about you, Papa? What are your plans?’
He put down his newspaper again. ‘I am off to look at a horse. Laird Buchan put me on to a pretty mare for sale.’
‘Papa!’ Mairi could keep quiet no longer. ‘We do not need another horse!’ They’d lost most of their grooms already, those who wanted to be paid for their work in coin, not promises. ‘We cannot afford it!’
Her father’s face turned red. ‘I’ll not have you speak to me in that tone of voice, lass.’ He lifted his paper again. ‘Besides, a steed like this one comes around once in a lifetime. Or so I’m told.’
Mairi had tried every way she knew to convince her parents to economise. She’d begged them to stop buying things. She’d suggested they sell what they no longer needed. Her mother had gone into palpitations when Mairi had said they should sell some of the jewellery her father was so fond of buying for her.
If her father and mother did not change their ways soon they’d lose the caput—their land and with it her father’s title. In Scotland, a baron could sell both. What future would Niven and Davina have then?
Mairi rose. If she remained another minute, she was likely to lose her temper completely and she knew from experience it only made matters worse.
‘I must go,’ she said. ‘If I have your leave, Papa?’
‘Yes, lass.’ Her father’s good humour returned as it always did. ‘Do not forget about the dressmaker.’
Mairi strode out of the room.
Robert followed her. ‘Does your da not have enough money?’ the footman asked worriedly.
Robert was twenty, Mairi’s age, and a simple young man, the son of one of the crofters. He had not been a footman for very long.
‘Money is tight, Robert.’ She would not lie to him. ‘That is why you have not been paid, but we have enough to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths, so there is that.’
Robert’s parents had died of fever a year ago and he’d been their only son. Her father had generously offered to make him a footman. At the time, it had seemed an extravagance to Mairi, but now she did not know what the family would do without him and Erwin, their only other footman.
‘And don’t think I will ask you to care for Mr Lucas, the sick man,’ she added. ‘I know you are overworked and I do not want you to catch the fever.’
His face relaxed. ‘I can help some, miss,’ he said earnestly. ‘I already brushed out his clothes and polished his boots. They should be dry by now.’
‘I saw that you did that, Robert,’ she responded. ‘They were quite wet and dirty. It was a big job. I do appreciate it so very much.’
His face turned red at the compliment. He glanced towards the door. ‘I best return to my duties.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He bowed and re-entered the morning room.
Mairi turned away. She’d promised the housekeeper she would tidy her parents’ rooms and she needed to hurry before they finished their breakfast.
* * *
That afternoon Mairi helped Mrs Cross close down the guest bedrooms. They were rarely used and it would save the two maids much work to take down the curtains and cover the furniture with dust covers.
Davina came to tell her the dressmaker had arrived. ‘Mama wants us to come straight away.’
‘Very well.’ Mairi closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself before removing her apron and cap and brushing off her dress.
As they walked to their mother’s dressing room, Davina asked, ‘Can we really not afford new dresses, Mairi?’
At fourteen, Davina was old enough to know the reality of their situation. ‘We should not order new clothes,’ Mairi responded. ‘Papa has been unable to pay our servants for some time. That is why so many have left. He has many unpaid bills. He will not be able to pay Mrs Webster for anything we buy.’
Davina turned her head away and did not speak for a few moments. Finally she said, ‘Then I will say I dislike all of the new fabrics and the fashion prints. Mama will not make me order a dress I do not like. And I will try to convince Mama that the fabrics and designs will not do for her either.’
Mairi put her arm around her sister. ‘Very clever, Davina. Mama will not like to be embarrassed that way. We can show Mrs Webster some of our old dresses. I believe Mama will be satisfied if we have something that looks new.’
* * *
Lucas took another sip of tea as young Niven peppered him with questions about himself—about his time in the army.
‘What regiment were you in?’ Niven asked.
‘The First Royal Dragoons,’ he replied.
The boy’s eyes brightened. ‘The First Royals? Were you in the charge with the Scots Greys at Waterloo?’
The memory of it came back. The thundering of the horses, their screams, the contorted faces of the French soldiers, the blood.
His brother.
By Jupiter, he needed whisky.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I was.’
‘Wait until my father hears about that!’ Niven beamed. ‘He is excessively proud of the Scots Greys. To hear him, you’d think they won the battle for the Allies.’
The Scots Greys were brave, no question, but they also had been untried in battle. They’d ridden too far ahead of the main charge and, as a result, too many had been cut down.
Like Bradleigh.
‘Were you in the Peninsula, too?’ Niven asked. ‘What other battles did you fight? Was it glorious? I cannot imagine such a sight. A cavalry charge!’
Lucas’s answers were terse and he hoped the boy did not notice the trembling of his hands, the stiffening of his shoulders. It was the anguish of remembering. Enough of this. He wanted out of this place. The boy forced him to remember and the sister made him care when all he wanted was to shut off his emotions and be alone.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Niven called as if this was his room, not Lucas’s.
Miss Wallace peeked in, her gaze riveting on her brother. ‘Niven! I was afraid you were here.’
Lucas rose to his feet, but braced his hands on the table. She gestured for him to sit down. He wanted to remain standing, but his legs threatened not to hold him. He sank back into the chair.
Niven lifted his chin. ‘I brought Lucas some tea and biscuits. I’m keeping him company.’
‘He is still ill, Niven,’ she scolded. ‘You should leave him in peace.’
Niven seemed
