With each exposure, his attraction to Claire, his focus on her, had only grown more definite, more acute, until the obvious conclusion had stared him in the face, impossible to resist, much less deny.
Utterly impossible to ignore.
“If the weather holds,” Raven said, commanding Daniel’s attention with his gaze, “and the older crew go riding as they’re planning, then we’ll need to invent some suitable pastimes to keep our charges amused.”
Seated with his back to the table at which the Cynster children were gathered, Raven had turned and asked what the animated talk had been about. Riding out to assess the position and state of the deer herds had been the answer.
Daniel nodded. “If at all possible, let’s get those left to our care out of doors.”
“Indeed,” Melinda said, turning from Claire to join the conversation. “We need to take advantage of any clear days. If it is fine enough tomorrow, I was saying to Claire that the fourteen-year-olds—the girls—might like to gather greenery to decorate the hall.” Melinda gestured to the stone walls hosting various fireplaces and archways, all presently devoid of any seasonal touches. “It’s customary to decorate them on the twenty-fourth, which is tomorrow.”
“I’d heard,” Morris said, “that there’s some tradition about the Yule log that’s followed hereabouts.” He looked to Raven for confirmation.
Raven, his hair as dark as his name would suggest, nodded. “Yes, that’s an inspired idea. Not only is it necessary to collect the right-sized logs, but the logs have to be carved. That should keep the boys amused for hours. I’ll speak to the staff about organizing whatever’s needed.”
Daniel nodded again, and his gaze drifted once more to Claire; she’d been following the conversation, her calm expression indicating her agreement with the suggestions. With her glossy mid-brown hair burnished by the candlelight, with her delicate features and milky-white skin, her lips of pale rose, lush and full, and her large hazel eyes set under finely arched brown brows, she was, to his eyes, the epitome of womanhood.
That she was a widow—had been widowed at a young age—was neither here nor there, yet the experience had, it seemed, imbued her with a certain gravitas, leaving her more reserved, more cautious, and with a more sober and serious demeanor than might be expected of a well-bred lady of twenty-seven summers.
Her station—gentry-born but fallen on hard times—was similar to, or perhaps a touch higher than, Daniel’s; he didn’t really know. Nor did he truly care. They were both as they were here and now, and what happened next … that was up to them.
He’d come to Scotland, to the Vale, determined to put his luck to the test—to seize the opportunity to speak with Claire and plead his case, to learn if she shared his hopes and if she could come to share his dreams.
A gust of laughter and conversation drew his gaze to the high table.
The six Cynster couples were seated about the table on the raised dais along one side of the room, a traditional positioning most likely dating from medieval times. In addition to those twelve—middle-aged, perhaps, yet still vibrantly handsome, articulate, active, and engaged—there were three of the older generation at one end of the board. Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, mother of Devil and Richard and elder matriarch of the clan, was seated at the end of the table closest to the hearth, and had chosen to summon Algaria, Catriona’s aging mentor, and McArdle, the ancient butler of the manor, now retired, to join her there. The three were much of an age and, judging by their glances and gestures, were busy sharing pithy observations on all others in the hall. Having met the dowager and been the object of her scrutiny on several occasions, Daniel didn’t like to think of how much she, let alone black-eyed Algaria, was seeing.
A comment in a deep voice, followed by laughter, drew Daniel’s gaze back to the twelve Cynsters of the generation that currently ruled. Their children might have been growing apace, might already have been showing signs of the forceful, powerful individuals they had the potential to become, yet the twelve seated about the high table still dominated their world.
Daniel had observed them—those six couples in particular—for the past ten years. All the males had been born to wealth, but what they’d made of it—the lives each had successfully wrought—hadn’t been based solely on inherited advantage. Each of the six possessed a certain strength—a nuanced blend of power, ability, and insight—that Daniel appreciated, admired, and aspired to. It had taken him some time to realize from where that particular strength derived—namely, from the ladies. From their marriages. From the connection—the link that was so deep, so strong, so anchoring—that each of the six males shared with his wife.
