Highland Sunset Page 5

  She played for half an hour, sometimes stopping and correcting herself, but he never said a word. When she had finished he nodded and said, "I understand perfectly why your mother was so anxious for you to get further instruction." Van felt a flash of treacherous joy at his words and dropped her lashes to hide her emotion.

  "Edward is a great music lover, Vanessa dear, so you can trust his word," Lady Linton put in. "And once we get to London he will be able to take you to a host of concerts—he's invited to every musical evening in London, you see—and to Vauxhall and to the opera as well. You will have a surfeit of music, my dear, I assure you."

  Van's lashes lifted to reveal glowing eyes. "You can never have a surfeit of music, ma'am," she said a little breathlessly.

  The earl didn't reply and after a moment he turned to his mother. "When do you plan to leave for London?" he asked.

  "In about a week's time, I think," Lady Linton replied. "Vanessa is to attend the Duchess of Newcastle's ball on April 5."

  He grinned. "The most important ball of the season, eh, Mama?"

  "Well, it is certainly the ball that opens the season," Lady Linton returned impeturbably.

  Van sat silently on her stool. The earl was standing now, leaning his big shoulders against the chimneypiece, looking at his mother with amused affection. The candles in the wall sconces illuminated the shining golden wing of his hair. His shoulders were enormous yet his waist and hips in the closely fitting satin breeches were narrow. He looked at Van. "Would you like to ride with me tomorrow morning, cousin?" he asked.

  Van hesitated. She would actually like to spend as little time in his company as possible, but she could think of no excuse. "If the dressmakers don't need me?" she said to Lady Linton.

  Edward had not missed her hesitation and his smile became sardonic. "I'm sure they can spare you for a morning," he said dryly.

  "Of course they can," Lady Linton said.

  "Very well," Van said, none too graciously. Then, hoping to shock him, "I'm afraid I've had none too much practice using a sidesaddle. At home I wear my brother's trews and ride astride."

  Lady Linton looked scandalized. The earl, irritatingly, merely looked amused. "Did you bring your... ah... trews with you?" he inquired courteously.

  "Of course not," Van snapped.

  His blue eyes glinted. "Then you will have to ride sidesaddle, I'm afraid."

  "Of course she will ride sidesaddle," Lady Linton said coldly. "Don't be ridiculous, Edward. Vanessa has a very lovely riding habit, I assure you."

  "Mother insisted," Van said a little sourly. She really did not ride sidesaddle very well and she was not looking forward to making a fool of herself in front of the Earl of Linton.

  "Don't worry, cousin," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you." His voice was sympathetic but there was a gleam of wicked laughter in his eyes.

  Van's own eyes narrowed. Her palm itched to smash across that handsome, mocking face. She closed her fist and said austerely, "Thank you. I feel so much better. And at that he laughed out loud.

  He was waiting in the hall the following morning and he raised a golden eyebrow as she came down the stairs. "This is a very nice habit, cousin," he said approvingly.

  Van gave him a dark look. The habit Frances had had made for her was of a particularly becoming shade of green cloth. On her head Van wore a Scots bonnet of deep green velvet under which she had, as usual, simply bundled her hair. "Are the horses out front?" she asked in a clipped voice.

  "No. I thought we'd walk down to the stables. Mama says you haven't been there yet."

  "Well, let's get started than," Van said. She was in no mood to make polite conversation. He opened the door for her with unruffled courtesy and discoursed easily the entire way to the stables, seemingly oblivious of her monosyllabic answers. Van walked like a Highlander, with long, swift strides that ate up the ground; her green bonnet, she noted disgustedly, did not quite reach his shoulder. At that moment they came down a small rise of land and Van saw the stableyard.

  The Staplehurst stables were magnificent. All of the buildings were of the same golden stone as the house; behind the barns and carriage houses stretched acres of fenced-in paddocks. Van stopped unconsciously and stared. None of this was visible from the house.

  "I'm rather proud of my horses," Edward said at her elbow.

  Van didn't reply but started to walk forward again. The stable at home was more a run-in shelter from the weather than anything else. The hardy Highland ponies they rode needed very little pampering.

