Page 11 of The Lady in Pearls
Lachlan instructed their driver to attend to his luggage. She had none.
“This way.” He didn’t offer his arm, but stayed close as they walked up to the house. The door opened and a fleet of servants came out to greet them. The faces Daphne glimpsed were cheerful and curious, despite the black bands of morning on the arms of their uniforms. Their positive response to her gave Daphne a flutter of hope.
They might like me as their new mistress. I might be happy here, after all.
“Ahh, here we are,” Lachlan greeted the servants warmly before he turned to her. “This is Mrs. Stewart, the housekeeper.” He nodded to a matronly woman and then to a man in a black suit. “And Mr. Frampton is the butler. This is Miss Daphne Westfall,” he informed the staff. “We are to be married as soon as possible.”
“Married?” An older woman emerged through the doorway, her face mired with confusion. “You only left for London five days ago!”
Daphne had a moment to study the woman at the top of the steps. Her dark blue dress was adorned with a white apron of fine lace, which signified she was a woman of high social standing. Daphne’s heart jumped into her throat as she recognized Lachlan’s features in this woman’s face.
“Daphne, this is my mother, Moira, the Dowager Countess of Huntley. Mother, this is Daphne Westfall.” Lachlan finally offered Daphne his arm as he escorted her up to meet his mother. Lachlan’s mother speared her son with a penetrating gaze, not hostile, but certainly unamused. Daphne might have laughed as she realized his mother was the one he’d inherited that intense stare from, but, at the moment, she was struggling to remember to breathe. Daphne resisted the urge to cling to Lachlan like a frightened child. It wasn’t that she was afraid, but the shame of who she was and her family situation made her shift restlessly.
“Lachlan, you went to London to attend to business. You made no mention of an intent to find a bride.” Lachlan’s mother turned toward Daphne and suddenly smiled with genuine warmth. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Daphne. I’m sorry we weren’t ready to greet you, my dear. My son, as usual, forgot his manners and didn’t send us any advanced notice.”
“Oh please, don’t be upset with him. We left London quickly and there wasn’t time to write. It’s nice to meet you.” She dipped into a curtsey.
“Ach, an English lass,” Moira chuckled and gave her son a rueful smile. “I suppose you never will do things as expected. Well, come inside, Miss Westfall. I’m sure you’re tired after the long journey.”
“Indeed, we are.”
Lachlan and Daphne followed Moira into the house, which was even more beautiful than the outside. Cherrywood banisters with delicately carved spindles led to the upstairs corridors. High windows allowed sunlight to illuminate the portraits hanging on green satin walls. There was an unexpected brightness to the castle that surprised Daphne. With Lachlan’s anger and grim moods, she’d expected to arrive at a dark estate sinking into the moors, not this place of sunlight and fresh air. It was clear that the house matched Moira rather than her son. She was a warm, smiling woman who had laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.
“Where shall we put Miss Westfall?” Mr. Frampton inquired of Lachlan.
“The blue room in the east wing,” Moira said before her son could speak. Daphne didn’t miss Lachlan’s sudden frown. Was the blue room a good room or a bad one?
“If you follow me, miss,” Mrs. Stewart said to Daphne, “I’ll show you to your room.”
“Rest and have a bath, Miss Westfall,” Moira said. “We shall dine in an hour, if that suits you.”
“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.” Daphne peeked at Lachlan, but he was already striding away. The sight of his retreating form sent a flutter of panic through her. He was the only person in this castle she knew and he was already abandoning her.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” Moira gave her shoulder a motherly squeeze. “He’ll be back soon enough. He never likes to let the dust of travel linger and is likely going to have a bath himself.” Moira was still smiling but there was a hint of concern that transformed the laugh lines around her eyes into something akin to sorrow. Daphne knew why. She, too, sensed something wrong, but couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
She trailed after the housekeeper, who led her up a grand staircase and down a corridor. They passed through a drawing room with oak paneled walls and eighteenth- century furniture. The delicate chairs with gilded arms and embroidered upholstery were exquisite. The desk, which sat at the far end of the room, was covered with books, many open, their pages reflecting the early evening sunlight. Daphne could only imagine how beautiful this room would be with the fireplace and chandelier lit.
The room was far more beautiful than her father’s townhouse, and yet she remembered her father’s pride in their little house in Mayfair. She could still see his face as they entered the white painted entryway for the first time. She’d just turned fourteen and the thrill of living among titled peers and wealthy aristocrats had been exciting. It had been her father’s dream for years to live in that part of London.
“She’s beautiful, eh? We shall certainly fit in here, won’t we?” Her father’s brown eyes had twinkled merrily.
If only she had known how desperate he would become, trying to maintain that way of life, that he would destroy them both.
Daphne paused behind Mrs. Stewart as the housekeeper unlocked the bedroom door and smiled at her.
“In here, miss. This is the blue room.”
Daphne entered and glanced around. The bedroom had robin’s egg blue walls and a bright walnut, four poster bed. Framed watercolor sketches of Highland wildflowers hung on every wall. The warmth of the room was both feminine and welcoming.
“Once you and his lordship are wed, we shall move you to the chambers for the Countess of Huntley in the opposite wing. I’ll have the footmen fill your bath. Do you have luggage?” Mrs. Stewart was now surveying her closely, and Daphne had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.
“She doesn’t have any clothes, Mrs. Stewart,” Lachlan said from behind her, making both ladies jump. “Mrs. Stewart, tomorrow, be so kind as to fetch the modiste from the village. I wish to have Miss Westfall fit for clothes. You might as well make inquiries about finding her a lady’s maid, as well, unless one of the upstairs maids will do?”
“We do have Mary. We can spare her if you wish to elevate her to a lady’s maid,” Mrs. Stewart said.
“That will be acceptable,” Lachlan replied, then glanced at Daphne. “Mrs. Stewart, you may return to your duties. I should like a moment alone with Miss Westfall.”
Daphne wrung her hands as the housekeeper left. Lachlan closed the bedroom door. They were alone in a bedroom, which shouldn’t have worried her. They were engaged, after all, and she had slept with him in a hay loft, yet this felt more…scandalous.
