The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (29 page)

Epilogue

A year later

Mairi lumbered into the dining room, frowning at her husband when a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“You try being as big as a carriage,” she said. “You wouldn’t be amused.”

Logan pulled out a chair for her, glanced at the mound of her stomach, and moved the chair even farther from the table.

“You have three more months,” he reminded her. “I can’t wait to see how large you get then.”

Mairi rolled her eyes. “You’re entirely too large,” she said. “Our daughter is going to be a mammoth child.”

“Or our son,” he said, the argument of long duration.

Virginia laughed, and when Mairi frowned at her made no effort to contain her amusement.

Macrath’s three children were alternately angels and devils, depending on their moods. Mairi and Logan’s offspring were no doubt going to be the same, especially given the stubbornness of their parents.

Macrath glanced at Virginia and then away, no doubt in an effort to keep from laughing as well.

Ellice watched them all, feeling a surge of joy that they were family, one not related by blood as much as choice.

They’d all converged on Drumvagen at Virginia’s request. Tomorrow they would leave for home again, but not before making plans for another reunion. Perhaps their next meeting would be in Edinburgh when Mairi’s child was born.

Reaching beneath the table, she grabbed Ross’s hand. They weren’t seated in proper dinner party style, not as they would be when they entertained at Huntly.

To her great surprise, she was quite a good hostess. All she really had to do was remember people’s names and find something about them to compliment. Since she knew how it felt to be uncomfortable and out of place, she was very good at that.

Over the last year, ever since Ross had been elected a representative peer, they’d entertained at least every week, especially when they were in Scotland. In London their home was in a lovely town house in a fashionable square, not far from where her mother now lived.

The Dowager Countess of Barrett had no qualms about taking vast sums of money from her son-in-law, who, thank Providence, had no reservations about spending it on her.

Ross had purchased a large town house for Enid and settled a generous annual sum on her as an allowance. That amount, along with the funds she’d earned from her book on housewifery hints, was enough to ensure she lived in luxury.

Her mother was overjoyed to be back in the most civilized city in the world, as she called it. As a Dowager Countess and the mother of a countess, not to mention the author of a best-selling book, Enid was feted and very popular.

Life at Drumvagen had settled back to a peaceful place with Enid remaining in London and Brianag resuming as resident martinet.

As far as her own home, Ellice had made Huntly hers in small ways, but it was Ross who’d done the most. Not only had he allowed Huntly’s staff to tour the library and read any books they wished, but one day he’d blindfolded her, leading her laughing through the house. Once they arrived at the Yellow Parlor, he removed the blindfold and showed her the shiny brass plaque on the door.

“The Lady Pamela Parlor?” she asked. She couldn’t see for blinking back her tears, especially when she entered the room to find that the painting of flowers above the mantel had been replaced by the new portrait of her he’d recently commissioned.

She looked beautiful. More, she looked happy.

Tonight he would look the same after she told him her own news. Mairi wasn’t the only one who was going to be huge in a few months.

Her mother-in-law would be pleased, but then Janet often looked happy lately, especially after her trip to Italy. She’d been gone for months, finally arriving home with tanned cheeks, a perpetual smile, and plans to visit Spain next summer. Coincidentally, they’d learned that Mr. McMahon had made a recent buying trip to the Continent.

When Ross would have spoken to his mother, Ellice discouraged him.

“Let her have her secrets,” she said.

Now it looked as if her family had their own.

Mairi glanced at Ross, who looked at her, then at Logan. Before she had a chance to ask what they were about, Virginia said, “Oh, do tell her.”

Mairi nodded.

Logan reached down, handing a parcel to Ross, who passed it to her.

From its heft and size, she could tell it was a book. The smell of the leather was strong even through the paper. Slowly, she unwrapped the package to see a blue leather-bound book with gilt-edged pages. The title was inscribed on the front in elaborate gold script.

THE LU
STFUL ADVENTURES OF LADY PAMELA

By Ellice Forster, Countess of Gadsden

She stared at it, spellbound.

“Nothing’s changed,” Ross said. “Not Donald’s appearance or the house. It’ll make people wonder if it’s based on real life or not.”

“You used my name.” She traced her fingers over the incised gold letters.

“Why should you do all that work and not be recognized for it?” Ross said. “It’s a very good book, Ellice.”

She shook her head. “You daft man. They’ll drum you out of Parliament.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I’m a very good representative peer. If I lose the next election, they didn’t deserve me anyway.”

“You won’t lose,” Logan said, smiling.

Ross stood, gathered her up in his arms, smoothing his fingers over her tears.

She looked at them all: Macrath and Virginia, Mairi and Logan, and her own beloved Ross. Her imagination was silent because there was nothing more wonderful than this moment and these people.

Macrath Sinclair looked around the table before his gaze rested on Virginia, the woman responsible for filling his heart and his home with people he loved. Each of the people at this table had brought something to his life, and he hoped he enriched theirs as well.

