Page 33 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“I dinnae need to. Yer pudding was made with love, so it stands to reason, it is the better of the two.”

“Ach, I had nae idea ye were such a smooth talker, Lyall,” Muir taunted, but Lyall ignored him in favour of concentrating on his dessert.

“Good evening, and where did you come from?”

Muir turned back to Delia to discover Murdoch had appeared in the dining room and was sitting beside her, his nose twitching. The great dog was favouring her with a beseeching expression.

“It is very good, yes,” Delia said conversationally, just as if Murdoch had asked the question. “Yes, I know you would, but I think Lord Buchanan would tell me off,” she carried on, enjoying her dessert and keeping up the conversation.

Murdoch made a pitiful sound and put one great paw up on her knee. Delia tutted at him.

“Sir, unhand me. You are a deal too bold. I ask you, is that any way for a gentleman to behave? Shame on you.”

With a resigned grumble, Murdoch laid down at her feet and sighed heavily.

“Well, if you behave very nicely, I might save you a bit. How’s that?” she offered, and Muir gave a startled laugh as the dog’s tail thumped on the ground.

“I think he understood ye!” he exclaimed.

Delia looked up at him in surprise. “Of course he did, he’s not stupid,” she said indignantly.

“The dog is nae stupid,” Lyall said with a smirk. “I cannae speak for my brother,” he added, regarding Muir, who rolled his eyes at him before turning back to watch Delia with interest.

What a strange and rather fascinating girl she was.

Delia enjoyed the rest of the evening more than she could remember doing for a long while. She felt very much at ease at Wildsyde, in a way she had never accomplished outside of her brother’s home. Lyall and Luella were amiable company, neither judging her nor expecting anything of her. Even the formidable Mrs Baillie had been kind, welcoming her into the kitchen when Luella decided she had a yearning to make scones and taking Delia with her. They’d chatted as Luella had guided her through the simple recipe, and then all three women had sat together and eaten the scones with butter and jam and a cup of tea.

The thought that Delia might sit at the table drinking tea and gossiping with the snooty French chef her brother employed was ridiculous, and if she had contracted a fashionable marriage, it would have been equally unlikely such a thing would be possible. Undoubtedly, Mrs Paterson was not a warm or friendly presence and the idea that she might welcome Delia’s intrusion into her domain was hard to believe. However, the notion remained that Delia could create an atmosphere like this at Muir’s farm, that she need not be the grand lady her father had always expected her to be. Delia had known she would fail miserably if she tried. Imagining herself running a vast household and directing an army of servants and giving endless dinner parties to fashionable people had brought her out in a cold sweat. Nights like this one, however, with family or very close friends, that she could do.

After dinner, instead of leaving the men to their port as she might have expected, they all retired to the family drawing room and relaxed with a glass of whisky until Luella cleared her throat.

“Lyall, would you come with me a moment? I meant to ask you before, but there’s something I need to discuss with you,” she said, setting down her empty glass and getting to her feet.

“What?” Lyall asked blankly, gazing at her in surprise.

“A… A letter,” Luella said, avoiding looking at anyone else. “It came earlier.”

“Who’s it from?” Lyall demanded, frowning. “Is there a problem? Why did ye nae tell me before?”

“No, there’s no problem,” Luella said impatiently, glaring at her husband. “I just need to speak to you about it… now,” she added, a warning note to the word that Lyall could not escape.

“Well, I dinnae see why I ye must bring it up now when we are all relaxing and—”

“Lyall!” Luella said, throwing up her hands and stalking from the room.

Lyall shot them a look of bewilderment before going after her and closing the door.

Hardly daring to meet his eye, Delia glanced at Muir, whose shoulders were shaking silently. She gave a bark of laughter which set him off and it took them a few moments to regain their composure.

“Lord, and he thinks I’m daft,” Muir said, wiping his eyes. “She is nae subtle, is our Luella.”

“I don’t think subtlety works on Lord Buchanan,” Delia replied with amusement.

“Aye, true enough. Us Anderson men generally need clouting over the heid with something before we take notice, ye ken.”

“I had remarked as much,” Delia replied, holding his gaze.

“Why, ye wee devil. I do believe yer insulting me,” he said, though he looked pleased rather than annoyed by her sally. “Though if yer trying to say I have nae noticed ye, I’m afraid yer far and wide of the mark.”