Marblestone Mansion, Book 1 (Scandalous Duchess Series, #1) Read online

  “Right after Father punished you, you mean.” She smiled at the thought for a moment. “Perhaps the Whitfields are aware, and know not what to do about Charles.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Have you broken your hand?”

  “Not quite.” He looked at it, discovered his knuckles were red, and folded his arms. “I meant for you to meet Mr. Merth and Mr. Goodwin under happier circumstances. I know them well and have often been invited to dine in their homes. I intend to pay their kindness back once Olivia is settled.”

  McKenna raised a suspicious eyebrow. “And whom, might I ask, is Margaret Ann?”

  “Ah, now that is another story. You need not worry about her, she hits harder than I do.”

  *

  An upset Claymore did not come to protest his son’s black eye and Hannish had grown weary of expecting it, and of waiting for telegrams. The only letters that came were bills Olivia was running up in New York City. He was even more tired of trying not to think about his suspicions. After morning tea, he checked the soreness in his hand, left his desk, walked out of his study and shouted, “Alistair!” His shout loudly echoed through the sparsely furnished mansion.

  “What...what has happened?” a startled Alistair answered, hurrying around the corner into the parlor.

  Hannish put a comforting hand on his butler’s shoulder. “Forgive me, I dinna mean to alarm you. I wish to ride to Colorado City today. You have heard of the place, have you not?”

  “I have.”

  “Care to go with me?”

  Alistair’s eyes instantly lit up. “I do indeed.”

  “Good, Prescot can manage.”

  “Sir, he is a good lad, that one, who treats me kindly. Might we take him with us? Keith can manage.”

  “Of course we can. Find Prescot and change your clothes while I send for the horses.”

  *

  It wasn’t long before McKenna spotted all three men through the upstairs sitting room window. She watched them mount their horses and could not keep from giggling. Alistair wore a short, round hat that looked too small for his head, knickerbockers with leggings from his ankles to his knees, and a loose fitting white shirt. Hannish and Prescot were a bit less casually attired, wearing ordinary long pants, shirts, and vests. Nevertheless, the three normally proud gentlemen looked quite out of place.

  CHAPTER 4

  Most of the residents of Marblestone Mansion gave up waiting for the master of the house and his butlers to come home, and went to bed. Keith sat in the parlor and tried not to close his eyes, but the hour got later and later, until at last, he succumbed to the need for sleep. When the front door loudly slammed, a startled Keith jumped up and hurried into the foyer. “Sssh,” Keith tried, but he was greeted by two silly grins and the strong smell of whiskey.

  McKenna had not yet gone to bed, and still sat in the upstairs sitting room worried that her brother was enraged enough to seriously hurt someone. He did not always know his own strength and had nearly killed a man in Scotland, although the man deserved what he got. Still, this was America, not Scotland, where the word of a duke was never in question. When the door slammed, she was relived and headed for the stairs. A few seconds later, she too was looking at his silly grin and unfocused eyes.

  “Hannish MacGreagor, you are drunk,” McKenna said, walking into the foyer. Been in a fight too, I see. Are you not a little old to be brawlin’?” With Keith trying to hold him up on one side, she slipped Hannish’s arm over her shoulders on the other, and tried to help steady his wobbling knees.

  “But sisser,” he slurred, “‘Twas...the best fright I’ve...had. Alistair took free...” He tried to hold up three fingers, but couldn’t quite tell how many there were.

  “Aye, but where might Prescot be? Have you left him somewhere?” McKenna asked.

  Hannish wrinkled his brow and slowly looked around for Prescot.

  Certain he would fall down if he didn’t, Alistair sat down on a window seat. His hat had begun to slide forward, but instead of catching it, he looked up and watched. “Pressy be...(hic)...horses, Yer ace.”

  Hannish suddenly stood up straight. “I said, dinna call me that! ‘Tis what...started...the fright.” He soon slumped again.

