The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [78]
The spirit departed shortly thereafter, and Sinjun would have sworn she heard a soft giggle.
Colin called out her name even as he strode up the well-indented stone steps of the castle.
“Joan!”
It was Philip and Dahling who greeted him, Dahling flinging her arms about his leg, crying that Sinjun was mean and nasty and ugly and utterly cruel.
As for Philip, he kept still. Colin hugged both his children and asked them where Joan was.
“Joan?” Philip said blankly. “Oh, her. She’s everywhere at once. She does everything. She won’t let anyone rest. It’s provoking, Papa.”
Then Aunt Arleth was there, hissing as close to his ear as she could get that the girl he’d had to marry was giving everyone orders and ruining everything, and what was he going to do about it? It lacked but Serena, and she made her entrance in the next minute.
She smiled at him sweetly, went up on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the mouth. He was startled and drew back. Her smile didn’t falter.
“I am glad you’re back,” she said in her soft voice, and his eyebrow arched upward a good inch.
“All of you—Dahling, let go of my leg now; Philip, take your sister away from here. Where? Anywhere, I don’t care. Arleth, a moment, please. Where’s Joan?”
“I’m here, Colin.”
He looked up to see her coming down the wide staircase. She was wearing a new gown, a very simple muslin of soft pale yellow, not at all stylish, a gown such as a country maid would wear, but, somehow, on Joan it looked smart as could be. He’d missed her. He’d thought of her more than he’d liked and had come home before he’d accomplished all he’d needed to in order to see her. Yes, he thought, she looked very nice indeed, and he couldn’t wait to strip off that gown and kiss her and plunge into her. Then he sniffed, and his pleasant fantasy vanished. Beeswax and lemon. Images of his mother rose to his mind and he stiffened, for that was surely impossible.
Then he looked around and what he saw made him blink.
Everything was spotless, not that he’d ever noticed that it had been particularly dirty before. But now he remembered, oh yes, he remembered.
The chandelier looked to be new, the marble floor was so clean he could see his reflection. He didn’t say anything. He was stunned. He walked into the drawing room, then into the Laird’s Inbetween Room. There were new draperies that appeared nearly the same as the old but weren’t, and there were what couldn’t be new carpets, yet their blues and reds shone vivid in the afternoon sunlight.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Colin.”
He looked at his wife, saw that her lips were pursed, and he said low, “I see you have been busy, Joan.”
“Oh yes, we all have. You will notice the draperies, Colin. They are new but I copied the same fabric. Can you believe the warehouse in Dundee still carried the same fabric? It’s a pattern from nearly fifty years ago! Is it not wonderful?”
“I liked the draperies as they were.”
“Oh? You mean you liked dust and years upon years of grime dripping onto the floor?”
“Those carpets look odd.”
“Assuredly so. They are clean. They no longer send up clouds of dust when you walk across them.”
He opened his mouth but she forestalled him, raising her hand. “Let me guess—you preferred them as they were.”
“Yes. As I said, you have been busy, have done things I did not approve.”
“Should I perchance have lazed about on a chaise, reading novels that you don’t have in that moth-eaten chamber you call a library, eating broonies?”
He realized they were standing three feet apart, but he made no move to close the distance. He was in the right and he had to make her understand, make her apologize. “You should have waited for me. I specifically asked you to make your lists for my review and then we—”
“Papa, she is cruel and nasty to Philip and me! She even made me stay in my room one morning and it was a lovely day.”
“Even my children, Joan?” Colin looked down at his daughter. “Go to Dulcie. I