Alasdair stood dumbstruck for a moment, then gathered himself and walked forward to greet her, a hand outstretched.
‘Miss Farnham? You are welcome to Ardmore. I do hope your long journey was uneventful?’ Even as he spoke, his eyes were drinking in her perfection. Deep blue eyes, perfectly framed with thick lashes under delicately arched brows, a pure, creamy complexion, sweetly curved lips. His eyes roved on. A perfect little nose, high cheekbones and a delicate jaw. Her fair hair was drawn back in a tight constraint, yet it served only to enhance the perfect architecture of her face. Briefly, his eyes swept southwards. It was hard to tell beneath Miss Farnham’s shapeless gown, but he suspected her form to be as perfect as her features.
As his mind and body took in her beauty, his heart was sinking. It had never occurred to him that the governess might be attractive. If he had stopped to think about it, he might have assumed her to be a woman of middle years, with significant experience in working with children and no threat to the equilibrium of the castle community.
As it was...grimly, he foresaw myriad problems. Every man within a five-mile radius was likely to be smitten with her, their women jealous or fearful. And as for himself... His jaw tightened. He had vowed never to let beauty blind him to a woman’s true nature again. If Miss Farnham thought she could charm people into doing her wishes, or avoiding her own responsibilities, then she would soon learn differently!
She took his hand, saying something. Her voice was calm, her speech unaffected. The accent jarred, but then, he had at least anticipated that aspect of what now was increasingly looking like a rash decision.
Briefly, his mind caught up with her words. She had thanked him for the private carriage and the high-quality accommodation she had had during her journey. ‘That was all Iain Crawford’s doing,’ he said shortly. ‘Is your chamber to your liking?’
His duty to be hospitable and welcoming was carrying him through the conversation, but inwardly his mind was screaming a warning. This woman was dangerous. Bad enough to be knowingly employing a Sassenach to educate his child. A Sassenach this beautiful would cause havoc everywhere she went.
Lydia could not remember ever feeling so nervous. Coming so far away from the world she knew meant that she simply had to make this posting a success. Dimly she recalled the day in Mrs Gray’s agency and her almost immediate decision to accept this post. Her own insouciance now astounded her.
How could I have given away all I know, to travel to another world?
Eilidh had pointed out the door to the dining room, explaining that wee Mairead would be brought there directly, but that Lydia was first to meet the Laird in the next room. Lydia had smoothed her skirts nervously, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.
He had been pacing in front of the fireplace, it seemed, but on hearing her enter, he turned. Lydia’s first impression was simply how tall and well-formed he was, but then she took in the other details. He was in full Highland dress, with a long red kilt marked with black lines and tied with an impressive leather belt. She had come across similar dress before, worn by the Highland Regiments in London, although their kilts, she remembered, were much shorter.
Swiftly, her eyes swept upwards, past the well-tailored short jacket which showed off his strong figure to perfection, until her gaze reached his face. Oh, Lord! He was handsome, with a strong jaw, blue eyes and a strong, straight nose. His dark hair was in some disorder, as if he had been raking his fingers through it. For an instant it felt as though time had stopped as she eyed the man who was her new employer. Something in his form and presence rocked her and she was unsure why. Scrambling to force her mind to function again, she returned to the thought that had been foremost in her mind as she approached the door. This was the Laird himself. The man who was key to whether she stayed or left. What manner of man was he?
She blinked as he stepped forward, a polite greeting on his lips and an outstretched hand of welcome. He asked about her journey and she answered with genuine gratitude, for her journey, challenging as it was, would have been a hundred times worse on a public stagecoach, or without decent accommodation. His reply was rather blunt, clarifying that it had been Mr Crawford who had made the arrangements. She was unsure what to say to this and there was a taut silence.
‘Shall we go through to dine, Miss Farnham? I have no doubt you will be more than ready for a home-cooked meal.’ He indicated the way and she preceded him out of the small parlour. He fell into step beside her. ‘My daughter dines with me every evening. You will accompany her, naturally.’
‘She does? Oh, yes, of course, sir.’ The habit in the previous households where she had worked was for children to dine with the servants until they neared adulthood. Most parents, in her experience, did not relish spending extended periods of time with their offspring.
‘This surprises you?’ There was an edge to his tone, something she could not quite fathom.
Keeping her expression neutral, she replied carefully, ‘Each household is different, sir. In many ways.’
Inwardly, she continued to attempt to assess him. Despite an initial hint in his eyes that he found her attractive, his expression now was shuttered and he was making no attempt to leer at her. He had not even tried to touch her arm to guide her to the dining room. So far, so good.
