It was not long after the fight that Derek began to tire of the sport at Aviemere. The incident was never mentioned and the servants, of course, made not the slightest reference to the battered countenances of the brothers. After lingering about the estate for another week, Derek received a letter from his regiment. Apparently having already had sufficient fill of the boorish place, the letter from his commander must have come as a welcome excuse to make his departure.
Within two days he was gone. Not another word was said about the status of the estate. A month before, his flippant assumption that Edward would carry on as before would have exasperated Edward to inward wrath. But now it had little effect on him. For the first time in his life he had truly let go of Aviemere. And if he still bore his brother no great affection, at least the heinous bond of hatred had been sundered. As never before, he was free.
Again he began to enjoy Andrew, and even Aviemere, more than before. They were no longer the source of his peace, and thus if they fell short in his expectations, he could not be devastated.
One afternoon he wandered out to the back courtyard and found Jamie and Andrew lunching.
“May I join you?” he asked.
For sole response Andrew held up a bright red and yellow ball and cried, “Papa, look!”
“That’s grand, son. Is it new?”
“Mr. Els gived it me.”
“Mr. Ellice brought it back from his recent trip to Aberdeen,” Jamie explained further. “Do please join us,” she added, “though the fare is rather simple.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s the company, not the food, I’m interested in.”
They spent the next few minutes munching on the cheese, oatcakes, and apple slices, but now that his father was present, Andrew was much too excited to eat. He wanted to try out his new toy.
“Watch me, Papa!” he cried, taking up the ball and running back a few paces from the diners. He raised his hand and swung it back, trying to hurl the ball with such force that had it made its mark it would have upset the lunch basket. As it was, it barely managed to knock a few buds from a rosebush just to his right as he lost his balance and toppled to the ground. He tumbled over giggling, his audience laughing with him, and promptly jumped up, eager for more.
Before long he had both his father and nurse involved in a game of catch, though his modest skills dictated that the ball spent more time on the ground than in the air. When Andrew began to tire, Edward dropped to his hands and knees, grabbed his son, and wrestled him to the ground, to the boy’s rapturous delight. Then, lying on his back, Edward raised him over his head with outstretched arms, tossing him into the air and catching him again.
Jamie was the first to see Candice Montrose approaching, let out through the French doors of the ground floor sitting room by Cameron the butler, who still stood in somber silence, looking disapprovingly on the playful affair.
Edward sensed rather than saw her, turned, pulled himself to his feet and made a half-hearted attempt to brush the grass and dust from his clothes.
“Good afternoon, Miss Montrose. What a surprise!”
“Yes, I can see it is! I do hope I haven’t disturbed anything,” she said.
“Not at all! Perhaps you’d like to join us.”
She smiled coolly as if to say, “Surely you jest,” then explained that she was in the vicinity, and since it had been so long since she had visited she had decided to stop by.
“I hope you don’t mind my doing so without an invitation?”
“Of course not! We are neighbors, after all—well, nearly so. You are always welcome.” He then led her to a chair at the table where they had been having luncheon.
“You’ve met my nurse, Miss MacLeod?” he asked.
“Indeed I have,” said Candice, casting Jamie a superior glance.
“Mr. Graystone,” said Jamie, “perhaps you would like me to go ask Cameron to serve tea for you and your guest?”
“Thank you, Jamie,” Edward replied, not noticing how Candice bristled at the familiar use of the nurse’s Christian name.
Jamie took Andrew’s hand and the new red and yellow ball and exited.
———
Candice’s plans had been delayed due to her mother’s unexpected illness. But with the first tint of pink returning to her cheeks, Candice set out again after her quarry. It distressed her to learn that she had missed the visit of Edward’s brother, for what an opportunity it would have provided for dinner invitations, parties, and the like! Not to mention that Derek Graystone was reportedly even more handsome than his brother.
But she had missed him, and thus, content with her original intent, she gradually accelerated the rate of interchange between the two estates. In the weeks that followed, Edward found himself deluged with invitations to Montrose Manor. Though he was unable to accept every one, he did at least feel bound by common courtesy to reciprocate those he did accept. Thus the comings and goings between Aviemere and Montrose were frequent, and talk began to spread throughout the valley that it was not at all unlikely that Candice Montrose would soon become the next Lady Graystone.