Once he’d seen and understood, Daniel had wanted the same for himself.
His gaze shifted again to Claire. Once he’d met her, he’d known whom he wanted to share just such a link with.
Now he stood on the cusp of reaching for it—of chancing his hand and hoping he could persuade her to form such a connection with him.
Whatever gaining her assent required, he would do.
Now Fate in the form of Alasdair Cynster had cleared his path, it was time to screw his courage to the sticking point and act.
Hope, anticipation, and trepidation churned in his gut.
But he was there and so was she, and he was determined to move forward. He knew how he felt about her, and he thought she felt similarly toward him. His first step, plainly, was to determine whether he was correct in believing that—and whether with encouragement, “like” could grow into something more.
* * *
Claire was very—not to say excruciatingly—aware of Daniel Crosbie’s gaze. Of his regard. Of the steady, focused way in which he looked at her.
She wished he wouldn’t—or, at least, her mind told her that was what she should wish. Her emotions—stupid giddy things—were more inclined to be flattered and interested…as she’d said, stupid and giddy. And reckless, too.
Yes, Daniel was a handsome, personable, honest, and honorable man; she wasn’t silly enough to imagine she was in any danger of receiving any indecent or illicit proposal from him.
Which was the point. With his dark brown hair, thick and straight, his lean face that so fitted his long, lean, athlete’s body, and his gentle, intelligent, brownish-hazel eyes, he was too nice, too gentlemanly, too kind—she didn’t want to hurt him by peremptorily depressing any pretensions he might harbor. That she greatly feared he was, indeed, intending to voice.
She liked him and valued the quiet friendship that had sprung up between them too much to want to see it damaged, as it would be, quite definitely, if she was forced to say him nay. If she was forced to dismiss the offer she had a dreadful premonition he was intending to make.
There was no future for her with him—or, more accurately, for him with her. For either of them together. But convincing a gentleman like him of that…
Just the thought made her head and chest hurt.
Avoiding him seemed her only real option, but they were fixed at the manor for the next ten days; she would need every bit of ingenuity and quick thinking she could command to successfully keep him at a distance for such a long time.
She didn’t like her chances, but what else could she do?
Live through one day at a time. That had been her motto during the days immediately following her husband’s death; it was all she could think of that might serve her now.
Turning to Melinda, she said, “Alathea asked me especially to keep an eye on Mrs. Phyllida’s two girls—Lydia and Amarantha—given they’re the youngest here. If I’m to take the older girls out to gather greenery, do you have anything planned for the younger lot, or should we combine the two groups?”
Melinda shook her head. “The four fourteen-year-olds are too close-knit a clique—and there’s Louisa in the lead, too. No need to give her more troops to command.”
All the tutors and governesses knew that Devil Cynster’s daughter was a handful—too clever, too persuasive,
and far too adept at getting her own way.
“I was going to suggest,” Melinda continued, “that I take the three younger ones—Margaret, Lydia, and Amarantha—into the kitchen. Cook said she would be making mince pies, and they’ll enjoy helping.”
Claire nodded. “That they will. All right—I’ll take the older four.” Surrounding herself with four fourteen-year-old girls should at least keep her safe through the next day. “What sort of greenery is customarily used for the decorations here, where do we get it, and how much are we likely to need?”
* * *
Lucilla Cynster, eldest daughter of the house and future Lady of the Vale, listened while her twin brother, Marcus, seated beside her, explained the ins and outs of the local deer hunting season to her cousins Sebastian, Michael, and Christopher. The three were sitting on the other side of the table, forming a wall of broad shoulders and masculine chests that effectively blocked the rest of the room from Lucilla’s sight. Glancing down the long board beyond Marcus and Christopher, she saw her five fifteen- and sixteen-year-old male cousins—Aidan, Gregory, Justin, Nicholas, and Evan, all of whom intended to join the exploratory ride tomorrow—leaning forward, hanging on Marcus’s every word.
