Immediately Jamie sobered, feeling unaccountably like a naughty schoolgirl caught red-handed by the headmistress.
Graystone was indeed just as surprised, but not in the least disconcerted.
“Why, Lady Montrose—Candice!” he said as graciously as the laird of a grand estate should. “What a surprise!” He laughed. “Caught by the rain, as you can see!”
“We have obviously come at a bad time,” said Lady Montrose, with the merest hint of patronizing superiority in her tone, peering down her long, sharp nose at him, then glancing toward his wet entourage. Jamie’s wet straight hair hung down from atop her head and ran wildly in every direction. Lady Montrose did, in fact, look the very picture of the scolding school-mother.
“Not at all!” he replied jovially, taking no note of her condescending stance which implied, This is hardly behavior fitting for a gentleman! “We were out flower hunting and were foiled by the downpour!”
“Flower hunting?” queried Candice Montrose, and though her nose was much shapelier than her mother’s, the impact of her eyes as they stared down from behind it gave much the same effect.
“Yes, we were looking for the first flowers of spring. And we found them, didn’t we, Andrew?”
Andrew’s wet head nodded vigorously. “Yes, Papa. Fowers for Mamie!”
“What a quaint notion,” said Candice, hesitating slightly over the choice of the word quaint. “I didn’t think you went in for such things.”
“Actually, it was Miss MacLeod’s idea.”
“Ah, I might have known,” said Candice, casting a cool glance for the first time in Jamie’s direction.
Jamie smiled wanly, her hair dripping in her face, beginning to shiver from the wet and cold.
“We really must change out of these things,” said Graystone. “You will stay for tea, won’t you? I will join you directly.”
“Thank you,” said Candice, her voice growing perceptibly sweeter. “How very kind of you, Edward.”
“Janell, show our guests to the east parlor, and see that Cameron serves them tea.”
———
An hour and a half later the Montrose carriage pulled away from the house. The two women inside had had a very interesting afternoon, even if it had not been all they had hoped for, or expected.
At twenty-five, Candice Montrose was well on her way to spinsterhood. The problem was not a lack of suitors—there had always been an abundance of those, for she was indeed an attractive young lady. The major hindrance to a successful match had been her parents, chiefly her mother. It seemed the young men Candice herself was drawn to were too far beneath the station Lady Montrose aspired for her daughter. What in Candice’s nature attracted her to men of “low breeding” was a question which troubled her mother. No one at Montrose, however, dared broach the subject.
On the other hand, those young men selected by Lady Montrose, all of reputable families, cultured, educated, and of impeccable tastes, many of whom were completely smitten with Candice, were all, to the high-spirited young lady, boring, slow-witted, and hopelessly uninteresting. Candice had no taste for a man she could lead about like a dog on a leash. But her standards greatly limited the field, for there were not many men she would not be able to control either with her beauty or with her biting wit and seductive character. She desired a strong man, strong enough to be his own man, yet not so strong as to be able altogether to resist her enchantments. Few men, indeed, fit the bill.
That is, until Edward Graystone came back on the market. Now here was a man not easily cowed by her womanly wiles—frustratingly so, in fact! He was a genuine challenge! And the best part was that she had her parents’ blessing in the pursuit. He was a man of means, of ancient family of reputable standing, of some power in the county—an altogether perfect match. The only hitch from the mother’s standpoint was some rumor as to irregularity with respect to the title. There was reported to be a brother somewhere, off on the continent or in Asia somewhere, she couldn’t remember. But how serious could it be? Graystone himself had been at Aviemere alone and in charge since they had bought the estate southeast of the village. Whatever these so-called irregularities were, they must be minor. And Candice was getting no younger.
Over the past several months Candice had been zeroing in on her target. Winter had dampened the quest. The roads had been bad and extensive socializing had been impossible. She had spent several weeks on the Continent, the guest of a French baron at his estate on the Mediterranean, a man whom her mother had long cherished hopes for. But the appearance on the scene of a distant cousin he was apparently infatuated with immediately cooled him toward Candice, and the hopes of Lady Montrose in that direction were instantly quelled. Fortunately, she had not closed the door to Aviemere.
“Imagine,” Lady Montrose was saying as the carriage jostled them toward Montrose Manor, “him traipsing over the countryside with his child’s nurse!”
