Page 45 of A Rogue in Twilight
Chapter Eleven
Surveying the dauntingpile of papers and books on his untidy desk, James sighed, then resumed reading his grandmother’s manuscript. Having Elspeth here, a happy yet bewildering distraction, had brought respite from the task, but it must be tended and finished. And he was still required to find a bride with fairy blood, or one claiming to be so.
Elspeth could meet or exceed any standard in a wife, fanciful bloodline or none, if he could only convince her to marry him. Her stubbornness was resolute and puzzling. Once he took her home and met her grandfather, he would do his best to court her.
If this fairy-like girl continued to refuse him, he and his siblings could lose everything. He could hardly explain to her his reason to marry her. More to the point, he was quite fond—more, he loved the girl, felt sure of it now—but his grandmother’s will left him blessed little choice in the matter.
Shaking his head, frustrated, he turned the page of the manuscript. He had nearly finished reading and had made inroads with research and notes. Fairy lore puzzled him, certainly, but the accounts that Lady Struan had recorded, mostly encounters with fairies and the supernatural, were quite entertaining.
He would rather study ancient rock formations than fairies. With each day, he was falling behind on his research. For now, science vied with fancy and was losing.
Despite Elspeth’s claim about fairies in the garden, he had noticed nothing but odd drifting fog and strong winds, all explained by poor weather. He was somewhat concerned about her insistence on fairies—but he was also realizing how deeply embedded the local traditions were in this glen. Elspeth had learned it in childhood.
Rain pattered against the windows and the chair creaked beneath him as he set the well-thumbed manuscript aside. The work was challenging, but nothing seemed as crucial as coaxing Elspeth MacArthur to marry him.
Time was an increasing factor. Before he had come to Struan house, he had thought to offer the estate for sale—a practical solution to the multitude of problems posed by his grandmother’s will. The mad conditions of marriage and fairy whatnot tied up the funds, and a sale could solve that. Accordingly, he had written to Mr. Browne to ask him to search for a buyer.
A reply had come within a week. James took that letter from a desk drawer and read it again.The Right Hon. The Viscount Struan,it began.My Lord, Rec’d your inquiry and yr request is understood and is within yr rights as heir. I can recommend two interested parties, a Scottish lord and an English gentleman. Both could generously satisfy the sale. Pls advise. Yrs, Geo. Browne, Esq.
If the place sold, James planned to divide the funds among his siblings to rescue their financial straits too, saving all their dreams. His dream had been modest enough, just freedom to pursue geological research. Now he had another dream—marriage and a family someday.
That new possibility told him to rethink selling the place. Letting go of Struan House would be more difficult than he thought, for he loved its beauty, its atmosphere, its remoteness too. And his circumstances had shifted dramatically.
He returned to the work, and after a while heard the click of dog paws on the wooden floor and the swish of skirts. Glancing through the adjoining doorway, he saw Elspeth perusing the library shelves, while Osgar plopped down nearby. Rising, James went to the door.
She turned. “Do not let me disturb your work. I only came here to read.” She held up a book. “Fairy stories. May I look at it?” She sounded formal. Careful.
“You are welcome to read or borrow anything here you like.”
“Thank you. The rain is letting up,” she added, glancing toward a window.
He noticed that she grasped a chair as she moved along. “You ought to be off your feet,” he said.
“I can manage.”
Had the looming departure put them on formal terms now? He wanted to help her, take her into his arms. The issue of compromise and marriage was not resolved in his mind, though she seemed set in her decision. As she crossed the library, the room seemed vast, the distance far, as if he had lost her already.
“It’s a handsome room, this library,” he said, trying for conversation, strolling into the room. He would not retreat against her cool silence. Not yet.
“It is,” she agreed. “You must be very proud of it.”
“Aye.” He did not want to sell—that suddenly became very clear. “It is a place one would want to keep forever in a family.”
“Indeed.” She paused by a glass display cabinet. “Do you know much about these stones?”
He joined her, glad of the excuse to be near her, and peered over her shoulder at some stones displayed there. He had not paid much attention to them. “Looks like mostly quartz,” he said. “That one is a very nice cairngorm, and the reddish one is a fine bit of jasper.”
“Why are they displayed here? Did your grandmother collect stones?”
“My grandfather collected various objects he found on the grounds and had a case made to display them. I remember playing with the stones when I was a lad, the few times I was here, and my siblings and I would bring odd bits to our grandfather, hoping he would like them. My sister and I were curious about nature and science, and I grew very interested in geology. Fiona as well, though she has focused on ancient fossils—the imprints left by shells and tiny creatures. Those are more difficult to find than rocks,” he said with a smile.
“What of this one?” She pointed at a large blue stone.
“I have not seen that one before. My grandmother must have put it in the case later, perhaps when the grotto was created. I am sure they found some good stones in the process. This one is a very nice specimen of agate, a form of quartz.”
“Very pretty,” she said, leaning close, as he did.
“They call these Scotch pebbles.” The round stone was large enough to fill a man’s palm; sliced in cross-section with an outer shell of crusted rock, its core was a crystalline structure formed of wavy rings in shades of blue. “Agate occurs in volcanic rock, but the blue sort is rather rare. I have not seen it often in the Highlands.”
