Her Highland Protector. Ann Lethbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ had promised her father to do everything in her power to care for it the way he would have, had he lived.

      Only she couldn’t. Not without a husband. Carrick insisted she wed before he would give up his trusteeship. Females did not manage their own estates. Worse yet, there were debts incurred by her father to be paid. And no money to pay them. Leasing the estate these many years had not been enough to pay them off.

      She handed the comb to the insistent Mary and stared unseeing at her reflection. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find a husband. She was no beauty, she knew that, but it wasn’t a one-sided bargain. In exchange for paying off the debts, her bridegroom would gain the title of Baron Aleyne, which by ancient charter passed through either the male or the female line. Not to mention the ancient house and surrounding lands.

      A fine house for children to grow up in.

      She had promised her father she would not let the family name die. Yet here she was, two years beyond her age of majority and still unwed. Not that she regretted these past two years caring for her father’s widowed sister during her illness. The woman had been the mother she had never known. She had taught her how to be the lady of a house instead of a hoyden who liked to ride and fish and all of the other things she’d learned from her father. Jenna had managed Mrs Blackstone’s house almost entirely alone these past few years and it galled her to be treated by Carrick as if she did not have a brain in her head.

      ‘It is Mr Gilvry you are meaning?’ Mary asked, pinning a stray lock of hair in place. ‘A handsome young man by all accounts.’

      Ruggedly attractive and traitorous. The feeling of betrayal writhed in her stomach anew. ‘He’s only out for himself.’

      ‘Is that right, then? You know so much about him already?’

      She knew more than she ought. The velvet feel of his lips on hers. The hard strength of his body inside his clothes. A tremor ran through her. She pushed the sensations away.

      ‘He is not worth discussing, though I am sure the lasses below stairs will find him charming enough.’ Oh, my word, didn’t she sound spiteful? Most unlike herself. She took a deep breath. ‘That looks lovely, Mary. Thank you.’

      The maid smiled. She picked up the dress from the end of the bed. ‘May I put this on you, now? We should probably hurry, or you will be late.’

      Lord Carrick hated tardiness and ruled his castle with a rod of iron.

      The dress slipped over her head with a whisper of silk. The silver thread in the lace edge of the sleeves scratched up the length of her arms. Why was she doing this? Why had she asked Mary to put out her best evening gown instead of one of those she would normally wear for dinner en famille? Not for Mr high-and-mighty-you-shouldn’t-be-riding-out-without-a-groom Gilvry, that was certain. Tonight her mission was to remind her cousin of his promise to take her to Edinburgh. She really could not afford another Season to pass her by.

      Not after receiving a plea six months ago from Mr Hughes, the vicar at Braemuir. He had begged her to return home and take up her duties, before there was no one left on the land.

      When she had told Carrick about Mr Hughes’s concerns, he’d been insulted by her lack of trust in his administration. Times were changing, he’d told her. He’d also forbidden any further communication with the old vicar. However, when she pressed the issue, he had grudgingly agreed it was high time she found a husband to look after her affairs. Six months had passed and she seemed no closer to the married state.

      She pressed her lips together and smoothed her gloves up her arms. She was determined to wait no longer. Especially in the light of what she assumed was another message from Mr Hughes waiting unread with the tinker in the market because of those wretched footpads.

      If Mr Hughes’s pleas had been urgent before, she could only imagine what they would be six months later.

      Despite the urge to move, to pace, she remained still as Mary pinned her brooch on her gown—the pearls and diamonds her father had given her mother on their wedding day, with the family motto inscribed in the silver surround: Family Before All. Family meant the people on her estate. People she hadn’t seen for years. It was a promise instilled into her from birth. A promise she had so far failed to keep.

      Mary handed her a shawl. ‘Will there be anything else, my lady?’

      Jenna gazed at herself in the glass. Was she ready? Was she suitably armed for battle with her cousin and the traitorous Mr Gilvry? ‘Quite ready.’

      Two flights down and a draughty corridor brought her to the second-floor drawing room, in the suite of rooms set aside for the lord of the castle and his retinue. Such old-fashioned formality. Outside the great wooden door studded with iron, she squared her shoulders, pinned a smile to her lips and drew on the mantle of a woman aiming to please. The waiting footman opened the door and stepped back to his place like a man who did not exist.

      Her cousin and Mr Gilvry were engaged in conversation beside the hearth. They turned at her entry. Once more, Jenna could not but be startled by Mr Gilvry’s towering height, the lean length of him encased in well-fitting evening clothes, his youth and manly figure more apparent beside her portly cousin.

      Freshly shaven, his face was all hard planes and sharp angles. He looked sterner than earlier in the day, more remote, as if he had donned armour to keep the world at bay. The face, undeniably handsome in a rugged kind of way, did not seek to set her at ease. And those broad shoulders were just too intimidatingly wide.

      She blinked as she got a good look at his waistcoat. Instead of the usual discreet cream or other pastel shade worn by men these days, it was pale green, embroidered with delicate sprigs of heather. It demanded attention. On another man it might have looked effeminate. On him, it only served to emphasise his stark masculinity. Her stomach gave the same odd little jolt it had given when she first saw him on the road. Surprise. It could not be anything else.

      The man clearly knew nothing of fashion.

      She dipped a small curtsy, acknowledging their greeting.

      Mrs Preston, on the other side of the hearth, looked up with a pained smile. She had an unnatural pallor. A peptic stomach again, no doubt. The widow held out a hand. ‘Come, sit beside me, child.’

      Dutifully, she did as requested.

      The woman lived in fear of her cousin’s opinion. Fear she would be turned off to fend for herself on the meagre funds left her by her husband if she did not appease Lord Carrick’s every wish, though never by word or deed had he indicated he entertained any such thoughts.

      ‘It is good to see you up and about again, ma’am,’ Jenna said.

      The lady shot a nervous glance at Carrick. ‘How could I not, when we have a guest for dinner?’

      ‘A member of the household and a relative, too,’ Jenna said, giving Mr Gilvry a cool smile. Playing the great lady was a skill she had learned from Mrs Blackstone, and it would be as well to keep this young man at a distance. Put them back on a proper footing.

      Mr Gilvry acknowledged her words with a slight incline of his head.

      ‘Ratafia?’ Carrick asked.

      She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

      Her cousin served her with a glass of the icky stuff. She sipped at it, keeping her grimace СКАЧАТЬ