If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4 Page 12

  So their kissing wasn’t uppermost in her mind, eh? His pleasuring her until she cried his name was already forgotten, too?

  She looked over the rail on the shady side of the byre at the sow and her piglets—said a few words of encouragement to the sow—then headed toward the castle kitchen without either a backward glance or a farewell.

  Although she did stop and admire a potted lemon tree on the steps before she disappeared through the door.

  He put his fists on his hips and turned in a slow circle, taking in the castle, the byre, the chicken yard, the sheep huddled on a nearby hill next to a crumbling stone wall that needed repair, and the sagging drawbridge that needed fixing.

  Then he remembered those sharp shears he’d seen hanging in the byre. And the obstinate look he’d seen in the eyes of sheep the few times in his life he’d bothered to notice them.

  “Bloody hell,” he said.

  London felt a long, long way off.

  Daisy inhaled a great breath when she got inside the kitchen of Castle Vandemere.

  Heavens, her little showdown with Charlie had been difficult to pull off. She was far from indifferent to him—remembering that hour late yesterday afternoon on the mountainside still made her heart beat faster and her limbs weak. But she could hardly afford to indulge in romantic feelings for a man who lived far away, had no intentions of ever settling down, and who could have any woman he wanted if he merely snapped his fingers.

  She was a temporary amusement.

  A false fiancée.

  She’d be amused herself if she didn’t feel so afraid of her own feelings. Charlie had made her feel beautiful. He’d made her laugh. He’d also brought her great pleasure. She’d like to be so pleasured every day for the rest of her life.

  He was the perfect companion, friend, and lover.

  But she wouldn’t think about that. She’d think instead of the viscount’s incredulous face as she’d stormed past him just now, thrust those menial jobs his way, and ruined his hopes of going on the hunt.

  He’d been so generous with her on those Stone Steps, but she couldn’t allow him to think she’d not be able to live without his attentions—and he also didn’t need any more spoiling.

  “Poor man,” she muttered as she sifted through Hester’s receipts, which she found in a little wooden box.

  Although she must take that back. He was not a poor man. She shouldn’t and wouldn’t feel sorry for him. He’d made a promise to assist her, and he was a gentleman. Supposedly, gentlemen ached to fulfill promises. So she was only helping him do his duty.

  “What was that you said, dearie?” Hester was bustling about, making cups of tea, a small frown on her face.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Daisy. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not really.” The housekeeper gave a small sigh. “It’s just that Jinx hasn’t come round for her morning saucer of milk. She’s like clockwork.”

  “Maybe she’s out on the prowl.”

  “That’s what I’m supposing.” Hester chuckled. “That’s the thing about cats. They’re independent. They come when they want to.” She eyed Daisy over her spectacles. “But back to you. Who are you calling a poor man? I presume you mean Joe? I’ve good news. His limp’s improving in this warm weather. He’s already off herding the sheep to the east pasture.”

  “You read me right.” Daisy threw her a nervous smile. “I was thinking of Joe.”

  “Of course.” Hester whistled as she poured the tea.

  Which meant she thought something wasn’t quite as it should be. She was worried about Jinx, but had she noticed something about Daisy, too?

  “All right,” Daisy confessed. “I was fibbing. I wasn’t referring to Joe. I called the viscount a poor man. He’s not used to doing chores and missing out on amusements. But he will over the next ten days. He’ll have to. It’s why he came up here, after all.”

  She waited for Hester to react.

  The older woman took her time, putting the kettle back on the hob and wiping her hands on her apron. “I think he’s a lovely lad,” she said. “And I’d call him a poor man, too, if he didn’t need this whole experience the way a thirsty man needs water.”

  “Do you think so?” Daisy brightened.

  Hester chuckled. “Of course! Every man needs to be challenged. I doot he’s ever been.” She wagged her finger at Daisy. “So behind his back, you may call him a poor man, but to his face, stay strong, my girl. Don’t give him an inch. He’ll be better for it.”

  “That’s a fine idea,” Daisy agreed, and renewed her vow once more to stay far away from Lord Lumley.