Sebastian, Michael, and Christopher were much more nonchalant, but as Lucilla could feel their eagerness radiating from them, she viewed their expressions of aloofness with skepticism.
Together with Louisa, they—the older six, including Prudence, who was sitting on Lucilla’s other side—had been principally responsible for convincing their elders to hold the family Christmas celebrations in the Vale. The girls had wanted to experience the magic of an assured white Christmas in the deep, undisturbed silence of the Vale, something they hadn’t known since the last family Christmas held there, when they’d been small children. All of them remembered that time with nostalgic pleasure. The boys, of course, had wanted to hunt, but although the season for does was open, the early snows had sent the deer deep into the narrow valleys in the nearby hills; it had been decided that the group should ride out tomorrow to scout around before mounting a proper hunt on the day after the Feast of St. Stephen.
Beside Lucilla, Prudence—Demon and Felicity Cynster’s oldest child and Lucilla’s closest cousin, friend, and sometimes confidante—leaned nearer and, as Marcus paused to answer a question from Aidan, said, “I’m for the ride—are you going to come?”
That Prudence would ride was the opposite of a surprise; she lived for horses and always had. Given her parents’ obsession with the animals, her fervor was perhaps understandable.
Lucilla thought about the ride, about joining the company. Her gaze drifted further down the table to Louisa—she of the lustrous black hair, pale green eyes, and infallibly engaging manners. If Lucilla remained at the house, Louisa would attach herself to Lucilla, which wasn’t a situation to be encouraged. Not because they didn’t get on—despite Lucilla’s flaming red mane, in temperament they were two peas in a pod—but because, courtesy of the Lady’s gifts, Lucilla saw in Louisa a woman who would one day wield great power.
Whenever they were together, Lucilla felt a strong urge to steer or guide Louisa—yet at the very same time, she knew she…shouldn’t. Louisa was supposed to find her own way without any help from Lucilla; the trials and tribulations Louisa would face were important, presumably in shaping her for whatever role lay in her future.
Explaining that to anyone who wasn’t Lady-touched was impossible. So…
The proposed ride would keep her away from the manor for most of the day. Lucilla nodded. “Yes, I’ll come, too.” As she always did, she consulted her connection to the Lady—her inner compass—and felt her eyes widen slightly in surprise.
She was supposed to ride out with her cousins. As to why… As usual, that wasn’t forthcoming.
* * *
Up on the dais, at the end of the long table closest to the warmth thrown out by the blaze in the fireplace nearby, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, looked out on those gathered with an indulgent eye. She smiled, more to herself than anyone else, at the sight of her grandchildren, grandnieces, and grandnephews. “They are growing up.”
There was immense satisfaction in her tone.
Beside her, Algaria twitched her shawl over her shoulders. “Up, certainly. Older, indubitably. But wiser? I believe I’ll reserve judgment.”
The third of their number, old McArdle, quietly laughed. “They’re like youngsters anywhere—they’ll learn.”
Algaria stilled, then she murmured, “You’re right—there will be hurdles and challenges for each of them, but as to what those might be… We can only guess.”
Helena refused to let Algaria’s mysterious allusions derail her pleasure. “In truth, it is what amuses me most these days, watching them stumble and fall, then pick themselves up—watching their lives evolve.”
Algaria and McArdle looked out at the children. Although neither made any reply, eventually, both inclined their heads.
Helena allowed her smile to deepen, content that, at least on the philosophical side, she had had the last word.
* * *
“So!” Prudence thumped her curly blonde head down on the pillow she’d arranged at the foot of Lucilla’s bed. She and Lucilla were sharing the bed, top to toe, while the three youngest girls—Prudence’s sister, Margaret, and their cousins Lydia and Amarantha—had settled on pallets before the fire. “We’ll spend most of tomorrow riding with the others, and then Christmas Day will be full of all the usual eating, drinking, and being merry.” Wriggling into a more comfortable position, Prudence went on, “I can’t remember—do you do St. Stephen’s Day up here? The boxes and all?”
