The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [77]
“I knew you’d come back.”
“Yes, naturally. I live here.”
Philip kicked a pebble with a very worn shoe. “I’ll do better next time.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. She grinned and ruffled his beautiful thick black hair—his father’s hair. “I have no doubt you will try to do better, but listen, Philip. I am here to stay, you know. Best accustom yourself, don’t you think?”
“Dahling’s right. You are ugly.”
Sinjun was lying in her bed, wide awake, staring up at the black ceiling. It had been well over a week now, and still no word from Colin. She was worried; no, she was angry. The Tudor rooms were all immaculate and nearly all her two hundred pounds were gone. She was tempted to go to Edinburgh, not just to track down her husband but to get more funds. The people who were working for her surely deserved money for their efforts, not promises.
The carpenters were ready to move on to Colin’s north tower. Perhaps she should wait; perhaps she should allow him to oversee the work. No, damn him. He didn’t deserve the fun. She turned on her side, then flopped again onto her back and sighed.
She’d had her first visitors today, a local viscount and his wife, and they had come to see the heiress who’d saved the laird’s hide.
She chanced to hear Aunt Arleth say, “ ’Tis a mighty burden for all of us, Louisa. She might be an heiress, but she’s most ill-bred and has no respect for her betters. She pays me no heed at all, ordering everyone about, she does.”
Sir Hector MacBean had been looking about him with growing appreciation and no little astonishment. “I fancy her orders have accomplished a great deal, Arleth. The place smells positively clean. Louisa, just look up at the chandelier. I vow I used to fear walking beneath that monstrosity. Now it sparkles and it looks to have a new chain holding it up.”
And that, Sinjun thought, arranging the skirts of the only gown left to her, was her cue to enter, which she did, all smiles.
The visit had gone off nicely. Philpot, attired in his new uniform of stark black and white, served Cook’s clootie dumplings, surely the most delicious dish in all the world. He was as regal as King George III on one of his better days, and just as frigidly polite.
Aunt Arleth looked ready to spit. Sinjun had offered her a clootie dumpling, saying, “The custard sauce Cook makes defies description. Isn’t it delicious, Aunt?”
Aunt Arleth was stuck. She could but nod.
The MacBeans were pleasant and appeared sincerely fond of Colin. When they were on the point of leaving, Lady Louisa smiled at Sinjun, patted her arm, and said in a low voice, “You seem a very competent girl. There is much here at Vere Castle that is odd, and all those damnable rumors, of course, but I fancy that you will bring things aright and ignore the talk, for it is nonsense naturally.”
Whatever that meant, Sinjun thought, thanking the woman.
She remained on the front steps to wave them away. Aunt Arleth said, “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us. Well, I daresay that Louisa saw through you. She will tell everyone that you are a mushroom, a no-account upstart that—”
“Aunt Arleth, I’m the daughter of an earl. If that makes me a mushroom, then you have need of further education. You will cease your diatribes. I have much to do.” She turned, not giving Arleth a chance to say more. “Dahling! Come here, sweeting, we have a gown to fit on you.”
The night before there had been a snake in Sinjun’s bed: long and black and slithering frantically about, trying to hide. She’d blinked, then smiled. Wrapping it gently around her arm, she had carried the poor snake downstairs and let it escape into the overgrown gardens.
She wondered what they would do this night. She hadn’t long to wait. It turned out to be a repeat of the first hoary ghost performance. They were quite talented