Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel Page 23

  Bernadette stood at the sideboard next to Charles, who had the unpleasant task of serving his lordship.

  “I, for one, will be quite relieved when this interminable wedding is over and we might leave this godforsaken place and return to Bothing!” Lord Kent snapped through a mouthful of potatoes in response to Avaline’s question as to whether the wedding breakfast should include fish or beef.

  “I don’t like to think of you leaving,” Avaline said with a bit of a girlish mewl in her voice. Bernadette didn’t know why she said it—it was a sentiment she knew not to be true, and moreover, it earned Avaline a tongue-lashing.

  “Do not induce me to fury, Avaline! If there is one thing which I cannot abide, it is your constant complaint!”

  “My constant—”

  “Not a word!” he bellowed, pointing a menacing fork at her. “It will not do to attend your wedding with a fat lip!”

  Naturally, Avaline fled the room in tears. Lord Kent dabbed at his perspiring forehead with his napkin. His wife didn’t move as much as a finger, and neither did Bernadette. That didn’t stop his lordship from curling his lip and saying nastily to his wife, “You have succeeded, madam, in rearing a bloody dandelion for a daughter! I don’t know why I ever dared to expect more from you—look at you, sitting there like a lump of clay.

  “And you,” he said, turning his head to level a look at Bernadette. “I have taken you into my home to do what she failed to do,” he said, pointing at his wife. “And what have you done? Nothing! You’re as useless as the others! For God’s sake, do something about Avaline’s face before our guests arrive. I won’t have it swollen from her bloody tears.” He suddenly pushed back from the table and threw his napkin to the ground. “I’ve had all I can abide.” He stalked out of the room, shouting at the heavens to tell him what he’d ever done to deserve being saddled with the most useless women in all of England.

  Lady Kent waited until she heard the sound of a door being slammed firmly shut, then she hurried from the room, too, her head down, her face pale.

  Bernadette looked at Charles, who’d stood stoically at the sideboard as his lordship had railed. “He’s in a mood,” Charles muttered as he picked up his lordship’s plate.

  “Too much drink,” Bernadette said. She pushed away from the sideboard and took her leave as well.

  She didn’t go to see about Avaline’s face, however—she couldn’t face her again, not yet. She was still reeling. It was almost like a dream—Bernadette had admitted something so awful, so unforgivable, and Avaline had seemed not to care at all. A strong sense of foreboding was pressing down on her now, making her feel slightly panicked.

  Something wasn’t right. Something about the way Avaline had taken the news was not right.

  Bernadette ducked into the unfinished morning room and quietly shut the door. She stood with her back to a wall, holding herself, her eyes closed, and thought of the way Rabbie had held her, the way he’d looked at her, and the emotion, the relief and the adoration swimming in his eyes. She pictured him at the altar with Avaline. How could she bear to hear him swear to honor Avaline and be faithful to her? It was not to be born.

  Bernadette ached with yearning for him. She turned and put her cheek to the wall, sliding her hand up the paneling, and closed her eyes. She thought she’d borne the worst this life had offered her, but she was beginning to fear she’d not yet begun to know pain. She would be forced to wait on Avaline after she was sleeping in Rabbie’s bed. She would be forced to listen to Avaline as she shared their most intimate details. She would see a baby grow in Avaline’s belly, and she could say nothing, do nothing, for even the slightest glance would betray her agony and her impossible feelings for Avaline’s husband.

  “I can’t remain here,” she said aloud, and opened her eyes. There was nothing to be done for it—she had to leave. At once. She would not stay here and watch their marriage unfold and be tormented at every turn. If Avaline didn’t have sense enough to turn her out, then she would resign her post and return to Highfield, no matter how difficult that would be. Whatever her father dealt out to her would surely be less painful than remaining here to suffer.

  She pushed away from the wall, smoothed her gown and tucked up a tress of her hair. Tomorrow, then. She would see her way through this interminable supper, would pack her few things and resign her post first thing in the morning.