Logan Harrison placed his hand on the mound of his wife’s stomach beneath the table. Even here, in the soft light from the candles, he could see that their babe was insistent and active. Mairi glanced at him and smiled, used to his touch.

Virginia blinked away her tears. Upstairs, her children slept, each one healthy and happy, members of a clan the man at her side had created, heirs to the empire he founded. Once, fate had seemed pitiless, but now her life was filled with joy.

The summer storm that had been threatening all day blossomed over Drumvagen’s roof. Thunder raced from cloud to cloud almost in celebration. Lightning created a show of fireworks and wind whistled in appreciation.

The house, built to shield and support a family, stood resolute beneath the onslaught.

Ross bent his head and kissed Ellice. She dropped the book on the table, wrapped her arms around his neck and enthusiastically kissed him back to the accompaniment of fond laughter.

Author’s Notes

H
untly was modeled after an estate not far from Edinburgh. As is common when I borrow a location, I’ve changed enough details that it would probably not be recognizable to those familiar with the house and all its wonders. Drumvagen, as well, was inspired by a house in Scotland.

Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure
, or
Fanny Hill
as we’ve come to call it, was published in 1748.
The History of Tom Jones
,
a Foundling,
also known as
Tom Jones,
was published in 1749. In 1899, Kate Chopin wrote
The Awakening,
a novel that detailed her heroine’s attempt to obtain sexual independence. Of course the book created a scandal, just like
The Lusty Adventures of Lady Pamela
might have.

Announcement

Keep reading to get a taste of

Virginia and Macrath’s story in

THE DEVIL OF CLAN SINCLAIR

and Mairi and Logan’s story in

THE WITCH OF CLAN SINCLAIR

The Devil of Clan Sinclair

Prologue

London

September, 1868

P
lease let him be there. If he hadn’t come to the Duke of Bledsoe’s ball, she didn’t think she could bear it.

He must have been invited. She’d done enough hinting to the duke’s daughter that she’d be very, very pleased if Macrath Sinclair was invited, along with his sister Ceana.

She’d waited so long already, a whole day, since seeing him. She’d told herself that all she had to do was be patient a few more hours. That refrain had sung through her mind all during the time her maid had dressed her hair, when the gown needed a few last minute stitches to keep one of the silly bows in place, and when her gloves were handed to her. Only one more hour, she’d thought as she was inspected by her father and Mrs. Haverstock, turning in a slow circle so her appearance could be judged.

To her surprise, neither her English chaperone nor her father had said a word. Nor had her father frowned, his usual expression in her presence. He only nodded, a sign to precede him into the carriage, Mrs. Haverstock following.

The carriage wheels had been too slow. Her heartbeat had been too fast. Hours, decades, eons later they were finally at the Duke of Bledsoe’s home, only for it to take forever before the carriage got to the head of the line and they could leave the vehicle. Because of the crush of people, there was another interminable wait to climb the steep stone steps, and yet another to enter the ballroom.

Would he like her hair? Her maid had done it in an intricate style tonight. What about her new scent from Paris? She’d thought about him the moment she uncapped the flacon, wondering if he would think the rose scent too strong. Would he think her high color attractive? She couldn’t help herself; the thought of seeing him after an absence of twenty-four endless hours reddened her cheeks.

Dear God, please let him be here. Please. She’d promise a dozen things, only let him be here.

She heard Mrs. Haverstock behind her, greeting friends. Moving away, she scanned the crowd for a sight of him.

Thank you, God. There he was. There, just beyond the pillar in the ballroom. Standing there, looking out at the crowd as the music surged around him.

She made herself wait, watching him. He was so handsome in his elegant black evening dress. He stood on the edge of the ballroom, a man with the studied gaze of a person twice his age. His stature was of someone who knew himself well, who’d gone through his own personal battles and won his wars.

Several women stopped, their looks intent. Suddenly, she felt a fierce possessiveness, and wanted to clamp her hands over their eyes to stop their acquisitive looks.

He was hers.

He turned in her direction, his eyes lighting on her. There it was, the smile she’d been anticipating. Slowly at first, dawning with merely a quirk at the corners of his lips, growing as she walked toward him.

She wanted to race to him, throw herself into his arms, press her hands against his chest and feel the solidness of him. Otherwise, she might believe she’d dreamed him, conjured him up from a lonely girl’s prayer and a wishful woman’s yearning.

He was as perfect as any daydream could create him, but he was no illusion. He was Macrath and she was enthralled.

“Are you well?” she asked on reaching him. A full day, nearly twenty-four hours, had passed since she’d seen him last, and anything might have happened in the interim.

The smile she’d watched from across the room was now directed solely at her. How wonderful, that an expression could have such warmth, like the sun spearing directly into her.

“I am well, Virginia,” he said. His voice, warm and low, held a roughness that chafed her senses. “And you?”