  “Even though he’s verra kissable,” Hester said lightly, and immediately turned her back to pull out a crock of flour.

  Daisy felt heat creep up her neck.

  Hester put her crock on the counter and came over to lay a hand over Daisy’s own. “Remember, lass, your heart is a precious thing. When you choose to give it away, make sure you give it to the right man. Sometimes you’ll meet him at the wrong time. He or you—or both of you—might need a little growin.’ Or you could meet the wrong man at the right time … someone who comes along at the moment you’re ready to soar like a bird—and then he goes and clips your wings.”

  Daisy bit her lip. “It all sounds scary. And very confusing.”

  “Not if you pay attention to your own heart, dear.” Hester gave Daisy a tremulous smile and patted her cheek. “You’ll know.”

  Daisy gave her a big hug. “You’re the best lady in the world.”

  At which moment the most wretched woman Daisy knew came into the kitchen. “Get back to work,” Mona hissed at them both. “It’s time we’re off to the Keep.”

  Hester’s cheeks were bright spots of pink. “Do ye not want to break your fast?”

  “No, old woman,” Mona said, “and don’t you dare ask me any more questions without a decent curtsy.”

  Daisy met Hester’s eyes.

  Ignore her, Daisy said with her own.

  Hester had terrible aches in her bones, but somehow she managed to make a respectable curtsy.

  Slowly.

  But she did it.

  “Would you care for anything from the kitchen to take with you, missus?” Hester asked when she stood straight again.

  “No.” Mona curled her lip. “Where’s the tea?”

  “Soon to boil,” Hester said placidly, but she cast a comically long-suffering eye Daisy’s way, which served to calm her desire to throttle her stepmother.

  At that moment, Cassandra and Perdita appeared, freshly bathed and dressed in their best walking gowns, which Daisy had pressed for them.

  “We’re looking for Lord Lumley,” Cassandra said without greeting anyone.

  Perdita nodded enthusiastically.

  They acted as if going to see Lord Lumley were incredibly exciting. It was, but who were they—or Daisy—to indulge themselves in daydreaming about his good looks and charismatic charm?

  Lord Lumley was off limits. A creature of pleasure. An emissary merely following his grandmother’s orders. A man with no interest in the residents of Castle Vandemere beyond a superficial interest, which he’d maintain until he could leave the glen forever.

  “I’ll go, too,” Daisy said.

  “Why?” asked Cassandra. “Have you forgotten what I told you? You don’t need to be around the viscount unless it’s strictly necessary.”

  She angled her head at Hester and mouthed the words poor house.

  Daisy wished she could narrow her eyes at her stepsister. But she dared not.

  “He’s to carry your trunks,” she said instead. “If you want them to arrive at the Keep when you do, he’ll need to know where the wheelbarrow and ropes are kept. I was about to show him, but if you’d rather—”

  “I wouldn’t dare set a foot in that byre,” Cassandra said in a surly manner.

  “Nor I,” Perdita added. “Although I like a nice wheelbarrow ride.”

  “Shut up, Perdita,” said her mother. “We
’ve no time for wheelbarrow rides.”

  “I’d like a ride of another sort,” Cassandra said under her breath, and flung a challenging look at Daisy. “I intend to get one, too.”

  Daisy knew exactly what she meant.

  Wicked girl.

  But if Cassandra thought she’d bed a certain viscount, she’d thought wrong.

  Once outside, Daisy let go of her aggravation. The air was as peppery fresh as it had ever been on a sunny summer morning. It was a perfect day for visitors to arrive and experience the Highlands.

  And she needn’t worry about Charlie. He wasn’t stupid. Cassandra’s charms were only skin-deep.

  Even so, a memory of the Stone Steps rushed back. He’s my viscount, Daisy thought. And I won’t give him up to any other woman.

  Which was silly of her, as she’d already told him there could be nothing between them.

  She cast a glance back at the kitchen window, where Hester stood watching them. The older woman pulled on her ear—which signified, Damned Furies!—then touched her fingertips to her lips and gently blew a kiss toward Daisy.