  * * *

  SOMEHOW, BERNADETTE MANAGED to make it through the rest of the day in spite of the disorderly jumble of competing thoughts in her head. She repaired the hem on the gown Avaline was excited to wear this evening, which she’d thrust on Bernadette as if they’d never spoken this morning. She chattered about the wedding, and the wedding cup they would drink from, and the fish that would be served at the wedding breakfast. From all outward appearances, it seemed as if she was now looking forward to this wedding. Maybe she’d changed her opinion of Rabbie, too. Maybe she’d seen the same things in him that Bernadette had seen.

  When the hem was prepared, Bernadette helped Lady Kent prepare place names for the wedding breakfast seating. By some miracle, the stroke of Bernadette’s quill was strong and steady. Remarkable, given that she almost blindly wrote each name, her mind’s eye filled with images of Rabbie.

  She bathed and washed her hair, then dressed for dinner. She wore a pale silver mantua and stomacher, intricately embroidered with gold thread, and a trail of rosebuds sewn into the stomacher and around the edge of the sleeves. It was Bernadette’s best gown, the one she reserved for special occasions. She had meant to wear it to Avaline’s wedding, but now she wanted Rabbie to remember her in this gown when he thought of her in the weeks and months and years to come...if he remembered her at all. She winced at the thought, but it was entirely possible that with time, Rabbie would come to love Avaline, and Bernadette would be forgotten except perhaps in those moments when he happened to walk out on the cliff.

  A knock at her door was followed by Charles’s deep voice. “The Mackenzies have come.”

  Bernadette took one last look at herself. At least she didn’t appear as haunted as she felt. She drew a deep breath, then made her way downstairs.

  The Mackenzies had come on horseback. Catriona was the first one to alight, and explained that her sister and her husband would not be attending this evening, as one of their children had turned ill. Lord Mackenzie was quite dashing on a horse, Bernadette thought, and she could see the sort of figure he must have presented to Lady Mackenzie all those years ago. Lady Mackenzie and Mrs. Cailean Mackenzie wore cloaks with hoods that covered their hair, and looked remarkably fresh after the ride. Cailean and Aulay Mackenzie, and Lord Chatwick, followed. Behind them was Rabbie.

  He was not wearing the plaid today, but had dressed in evening attire she might see on an English gentleman. His neck cloth was tied with precision, his waistcoat plain, but clearly made of superior fabric. His hair was neatly combed and tied in a queue. In her eyes, he was the most handsome among them. A truly stunning, full figure of a man. But Bernadette almost preferred the rough-hewn side of him.

  His gaze met hers for a single, sizzling moment as he dismounted. She feared he would speak to her, and she would collapse with grief, but then he turned his head and moved forward to greet the Kents.

  Lord Kent had apparently spent the afternoon in his study with his whisky, for his wig was slightly askew and his neck cloth tied crookedly, and he was talking loudly about the lack of good servants in the Highlands, wondering aloud if the Mackenzies fared any better, then invited them inside.

  As the gentlemen stood back to allow the ladies to precede them, Rabbie glanced at Bernadette. “Feasgar math,” he said lightly...but his eyes were boring through hers.

  Bernadette could not bear to be so close to him and not touch him. Her only defense was to pretend as if nothing had happened between them. She inclined her head and curtsied. “Good e
vening, sir.”

  “Oh, Miss Holly!” Lady Mackenzie said, halting her progress toward the door. “You’ve not had the pleasure of meeting my oldest son and his wife,” she said, and introduced her to Mr. Cailean Mackenzie and his wife.

  “How do you do,” Bernadette said, greeting them. Mrs. Cailean Mackenzie smiled warmly and spoke to Bernadette about Scotland. While Bernadette somehow managed to answer her polite questions, she noticed from the corner of her eye that Avaline was standing with Aulay, and she observed how quickly her smile faded when Rabbie approached her. Bernadette’s anxiety began to soar. None of it made sense—Avaline had been so bloody cheerful about the wedding this afternoon, and now she looked as if she’d just realized who she’d be marrying and found him wanting.

  The party meandered into the main salon, Bernadette the last to enter. She stood to one side, wishing she could disappear and trying hopelessly not to stare at Rabbie. Lord Kent was prattling about something to do with the cook, his voice loud and grating. What in blazes had happened with the cook? Whatever it was, he seemed obsessed with it.

  Bernadette’s head began to ache. She touched her fingers to her temple, her thoughts and feelings roaring in her head. Nothing was making sense to her. Everything felt upside down.