  A groom appeared out of nowhere. "Marcus is ready, as you requested, my lord. And Mallow. Shall I have them brought out?"

  "Yes, Blackstone, thank you. Oh, and, Blackstone, this is Lady Vanessa MacIan. She is visiting my mother."

  Blackstone ducked his head. "Morning, my lady."

  "Good morning," Van returned.

  "Did I tell you yesterday that I think I've got a buyer for Beau, Blackstone?"

  The man looked suddenly alert. "No, my lord, you did not."

  "Stanmore caught me at my club a few days ago. He's looking for a hunter. We'll have to get Beau out over fences a few times to get him in condition."

  "Right, my lord."

  There was the sound of hooves and Van turned to look at the two horses being brought out of the barn. She swallowed. They looked so big. The earl reached up to rub a dark bay forehead. "This is Marcus," he said.

  Van had never seen a horse like Marcus before. His elegant head, with widely spaced, large, lustrous eyes and narrow, tapering nostrils, was set on an arched and powerful neck. His strongly sloped shoulders and muscled rear proclaimed sheer power, yet his legs were slender, even delicate-looking. He did not look as if he belonged to the same species as the shaggy, sturdy ponies Van had grown up with. He was magnificent, but Van thought she would much rather look at him than ride him.

  "And this is Mallow," Edward went on. "He'll carry you very nicely."

  Mallow was, mercifully, not so big as Marcus, nor so powerful-looking. He was a golden chestnut in color, with a dished, Arabian face and very soft, kind eyes He was wearing a sidesaddle.

  "Up you go," Edward said cheerfully and, before Van realized what was happening, his hands were around her waist and he was lifting her into the saddle. "How's the stirrup length?" he asked, and Van gave him a look of pure dislike. He had lifted her as easily as if she had been a child.

  "Fine," she said, slipping her toe into the single stirrup iron.

  Edward swung easily into his saddle and Van looked at him nervously, expecting the great bay stallion to begin to dance around. Marcus stood rock-still, the flickering of his ears his only motion. "Ready?" Edward asked genially.

  Van raised her chin. "Yes," she said. Marcus began to walk forward and Mallow followed.

  They walked through the stableyard and along a road that led by the paddocks. Van stiffened in nervousness as the horses in the paddocks came to gallop alongside the fences, but neither Marcus nor Mallow stirred out of the steady, even, forward walk. As they entered a wide ride that led through a wood, Van began to relax.

  "Feeling better?" Edward asked.

  "Yes," Van answered shortly. Then, "I'm not accustomed to such large horses. At home I ride ponies."

  "If you can ride a pony over rough ground, you'll have no trouble at all with my horses," Edward said calmly.

  Van was beginning to think he was right.

  "Let's trot, shall we?" said Edward, and before she could protest, the two horses moved forward.

  It was like sitting on air. Van couldn't believe how comfortable Mallow was. She looked over at Marcus. The great stallion appeared to be floating, he was so light.

  When they came down to a walk again Edward looked at her and, unbidden, Van's rare smile dawned. "They're marvelous," she said.

  "Training a horse is like working on a piece of music," he said. "The end product must be smooth, light, effortless, but to get to that point takes a lot of hard work." The tone of h
is voice changed. "Speaking of music"—he was looking straight ahead now—"why didn't your parents send you to Paris to study? Why London?"

  Van was silent, thrown off balance by the sudden change in topic and in tone.

  He looked at her out of the side of his eyes, a flash of blue quickly withdrawn. "I take it from your none-too-veiled comments last night that you are still Jacobites in Morar?"

  Van's face was still, her eyes veiled and wary. "Yes," she said. "We are."

  "Then why not Paris?"

  "My mother has no social contacts left in Paris," she replied carefully. "And your mother and she were like sisters when they were young."

  His profile was unreadable. "I'm surprised your father let you come, into the lion's den, as it were."

  Van looked straight ahead of her. "My father was under the impression that I would be visiting a Jacobite family." She paused and then added, "So was I."

  There was a distinctly startled pause. Then he gave a short laugh. "Your mother was indeed anxious to get you away."

