Now it was up to Claire to do something about it. When she married Harry and became the duchess, everything would be all right again. Her parents would have what they most wanted and her little sister would have a chance to get a rich man who adored her.
As Claire looked out the window, she smiled. She had been dreading it all, but Harry had made it easy. The old saying that it was as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one was true. It had certainly been easy to fall in love with a duke.
On their third day in Paris, books that Claire had ordered while in London arrived. She began to read them between fittings, and between her mother’s constant warnings and questions. (“Will people have to curtsy to you when you’re a duchess? Will they have to curtsy to me since I’m the mother of a duchess? How will people address me? Is it as Your Honorable?”) Claire soon gave up trying to explain the difference between aristocracy and royalty, and she hated breaking the news to her mother that she, as the mother of a duchess, would have no title at all.
The books were about the history of Harry’s family, the Montgomerys. She found out how old it was and that this Scottish branch of the family, which was called Clan MacArran, had at least once had a woman as its chief. In the early fifteenth century one of the Montgomery men had married into the MacArrans and had taken the name MacArran, and then more Montgomerys had married more MacArrans until the Montgomerys were almost a separate clan. In 1671 Charles II had given the family a dukedom. There was a great deal of speculation as to why he’d done this. Some said it was for having rendered years of faithful service, but there was also a rumor that the MacArran laird had volunteered to marry a very ugly and very shrewish woman who was rumored to be a half sister of the king.
For whatever reason the clan was awarded a dukedom, at the time there was a great deal of discussion as to what name the family should be called. Should the family name be MacArran and the dukedom called Montgomery or the other way around? There was a legend that a coin was flipped. So, Harry was the duke of MacArran, yet his name was Henry James Charles Albert Montgomery.
During those days in Paris, Claire sometimes thought she was going to break under the fatigue of fittings and preparations and being part of her mother’s busy social life, but she kept remembering that Bramley was waiting for her at the end of it.
At night, tired as she was, she often couldn’t sleep, so by lamplight she read the books on Harry’s family and novels by Sir Walter Scott, read the Scottish author’s accounts of the beauty of the Highlands and the courage of the men who lived there. Claire went to sleep dreaming of heather and armies of men who looked just like Harry.
When Claire and her family returned from Paris, Harry was waiting for her. He escorted her to his carriage with the ducal crest on the door. Autocratically, he told her parents and sister that he and Claire were traveling to London alone. Claire could have cried with joy at the prospect of a few minutes away from her mother’s admonitions. Once inside the carriage, she saw that Harry had filled it with pink roses. She took the fluted glass of champagne he handed her and smiled at him—and suddenly she wished he’d kiss her. She wished he’d take her in his arms and hold her. She’d like to have him force all doubts from her mind.
But Harry didn’t touch her.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, smiling. “Did you think about me?”
“All the time,” she answered, looking at the way his broad shoulders practically filled one side of the coach.
“And what were you doing while you were away from me?”
“Buying dresses and reading. What did you do?”
Harry smiled at her over the glass of wine. He wasn’t about to tell her what he had done, for it involved mistresses and a few actresses, and some horses that he’d lost too much money on. But he was going to marry a very rich heiress and it didn’t matter how much money he lost.
“I thought about you,” he said and the way he said it made Claire’s heart flutter a bit.
To control herself, she looked out the window. “My mother won’t like that I am alone with you.”
“I think your mother would allow anything if it resulted in her daughter marrying a duke.”
Claire gave him a look of surprise. “I’m marrying you because I love you, not because I want to marry a duke.”
“Is that so?” he said, smiling, and when he smiled like that Claire forgot everything in the world except him. “And what about all this history you keep talking about? What about that place? That Cull something or other?”
“Culloden? But that was—”
“Yes, yes, a very great battle.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his, playing with her fingers. “When I think of marriage, I think of other things besides war. You’re not going to lecture me on history after we’re married, are you?”
His fingers were on her forearm. Only lace separated their skin. “I’m looking forward to getting you into bed,” he said very softly.
Claire held her breath as he leaned toward her. She knew she should not allow him such liberties, but, on the other hand, they were going to be married in a short time. Thanks to several books she’d read—bo
oks she wasn’t supposed to read—she had a general idea of what happened after the marriage ceremony.
As his lips covered hers, Claire didn’t do any more thinking. Had it not been for the abrupt halt of the carriage she wasn’t sure what would have happened, but as she stepped from the carriage, she was frowning. She wished she loved Harry as much when he was touching her as she did when she was looking at him or thinking about him.
For the next two weeks her mother kept her so busy she had no time alone with Harry or with her thoughts.
At the end of those two weeks, he came to her family’s rented town house to tell her he was leaving London to return to his home in Scotland. There were a thousand things Claire wanted to ask Harry about his mother, about the rest of his family, about what was expected of her as his fiancée, but she didn’t have a chance to say a word, for Arva chattered throughout the brief meeting. When Harry was ready to leave, he kissed Claire’s hand while Arva said good-bye, and then he was gone. Claire blinked back tears as she went back to her room. It would be one whole week before she saw him again, and she was anxious for her life to begin.
Chapter Two
Claire mounted the horse expertly, hooking her right leg over the pommel of the sidesaddle and taking the reins from the groom. She and her family had arrived at Bramley late the previous night after an exhausting journey from London. The three days the trip should have taken had actually turned frustratingly into four. The roads were rutted and frequently they’d had to pause to allow sheep to cross the road. Her mother had complained unceasingly, while her father and little sister had played one card game after another until Claire had wanted to scream. None of them seemed to realize the importance of the fact that they were visiting Scotland for the first time.
George Willoughby had looked up from his cards only long enough to comment on the fact that the country looked a bit barren to him.