Candice was satisfied with the progress. Of course, Edward was not the ardent suitor she would have hoped for, but she had always known him to be the cool and distant type, so she was able to build many castles in the fantasies of her daydreams by even the most minor attentions he showed her.
She still was concerned about the nurse. Invariably when she came to Aviemere, especially if she had not been expected, she found Edward off somewhere with Andrew and that MacLeod girl. However the man might want to spend time with his son, it hardly seemed necessary for that little snip of a nurse to continually tag along!
“You know how I try to ignore what is nothing but gossip,” she said one day, “but something has come to my attention which I simply cannot ignore, for your interests, and for those of dear little Andrew. I hate to see his future position in society jeopardized in any way.”
“What is it?” asked Edward.
“It has to do with that nurse of yours,” she replied. “I have heard that she is but a peasant—in fact, that until a year or two ago, she was a mere shepherdess girl—indeed, one of your own tenants. I thought you should be aware of this.”
“What makes you think I am not already aware of it?”
“Come now, Edward. You are a gentleman. I know you would have someone from only the most spotless background tend your child. Your brother is a bachelor. It is not inconceivable that your son may be earl one day.”
“I have always known of my employee’s status,” said Edward.
“And you’ve done nothing? Surely you can see what a detriment such an upbringing could be socially! How long do you intend to allow his training to be governed by this—this . . . I don’t know what to call her!”
“Miss MacLeod has been the best thing to happen to Andrew since his birth. I know most fathers in my position care about such things as social graces. But as for my son, his social advancement pales greatly before his emotional security. And however low her background, Miss MacLeod has given him the security that comes from being loved.”
Sensing that to push further in the matter would only alienate him, Candice pulled in her tentacles. “That greatly relieves me, Edward. I fully trust your discretion in the matter. I was only concerned for the boy.”
But Candice was in no way relieved. She must try an alternate tact.
Two mornings later, as she was dressing, she turned to her maid and said, “You’ve lived in the area most of your life, Mary. You know many of its people, do you not?”
“I was born here, mem. I know my share of folks.”
“How about at Aviemere?”
“We mingle some.”
“Tell me, have you heard of a sheepherder from Donachie named MacLeod?”
“I never knew him, but everyone knew of him. Kept to himself on the mountain, so I heard.”
“His granddaughter is now Master Andrew Graystone’s nurse.”
Candice walked purposefully to her wardrobe to choose her gown for the day. She sorted through several dresses as if she was having difficulty making up her mind.
“You know nothing else about her family?” she asked.
“Why do ye think I would know anything, mem?” In truth Candice knew very well that her maid had at one time been quite friendly with Sid, the stableman at Aviemere, and she now hoped to utilize that relationship to her advantage.
Candice pulled out a lovely pink silk dress from the wardrobe. “I didn’t realize I still had this old thing,” she said. “I should get rid of it. But it is still too lovely just to throw out, don’t you think, Mary?”
“Aye, mem, it is that.”
“How would you like it, Mary?”
The maid’s eyes immediately lit up. “Me, mem?” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Candice. “And the blue one, too—I really shall never wear them again.”
“That’s too kind of ye, mem.”
And indeed, the maid could not remember when her mistress had been so generous.
“I would be quite willing to part with them, but—I would like a little something in return.”
“I have no money for such fine dresses.”
“I don’t mean for you to pay me, Mary. It’s something else.”
“Mem?”
“A simple, trifling matter really. I must just appease my curiosity. I would like you to find out—quietly, of course—what you can about this Jamie MacLeod, the nurse at Aviemere—or about her grandfather, or whatever other family she might have. Do you understand?”
Yes, the maid understood. And how could she refuse her mistress? Besides, the dresses were exquisite.
