Yes, she did. Mac was besotted with Isabella, and she with him. But Isabella's happiness had been a long time in the making.
"That's all very well," Louisa said impatiently. "But when you ran off with Mac, it was a complete mess, and you know it. I don't wish to be unkind, Izzy, but as I observed before, you made things rather difficult for those of us left behind. You followed your heart, but you spent many unhappy years before you and Mac sorted it all out."
"I know." The flash of pain in Isabella's eyes told Louisa just how unhappy those years had been. "But life is a complicated thing. Not easily put right with this marriage or that--a man of fortune, a woman of lineage. The newspapers will like it if you make such a match, but you won't."
"What choice do I have?" Louisa swung to her cases and started lifting out gowns--Isabella had purchased every one of them for her. "I am the poor relation, I am left off invitation lists because I've been out several seasons now, and no one has shown interest in marrying me. I want to change that. This spring, I will set out to find a husband. I will have to borrow money from you for a new wardrobe, but I will pay you back when I can."
Isabella's competent hands lifted a skirt and shook it out. "What absolute nonsense. Of course, you shall have your wardrobe, and the most glorious Season any young lady could wish. The debs will be green with envy. If you want a husband, you shall have one."
Louisa recognized the determination in her sister, a determination that could flatten forests. "Please do not match-make for me, Isabella. I know the eligible gentlemen in London and the chances I have with each. I've made it my study. I will do this on my own." She let out her breath, softening. "Though I do appreciate your help, Iz. You know that. And Mama will certainly enjoy herself. She adores going out, and she will accompany me everywhere."
"As will I, when I can," Isabella said. "You know that London during the Season is my territory, and I'll be presenting another artist and new violinist at my little gatherings. You shall of course be there to hostess with me."
"As your unmarried sister."
"As my brilliant little sister who would make any gentleman invited to my house a good wife. Not to worry, Louisa. This will all turn out well."
Louisa let Isabella dream and scheme as they turned to unpacking. Louisa would curb Isabella's enthusiasm when the time came, but for now, she could allow Isabella her enjoyment.
Louisa's treacherous thoughts returned to Mr. Fellows, and the glitter of his Mackenzie eyes as he looked at her across the empty space in the staircase hall.
Mr. Fellows, a working-class man with scandalous connections and illegitimate birth, was a most in eligible bachelor. But he kissed like fire, and he'd stirred a longing in Louisa's heart she'd never forgotten.
*** *** *** Christmas Eve arrived, and with it, David, but without the precious Ming bowl.
"Don't growl at me, Hart," David said, when he reported in. "Glastonby's a tough nut, and I'm cracking him. But it takes time."
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
"What am I to tell Beth?" Hart did not want to explain to her that his idea of sending David to coerce the bowl out of Glastonby had failed.
David shrugged. "Tell her that I am working hard and nearing the goal. But Glastonby has become the consummate family man for Christmas, so I thought I'd return to Scotland and enjoy mine."
Hart poured whiskey into cut-crystal glasses and handed one to David, reflecting that David always looked better when he had his teeth sunk into something. His eyes lost their red-rimmed, bloodshot appearance, his puffy face returned to lean lines, and his voice was steady and whole. Hart kept the amount of whiskey in the glass small, and noticed that David sipped it rather than downed it in a single swallow.
"I'll leave after Boxing Day and return with the bowl before New Year's. Promise. Beth can give it to Ian as a Hogmanay present." David broke into a grin. "Believe it or not, you'll owe some of my success to a vicar."
Hart selected two cigars from his humidor and handed one to David. "How so?"
"Ah, thank you." David lit the cigar with a match and spent a moment sucking in smoke. "You know, I maintain my friendship with you because you always stock the finest. The vicar's an old friend--well, old family friend. He's always kept an eye out for me, sort of a substitute father, because mine was rubbish, as was yours. Anyway, he knows Glastonby, agreed that the man was a hypocrite, and said he'd help me, as long as Glastonby's wife and daughters never find out and aren't hurt by it. Glastonby deserves to be shamed, not his family, and I agree. The man insists on keeping me to the straight and narrow."
Hart took a pull of the cigar and chased it with a sip of whiskey. He savored the combination, as he always did, finding enjoyment in every corner of life he could. He'd learned to do so at an early age. "If it works. I need that bowl."
"Oh, it will work, my friend. But for now." David sank into an armchair and stretched out his long legs. "I'll drown in decadence for the next two days, then return to work."
"By New Year's," Hart said in a firm voice. David was loyal, but too easily distracted.
"By New Year's." David saluted Hart with the glass, then gave up moderation and poured the whiskey down his throat.
*** *** *** Mac had established, the first Christmas Kilmorgan Castle had seen the new brood of Mackenzie children, that the family spent Christmas morning in the nursery giving gifts to the children, before the adults partook of the more formal dinner with guests downstairs. Hogmanay would be only family and very Scottish, with bonfires, Black Bun, more presents, the First Footer, another feast, and much celebration.
Beth loved the traditions. Christmas Day during her childhood had been the same as any other, except in the workhouse, when they'd heard a sermon and had a small second helping of bread. New Year's had come and gone without much acknowledgment.
She'd never experienced childish joy at beholding armfuls of gifts carried in by the men of the family, a Christmas tree heavy with decorations made by the ladies and children and laced with popcorn garlands, or the crackers that banged when pulled open to reveal little toys inside. Soon the children were buried in tissue and ribbons, the adults and Daniel helping them open the gifts. The only two of the family missing were Hart, who hadn't yet arrived, and Eleanor, who was keeping to her bed to rest, planning to join the feast at dinner.
The McBride children were included in the festivities this year. Andrew whooped as he dashed about with a stick hobbyhorse that had a real mane. Catriona sat quietly with the large doll that never left her side, contemplating a doll-sized silk tea gown, exquisitely made in the latest fashion. The dress had been crafted by a dressmaker and had been as perfectly wrought as any gown for a lady. Ainsley explained that Sinclair had one made every year for Catriona's doll.
"How lovely," Beth said, sitting down beside Cat. "Shall we dress Dolly in it?"
"Her name is Daisy," Catriona said, with the scorn only a nine-year-old could muster. "Like my mama.
And she doesn't want to wear the dress right now."
"Well, that's all right." Beth addressed the doll. "It truly is beautiful, Daisy. Such fine workmanship. A lovely gift."
"Maybe later," Cat said. She hugged Daisy close, burying her face in the doll's golden hair.
Sinclair shook his head as Beth rose. "I give her a gown every year," he said in a low voice. "Cat tells me the doll likes it but prefers not to wear it. Her mother gave her the doll, you see, the Christmas before she passed. So I don't insist."
Beth understood. The last thing Cat's mother had given her would be precious, not to be touched.
Beth's mother had given her a hair ribbon a month before she'd passed, for which she'd saved up her wages. Beth had kept it safely wrapped in paper ever after. She still had it.