  Van said a few Gaelic curses under her breath. Then a thought struck her. "How do you know my father is a Jacobite? Your mother had quite forgotten."

  "My mother, bless her, is completely oblivious of politics. As your mother must be too, or she would never have arranged this visit. I thought it was suspicious the moment I heard about it."

  Van's fine lips turned slightly down. "Suspicious?" she asked dangerously.

  He stared at her, his blue eyes cold. "If not suspicious, than certainly odd."

  "If you have such objections to my visit, then why did you allow me to come?" she asked. Her chin had lifted in a gesture of perfectly unconscious arrogance.

  "Because my mother was so pleased at the thought of having you," he replied grimly. "I was serious last night, you know. She has been planning for this visit for months."

  Van's eyes fell to her own narrow hands on the reins. "Oh," she said.

  "And if you do or say anything to upset or embarrass her," he continued evenly, "I will murder you, Vanessa."

  Van's head jerked up. "I have no intention of embarrassing your mother!"

  "Then you are really here just for social purposes?" He was pushing her relentlessly, his blue eyes cold and piercing.

  Van's long lashes came down. "Of course," she said out of a suddenly constricted throat.

  "It has nothing to do with the Chevalier's recent busy visits to France?"

  "He is a prince, cousin, not a chevalier," she said defiantly.

  "What he is," Edward returned grimly, "is a damn nuisance."

  Van flung back her head. "He is the rightful heir to the throne!" she flared. "His father, King James, is our rightful king. The elector is nothing but a... a usurper."

  "King George," he replied very deliberately, "is the duly chosen king of Great Britain."

  "Chosen by whom?" Van shot back.

  "Chosen by Parliament."

  "Parliament doesn't have the right to choose a king," Van said fiercely. "That right is God's."

  "And that, my dear Vanessa, is where we differ."

  "Don't call me your dear Vanessa," Van snapped.

  "It's true, you're not at all like a Vanessa," he agreed cordially. "However did you get the name?"

  "It was my grandmother's," she replied reluctantly. Then, "At home they call me Van."

  "Much more suitable," he agreed, and she glared at him. She did not want his approval.

  "We differ in that I think the king should be responsible to Parliament and you think he should be responsible only to himself," Edward continued impeturbably. "It is the difference between an absolute monarchy and a constitutional monarchy. We in Britain want a constitutional monarchy, and so we have King George."

  Van knew nothing of absolute versus constitutional monarchies. She knew only one thing. "King James has the right." He didn't reply and Van frowned in thought. He had not, she realized, answered her original question. "How did you know my father was a Jacobite?" she asked again.

  "It's my business to know those things," he replied briefly.

  Van's face was aloof and reserved. "You have a position in the government, I believe your mother said."

  "Yes." He was riding bareheaded and a breeze blew up and stirred the thick golden hair at his forehead. He looked over at her austere, beautiful profile. "I know that the Chevalier has been in France. I know that there has been activity in the Highlands. I know about Murray of Broughton's visits."

  Van felt a stab of fear. "My," she said with an effort at lightness, "I had no idea we were objects of such flattering interest."

  "And I wondered very seriously, when my mother received Lady Morar's request, if perhaps you weren't being sent south to contact English Jacobites," he went on smoothly.

  Van's heart began to pound. Her thin nostrils quivered. "And if I were?" she managed to ask.

  The only sound for a long minute was the clip-clop of the horses' hooves on the path. Finally Van could stand it no longer and looked over at him. His gaze was full upon her, lazy now, mocking. "Well, now, if you were," he said softly, "then I should be most happy to introduce you to whomever you desired to see."

  Van's hands involuntarily tightened on the reins and Mallow stopped. Marcus halted too and the two riders stared at each other, the air between them suddenly dense with tension.

  "Why would you do that?" Van asked slowly.

  "Because nothing would please me more than to. have an accurate reading of the English temper sent to Scotland," he replied. His eyes began to get very blue. "You live in a fog of romantic dreams up there," he said. "The Stuarts will never return to the throne of England. England does not want them. And those English Jacobites your father is so concerned about—oh, they still make sentimental toasts to the 'king over the water,' and all that rot, but if you think they will bestir themselves to aid a rebellion, you are much mistaken."