  “Forgime,...(hic)Yerace.” Alistair finally pushed his hat up, touched a cut on his lip and checked his fingers for blood. He tried hard to make his eyes focus and when they wouldn’t, he decided he didn’t care anyway and let his hand fall to his lap.

  McKenna examined the small cut on her brother’s forehead, the start of a bruise on his cheek and then rolled her eyes. “Keith, help me get him up to bed.”

  Alistair groaned and started to fall over sideways. “I shall...here.”

  “Alistair...” Hannish started.

  “Never mind, that,” said McKenna. “Off to bed with you.”

  It was a struggle getting Hannish up the stairs and she was surprised to see Charlotte at the top watching. Just before she and Keith got Hannish into his room, she said, “Thank you, Charlotte, go back to bed.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Even so, Charlotte stayed in the hallway, hoping Hannish would notice that it was she who cared most about him. Too soon, McKenna closed the door.

  *

  Sprawled on the parlor floor with a blanket covering him and his hat lopsided on his head, Alistair opened one eye and then the other. He was alarmed to find himself so exposed and tried to sit up, but when the room began to spin, he lay back down. He turned on his side, pulled the blanket over his backside and went back to sleep. The next thing he knew, Hannish was sitting on the floor beside him, pouring half a glass of whiskey.

  “Drink this, ‘twill help.” Hannish offered his arm, helped Alistair sit up and watched him down most of the liquid. “Will you survive?”

  Alistair quickly handed it back and grabbed hold of his aching head with both hands. “I do hope so, Sir.”

  Hannish poured another half glass of whiskey and held it out, but when Alistair refused, he drank the contents himself. “Prescot is some fighter. I had no idea he was a boxer before he came to Colorado. I dinna believe there is a scratch on him.”

  “Not a scratch?” Alistair asked.

  “Tell me, why do you think Olivia brought Graham with her? She must have known I would find out and suspect the worst.”

  Alistair had a feeling he had said way too much the night before, although he could not quite remember what. Stalling for time, he began to rub the back of his neck and move his head from side to side, hoping to alleviate the headache. “Graham, Sir?”

  “Alistair, we are old friends, you can tell me the truth.”

  He eyed the glass until Hannish noticed and refilled it. Then he took another two gulps. “Your wife does not confide in me.”

  “Does she hope to marry this stonemason?”

  “Give up her title?” Alistair scoffed. “I hardly think that likely unless...”

  “Unless a better title has come along?”

  Alistair wrinkled his brow. “What could be better than a duke?”

  “A Prince?”

  Again, Alistair scoffed. “The Queen frowns on divorce and none of Victoria’s sons would be that stupid.”

  “You’ve not seen a foreign prince or two paying Olivia undue attention, then?”

  “Nay, Sir.” Alistair abruptly realized where he was and caught his breath. “Have the others seen me...like this, I mean?”

  “It could not be helped.”

  Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he remembered his split lip, touched it and smiled. “Twas a bloody good fight, Sir.”

  “Would you care to go again sometime?”

  “Indeed I would.”

  “So would I,” said Hannish.

  *

  It was embarrassing to join the other servants for the noon meal in the kitchen, but Alistair drew in a deep breath, took his usual seat opposite Prescot at the end of the table and pretended nothing had changed – that is, until Sassy began to giggle. “What
tickles your fancy this day, Sassy?”

  “You got a very good one, and in the opposite eye as Mr. Hannish.”

  Alistair’s head still hurt a little and he was about to roll his eyes when he decided not too. “Mine was left-handed, is all.”

  “The lad you fought?” Sassy asked. “Why did you fight?”

  “‘Tis what men do when they are upset, Sassy,” Jessie explained. “They find a poor soul just as upset, and they two have it out.”

  “It is called a fair fight,” Keith explained.

  “A fair fight?” Sarah asked. “Were they as big as you and Mr. MacGreagor?”

  “Well...” Alistair started. He was still not sober enough to think quickly and Sarah was giving him that look—the look he was beginning to grow fond of. It appeared she might favor him, and he hoped so.

  Prescot quickly interrupted. “Bigger.”

