is terribly bored.”
Elizabeth brightened. “Are you sure? I hate to leave you with all the work. And no doubt he would rather spend time with a pretty young girl than with me.”
“He enjoyed talking to you very much last night. He told me so. He is probably sick of my company, anyway; we took a long walk this morning. He might enjoy some music; you are a far better pianist than I.” Music was the one thing Elizabeth seemed not to have forgotten at all, and it always soothed her to play.
“Perhaps I should go downstairs and see. Mozart improves everything.”
Isobel watched her aunt leave, then returned to her inspection of the rooms. She opened door after door, wondering what she was to do with all this furniture. Most of it would simply have to be left here. She and her aunt would have little space for it wherever they went. Panic clutched at her insides, but Isobel shoved it aside. She could not allow herself to think about the uncertainty of her future. She must stick to the work at hand. Mr. Kensington—
“Hamish.” She stopped and turned to her butler. “Where is Mr. Kensington’s room? These are all untouched.”
“Down the hall.” He jerked his head toward the back of the house.
Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean the old wing, do you?”
“He isna the laird. It isna right to put him in the master’s room.”
“Hamish!” Isobel was tempted to laugh—given Mr. Kensington’s words this morning, it seemed exactly what he deserved. But she could not let Hamish ruin himself with the man. She crossed her arms and regarded him sternly. “This must stop.”
“I dinna know what you mean, miss.”
“Don’t give me that innocent look. I saw Mr. Kensington’sbreakfast this morning, and the meal last night was horrid. I put it down to Cook’s being upset, but I can see now that you are waging a war against him.”
“He doesna belong here.”
“No, he does not, but nevertheless he owns this house. You must not place yourself in opposition to him. If you continue this way, he will let you go.”
“Aye, we may be tossed out, just like you.” His jaw set stubbornly. “You canna think we will stand for him coming in here and throwing the laird’s own daughter out of Baillannan.”
“Do you think it will make me feel better knowing that all of you are homeless as well?” Tears welled in Isobel’s eyes, and she hugged the old man. “You are the most loyal of people. I could not bear it if you lost your home because you are trying to defend my aunt and me.”
“It isna right.”
“You are a Scot, Hamish. You know as well as I that ‘what is right’ isn’t the same as ‘what is.’ ” She fixed him with as stern a look as she could muster for a man who had known her since infancy. “Put Mr. Kensington in the master’s chamber. Tell Cook to prepare something decent to eat. And please cease whatever other little miseries you have dreamed up.”
He let out a sigh, but said, “Aye, miss. I’ll do it. But only because you say so.”
“Thank you. While you do that, I shall start on the attic. I will save my grandmother’s and Andrew’s rooms till last. It will be easier for Aunt Elizabeth.”
“I’ll send up one of the girls to help you.”
“Send her up later. Right now, they need to put Mr. Kensington’s room in order.”
Isobel left Hamish behind, looking disgruntled but hopefully about to do as she asked, and went up to the attic. Low windows provided the only light other than the lamp in her hand, leaving pools of shadows across the huge room. Her heart sank as she surveyed the long stretch of floor, dusty and stacked with trunks, boxes, furniture, and an assortment of odds and ends left by two hundred years of the Rose family. Indeed, no doubt some of it belonged to an even earlier era and had been brought over from the old castle.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the nearest trunk. It was filled with children’s clothes, both hers and Andrew’s. For a
Elizabeth brightened. “Are you sure? I hate to leave you with all the work. And no doubt he would rather spend time with a pretty young girl than with me.”
“He enjoyed talking to you very much last night. He told me so. He is probably sick of my company, anyway; we took a long walk this morning. He might enjoy some music; you are a far better pianist than I.” Music was the one thing Elizabeth seemed not to have forgotten at all, and it always soothed her to play.
“Perhaps I should go downstairs and see. Mozart improves everything.”
Isobel watched her aunt leave, then returned to her inspection of the rooms. She opened door after door, wondering what she was to do with all this furniture. Most of it would simply have to be left here. She and her aunt would have little space for it wherever they went. Panic clutched at her insides, but Isobel shoved it aside. She could not allow herself to think about the uncertainty of her future. She must stick to the work at hand. Mr. Kensington—
“Hamish.” She stopped and turned to her butler. “Where is Mr. Kensington’s room? These are all untouched.”
“Down the hall.” He jerked his head toward the back of the house.
Her eyes widened. “You don’t mean the old wing, do you?”
“He isna the laird. It isna right to put him in the master’s room.”
“Hamish!” Isobel was tempted to laugh—given Mr. Kensington’s words this morning, it seemed exactly what he deserved. But she could not let Hamish ruin himself with the man. She crossed her arms and regarded him sternly. “This must stop.”
“I dinna know what you mean, miss.”
“Don’t give me that innocent look. I saw Mr. Kensington’sbreakfast this morning, and the meal last night was horrid. I put it down to Cook’s being upset, but I can see now that you are waging a war against him.”
“He doesna belong here.”
“No, he does not, but nevertheless he owns this house. You must not place yourself in opposition to him. If you continue this way, he will let you go.”
“Aye, we may be tossed out, just like you.” His jaw set stubbornly. “You canna think we will stand for him coming in here and throwing the laird’s own daughter out of Baillannan.”
“Do you think it will make me feel better knowing that all of you are homeless as well?” Tears welled in Isobel’s eyes, and she hugged the old man. “You are the most loyal of people. I could not bear it if you lost your home because you are trying to defend my aunt and me.”
“It isna right.”
“You are a Scot, Hamish. You know as well as I that ‘what is right’ isn’t the same as ‘what is.’ ” She fixed him with as stern a look as she could muster for a man who had known her since infancy. “Put Mr. Kensington in the master’s chamber. Tell Cook to prepare something decent to eat. And please cease whatever other little miseries you have dreamed up.”
He let out a sigh, but said, “Aye, miss. I’ll do it. But only because you say so.”
“Thank you. While you do that, I shall start on the attic. I will save my grandmother’s and Andrew’s rooms till last. It will be easier for Aunt Elizabeth.”
“I’ll send up one of the girls to help you.”
“Send her up later. Right now, they need to put Mr. Kensington’s room in order.”
Isobel left Hamish behind, looking disgruntled but hopefully about to do as she asked, and went up to the attic. Low windows provided the only light other than the lamp in her hand, leaving pools of shadows across the huge room. Her heart sank as she surveyed the long stretch of floor, dusty and stacked with trunks, boxes, furniture, and an assortment of odds and ends left by two hundred years of the Rose family. Indeed, no doubt some of it belonged to an even earlier era and had been brought over from the old castle.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to the nearest trunk. It was filled with children’s clothes, both hers and Andrew’s. For a
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