  Van's narrowed eyes glittered between their long dark lashes. "I don't believe you."

  "Whom do you want to see?" he asked coldly. "Altop? Stowcroft? Marston? Darby?"

  They were all names given to her by her father. "Yes," Van said defiantly.

  Marcus began to move forward and Gypsy followed. "Very well," the earl said, "when we reach London I shall arrange it."

  Van's thoughts were a mass of alarmed confusion and she started when he reached over to put a hand on her arm. "My mother is to know nothing of this. And you and I are to be polite to each other. I will not have her pleasure spoiled by any Jacobite nonsense. Do you understand me, Van?"

  Van's heart was thudding. For some reason, he could make her more furious than she ever remembered being in her life. "I understand you," she said through her teeth. "Edward."

  "Good." Their eyes remained locked for a long minute and then he turned away. "Let's trot some more," he said abruptly, and the two horses moved forward in unison.

  CHAPTER 6

  Edward spent the afternoon at the stables and Van spent the afternoon with the dressmakers. She and Lady Linton were alone at dinner.

  "Edward sent word he was taking potluck over at the squire's," Lady Linton reported to Van with a smile. "He'll be back later in the evening."

  Van thought that it would be fine with her if he never returned.

  She was playing the harpsichord for Lady Linton when he finally came in at about eight o'clock, and for some reason, she, who wouldn't notice if the house burned down around her, was instantly aware of his presence. She finished the piece and then turned around on her stool, suddenly wary.

  He gave her a sunny smile. "Lovely," he said approvingly.

  "Yes, it is a great treat to have such grand music all to oneself," Lady Linton agreed. "Did the squire give you a good dinner, darling?"

  "The usual." His blue eyes laughed at her. "Mutton."

  "Oh, dear," the countess said comically. "He is so predictable."

  "I'm hunting with him tomorrow morning," the earl said. "I want to get Beau out over some fence
s, and I want to get the squire and the rest of the local landowners turned up sweet for the Quarter Session."

  Lady Linton turned to Van. "Edward is lord lieutenant for the county," she explained kindly, "and he has been trying to work with the landowners to develop a relief policy for the rural poor."

  "I see," Van replied quietly. Then, "It didn't seem to me that poverty was much of a problem here in Kent. The tenents' houses I saw today all looked very prosperous."

  The cottages of the Staplehurst tenants had in fact looked like palaces in comparison to the poor dwellings of sod and heather and stone that housed large numbers of MacIan clansmen.

  "Edward's tenants are never in want," Lady Linton said proudly. "But not all landowners are as diligent or as clever as he."

  "Nor as rich," Van put in dryly.

  "It isn't merely a matter of money," Edward said, and his voice was very serious. "It's a matter of being open to new ideas. Most Englishmen farm the exact same way their great-great-grandfathers farmed. Agriculture will never progress until people are ready to use new inventions and new ideas."

  "Such as?" Despite herself, Van was curious.

  "Such as Jethro Tull's new seed drill. It sows seed in straight rows and makes weeding easier and more efficient. And all my own land is planted under Lord Townshend's crop-rotation plan. This eliminates the fallow year and allows you to bring more land into cultivation each year."

  His eyes were brilliant. "Then there is the pedigree breeding of cattle," he began, but Lady Linton cut in.

  "I don't think that is a proper topic to discuss with Vanessa, Edward."

  Van stared at Lady Linton in surprise. "Why ever not?"

  Edward grinned. "Young girls don't discuss breeding in mixed company," he said.

  "Breeding cattle?" Van asked in astonishment, and Edward's grin broadened.

  "It's time for the tea tray," Lady Linton said firmly, and rang the bell.

  For the remainder of the week Edward and Van met only in the company of Lady Linton and were scrupulously polite to each other. Edward spent his days with his horses, his estate manager, and his tenants. Van was being bored into near-rebellion by the dressmakers and the constant talk of clothes and found herself increasingly resentful that the earl never even offered to let her ride again.