The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)
While Elspeth didn’t mean to pay him an ounce of special attention, she couldn’t help looking for Brody. With a glass of whisky in one hand, he stood alone at one of the high gothic windows and stared out at the falling snow.
Elspeth supposed these family entertainments must strike him as abysmally dull, after the dissipated life he led in Edinburgh and London. She was surprised he planned to stay so long at Achnasheen. His habit was to make an appearance, then leave after Boxing Day. Perhaps he changed his plans this year because the festivities took place at his cousin’s castle. Before this, they’d all celebrated Christmas on Hamish’s estate, with her mother as hostess, and all three of her older sisters and their families joining them.
Elspeth reminded herself that she was no longer interested in Brody Girvan’s doings, and she went back to her novel, although for the life of her she couldn’t remember a single word of the story.
“May I join you, Elspeth?” Marina, her hostess, asked from beside the sofa.
Elspeth glanced up with a smile. She didn’t know Fergus’s wife well, but what she knew of her, she liked. “Of course.”
“If you’re enjoying your book, I’ll happily sit here without talking. I’ve never hosted a big house party before. It’s much harder work than being a guest.”
“I’m sure.”
As she sat, Marina’s instinctive grace made Elspeth green with envy. Lucky Marina, to be so tall and slender. A short little pudding like her could never aspire to that languid elegance.
“Is it a good book?” Marina slid a pencil and a small sketchpad from her pocket and opened it to a blank page.
Elspeth gave a huff of self-derisive amusement. “I have no idea. I’ve been woolgathering for the last hour.”
“Cozy winter evenings encourage that.” Marina began to sketch a vivid picture of the card players, using only a few, economical lines. Fascinated, Elspeth watched as swift strokes of the pencil captured Fergus in all his lean, auburn-haired magnificence, then dark, handsome Diarmid.
“You’re lucky being able to do that.”
Marina smiled absently and with a sweep of her pencil delineated the fall of Elspeth’s mother’s extravagant bronze velvet gown. “Yes, I am.”
“Fergus tells me you’re having an exhibition in Edinburgh in April. That must be exciting.”
“It is. Landscapes, of course. I only do portraits as a hobby. I hope you’ll come.”
“I’d love to.” She paused and decided that now she’d grown up, she needed to be brave and say what she thought. “Especially if you tell me where you buy your clothes. I love what you wear.”
She might envy the other woman’s grace and talent, but she’d kill for the panache to wear that crimson silk evening gown. It turned black-haired Marina into a column of living flame.
“Grazie.” Marina’s hand fell still, resting the pencil on the half-finished drawing. “Are you saying you’d like a new look?”
Elspeth cast a disparaging glance at her blue merino frock. “I am.”
“Your mother is always dressed à la mode. Doesn’t she help you to choose your clothes?”
“She has other fish to fry. Specifically fish of either the Tory or the Liberal variety.”
Marina smiled at the small joke about her mother’s political activities. “But you’re her daughter.”
Elspeth’s smile was fond but wry. “By the time I came along, Mamma was way past any interest in bringing up another girl. My arrival was a surprise—Hamish is eight years older than I am. With the rest of the family so handsome, Mamma decided I didn’t give her enough to work with.”
Marina frowned, rolling the pencil between her fingers. “You do yourself an injustice.”
Elspeth shook her head. “I don’t think so
, although I know I must sound horridly sorry for myself.”
“Un poco.” Marina’s lips twitched. “A little perhaps. But I’ll forgive you.”
Elspeth smiled back, liking this unusual woman more and more. “Thank you.”
Marina was regarding her with an assessing gaze. “You know, if you stopped being so self-effacing, you could give your family some competition.”
Elspeth’s laugh was dismissive. “How kind you are.”