  The women arranged themselves on the settees, and the men took up positions about the room. Lord Chatwick was the only one of the gentlemen to sit, finding a seat next to Avaline on the settee.

  Did she imagine it, or did everyone seem unusually tense? Bernadette glanced again at Rabbie. He was speaking quietly to his brother’s wife, and suddenly, both of them glanced at Bernadette. She quickly averted her gaze.

  In that moment, Charles appeared before her. He handed her a glass of wine and said quietly, “The cook is leaving.”

  Bernadette’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  He nodded, his gaze sliding to Lord Kent before walking away.

  Bernadette turned her head, meaning to get Lady Kent’s attention, but Rabbie was moving casually toward her. She panicked. She looked about for an escape and, finding none, she unthinkingly curtsied again.

  “You greet me so formally,” he said.

  “I, ah...” She glanced nervously at Avaline, but she was engaged in conversation with Catriona and Aulay. “I don’t think I should greet you at all.”

  Bernadette couldn’t help herself—she looked at him then. She could see his regard for her, could feel it, and it made her sick with despair. Who would ever look at her like that again? Who would look past what had happened to her and see her for who she was? Would Rabbie still hold her in such high regard if he knew everything about her? If he knew that she couldn’t bear children? She would never know—there would never be a reason to admit such a dark truth to him.

  “Perhaps no’, but I canna abide being in the same room with you and no’ speaking to you, aye? I’ve thought of naugh’ but you, Bernadette,” he muttered. “I canna sleep, I canna eat.”

  “Neither can I,” she whispered, and looked away from him. “But we’ve made everything so much worse.”

  “Worse? No, Bernadette—you’ve given me hope, you have.”

  “Don’t say it,” she begged him. “It’s impossible.” She caught sight of Renard returning to the room. He walked directly to Lord Kent, who was holding forth about something, and bent down to whisper in his ear. “I told Avaline about us,” she whispered.

  “Pardon?” Rabbie said, a little louder.

  Bernadette was frantic—they would notice, they would all see, they would understand what she and Rabbie had done. She moved, meaning to step away, but Rabbie caught her elbow and pulled her around, moving her to the hearth. He pointed at the cornice above the mantel, and said, quite loudly, “This piece was handcrafted by Mr. Abernathy.”

  Bernadette shifted her gaze upward.

  “Why?” he demanded under his breath.

  “I told you—I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d betrayed her so.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “And?” he asked impatiently.

  “And...she didn’t care,” Bernadette said, and looked at him then. “She intends to—”

  “Miss Holly! Miss Holly, come away from there at once and come with me!” Lord Kent said loudly.

  Bernadette’s heart lurched—her first thought was that he’d discovered what she and Rabbie had done. She whirled around, but Lord Kent was stalking out of the room, and Renard gestured for her to follow. She and Rabbie exchanged a look, and then she hurried from the room, following his lordship to the kitchen.

  Mrs. MacInerny, the hired cook, had removed her apron and was wrapping her cloak about her.

  “Where in God’s name do you think you’re going?” Lord Kent railed at her as Renard and Bernadette crowded in behind him.

  Mrs. MacInerny responded quite heatedly in Gaelic, with a finger shaking directed at his lordship that so startled Bernadette, she gasped. The woman then turned about and stomped out of the kitchen. A moment later, they heard the kitchen’s exterior door slam.

  A girl, hardly taller than the kitchen table, stood clutching a pot and looking terrified.

  Lord Kent swung around to Bernadette. “You’ll have to finish the slop she was making.”

  “Me?” Bernadette cried. “I don’t know how—”

  “I don’t care, you’ll learn!” he said hotly. “I will not be made a fool of before the likes of these Highland thieves! Finish the meal.” He moved to depart so abruptly and with so little balance that he almost collided with Renard. “Move aside!” he barked, and stormed out of the kitchen.

  Bernadette looked helplessly at Renard. “I’m no cook! I don’t have the slightest notion how to do it!”

  “Do what you can. You’re the only hope we have,” he said, and went after Lord Kent.

