The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

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 actually, and Sinjun, smiling into the darkness, said aloud in a quavery voice, “Oh dear, not you again. Leave me, O Spirit, please leave me.”

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.”