  Sassy wasn’t sure she believed that, but she let it pass. There was a wonderful lunch to be had and she was determined not to leave a crumb of cornbread on her plate.

  “What needs to be done yet today?” Blanka asked.

  “Well, we best finish sweeping all the empty rooms. The rugs will be coming soon,” Sarah answered. “Keith and Ronan went to town this morning, so we shall see what they bring back.

  *

  At McKenna’s suggestion, Hannish decided to decorate each guest room in a specific color so everyone could remember which guest was where. The red room was for special guests and the purple room, he announced, was where they would put guests that were not so welcome.

  Many of the furnishings were easily found in Denver shops, but some had to be ordered from much farther away. Daily, a MacGreagor wagon met the noon train, where hardy men quickly transferred the goods from the boxcar to the wagon. Some days, there were several items and other days nothing came.

  Each morning, Prescot handed Hannish a list of goods the cooks or the housekeeper vowed they could not do without. Each and every list included twenty pounds sterling in cold hard cash. He approved the goods, crossed off the cash and smiled each time. If he needed cheering up, which he did, his servants aimed to see he got it and word of his smile quickly passed from lip to lip throughout the entire household.

  Furthermore, no matter how early he got up, he found a fresh flower in a small glass vase carefully placed in the center of his roll top desk. It was not hard to guess one, or perhaps all of them were trying to ease his distress and he greatly appreciated it.

  The maids made up beds as more furniture and bedding arrived, and told the men where to place dressers, chairs and Mahogany dressing mirrors; that is, until McKenna came along and changed everything. The maids didn’t mind, but the valets soon learned to ask McKenna’s opinion first.

  Among the new furniture came a writing desk and the necessary writing supplies. McKenna chose the downstairs sitting room, warmed by plenty of western sunlight, to make into a writing room. She was certain Olivia would complain, but for now, it was a great place to sit and share all the happenings with friends she left in Scotland. Yet, there was only one she intended to share the whole truth with, and that was her sister-in-law Flora – what a lot she had to tell Flora.

  *

  Sleep normally came easily to all the exhausted members of the household, but on the fifth night since he received Olivia’s telegram, Hannish could not seem to keep a thousand thoughts from racing through his mind. After tossing and turning in his bed for the better part of an hour, he decided to give up. He put his robe over his pajamas, tied it at the waist, and went to find something to eat in the kitchen. He was not yet halfway across the parlor when he noticed the door to his study was slightly ajar. Certain he had closed it, he quietly walked that way, gently pushed the door to the moonlit room open, and spotted the silhouette of a woman standing at the window. “Sassy?”

  She quickly brushed her tears away, turned and curtsied. “Do forgive me, I dinna think anyone would find me here.”

  “What is it? Is someone making you unhappy?”

  “Nay, everyone is wonderful...too wonderful.” She couldn’t help herself; the tears would not stop.

  “Here, sit down and tell me what is wrong.” He guided her to a chair, moved back, leaned against the front of his desk and folded his arms. With the moonlight on her face, she was very becoming and he wondered why he had not noticed that before.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, finally pulling herself together.

  “I cannae imagine anything you have done wrong.”

  “I dinna know America was so far away. I left a little sister in the orphanage, and here I am in all this splendor...while she has little to eat. Please, Mr. Hannish, I have my pay now and I wish to go home.”

  “Back to Scotland on a ship? I thought you hated the water.”

  “I do hate it, but I promised to go back for Cathleen. With my pay, I can take her...”

  “How old is she?”

  “Fourteen years, ten months and six days. They’ll be throwin’ her to the streets soon. They don’t abide anyone over fifteen.”

  “Fifteen?” He wrinkled his brow. “How old are you?”

  She took a deep breath and wiped the last of her tears away. “I am twenty-one. You will not tell the others, will you?”

  Hannish was completely taken aback and it took a moment to regain his composure. “Why must it be a secret?”

  “Mr. Hannish, I never thought of you as witless.”

  This time, he could not hold back his grin. “In what regard am I witless?”