  Bernadette couldn’t catch her breath. She was wheezing with panic. She looked down at her beautiful gown and winced. Then she remembered the girl and looked up. “What is your name?”

  “Ina.” The girl was shaking.

  “Do you know how to cook?” Bernadette asked, the desperation clear in her voice.

  “A wee bit, aye,” Ina said.

  “Heaven help us, then, Ina,” Bernadette said, and picked up the apron Mrs. MacInerny had discarded and put it on. “You’ll have to teach me what you know, because I know even less than a wee bit.”

  If there was one saving grace, it was that Mrs. MacInerny had mentioned to Ina that the lamb and potatoes were very nearly done roasting before she’d had her argument with Renard about the meal and had thrown her apron to the ground and fled. But the bread had not yet finished baking and the soup was something of a mystery. Bernadette and Ina couldn’t even determine what sort of soup it was supposed to be. They added ingredients, but the taste changed little. Ina was in the midst of finishing a pie, and called out suggestions to Bernadette as she worked.

  Bernadette was frantic. She couldn’t say how much time had passed, but it seemed as if hours were ticking by. Her anxiety was made worse by the fact that Renard seemed to appear every few minutes, demanding to know when the meal could be served. No wonder Mrs. MacInerny had quit.

  On his fourth or fifth appearance, Bernadette said irritably, “I’ll come and find you when it’s done, Renard, but your constant presence isn’t helping in the least!”

  “They are restless. They’ve all gone out into the gardens, and Lord Kent is drunk.”

  “He’s always drunk,” she curtly reminded him. “I’m doing the best I can,” she pleaded. “I think we are close. Let me come to you, please.”

  Renard blew out his cheeks, then nodded. “You will find me on the terrace,” he said. “Make haste, Miss Holly!”

  “What does he think, that I’m at my leisure?” she asked when his back had disappeared through the door. She add
ed salt to the soup, then tasted it. “Dear God, it’s awful,” she said, as Ina removed the bread from the oven. “But I think it’s at least edible. Come, come,” she said, gesturing for the girl to come forward.

  Ina tasted the soup. She frowned a little. “Aye, ’tis edible,” she agreed half-heartedly.

  “Thank God,” Bernadette said, and removed the apron. “I’ll fetch Renard. Keep it warm, Ina!” She went out the kitchen door, knowing that the path around the edge of the house to the terrace was quicker than going through the house.

  She rounded the corner, practically at a run, but was brought up short to almost stumbling by the sight of the backside of Avaline’s dress at the next corner of the house. Avaline was standing in the hedgerow, and Bernadette could hear her pleading with someone, although Bernadette couldn’t make out what she was saying. Was she speaking to Rabbie? Her heart clenched, and she slowly moved forward, expecting to find Avaline berating him about kissing Bernadette. She slowed, uncertain what she ought to do. But as she neared them, she saw it was Aulay. His arms were crossed implacably across his chest. Whatever Avaline had said had clearly displeased him.

  Bernadette stepped forward, meaning to announce herself, but Avaline suddenly threw her arms around Aulay’s neck and kissed him, full on the mouth. Aulay made a sound of alarm at the same time Bernadette gasped. His hands found Avaline’s waist and he roughly set her back. “What in bloody hell is the matter with you?” he shouted.

  Avaline never had a chance to answer, as Lord Kent came stumbling onto that scene, roaring at his daughter, his face red with rage. He must have seen them from the other walk.

  His drunken shouting brought everyone else. Aulay moved away from Avaline, his expression quite angry, and Avaline began to sob. Lord Kent began to berate Aulay, who shouted at him in return, then he turned his shouting to Gaelic when his brothers appeared, all the while gesturing at Avaline. They looked at him, then at Avaline. Rabbie stared at his fiancée, his expression stoic.

  Then Lord Kent grabbed Avaline by the arm and yanked her away from Aulay. Avaline screamed as he tried to drag her in the direction of the terrace. Bernadette didn’t think—she ran forward to help Avaline, but Rabbie reached Avaline first. He grabbed Lord Kent’s arm and jerked it away from Avaline, then pushed him back against the wall with one hand. “You’ll keep your hands from her,” he said calmly. Lord Kent was so drunk he stumbled and fell sideways, righting himself just before he might have sprawled on the ground.