In less than three days the maid had justified her reward. And almost the same moment she had handed the dresses over to the ecstatic Mary, Candice was making preparations to be off to Aviemere. This was far better than she had expected! How could one of the man’s own servants know what he apparently did not know himself? No matter. He soon would know. She would waste no time delivering her tidings to the laird of Aviemere.
Edward received her cordially, but received her news without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. A most disconcerting man, Candice thought. He was the first man she had never been able to read like a book, but then that had been part of her fascination with him in the first place.
“You see why I was bound to come to you,” she said.
“I see,” he replied. “As you had to tell me about her being a peasant.”
“But this is so much more horrifying—”
She stopped short in affected dismay. “You—you didn’t know of this, did you?”
“No, I did not,” he replied.
Well, that’s a relief, she thought. But when she spoke, her words were, “Then I am glad I can be the one to save the Graystone name from such scandal.”
“We have done well enough without your help for the last two hundred years, Miss Montrose.”
“Oh, well—” her voice trailed away helplessly. The man really was utterly exasperating!
“Thank you for your concern, Miss Montrose.”
“I would really feel more comfortable if you called me Candice.”
“That’s fine. Now, if I may show you to the door . . .”
“You understand, Edward,” she persisted, “I mean no ill will toward the girl. But what would become of dear little Andrew if, when he was older, it was learned that he had in fact been raised by the daughter of a murderer?”
———
Whether the whole matter would have rested there is questionable, for Candice Montrose would no doubt not have given up so easily. And despite his protestations of scorn for the opinions of social circles, Edward Graystone could not help turning the thing over uneasily in his mind. If Candice was right—and though he did not trust her further than he could throw Andrew’s new red ball, he was quite sure she was careful enough not to go about spreading false rumors; no doubt the information was reliable—there could be certain adverse consequences. As much as he liked Jamie . . . well, he would have to think the matter over prudently.
Whatever conclusions Edward may have come to had he been allowed to pursue his thoughts will never be known. Nor can it be told whether Candice would have achieved her self-grasping designs through other methods had this particular scheme failed. Events were soon removed from either of their hands when Jamie learned the substance of their conversation regarding her.
Sid MacKay, despite his uncommunicative exterior, had taken a liking to Jamie MacLeod. He was intensely loyal to his laird and had seen the healthful changes in him in recent months. Attributing this brightening of the moral atmosphere around Aviemere to Jamie’s coming, he could not help feeling a fondness for her in his heart, on behalf of the Graystone family.
Never prior to Mary’s chance meeting with him in the village had he made the connection between Jamie and the stories that had circulated around a decade earlier about Lundie and Gilbert MacLeod. And even as he had put two and two together, he never suspected why the news that Jamie was in all probability the daughter of Lundie’s murderer had roused such a light in Mary’s eye. At least he did not suspect the danger he had exposed Jamie to until the next afternoon when he saw the Montrose daughter ride up in her carriage with the same gleam in her eye. Suddenly he realized his blunder, confirmed by Cameron the butler who had overheard the first of the conversation before closing the door behind him, leaving Graystone and the Montrose woman alone.
Not revealing to Cameron the reason for his inquiries regarding the interview, Sid took his way slowly back to the stables, pondering what best he could do to alleviate the effects of his horrible mistake. At length he did the only thing he could see his way clear to do: he sought Jamie out in the nursery and made a full and heartsick confession, begging her forgiveness for relating rumors which he had no way of knowing the truth for a certainty.
Jamie thanked him, then retreated to the solitude of her own room. She regretted now more than ever not having told the laird about her discoveries regarding her father. Now it would seem that she had kept the truth from him, and he would have every reason to suspect her of ulterior motives in the matter. Indeed, she had deliberately kept it a secret, but not for the reasons he was bound to suspect.
She spent the evening and a good portion of the night as well in prayer. She must face this squarely and forthrightly. She could never let herself be the cause of bringing scandal to either Andrew or Edward Graystone. By early morning she had made up her mind as to the only honorable course of action open to her. As soon as she judged prudent, she made her way to the library where she found Edward at his desk poring over the daily correspondence.
“What can I do for you, Jamie?” he asked, looking up.