  Daisy smiled back, but inside, she was pensive. Hester and Joe meant everything to her. She couldn’t veer off course. Saving Castle Vandemere for them was paramount.

  Worrying a bit about Jinx, too, she scanned the grounds for a sign of the cat, and even called for her, but she didn’t come. Cassandra and Perdita made no effort to help, and Daisy put aside her own vague worries. It was much too soon to be concerned, she told herself. Surely Jinx was fine and was merely ignoring her call.

  So when she caught sight of Joe and the viscount, both of them looking down the mountainside, she allowed herself to feel a surge of happiness as she strolled toward them.

  But Cassandra stepped right in her path, forcing her aside.

  “Hello, Lord Lumley.” Cassandra batted her eyes at him.

  “Your coat is exquisite,” said Perdita in a plodding manner.

  She’d obviously practiced her words.

  “Good morning, ladies,” the viscount answered in a gallant fashion but didn’t bother to glance at Daisy.

  Well, what could she expect after their earlier conversation?

  Cassandra sent a gloating look her way.

  It took everything Daisy had in her to ignore it and appear completely at ease.

  “The visitors have arrived even sooner than we expected,” Charlie said. “We saw them pull into the village. They’ll need to rest the horses before they dare attempt the slope.”

  “Five coaches and six outriders,” Joe announced.

  “How exciting,” Daisy said.

  “I can’t wait,” Cassandra said.

  “Nor I,” said Perdita.

  For a moment, they were all united in their excitement, their differences forgotten.

  But that bad feeling dogged Daisy. She was sure it had everything to do with the fact that she and Charlie were not ever to be together again. But something in her prompted her to say: “Have you seen Jinx?”

  “She lives in the kitchen,” said Joe right away.

  “I know,” Daisy said, “but she’s not there. She hasn’t even come in for her dish of goat’s milk.”

  Perdita snorted.

  Daisy whirled around and looked at her. Perdita scratched her nose in an offhand manner, but her eyes glinted with glee when she exchanged glances with her sister.

  Perdita had done something to Jinx. Daisy just knew it. And Cassandra had helped.

  The witches.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Charlie was shocked to see the fierce look on Daisy’s face, and even more surprised to see her stand toe to toe with her large stepsister. “Where is she? What have you done with Jinx?”

  Miss Perdita whimpered. “I don’t know. I haven’t done anything to her.”

  “You’re lying.” Daisy turned to Miss Cassandra. “If you were cruel to that cat in any way—”

  “I don’t like your threatening tone.” Miss Cassandra managed to look angelic. “You have a tendency to be impulsive—”

  “Oh, bother with that.” Daisy put her hands on her hips. “Where’s Jinx?”

  “If either of you knows, out with it,” Charlie urged the two girls. He was disgusted with their obvious guilt.

  Miss Cassandra drew herself up and looked at him with wide eyes. “Of course we didn’t harm Hester’s cat.” She put her chin in the air. “I’m horribly hurt, Daisy, that you think we’re capable of cruelty to an innocent animal. You’re embarrassing the entire family in front of the viscount. You’re volatile, careless—”

  “Careless?” Daisy’s face flared red. “How have I been careless? I care enough to look for her—”

  Miss Cassandra put on a patient look and swiveled to face him. “You do know about the tragedy, don’t you?”

  Charlie felt vastly uncomfortable. Something was terribly wrong here. “No,” he said, and wished he could walk away. This was a family squabble. Private business. He didn’t belong.

  But Daisy was obviously outnumbered and outflanked, and damned if he was going to let her stepsisters hide the truth about the cat. He already had a soft spot for Hester, and he wanted answers, too.

  “Now is not the time,” Daisy said to Miss Cassandra.

  Charlie couldn’t agree more.

  The charged atmosphere sent Joe limping away.

  Miss Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and locked gazes with Charlie. “She burned down the bungalow.” She wore a distasteful smirk.

  The words made no sense at first. It took several seconds for Charlie to understand.

  Daisy looked at him with steel in her expression. “It was an accident.”