“Mother, you can’t be inferring—” Candice rolled her eyes in exaggerated disbelief. “Why, a man like Edward Graystone would not give that homely creature a second look!”
“I’ve seen homelier,” remarked Lady Montrose.
“She’s a mere child! He must be ten years older that she—perhaps twelve. It’s ridiculous, mother!”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right.”
“And I’ve heard she is nothing more than a crofter’s daughter, or a shepherd girl, or something like that.”
“Who would ever think of hiring such a girl for that position?”
“They’ve had great difficulty keeping a nurse, from what I understand,” said Candice. “Perhaps he could find no one else.”
“All the more reason why he needs a wife, my dear. And soon!”
Candice cast her mother a canny smile.
“But no matter how desperate I was,” Lady Montrose went on, “I’d not have some poor tenant girl caring for my child. Just think of what filthy habits the boy could pick up! And if it was just a temporary measure, then why has she been there so long, answer me that!”
“She knows which side her bread is buttered on, that’s for certain.”
“Let’s hope the butter is not too thick!”
“Mother! The idea’s utterly preposterous!”
———
A week later, the vicar of the parish church and his wife came to Montrose Manor to call. When the subject of Edward Graystone came up again, no one but Candice—who knew the vicar’s wife to be a fountain of willing gossip regarding the goings-on of the area—was quite sure how the conversation had come to alight on him. Now that she had the discussion in the channel she desired, Candice sat back to listen and see what might come next.
“Lord Graystone has always been a tight-lipped man where his own affairs are concerned,” remarked the vicar.
“But the servants do say an astounding change has come upon him,” added Mrs. McVeagh knowledgeably.
“How so?” asked Lady Montrose.
“Well—” began the other, now into the rhythm of what she enjoyed most in the world—spreading information which was half true, half false, not bothering to distinguish between the two. “You know, of course, he took his wife’s death quite hard—so much so, he would have nothing to do with the child?”
“Pitiful,” remarked the vicar.
“Yes, but he’s made a complete turn-around, they say,” continued his wife. “Simply dotes on the boy now.”
“I suspect that new nurse he hired,” remarked Lady Montrose.
“I hardly think so, Mother,” Candice quickly put in, able to restrain herself no longer. “I told you, Mother, she’s nothing but a country girl.”
“The daughter of a tenant,” said Mrs. McVeagh, anxious not to lose the forward edge of her lead in the conversation.
“Disgraceful!” added Lady Montrose. “To think of the son of an earl being cared for by a peasant!”
“Is Lord Graystone actually the earl?” asked the vicar. “I thought there was some confusion concerning the old man’s inheritance—one brother got the title, the other the estate, something like that.”
“Oh, come now,” put in his wife, “you know nothing of the kind! Besides, you know very well we heard the other brother had been killed.”
“But there were reports questioning—”
“Nonetheless,” said Lady Montrose decidedly. “The Graystones are one of the county’s most prestigious families, and Lord Graystone should be aware of propriety.”
“I hear she’s a pretty wisp of a thing, though,” said the vicar’s wife.
“You’re not suggesting that he would . . .” said Candice, allowing her raised eyebrows to complete the sentence. “He is a Graystone, after all!”
“Yes, but a peasant girl raised so quickly to such a position might well begin to entertain certain, shall we say, lofty ambitions,” concluded Mrs. McVeagh.
“Whatever grand illusions a peasant girl might entertain,” said Candice, trying to convince herself more than the vicar’s tongue-wagging wife, “they would not have the least effect on a man like Edward Graystone.”
The conversation then drifted toward other topics. But Candice remained uneasy. She did not like the thought of the man she intended to marry associating with a common peasant. More than that, however, she did not like to be reminded that the girl was, in fact, not altogether unattractive, in her own homely sort of way, and had the laird all to himself—especially now that he had suddenly taken such an interest in the child. She wanted no scandal to taint her acquisition once she finally had him.
Somehow she must get rid of her!
Thus Candice Montrose vowed to keep apprised of the situation. There should be many more invitations to Montrose Manor, and also frequent “chance” visits to Aviemere. She could not afford to wait for invitations. If she sat at home and did nothing, who could tell what inroads the young vixen might make!
But of course, she would leave nothing to chance. Finding a new nurse must be the first priority of business. Edward would have to be convinced, but she could manage that. Then she had to make sure she was close enough to him to have an instrumental hand in choosing the new candidate.