.

"Who is the lady he intends to marry?" she asked Tilly, stroking the girl's hair and trying to think how best to soothe her, for she did not wish to give the girl false hope.

If her life was about to change, Regina must prepare her for those changes as best she could. She felt a sudden surge of anger towards the earl for not having told her first before he blurted such news to the child. At least then she would have been equipped to deal with the results.

"I don't know," Tilly sniffled, batting Regina's hand away again when she tried to apply the handkerchief. "He's going to find someone in London. That's why we're going, not to visit the museums and see all the places he promised to take me, but to find him a w-wife," she said wretchedly, dissolving into another bout of sobs.

Regina let out of breath, but to her consternation did not feel relieved by the news that the new Lady Ashburton was not as close at hand as she might have feared. The earl was the biggest prize on the marriage mart, and he would have his pick of the available females, all of whom would no doubt throw themselves at his feet. There would be a Lady Ashburton, sooner or later, and the knowledge made her want to behave just as badly as Tilly for reasons she did not understand in the least. She had never liked the earl, who was everything she most detested about the men of the ton . Whilst he had certainly redeemed himself in her eyes to a large degree after having settled down for the sake of his little daughter, she did not believe a leopard ever changed his spots.

She did not trust him an inch, and she told herself she pitied any woman who was fool enough to marry him, for he would never be faithful to her. There would be compensations, of course, for the earl was a beautiful man. Too beautiful.

"Handsome is as handsome does," Regina muttered under her breath.

"What, Harry?" Tilly asked, looking at her in confusion.

"‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Harris,'" Regina corrected sternly, and then relented, reaching out and stroking the girl's hair. "We really ought to finish our packing, you know."

Tilly groaned and buried her face in the pillow again.

Smiling, Regina let out a sigh. "Well, perhaps it can wait for an hour or so. How would you like to take a carrot to your pony? We could ride into the village and buy some lemon drops for the journey. How's that?"

"Oh, thank you, Harry," Tilly said, throwing her arms about her waist and hugging her tightly. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"Go to the devil, I should think," Regina said crisply.

Tilly snorted with laughter but then grew serious, gazing up at her. "You won't ever leave me, will you, Harry?"

Regina's throat grew tight, and she blinked back a sudden blur of tears.

"Not if I can help it," she said firmly, and found she could say no more.