  “Yes,” said Miss Cassandra, “but you were careless.” She looked at Charlie. “Sadly, her father—my stepfather—was so traumatized by the incident, he died a week later.”

  Miss Perdita began to tremble.

  A sheen of tears appeared in Daisy’s eyes. “You are cruel, Cassandra. How could you bring that up now?”

  “I wasn’t trying to be cruel!” Miss Perdita roared, and put her hands over her ears.

  “Enough.” Miss Cassandra laid a hand on Perdita’s shoulder. “Jinx is fine.”

  “Then where is she?” Daisy demanded to know, but her voice was thin with worry.

  “Be quick and tell us,” Charlie interjected.

  Miss Perdita merely stared goggle eyed at all of them, her hands still over her ears.

  “She’s locked in Perdita’s wardrobe,” Miss Cassandra said quietly.

  “We put her in,” Miss Perdita boomed. “And I turned the key.”

  “How could you?” Daisy’s voice trembled with fury. “The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Miss Cassandra lifted her chin. “Perdita did it and told me afterward. I was on my way to getting the cat out when we were diverted by news of the visitors.”

  “No you weren’t,” Daisy said. “You strolled into the kitchen, and—”

  She felt a restraining hand on her arm. It was Charlie, and she couldn’t help but take comfort from it.

  “Just go let the poor animal out of the wardrobe,” he said quietly to Miss Cassandra, who blinked at him once and turned on her heel.

  “Follow me, Perdita,” she said in injured tones. “As usual, I am being blamed for your folly.”

  Miss Perdita finally dropped her hands from her ears and lumbered after her sister, shaking her head all the while. “I’m going to tell Mother, and Daisy will get in trouble. Not me. How dare she say I did anything wrong?”

  Charlie watched Joe limp after them. He’d see to it that Jinx’s release was complete.

  When they all disappeared into the house, Charlie looked at Daisy. “What’s going on?”

  She had a hollow look about her. “You heard them.”

  “Yes,” he said. There was a moment’s silence. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  He could see her jaw working.

  “We don’t have to talk
about it,” he assured her.

  She looked at the ground but cocked her head to her right. “Do you see that empty spot, over by the oak and rowan trees? It looks as if something was once there?”

  He nodded.

  She wouldn’t look at the site herself. “That was where my mother’s bungalow stood. Papa built it for her. She painted there. It was the perfect spot, she said. She could see everything—all the way down the glen to the village, and up to the top of Ben Fennon.”

  “I see.” He waited for her to go on.

  “I used to go there, too, to sew at Mama’s feet. And after she died, I continued. It was my haven. I did almost all my sewing there. Papa would come in, too, and sit and write occasionally. The place reminded us both of my mother.” She took a breath. “One night, I was sewing late, and I must have left a candle burning—”

  She hesitated again, and he saw her jaw work even more.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t need to talk about it. And you mustn’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”

  She looked up at him then with the most mournful eyes he’d ever seen. “I know,” she whispered. “It was a terrible accident.”

  He wanted to take her into his arms then and assuage her grief. But he daren’t. No doubt Cassandra and Perdita were watching them from the castle windows. And she didn’t want him to get close, did she?

  Not an hour before, she’d let him know very clearly that their intimacy couldn’t continue.

  “At least Jinx is safe,” he reminded her.

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “Yes, that’s true. It would have broken Hester’s heart if she’d been hurt. Mine, too.”

  They began a slow walk toward the sheep pasture.

  Daisy allowed her mouth to quirk up on one side. “I long for the day when Castle Vandemere is ours again.”

  Her home had slipped out of sight. They were beyond the byre now, with only fields before them and the long, curving road that wended its way down the slope of Ben Fennon to the village below.

  “Ours?” he asked.

  “Mine, Hester’s, and Joe’s.” She bit her lip and was silent a moment. “That’s the way it needs to be,” she said eventually. “The castle will be ours. Not my stepmother’s nor my stepsisters’. Because unless a miracle occurs and they change in the near future, I’m—I’m going to kick them out.” She looked up at Charlie, almost as if she were fearful. Or would faint.