Then they were inside and the people already at the table rose—or at least, most of them did. Lydia’s gaze flew to the small girl propped on an enormous chair on the left side of the table. Her first impression was how tiny she looked, and how delicate. Pale skin, long dark hair tied with a blue ribbon, slim arms lacking colour and curves—oh, this child looked sickly indeed!
The Laird was busy making introductions and Lydia smiled and murmured appropriately. The gentleman in the red and green was Iain Crawford, while the young gentleman and young lady were brother and sister, and cousins to the Laird. Eilidh and Angus MacDonald, he named them.
That was four MacDonalds and two Eilidhs already and she had only been in the castle for a matter of hours.
Lord, how am I to recall everyone’s name and place?
They sat, Lydia being placed between Angus and Mairead, and the servants immediately moved to bring silver-covered dishes from the sideboards. Lydia’s mouth watered at the delectable scents of good, homely food. She helped herself in turn to pie and potatoes, vegetables and some sort of meatloaf that was entirely delicious. There was also freshly-baked bread and yellow butter, which was surprising at a formal dinner. In addition, the food was served by a mix of men and women—in London, only menservants were permitted to serve at table.
So many differences! As the meal went on, Mr Angus MacDonald engaged Lydia in gentle conversation about her journey and she was conscious that the entire party, including the servants, were all likely listening, despite the murmur of other chatter. Mr Crawford and Miss Eilidh MacDonald were engaged in some easy raillery to do with a horse, while the Laird himself was quietly speaking with his child. Mairead was eating very little, Lydia noted.
When he turned to converse with his cousin Eilidh, Lydia saw her chance to speak quietly with the child. ‘It is good to meet you, Mairead—or is it Margaret? How is it that people here have two names?’
‘Well, you see,’ said the child with great animation, ‘we have English names, for the writing down, and then we have our real names, which is who we really are.’
‘So your real name is Mairead? I see. I am happy to meet you, Mairead.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Sadly, I have only one name—Lydia.’
Mairead frowned. ‘That is sad indeed. I shall ask my father for your real name, for he knows everything. Papaidh!’
He turned, smiling indulgently. ‘Yes, dear?’
‘What is Miss Lydia’s real name?’
His brow furrowed. ‘Her name is Miss Lydia Farnham.’
‘No, but what is her—her Ardmore name? Her Benbecula name?’
His expression cleared. ‘Ah, she does not have a Gaelic name, child. You may address her as Miss Farnham.’
‘Or Lydia,’ Lydia interjected, having already some sense of an air of informality here that she had never encountered before. ‘The others may call me Miss Farnham, but you can call me Lydia.’
‘Lydia,’ Mairead echoed, as if trying it on her tongue. ‘I like it! Tapadh leibh!’
‘Does that mean thank you?’ Mairead nodded. ‘I see we shall be able to teach each other things. You can teach me Ardmore words and I can teach you other things.’
Mairead threw her a suspicious look. ‘What things?’
‘Whatever your father wishes for me to teach you.’ She glanced up at the Laird, to find that he was watching her intently.
‘Make no mistake, Miss Farnham—’ there was about his words a decided air of implacability that was in sharp contrast to his previous reserved formality ‘—I expect you to be excellent at your work and to attend to Mairead’s needs with great diligence!’
Rather taken aback, she responded instantly. ‘Naturally, sir! I would hardly come all the way from London unless I was fully engaged with my responsibilities.’
His blue eyes bored into hers, his expression one of remote annoyance. ‘See to it that you remain so, or you will find yourself back in London in a flash.’
This struck Lydia as bordering on unjust and she retorted unthinkingly, ‘Hardly a flash, sir, since I left London nearly a fortnight ago!’
Instantly, she cowered inwardly. She must not be impertinent towards her employer. Lord!
His eyes narrowed, but he said only, ‘Your lessons will begin on the morrow. Come to me after breakfast and I shall outline my expectations.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Dropping her eyes to her plate, she resolved to speak only when spoken to for the remainder of the meal.
This she did, and she was pleased to find that Mairead seemed interested in her and was clearly desirous of a deeper acquaintance. Remembering the child’s sceptical look earlier, Lydia resolved to uncover in the coming days whether her wariness about lessons was of the universal variety, or something more specific.
After dinner the table was cleared and then a set of glasses was brought in, along with a bottle of amber drink. It was an unusual colour—too pale for brandy, too dark and still for beer. Perhaps it was some sort of Scottish alcohol?
