Page 24 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Luella only laughed. “I’m a dreadful viscountess, I know, but that’s the thing, Delia. Out here, we can make our lives what we want them to be. Oh, if we went to town I should hold my tongue and not admit to enjoying spending time in the kitchens, but in truth I do not care for the opinions of people who would disparage me, and our close friends accept me for what I am. My life is here, with Lyall and our children, and the rest of our family and friends. The rest is just a bit of frilly nonsense that we indulge ourselves with when we want to shop and catch up with friends.”

“It sounds idyllic,” Delia said with a sigh.

“It is rather, or at least I find it so,” Luella told her with a smile. “Come on then. Let us see if Mrs Paterson is in a good enough mood to make us tea.”

Muir left Dugald to his work with reluctance. He’d far rather spend the rest of the day outside with him, preparing for the lambs that would arrive in the coming days. But Dugald had everything well in hand, and there were bills to pay that would not wait and a pile of correspondence that had grown to a dismaying volume in his absence. The idea that his life would be a good deal easier with a wife to help him manage things was not a new one. It was the reason he still spent time in London for the season, hoping he might find someone suitable. He’d concluded he was kidding himself over the past weeks, however, for the ladies of the ton were too finely bred to welcome the life he could offer them, though it was looking to be an increasingly prosperous one. He had spent a fair bit of time in Edinburgh too, thinking perhaps a hardy Scottish lass would be a better prospect, but though he had met lots of lovely young women, none of them had stirred his interest.

Now, though, a wife had fallen into his lap, like it or not, and he could not decide if he did like it at all. It would save him a deal of trouble, but could Delia really adapt to such a life? She’d been raised to be a fine lady, a duke’s daughter, of all things. She was hardly ideal. Though he could not deny she was a pretty wee thing, which was a definite point in her favour.

He got back to the house to discover Mrs Paterson hefting a large tea tray.

“Have we guests?” he asked in surprise.

“Aye,” the lady said curtly. “And I would have been grateful if ye had told me ye were expecting such fine company. Here’s me, run off my feet on wash day, and that fool girl ye have employed is nae help at all, blethering on about lord knows what when all I need is a capable pair of hands and—”

“Who are my guests?” Muir asked, interrupting the flow of discontent and paying it little heed. Mrs Paterson seemed to take a perverse joy in complaining about everyone and everything and he rarely had the patience for it.

“Lady Buchanan and the Lady Cordelia Steyning, and that’s another thing, sir. Rumour has it the lassie is to be yer wife. Did ye nae think that might be a thing I needed to know, and her here without a by-your-leave to see the house, with me all at sixes and sevens?”

“Faith, calm yerself,” Muir said in exasperation. “The lady may well be my wife, if she decides she can be happy here, and she’s nae like to do that with you blethering on and complaining about every little thing that troubles ye. So, I’ll thank ye to mind yer tongue whilst she’s here, aye?”

“Aye, sir, whatever ye say, sir,” she replied curtly.

Muir sighed and pushed open the door to the parlour, gesturing for his housekeeper to precede him.

“Good morning, Luella, good morning, Delia,” he said, as he followed her into the room and closed the door. “I didnae expect to see ye today,” he added, giving his sister-in-law a reproving look, which she met with equanimity.

“I beg your pardon, Muir. It was my fault, but Delia accompanied me to see how Mrs Grant fares, and so inevitably, we came back this way.”

“Thank ye, Mrs Paterson, ye may leave us now,” Muir said, waiting until the housekeeper had left the room. “’Tis nae bother, Luella, ’tis only that ye have put Mrs Paterson in a pelter by arriving without me giving her fair warning.”

“Oh dear, is she terribly vexed with us?” Delia asked anxiously.

“Nae, lassie, nae more than she is vexed with any other thing that troubles her during the day. Ye must pay her nae heed.”

“That’s what I said,” Luella replied cheerfully. “Shall I be mother?” she added, reaching for the teapot and preparing everyone a cup.

“These shortbread biscuits are divine,” Delia said, once everyone had a cup of tea to their liking.

Muir nodded, pleased to note she helped herself to a second. “Aye, that’s Paterson’s saving grace. She is a fine cook, else I should nae tolerate her crabbit ways. But tell me, how do you find Brabster Farm?”

“I like it very well,” Delia said, smiling at him, and rather to his surprise, Muir found that he’d been eager to hear her opinion and to know she liked it. “The house is a fine one, strong and handsome, and inside is most comfortable,” she added diplomatically.

“Aye, it is that, though ye need nae be so polite. It needs a woman’s touch. I have nae the time to pretty it up.”

“Nor the inclination,” Luella added with a laugh.

Muir shrugged, not about to deny it. “Nae, ’tis true enough. I would nae have the first idea of where to begin. Do ye think ye could make something of it?” he asked Delia, curious to know what she would do, just how she would change it.

“Oh, but it would be easily done. Especially in this lovely room,” she said at once, her eyes lighting up. “I should take down those dark curtains first, for though the material is beautiful, they give the room a rather gloomy aspect. I think the chairs and the settees are very elegant, but I should have them reupholstered too, and you ought to have a lovely rug in here, something in blue and grey tones, I think.” She broke off suddenly, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink that made Muir smile. “I beg your pardon. I ought never—”

Muir laughed and waved her apology aside. “I asked ye, did I nae? I think it sounds a fine plan too.”

She relaxed visibly, smiling at him. His eyes fell to her lips, which were soft and plush and a delectable rose colour. A stir of interest flickered in his guts, and he had to fight to look away from her.

“Ah, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I really must try to persuade Mrs Paterson to give up her shortbread recipe.” Luella hurried from the room before either of them could object.

“I think that is her idea of a discreet exit,” Muir said ruefully. “For she’s certainly nae hope of getting her hands on that recipe.”