She was just now starting to heal. The last day without seeing him had been unbearable. She was shriveling up inside for lack of one of his warm smiles. Without seeing his beautiful blue eyes and hearing his Scottish accent, she was not quite herself.

How did she tell him something like that? It seemed like he knew, because his smile faded and he reached out one hand to hold hers.

She could hear people around them, but it was like a bubble surrounded Macrath and her. No one was important. Nothing else had weight.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

She smiled, pleased he thought so. Few people did. She was too retiring to be noticed most of the time.

When she just shook her head, he said, “You’re the most beautiful woman in London.”

“You’re beautiful as well,” she said. She didn’t mean handsome, either. He was a gift from God, a creation of masculine beauty.

Even his laugh was glorious.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked, still holding her hand.

He seemed as loath to relinquish it as she was to step back. Prudence dictated that she do so, at least until Macrath spoke to her father, but prudence could go to blazes for all she cared now.

She was gloriously, madly, spectacularly in love with Macrath Sinclair and she didn’t care who knew.

“I’d rather go into the garden,” she said, daring to tell him the truth. She wanted another kiss from him, another stolen embrace.

“It looks to rain,” he said.

“Do you care?”

“Not one whit.”

“I don’t either. Besides, it’s forever raining in London.”

“You’ll find that Scotland is the same in some months.”

“I won’t care,” she said. “It will be my home.”

“Soon,” he said, the look in his eyes growing more intense.

Perhaps she should thank Providence that the weather was souring. Otherwise, she might make a fool of herself in the garden, demanding kiss after kiss.

“Virginia,” a voice called, breaking the spell.

She blinked and turned her head to see her father standing not far away.

Her stomach dropped, and she looked up at Macrath with apology in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but Father’s calling me.”

“I understand. Shall I accompany you?”

“It’s best you don’t,” she said. “I’ve no doubt done something wrong.”

“When I meet with him tomorrow, I’ll tell him the press of business demands a speedy marriage. We’ll be in Scotland before you know it.”

She would be with him wherever that was: in a corner of the garden, in a vestibule in the ballroom, in a hallway, a servant’s stair. The location didn’t matter, as long as she was with Macrath.

She squeezed his hand, then turned and reluctantly walked away, glancing back with a smile. Her father led her to an anteroom and closed the door.

“I’ll not have you making a fool of yourself over that Scot,” he said.

She held herself stiffly, as she did whenever he issued a dictate. The slightest indication that she disagreed with him would only make the punishment worse.

Now, she concentrated on the floor between them, hoping that he wouldn’t see her inability to look him in the face as disrespect.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said.

Docility was better than rebellion. Easier, too, because she’d once tried to debate a point with him and had been severely punished for doing so. Her governess had taken great delight in using a birch rod. The lesson being that few things were worth physical pain.

Macrath was, and she wondered if her father knew it.

“People will look at me and wonder at the lack of control I have over a female in my own household.”

She’d heard a variation of that comment all her life. Ever since coming to England, however, it had grown more difficult to listen to him, and maintain some appearance of humility while doing so.

“I’m in love with Macrath, Father,” she said, the first time she’d ever admitted such a thing to him. She glanced up at him to find his eyes had narrowed. “You’ve agreed that Macrath could call on you tomorrow,” she hastened to say.

After that, her future would be assured. She would be Macrath Sinclair’s wife.

“I’ve already picked out your husband and it’s not that Scot.”

Her hands were still clasped in front of her. She bowed her head again, her gaze on the crimson patterned carpet. She’d think of anything but her father’s words. Her mind, unaccustomed to joy, had forced her imagination to produce something more familiar, her father’s derision.

“You’re going to be a countess, daughter. How do you feel about that?”

She was going to be sick.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, unsurprised to find him smiling.

“But you agreed to meet with him,” she said.

“It’s done, Virginia. We’ve just now finalized the arrangements. You’re to be married within the month to the Earl of Barrett.”

Turning, he extended his hand and a woman stepped out of the shadows. “Your future mother-in-law, Virginia. The Countess of Barrett.”

She gave the woman barely a glance, intent on her father. She said the one word she never said, one tiny word she’d learned had no power in the past. Perhaps it would work now.

“Please.”

The world halted, stilled, hung on a breath of air.

“There’s no fussing about it; the deal has been struck.”

“But you agreed to meet with Macrath.”

He scowled at her. “I won’t tolerate your rebellion, Virginia.” Turning to the woman, he said, “I’ll have her chaperone take my daughter home, your ladyship. Perhaps a few weeks of contemplating her future will make her grateful for it.”

The woman merely nodded.

“There won’t be any entertainments until after your wedding,” her father said.

Did it matter?

She’d be confined to her room, but she didn’t care. She’d sit and stare out at the world, her body in one place, her soul and heart in another.

Virginia only shook her head, unable to speak, flooded by a sense of despair so deep she was certain she was bleeding inside.