Each glass, she observed, had a flaw in the stem in the shape of a teardrop. The glasses themselves were all shapes and sizes, but the teardrop remained constant. With great ceremony, one of the manservants filled every glass—even the child got a small drop, well diluted with clear water.
The Laird raised his glass. ‘Slàinte mhath!’ he declared. ‘Agus slàinte mhòr!’
The party all echoed his words—presumably a Gaelic version of the ‘Cheers!’ she had heard so often over the years in England. Tentatively, she sipped at the liquid. It was strongly flavoured, yet smooth, and it burned her throat in a way that was both delightful and disconcerting. She took a deeper mouthful. Oh, yes. This was wonderful.
Glancing up, she realised she was the subject of the gaze of numerous pairs of eyes. ‘Well?’ asked the Laird. ‘What think you of our whisky?’
‘Whisky?’ She smiled. ‘It is wonderful!’
‘We call it uisge beatha—the water of life,’ Angus explained with a grin.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I should hazard a guess that too much does not make one very lively the following morning!’
They all laughed—or at least, all but the Laird. ‘True, true,’ said Angus. ‘Still, an appreciation of whisky is a necessity for anyone wishing to make their home in the islands.’
Home. What a strange notion. Not having had a home for so long, Lydia had all but given up on the very idea. For these people, life was simple. They had their homes and families, their history and traditions. Even their own language. Whereas she was doomed to be ever the outsider. Pushing back against the self-pity that threatened to rise up, Lydia applied herself to her whisky.
Alasdair refused to join in the general fêting of Miss Farnham. While she had shown reasonable skill in engaging Mairead in conversation, he was yet to assess her credentials as a teacher, never mind her behaviour as a woman who could not fail to be aware of her natural advantages. If she thought she could rely on her pretty face to cause havoc, or to avoid her responsibilities, she would soon learn otherwise! He had no regrets in reminding her that she was here on sufferance. He was not so desperate for a governess yet that he would be forced to accept someone unsuitable. Mairead was yet young.
Indeed, one of the risks at the front of his mind was that the governess would behave well for a short time in order to dupe them, then gradually reveal her true nature. He had direct and personal experience of just such a deception and it had cost him—and his child—dearly.
He continued to watch Miss Farnham surreptitiously, frustrated to note that closer inspection revealed no flaws in her physical beauty. Although they were hiding it well, he had little doubt that both Iain Crawford and cousin Angus were conversing with rather more animation than usual. He sighed inwardly, seeing myriad troubles ahead.
Lydia climbed the two little steps at the side of her high bed, slipping between the clean sheets with an audible sigh of relief. Journey’s end had finally come—and it had come with unforeseen complications. Blowing out the candle, she lay back on the soft pillows, considering. Mairead was clearly quick-witted, the child’s sharp intelligence contrasting strongly with her pale, weak body. Already Lydia’s mind was considering approaches and strategies to engage the child, for she knew that a trusting relationship between a governess and her charge was essential in ensuring the child enjoyed her lessons. She had noted that, at the end of the meal, the child had been carried off to bed by one of the servants.
Does she not walk at all?
The family and servants had, so far, been only polite, warm and welcoming. Experience, however, had taught her not to relax her guard. Somewhere among them there would be a lecherous male or a jealous female. Often it took time for people to reveal their true nature, so she had learned over the past five years to be wary of everyone.
Her thoughts drifted to the Laird. My, you are a handsome one, she thought, echoing the housekeeper’s words to her earlier. In her mind’s eye she pictured his strong, regular features, blue eyes, dark hair and tall, strong form, and the curious reaction she’d experienced on seeing him for the first time. Probably the Highland dress. Normally, she was even more wary of handsome men, for many seemed to find it inconceivable that she should not admire them.
The Laird, however, she was forced to admit, had made no attempt to flirt with her. If anything, he seemed to hold her in some disdain, which she found decidedly puzzling. Returning to their conversation earlier, her stomach twisted at his threat to dismiss her if she was not ‘excellent’ at her work. How did he define ‘excellent’? She knew herself to be a gifted teacher, with a natural affinity for children, but she also knew that at times parents’ expectations of their children could be entirely unrealistic. Recalling the Laird’s tone towards her earlier, she bit her lip in the darkness.
Still, disdain left her safer than admiration. She would take it and not worry over it, and be grateful. Turning on her side, she allowed sleepiness to wash over her, taking away the worries about her new place, at least for now.