“Mr. Graystone,” she began with poise in her tone, “something has come to my attention about which I must be very candid with you. I wanted you to know that I never meant to lie to you. That is—”
“Are you referring to the matter of your father?” he asked.
She nodded.
His features hardened and his eyes glinted in the old manner. “Gossip!” he exploded.
Suddenly he lurched to his feet as if pacing the room might stem some of the turbulent emotions churning within him. He strode to one of the bookshelves, then said, “I dealt with the matter, Jamie. And I made it clear I didn’t give a midge’s eyebrow for such gossip.”
“But, sir, it might not be gossip. That is, I don’t believe it is true. But everyone else does. That’s the way the matter was left twelve years ago.”
“I don’t care if it’s true or not.”
“But it could reflect on Andrew. I want you to know I never even considered the harm it could have done him. And I know you’re wondering why I never said anything.”
“As a matter-of-fact,” he said, “I’ve never once wondered, Jamie. I’ve grown to trust you and to trust your love for my son. If you said nothing, I’m certain you had good reasons.”
“There are reasons, sir. But I’ve wrestled with whether to make you aware of them or not. But if I’m going to come to you in honesty, then you deserve to be told.”
She paused and took a deep breath, looking nervous now for the first time.
“What is it, Jamie?”
“There is someone,” she began, “who accuses you—that is, the Graystones—of the murder my father is said to have committed as well as the murder of my father himself.”
“What?” he cried, and for a moment Jamie felt a surge of her old terror of the man. But she quickly calmed.
“Her accusations are all ridiculous. She’s—she’s an embittered old woman. And frightful in her own way. And I don’t believe her. I don’t really know what to believe! To think that either my father, or your family, could have murdered—it’s all just too awful even to think of.”
“Jamie, I hope none of this changes your—your position with us.”
“But don’t you see—it must!”
“It doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. No, I won’t hear of it!”
“There could be talk against you—against Andrew, as he grows.”
“I don’t care. I can handle a little scandal!”
“But, Mr. Graystone, I’m not sure I can.”
The answer brought him up short, and he said nothing.
He looked at Jamie standing before him. She was so strong in many ways—in all the ways that mattered—but still so vulnerable, delicate like one of her precious spring flowers. He thought of what she might have to face because of this—the scorn of gossip, and especially seeing the name of her father, whom she was now able to love, only in memory, dragged into the dirt of public humiliation.
Yes, maybe he could stand a scandal, but was it fair of him to ask her to endure one?
“Blast it all!” he cried, slamming his fist on the desk.
———
That very afternoon Jamie wrote to Emily Gilchrist.
Not a few tears dropped on the pages of her letter. Only a year ago she had cried at the prospect of leaving Emily. Now she was crying at the thought of going back.
The bonds that had developed within her heart for this place within such a short time were all but inexplicable on the conscious level. Certainly there was little Andrew. How could she ever bear leaving him? And no doubt a good part of the sorrow of parting had to do with the roots of her very existence which had begun and been nurtured not far from where she now stood.
But there was more. Though she could not quite explain what it was, and was perhaps a little afraid to try to explain it—for it was bound up in the person of Edward Graystone.
He had frightened her, intimidated her, angered her, but then gradually warmed to her, and finally joined her in faith. She had, without realizing it, become part of this man, his son and his home.
And it was not possible that such a parting could be easy.
But hers had been a life of sad and painful partings. And she would endure this one as she had all the others.
———
Two weeks later Jamie boarded a carriage, headed for the train which would take her to Aberdeen. Her heart had been drained by the emotion of the last several days, and it seemed impossible that her eyes could shed another tear. But suddenly the well was full to overflowing again, and as the carriage lurched away, more tears came and continued through half the journey.
Edward Graystone stood with his son and watched the carriage rumble away with as much dismay, though not nearly the innocent confusion as young Andrew. Why did he suddenly feel so desolate, so empty?
He knew they would never find another nurse like Jamie MacLeod.
Why had he let her go!
Yet he knew why, as did Jamie. And they both had to trust that somehow good would come of the parting as it had of the meeting.