“We most certainly do.” Already settled beneath the covers, Lucilla angled her head to look down the bed. “But here it’s called the Feast of St. Stephen, and for good reason, so be warned. Mama will almost certainly want our help either tomorrow evening or, more likely, on the morning of Christmas Day for making up the boxes. It’s more or less the same as Uncle Sylvester and Aunt Honoria do at Somersham—gifts to all the workers and their families. Here, of course, it’s even easier, as even our shepherds live at the manor, and so everyone will be here—in the Great Hall, anyway.”
Prudence nodded. “So we have all that filling up the day after Christmas, plus the hunt on the day after that. Then what?”
“We have three days to recover and prepare, and then it’s Hogmanay—the end of this year and the beginning of the next.”
Prudence was silent for several minutes, then she squinted up the bed and caught Lucilla’s eye. “I’m looking forward to next year precisely because it’s not our coming-out year.”
Lucilla nodded in understanding. “In a way, the coming year will be our last year—the last year of our girlhoods, so to speak.”
“We should make it count,” Prudence said. Warming to her theme, she continued, “We should make sure we do everything we’ve ever wanted to do, and make sure we leave nothing undone that as girls we can do, but that as young ladies we might find more difficult.”
Lucilla chuckled. “Like driving down St. James in an open carriage?”
“Exactly! And riding hell-for-leather in the Park. Isn’t it absurd that I’ll be able to do that next year—every morning we’re in London, if I wish—but the year after, me doing the same thing will be considered indecorous and unbecoming?”
“Society does love its rules, no matter how silly.” Lucilla paused. “In fact, now I think about it, next year is going to be the perfect year for doing all those slightly risqué things. The better part of society will be so focused on the Coronation and all the events surrounding it that no one will have any attention or disapprobation left over to direct at us.”
“Very true,” Prudence said. After a moment, she went on, “I have to say I feel for those girls who will be making their come-outs next year. I heard Mama say that it’s going to be bedlam with all the events planned in the lead-up to the Coronation, and that getting noticed i
s going to be next to impossible unless you’re foreign royalty.”
“Hmm.” Although she’d never said so aloud, Lucilla was not looking forward to the year beyond the next, the year in which she, alongside Prudence and Antonia Rawlings, would make her formal curtsy to the fashionable world. It was going to be a dreadful bore—and entirely to no purpose. A point she suspected that her mother appreciated, but she doubted her father did, or would, no matter that he usually accepted her mother’s Lady-inspired decrees on most subjects. It would be for him that Lucilla would go to London and be presented, and promenade around the ballrooms and in the Park…all to no avail. Her future, she knew, lay here, in the Vale, just as her mother’s had before her.
She didn’t know who, or how, or when, but she did know where he—whoever he was—would find her.
Here—somewhere in the lands the Lady ruled.
Prudence turned on her side and snuggled down. “It’s a pity Antonia and her family couldn’t join us.”
Lucilla settled, too, tugging the covers over her shoulder. “Aunt Francesca wrote. Mama said that they had wanted to come, but Antonia’s grandmama is poorly and they didn’t want to leave her at this time.”
Prudence mumbled in grudging approval, “Christmas is for families.” A moment ticked past. “Perhaps they can come and visit when you come south to stay in the new year.” She yawned.
Lucilla yawned, too. “P’rhaps.” A second later, she murmured, “Good night.”
She heard the smile in Prudence’s voice as she replied, “Sweet dreams.”
CHAPTER 2
The following morning, along with the other tutors and Melinda and Claire, Daniel shepherded their combined charges—all those still in the schoolroom, plus the fifteen- and sixteen-year-old boys—down the stairs and into the Great Hall for breakfast.