  “I know I am young for my age. I try to grow up, but ‘tis hard when you’ve had no one to guide you, save Old Mrs. Forthright. What she can teach can be put in a thimble, and a small one at that. If the others know how old I am, they will laugh at me.”

  “They are very fond of you. They will not laugh.”

  “Aye, but Keith...”

  “What about Keith?”

  “If a lad looks at me too long, does it mean he fancies me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “That is what I thought. That is why, then.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “That is why you do not want him to know your true age?”

  “Aye, if he thinks I am too young, he will not ask.”

  “I see. Tell me, if they discharge a child at fifteen, how did you manage to stay in the orphanage?”

  “‘Twas I who cleaned the office and once, when Old Mrs. Forthright first come, I found my certificate of birth. That’s how I know I am a Scot. Anyway, I changed the year I was born to one year younger than my sister, and Old Mrs. Forthright was none the wiser.” Sassy suddenly wrinkled her brow. “The certificate of birth said ‘parents unknown,’ but I remember a woman, although I dinna think she was my mother. Oh well, it matters not; my mother bore me and here I am.”

  “So you are. What is your real name?”

  “Leesil.”

  “Leesil what?”

  Sassy shrugged. “Please say I can go home.”

  He paused to consider the problem for a moment. “Sassy, your pay is not yet enough to care for you and you sister, but I’ve a better idea. McKenna needs something to do and she knows a great many people. Perhaps she can arrange employment for your sister. Once you have saved enough, you can go home and I will see you to the train myself.”

  “Oh, Mr. Hannish.” Without thinking, she hopped up, flew into his arms and hugged him tight.

  He was about to wrap his arms around her when a shocked Sassy backed away.

  “Forgive me, I...”

  “There is nothing to forgive. Now, off with you, tomorrow will be another full day.” He watched her quietly close the door behind her and shook his head in disbelief. “Twenty-one? She is but five years younger than I.”

  *

  There was plenty of work for everyone and then some. Carved sofas with bear claw feet, armchairs, colorful French tapestries, oak plant stands, needlepoint footstools, beds, and dressers began to arrive. It was not nearly enough, but it was a
start.

  Next came wooden crates filled with expensive household additions, such as framed pictures, lamps, small bronze and gold statues, hand painted vases, silver coffee sets, candelabra, more porcelain wash basins with matching pitchers, serving trays and enough Sterling Silver utensils to feed a gathering of fifty. Hannish even managed to order carved jewelry boxes to put on the dressers, and golden eagle bookends for the day when he could secure more books. He spotted a check mark next to a figurine in his catalog, assumed McKenna had marked it and ordered that too.

  Indeed, there was plenty for everyone to do and the first week passed quickly for everyone, except Hannish. McKenna had asked Prescot to bring her as many outdated newspapers as he could find, and that evening, Hannish was not surprised to find her reading them in the downstairs sitting room.

  “Do you know everything about everyone in town now?” he asked, choosing to sit on a settee next to her.”

  “Not quite, I can find no mention of our Mister Charles Whitfield having done anything interesting in the past six months.”

  “Perhaps he has been away.”

  “Perhaps so. I should pay a visit to his mother some afternoon. She asked us to dinner, but I begged to postpone until after Olivia arrives.”

  “Would you like me to take you?”

  “Protect me, you mean. I can manage, Mother taught me right where to hurt a lad.”

  Hannish chuckled, “I am sure she did and I remember seeing her do it once. Perhaps I should go in any case. It will do me good to get out of the house.” He picked up one of the newspapers she discarded and began to read it. “Am I to expect an announcement soon?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “What sort of announcement?”

  “The one about your engagement?”

  “Oh that. I wondered when you would ask.”

  “Care to tell me about him?”

  “You will like him. He is beyond a doubt the most unsightly man I have yet to see. He has saggy cheeks, wears his hair far too long and...”

  “Yet you love him?”

  “Not at all. I refused him repeatedly, but he had the encouragement of one Duchess MacGreagor.”